°· dead by daylight - oneshots ·°

🍋┊꒰ dwight fairfield x reader ꒱

Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

The constant thumping of a heartbeat left an unsettling ringing in your ears. Your feet and legs threatened to crumple underneath you. The exhaustion was too overbearing.

You had been lucky enough to run this far without being slashed and thrown onto one of those rotting hooks. Though at this point, relaxing with your shoulder through a rusty meat hook didn't sound as horrible right now. At least you could maybe catch a damn rest for a while.

Your feet and calves ached. Your lungs were burning from all your frantic, desperate breaths.

Worst of all, he was catching up.

Though it seemed your fate was sealed, you wouldn't stop running. You couldn't stop running. The determination and hope of escape coursed through your veins.

In the edge of your peripheral vision, you spotted the broken down structure of a blimp. The same one you've seen a million times before, trial after trial.

Running through the cornfields to it didn't seem like a bad idea. You could lose him. Though it also made you highly vulnerable, no rocks or haybales you could take cover behind.

There wasn't much time to think, however, when his machete came down on you. You managed to miss the wrath of his blade, but the tip still slightly grazed the flesh of your shoulder.

The slight taste of pain granted you a small burst of adrenaline, as you limped through the field of corn towards the abandoned blimp.

That damned heartbeat slowed and lessened in volume as you put some distance between you and the Trapper. You took a look behind you and shivered. His icy cold stare piercing you as he wiped his blade of your fresh blood.

You turned around again with a whimper, sprinting into the blimp without the slimmest thought of stopping to breathe.

You let out a small cry when you suddenly felt a freezing hand grab your arm and tug you back. There was a loud, ear piercing squeak before you were engulfed in a large pair of arms, very cramped and very uncomfortable.

You recognized where you were- it was a closet. One of the many convieniently placed closets around these cursed monuments.

For the person holding you protectively in his arms, it was Dwight Fairfield, your fellow survivor you had grown quite close to over these past... Months? Years? You weren't sure anymore. You could only see his fear stricken eyes with the dim light creeping into the locker, but that's all you need to determine it was the nervous WalMart manager.

You concluded he was trying to help you. Yeah, it was nice and all. But couldn't he have picked a more... Spacious hiding spot?

It was only when he shifted a bit when you noticed how awkward of a position you were in.

Your back was resting on the door of the locker, and he was towering over you, arms on either side of your figure. The male's head was hovering over your shoulder, warm breath on your neck. His torso was pressed up against yours.

Though the worst part was how his leg was inbetween your thighs, pressing up against your hot core.

The heartbeat was now picking up again, and you could almost hear the Trapper's coarse, rough breathing through his mask. He scanned the area with full concentration.

Dwight and you held your breath and you mentally cursed at yourself.

It was kinda nice, being so close to someone like this. Ever since you'd been stolen from your normal life and sent to this hellscape, it'd been the same routine: Generator, Run, Generator, Hide, Escape. There was never time for intimacy, except the brisk intermissions at the campfire. Too bad the only time your getting cuddly with someone is in a cramped closet being hunted by a ruthless murderer.