Work Text:
You've been in this realm for a short period of time. From what you assume, roughly 2 months have passed since you woke up next to a campfire. You can't tell the exact amount of time, as there aren't any day or night cycles, but in your free time, you enjoy counting seconds. It helps you pass the time, calm your breathing, and remain quiet from the gruesome killer waiting to impale you. The other survivors like to say you're the quietest of the bunch. Many people had told you that in your real life too.
The generator in front of you emits sparks as you tinker with the parts and wires. Considering how many generators you've fixed, you would assume it wouldn’t take you as long as it does. You sigh deeply, repeating what you usually do in your head.
One, two, three, four, five,
A generator goes off somewhere in the distance. Where’s the killer? Usually, there would be someone down and in need of help by now...
Six, seven, eight, nine, ten,
The only noise was wires popping and the slight sound of the muffled wind.
Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourte—
Wind? You blink, looking up. There’s no wind. You are inside the killer's shack. Then what was that sound?
A loud crack appears behind you, forcing you out of your kneeling position with a yelp. Your head snaps to the noise, seeing a white-masked figure lunging at you with a knife. Your legs start moving before your brain does, causing you to topple over yourself. You won't make it.
Your head hits the ground as the figure slams into you. You groan, struggling against his grasp. Danny slides himself between your legs, knowing he won the 'fight.' His knife goes up and...
You grab it. Your hand reaches for his hand, catching him off guard. Before thinking, you flip the knife around and push it into his hand, forcing it between the bones and past the muscle. The figure lets out a loud cry, trying to pull himself away as you push him over and straddle his hip. Forcing the knife further down, you stab it into the ground, still impaling his hand.
"Wh- Hel—" The man behind the mask sobs out, "Agh—"
You know that after the trial his hand will be healed. That’s what happens to survivors; you could only assume that is what would happen for the killers too. His other hand reaches for the knife, only for you to stop him by grabbing it and holding it above his head.
His chest raises and falls quickly, complementing the soft sobs and groans he lets out. You squint your eyes, peering at the mask.
"What kind of monster are you under that mask?" you ask, trying to see past his eye holes. You are sick of all of the demons and mangled creatures devouring your head. The thought of taking control of one finally and getting revenge fills you with excitement. You are so far gone from being sane. When he doesn’t answer, you tilt your head, "Hm? I asked you a question."
"Fu— I—I’m not," he can’t get his words out. He can’t tell if it’s from the pain or if he is bordering on a panic attack.
You reach up and grip the mask, sliding it off his face, only for your eyes to widen. It is a man, pale skin and short black hair with a slight stubble on his chin. Tears stream down his face, not that he is crying, but a natural reaction to the extreme pain. His lip quivers, wide eyes meeting yours. You hate the fact that you think he is attractive.
"You’re just a guy?" you ask, stunned. "I thought you would be some sort of... horrific being."
Danny’s eyes shut, realizing he hasn’t blinked this entire time. "I... Take out the knife," his voice cracks, but you just sit there and stare at him. Your eyes trail down. The lack of touch in your life right now is affecting you too much.
"No," you reply, shifting your position on his hips.
"P-please," he begged. His desperation was becoming delicious for you. You bit your lip. A killer, at your mercy? You know how to savor this.
"I will," you say calmly, his eyes open, looking at you with hope. "But you cannot move from this position, understood?"
His breathing stops for a second, but he nods in agreement. You reach up and grab the knife, pulling it out swiftly. He yelps at the pain, flinching, but he doesn’t move from the position like you asked. You press the tip of the blade to his chin.
"You’ve done bad things," you drag the tip down his neck, not cutting him. "But I bet you’ve never had bad things happen to you. How about I... fix that?"
You didn’t get a reply, which disappointed you. Using the knife, you drag it down his clothes, straight through them. He kept his knives sharp; how caring.
"No, stop—" his hands go up, trying to stop your actions, but you turn the knife to his other hand, pressing it against his palm.
"If you move, I’ll gut you like a fish. Got it?" Would you actually gut him? Probably not. But if you were able to impale his hand, the words would be enough to scare him, right?
His head nods up and down. You smile at him. "Good boy! Look at you doing what you’re told."
His face goes red at that, his mind racing as your hands run down his chest, pulling his clothes off of him. What the hell did you plan on doing to him?
In a matter of seconds, he was lying on the cold wood floor in nothing but his underwear. His heart was pounding as his eyes trailed up to your face. You moved your body to straddle his hips again, this time pressing yourself against his hardened bulge. His hips instinctively lifted upwards, pressing himself against your heat.
Danny. also was extremely touch-deprived. All you had to do was run your hands up his torso for him to get a raging hard-on. Though, when he did, he grumbled and mentally complained. His hand was throbbing in pain, but the nerves surrounding the area were numbing themselves, preventing the torturous pain.
"You, the killer, under my touch," you sigh, leaning forward, pressing your lips against his neck. He let out a hard sigh at the feeling, his eyes fluttering shut.
"I can overpower you at any moment," his hips ground upwards, chasing after your heat again.
"Oh, I know," you giggle. "I knew that this whole time, but will you really stop me when you’re almost completely naked?"
He opened his mouth to say something, but he let out a moan when you ground your hips against him. Your tongue dragged up his neck.
"You’re right; I won’t do that," he huffs, sweat dripping down his forehead.
You slowly crawled off of him, causing him to let out a whimper at the loss of heat and friction. He couldn’t believe himself, giving in so easily. To be fair, he’d never had someone successfully take him over.
"What’s wrong? I thought you would want to be let go?"
"I do," he lifts his head to look at you, blinking dried tears out of his eyes. "I’m... it hurts." He couldn’t believe himself. What was he doing? What was he saying?
"Your hand?"
"Yes, and," he inhaled sharply, "I want you to touch me."
"Touch you?"
"Y-Yes!" His face grew redder. God, this is so embarrassing, he thought between sentences. "You’ve got me all worked up."
You looked at him with a confused look, and he let out a rough sigh. Your eyes trailed down his body. You knew what you’d done to him; it was obvious from the large tint in his underwear. You just wanted to tease him.
"How could I work you up?" you snort. "You’re the big scary killer, not me."
His eyes met yours. How could someone be so annoying? You were beautiful, so he supposed that had given you multiple passes to be annoying in the past. He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t turning him on more. He wanted to be the one overpowering you. He wanted to shove your face into the ground and have you scream his name. But with you wielding his knife and you being the only one of the two of you fully clothed, that wasn’t an option. Without his clothes, he just looked like someone who was supposed to be trying to escape, not kill. His head fell to the ground, sighing in defeat.
“Please touch me,” he said, his eyes shut. “Make me cum, please.”
Pathetic. He felt pathetic. He just hoped you didn’t make him beg. His eyes opened in time to see your hand hovering over the waistband of his underwear.
“Touch you here?” you asked, lowering your hands on the band, tugging softly.
He nodded. “Mhm.”
You slowly removed his underwear, watching his cock spring out. He wasn’t lying; he was worked up. You placed yourself between his thighs, reaching over him and shuffling through his torn clothing. You pulled out his camera.
“What’s your name?” you asked, turning the camera on and messing with a few of the settings.
“Danny,” he huffed out without hesitation.
You let out a snicker as you positioned the camera above his thighs. “What a beautiful sight, Danny. Lift your head up.”
He did as asked. Now his dick and his pathetic beautiful face would be captured by the camera. Snap.
You watched his breath hitch and his dick twitch as he heard the shudder. “Oh? You like that? Is me taking a picture of you about to be wrecked, turning you on more?”
He hated you. He wanted to scream. He wanted to yell at you. He wanted to curse you out. He wanted to rip you apart. He wanted to slam his mouth against yours. What a gal, he thought, biting his lip.
You set the camera in your lap, ready to take the next picture when needed. Running your hands up his thighs, you watched as precum dripped onto his stomach. You were ready to pounce on him, and the look he was giving you was a sign he wanted you to.
You reached out and finally wrapped your fingers around his cock. He was an average length, but that was still perfect. He breathed out, pushing his hips against the warmth of your hand.
You started slow, dragging up and down. His jaw opened, letting out soft gasps and moans. You pulled the camera up with the other hand. Snap.
One, two, three, four, five.
“Does that feel good?” you asked, moving your hand slightly faster.
“Uuhhuh~” he huffed. You watched drool leak out of his mouth. You studied the way his face contorted when your hand ran across specific areas of his cock. His hips thrust upwards, but your free hand pushed his hips down.
“Ah-ah,” you shook your head, earning a whimper. He looked absolutely disheveled. He stared at you through his lashes with nothing but lust in his eyes.
Six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven…
Generators rang in the background.
You could tell he was close, the way his dick twitched in your hand. His jaw slacked, sweat and drool dripped from his face.
“It f-feels so-o good~” he gasped out, remembering he could talk. He hadn’t been touched in so long. So pathetic, he thought, but it was okay to indulge.
Mid-sentence, you lifted the camera. Snap.
Twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen…
“I’m cumming- gnh-” his voice raised a couple of octaves, his breath catching in his throat.
You removed your hand. The look he gave you was filthy. Wide eyes, red face, heartbroken. You raised the camera. Snap.
“Why- why did you stop?” Precum pooled on his stomach. “Don’t stop, please continue. Do I have to beg?” At this point, he would do anything.
“That would help.” You smiled, hearing a familiar sound. The last generator. You watched tears run down his face.
“Please—let me cum. Use your hand; it feels so good. I want it so bad.” He was going to regret this later, but he was too lust-drunk to care at the moment.
“Tsk, tsk,” you sighed. “Barely twenty seconds and you almost came in my hand.”
He whined, throwing his head back, and you traced his cock slowly, taking pictures with your other hand.
“So pathetic.”
He cried as his orgasm washed over him, cum squirting over his abdomen. Your hand jerked him off as he groaned through it. Snap.
As he came down from his high, his chest rose and fell quickly. Snap.
His eyes slammed shut, trying to collect his thoughts. When he opened them, you were gone, and the world was disintegrating around him. He groaned, feeling humiliated, realizing you had already left the trial.
With his camera.