Chapter Text
You wake up. There’s someone beside you. You’re not sure how you know, but it’s the new kid.
You can’t see him in the darkness, but you feel his presence, hear his hands on metal, and you both get to work. As always with the fresh ones, you’re happy to show them the ropes, try to set their broken bones, lay down your shitty little body so they can scamper away just to die somewhere else.
He’s probably shy. His breathing is loud. From around the generator, he smells earthy, with a crisp edge; you can’t quite place what it is.
After a few minutes of listening to him burn his fingers on wires, your mind places the scent, and floods with the sense memory of spooning with your high school boyfriend (the words high school and boyfriend feel like ancient relics by now); your face shoved against his neck, huffing in his cheap cologne.
That’s exactly it. Sweat, cheap cologne. Leather. Interesting. Well, introductions can wait for the campfire. He pipes up, startling you--
“Have you seen who it is yet?”
A surprisingly low voice, young, but a bit gravelly, maybe around your age.
“Not yet. Might be the new one. Stay on your toes.”
He laughs nervously. “Yeah, you never know what kinda creep you’re gonna catch staring at ya.”
“Ah, it’ll be fine. You’re doing great, kid.”
You lapse back into comfortable silence, listening to the trees rustle, looking forward to meeting this kid in better circumstances, hoping the killer is busy elsewhere, grateful you’re safe for now. You look up from your work for a moment, and--
“ FUCK ,” you scream, stumbling backwards. The killer is peeking around the generator, a long mask screaming right back at you.
“Peekaboo,” he says, sing-song, in the same voice as the kid on the gen with you. He pulls out a hunting knife that catches the light on its razor sharp edge. Fuck fuck fuck.
You turn and sprint, heart pounding, but not before he slashes your arm. He’s close behind, too close to make distance on without running into nothing. You vault, sneak back around, and he still seems to know where you are. A generator pops across the forest. You think you’ve lost him and stop to catch your breath, observing your cut. The arm’s useless now, good luck with the gens, idiot. Tricked by a fucking killer. Ugh that cut stings.
Then the knife is in your back, deep, and you scream like a dying animal on the way down, making mud in the dirt. He kneels next to you while you moan more from the shock of it than the pain. From what you can see from your fuzzed over vision, he’s small. Broad shoulders. Bigger than you, certainly, but not a giant. Not a monster. Just… some guy.
“My my , you make some delicious little noises, don’t you?”
Okay. A weird creepy guy. With a teasing, low, yet oddly soothing voice. Maybe it’s just on account of the bleeding out and all, but you find something about it a bit… no no. Nevermind. You shoo the thought away. Not the time. A gloved hand rubs blood from your cheek, and then there’s an obscenely loud sucking noise. Did he just… ? “And tasty, too.” God, since when do they fucking talk ?
“Alright, upsy-daisy doll,” His hand tugs at your shirt and he throws you over his shoulder like it’s nothing. Even with the other masked kids, the ones shorter than you, they carry you away with wobbly legs. You dangle over him and half-heartedly beat at his back. He responds in kind and gives your thigh a firm pat.
“Careful there, cutie,” he says, “You don’t want me droppin ya on that nasty little cut, do you?”
And pet names , jesus christ this one is the worst.
The hook is coming, you know it is. He squeezes your thigh again, too high up, gross gross gross . “Okay girlie, this might sting a bit.”
The hook pierces through you, jutting out of your chest. His hands linger on your hips as the pain crashes over you, and he tugs painfully down on your body so the hook hurts that much more. The scream rips out of your throat, you can’t help it.
Wait. Why isn’t he leaving? He’s just… staring up at you, head cocked slightly. “T-the fffuck do y-you want, assh-hole?” He chuckles in reply.
“If you don’t want me to stare then stop being so fun to watch, silly. Couldn’t help but look at ya while we were fixing that generator together. Really glad we got some bonding time in.”
You spit a hunk of blood and saliva at his mask. It splatters across that pale white and you hear him chuckle.
“Ooh, feisty! Wanna scream for me some more, baby?” He leans in a bit closer, the dead blackness of the mask’s eyes boring into you, hands tugging harder on your legs, fuck, the hook is just cleaving through you.
“ I know you want to~”
You won’t give him the satisfaction. You kick your leg at him uselessly, which he dodges with ease. You’re gritting your teeth so hard to keep from screaming that they feel like they’ll crack.
“Eat sh-shit, dude.”
He laughs again. “Haha, I like this one,” he says, trotting off into the darkness. You hang there, dry sobbing and utterly confused. A new killer getting thrown into the mix was never a good time-- you always run into them nonstop for a long while, no idea what kind of pain they’ll inflict, whatever nasty little quirks you all have to start dealing with. The strategizing around the campfire, comforting the newer kids who just lost their entire world and have to accept the carousel of demons that inhabit this stupid eternal hell. Eventually, you all got used to them, dodged them mindlessly, saw them as just stupid animals thirsty for your blood.
The devil of this stupid realm, whatever you call it, the entity, whatever , seemed to always have some fresh hell in store for you, insidious little ways to twist the knife. Oh, getting hacked at by an insane blue schoolgirl not enough for you? How about spending the entire trial getting vomited on by an 8-foot tall chanting woman who sometimes spits poison bile right in your mouth so your body melts from the inside out? Or is getting gassed by a disgusting, coughing clown who eats your fingers off more your speed? God forbid you think you just made a new friend, no, the dude is a freak and wants you dead.
You had heard whispers of a new silent threat nobody could see coming until the knife was in your back, certainly, but you hadn’t heard shit about some flirty asshole who’s downright chatty . Every time you think it can’t get worse, or you think there’s not some small detail that isn’t going to potentiate your endless misery, somehow , that spidery bitch in the sky finds a fresh new way to fuck you right in the--
“I gotcha,” Claudette says, struggling to pull you down off the hook. Landing back on the ground sends a shockwave of pain up through your heels. “Let’s get you fixed up, follow me.”
Watching Claudette go from constantly hiding in lockers, crying, to a badass field medic with nerves of steel had been a sight to behold, and you find yourself especially grateful for that fire-forged transformation in moments like these. You lean against the wall behind the killer shack and sob as she calmly unpacks her medkit.
“New guy messed you up good, huh?” she asks, like everything is normal. “Anything I should keep an eye out for so he doesn’t tear me a new one too?”
“He-- OW ow-- talks,” you pant as Claudette smoothes a balm across your arm that makes it feel like it’s being burned with a blowtorch. “This is bullshit, why do they have to talk now.”
“He talks?” she repeats. “I haven’t heard anything. He scared the shit out of me though, peeking around the corner like that.”
“Oh, he definitely talks,” another voice chimes in, and you spot him crouched up on the hill, staring down at you. “And he can do tricks, too. See?” He procures his knife seemingly out of nowhere, tosses it up in the air with a spin, and hops down to swing at Claudette.
“SHIT,” she yells, suddenly stabbing into you with the needle as she dodges the blade. You grunt and your vision nearly blacks out. She drops her medkit and runs away, leaving you with a half-sutured wound, needle still poking out. Not fucking again . That was the one thing you missed about Claud before she just broke down from all the stress: she used to be so gentle with her hands, so careful. But now, for all her unflappable calm when healing, she really never gave a shit if the cure hurt more than the cut.
The killer thankfully chases after her, and you slump over to a slab of wood and sit. You’re pretty fucked, all things considered. Someone’s already dead. Barely any generators fixed. God knows where Ace ran off to. You sense Claud go down nearby, and you can hear her swearing at him. You guess that with the information that he talks (and listens), she’s trying to get under his skin. It doesn’t seem to work, and she’s met with silence.
She’s on the hook and there’s nothing you can do about it. You can barely move. You hope that Ace gets his hands out of a chest on the other side of the map and does something . You have a moment… a moment to rest your eyes, maybe. Yes, that sounds nice… just a little rest...
When you open them again, you can tell Claudette isn’t on the hook anymore, thank god. Actually, you don’t know where anyone is, or if they even still are. Wait-- someone is breathing loudly nearby. You hope it’s Ace with another medkit. That needle went in deep .
“You doing alright, princess?”
“GOD DAMN IT,” you yell, again. The killer is crouched a few feet from you, idly twirling his knife around his gloved fingers. “Mm, there’s that scream. Pret- ty .”
This fucking guy.
For some reason you’re more fucked up than usual; blood everywhere, entire body screaming with pain in a way you haven’t felt in ages. You’re not really sure how you’re still conscious, but you’ve decided: fuck this guy, fuck his sultry voice, and fuck his stupid fucking knife.
“Stop dicking around and just kill me already,” you groan.
He clasps a hand to his heart (does this asshole even have one) and chuckles.
“God, you are just a little dream, aren’t you? Begging me to kill you so nicely .” He stands up.
“Can’t give it to you just yet, cutie. You’re gonna have to wait for it.” He crouches away, but over his shoulder he says, “Try not to miss me too much,” and you swear you can hear him wink.
You slip back into unconsciousness and hope you don’t wake up.
When you wake up again (god damn it), before you even open your eyes, you already know he’s there. “Fuck off, man.”
“Where to? It’s just me and you now, babe. We got all the time in the world.”
You reluctantly open your eyes. He must have moved you to the basement. You’re leaning against a wall, he’s sitting on a chest, legs crossed and bouncing playfully. He’s also covered in the blood of your friends.
“Why are you so obsessed with me?” you ask, only half joking. How the fuck are you not dead yet. Why do the killers get worse every time a new one pops up. This sucks . OW.
“Me? Obsessed? We just met, babe-- don’t flatter yourself. We’re not on that level yet,” he says, pulling out, of all things, a digital camera. You kinda forgot those existed, let alone here . He shows you the screen and flips through dozens of pictures of you from this trial, all from different angles. Clearly a bunch from when you were passed out. He clears his throat and puts it away.
“So, as you can see, I’m not obsessed, just interested. Consider it an intellectual curiosity.”
“What the fuck,” you say, flatly, no surprise in it. “Why are you being such a fucking creep? Why can’t you just be normal and shove my head in a bear trap or some shit,” you whine, fully exasperated.
“But that’s no fuuuuuun . For me, at least.”
“So then what is fun?”
That tickles him, you suppose, because he pulls his knees up to his chin and titters confidentially like a school girl at a sleepover.
“Well, I’m a boy with a big knife, and you’re a pretty girl, and we’re just sitting here having a nice conversation in my murder basement. I think that’s kinda fun, don’t you? You don’t have to run from me, I don’t have to break my kneecaps kicking gens, y’know. Just… a break.”
You look at him dumbly. “Not much of a break when you’re mortally wounded, you ass. If you’re gonna pull this shit at least give me a bandage or something.”
He cracks up, holding a hand over his face as if to hide a smile. “Oh my god, you’re cute. You tried to kick me earlier and now you want the killer to kiss the boo boo?”
This is ridiculous. You try to cross your arms but it hurts so bad you give up.
“Dude I am straight up dying. Are you gonna do it or not?”
“Well, you’re making some really precious sounds with those injuries but… You know what? Fuck it. I’m in a good mood today. Why not?” He hops off the chest and roots around.
“Lucky you, we got ourselves a medkit.” He sidles up across from you on the ground, sitting criss-cross applesauce, like a little kid. He unfurls a roll of gauze and stares at it.
“I have absolutely no idea how to use this,” he muses. He takes a look at your body, prods at it. It’s less like he’s taking inventory and more like he’s just playing.
What the fuck is even happening .
He starts to bandage the wound on your arm, just doing an awful job of it. Better than nothing, you suppose. He moves on.
“Alright, I gotta touch some, ah, sensitive parts of you to make it all better. That ok?”
“I-- you nearly stabbed me to death and you want permission to touch my boobs?”
“Okay, look, I’m trying to be a gentleman here, and I resent what you’re implying about my moral character. I may be a sicko, but I’m not a sicko . And besides, I’m not ready to kill you just yet,” he pauses, “I save that for the third date.”
“ STOP DOING BITS AND JUST FUCKING FIX ME, MAN. ”
“Alright, alright, no need to be bitchy about it,” he grumbles, hastily sliding your shirt up over your bra. The gashes stretch right under your left tit, arching up over your right. Big ol hole where the hook stabbed through.
“Ouch,” he says, staring at your chest. You’re fully glazed in sweat and mud and snot and dried blood. Your hair is wet and stringy, makeup surely all over your face. You actually can’t tell if he’s staring at the gore or your tits heaving out over your black bra, but if you had to guess you’d probably say both.
“Still trying to be a gentleman here, but uh,” he gives a low whistle, “Nice.”
Okay so it definitely was both. And you kinda don’t mind. Mostly because the pain is blotting out all coherent thought so much you don’t have much room to be bothered.
“Thanks, grew ‘em m’self.” He laughs, and you blush a bit. What the hell.
He swabs a cloth across the wound and the alcohol sears into the cut. Your breath comes out harsh and fast. A gloved hand holds the side of your face, surprisingly gentle, and you hate yourself for the fleeting thought, but you’re glad it’s him and not Claudette. His other hand fiddles with a syringe that you recognize as that heavy anesthetic Kate gave you once that completely knocked you on your ass. David had to bridal carry you out the exit and you were high as fuck all night. The idea that the pain might be close to disappearing altogether is all you can think about. You realize you’re crying.
“Hey, shh, it’s okay. Worst part’s over. Gonna give you the proverbial Good Stuff, alright?”
You nod, tears rolling down your cheeks. You feel terribly vulnerable and know this sick fuck is loving every second of this, but you would do anything to stop the pain. He plunges the needle into your thigh and you feel the medicine send lightning bolts of ice through your veins. It starts to kick in immediately as he rubs the entry point in little circles with his thumb.
“Oh thank god, oh holy shit, ohhhh fff……..” you sigh, crazy relieved but now slightly more aware that it’s a serial killer playing doctor with you. You side eye him.
“Weirdly pleasant bedside manner for a killer,” you mutter, your muscles going slack, head dizzy, the relief from the pain slowly creeping up on you. He shrugs.
“See? I’m not so bad. I might be in a stupid spooky get-up and these little dangly gravity-defying bits follow me everywhere and I am contractually, I dunno, spiritually , maybe a bit sexually obligated to stab everyone I meet to death, but does that make me evil ?”
You say “yes” because “duh” would be rude probably.
He backpedals, waving the empty syringe in the air.
“Okay, fine, definitely sounds worse when I say it out loud. So what? Maybe I am a little , teensy baby tiiiiny bit evil. But does that make me a bad guy?”
You start to say yes again but he smooshes a finger against your lips.
“And when you answer that question remember who just injected you with some very tasty shit that’s currently making your eyes roll back and who also would be very stoked to murder you right now.”
Hm yeah your eyes are kinda rolling back, huh. That’s kinda embarrassing, you guess . God he’s right, this shit is tasty. The pain is just washing away, replaced with pure sunshine. You didn’t answer his question and instead are just humming to yourself.
“Oh, does that feel good, pretty girl?” he says, voice husky, but you don’t totally clock that considering, well, the drugs.
He continues to work on cleaning you up but you’re not really aware of it anymore. The pain is most assuredly still there , and you’re definitely embarrassed and frightened in some far corner of yourself, but those feelings are in a box in the attic and those are problems for Future You (if there is any future you-- nope that goes in the box too ).
All you can feel right now is soft leather smoothing over your skin, the smell of that cheap cologne and rubbing alcohol filling your nose, and hear the breath echoing from behind the mask as he idly mutters to himself things you’re kind of glad you can’t quite make out.
“This is actually... really... nice…” you mumble. It is nice. Maybe he’s right. Maybe this guy isn’t so bad after all. Maybe he just has a shitty sense of humor. How could he be bad, with that heat unfurling from your stomach as he holds your waist, so close, so tight, his strong muscles being used deftly to heal you and oh god you’re turned on. Oh no. Oh god damn it the fucking syringe has got your sexy wires crossed and now they’re all being rererouted straight to where his hands are making contact with your body.
The situation suddenly hits you from the side as very funny; again, drugs. This serial killer with the sexy voice and broad shoulders is bandaging you up in a torture dungeon, you’re high as fuck, he’s calling you pretty, threatening to murder you in the future, and you’re fucking into it . You didn’t even know you were allowed to be horny here. Had no idea the entity would let you. Hadn’t had much of a chance to think about it, what with the constantly getting murdered and all. But now it’s like the floodgates are open, and oh that’s an awful ( if not accurate ) phrase to use (you giggle at that), and you are burning . Please don’t notice.
“Something up?” he says, noticing , leaning in, pressing more of his body against you.
“Mmm... nothing,” you say, sleepily.
“You sure? Your cheeks just turned pink and you’re making those cute little noises again.” His hand cups your chin and you stare at that stupid mask through half lidded eyes. God you are far gone.
You giggle again like you’re drunk. “Sorry, m’just… lots of drugs… you smell… nice, and I… your body feels… mmm...” you trail off, melting into his hands, pressing harder into his arms, sighing happily. You haven’t been touched like this, so tenderly, in… who knows… everything’s… tingly...
He shifts away from you and you pout at the lack of touch. “Lean back,” he commands, and he pulls your back against his chest until you’re flush against him, his legs ( are those… leather pants ) bracketing yours. You can barely keep your head up straight. It lolls back onto his shoulder, and you can smell him so sharply now. Sweat and leather, that sharp shitty cologne, coppery blood, plastic, and something else, you have no idea, almost like tobacco, or old books, or--
His arms are tight around you, his hands lightly roaming down to your bare stomach, your shirt still pulled up. “You’re making… why are you… moa--” he rasps in your ear, voice dropping lower as he realizes, “Do you... like that?”
You’re too far gone and you’re pleased as punch about that, head empty, clouded over, who cares, all you know is that you feel so good and you don’t want it to stop. “Yeah that--” He pulls your hips sharply back towards his and your breath hitches-- “Mmm that feels really ff-fucking… ah,” and his other hand is circling your neck, so gentle, and oh god are you really fucking into that--
“You... are just full of surprises,” he’s saying, squeezing tighter, voice wrapping a vice around your brain, sickly sweet and filthy, your head is getting lighter, “What a dirty girl. You turned into a little slut the moment my hands were on you. I could choke you to death right now and you’d beg me to do it, wouldn’t you?”
You don’t even realize that you instantly say “yes sir” needily but you can feel him shuddering around you, breathing harshly, and your thoughts are getting darker, and dirtier, and...
“Did you just call me sir ? Oh, you are my absolute favorite , I knew it, I knew the moment I saw you that you were special, my god , I’m going to do absolutely terrible things to you, you don’t even know, doll I cannot wait …”
You automatically breathe “yes sir” again and he slides a hand all the way down to the front of your skirt, grazing around your hipbones and barely dipping lower and jesus are you about to get fingered by a murderer sure yeah who cares who cares! just wanna feel good just wanna cum just wanna please…
“What do you want?” he asks, you can hear the sick smile on whatever his face looks like, ( he can be anything you want him to be, he could be gross, he could be so hot, you don’t even know, why does that turn you on even more), he’s getting hard, oh my god his dick feels huge . He smacks you lightly on the face to bring you back.
“What do you want me to do to you, baby? If you want it you have to tell me.”
His fingers are slipping slightly under the hem of your skirt, snapping the band of your panties against your skin impatiently and he’s being such a tease and you can’t take it anymore-- “Pl- please, touch me, and don’t s-stop,” and he says “Touch you where, ” with such fire that immediately you’re begging him, “Please put your fingers in me, I want you to touch my pussy I wanna cum on your fingers please please ,” and he shoves his hand to the drenched spot in your panties so fast you yelp. You’re so soaked that there’s almost no friction at first, just sliding leather fingers, probing, teasing. He’s growling in your ear now, pulling your head back with a hand tangled in your hair--
“You’re so wet I can feel it through my gloves , oh babe , you filthy little thing. I just killed your friends and I’m rubbing their blood right into your pussy and you love it and don’t you worry, I’m gonna kill you too and-- oh, your pussy clenched when I said that, you siiiiick little slut. Good little girl, making such a mess on my fingers…”
His achingly slow pumping into you and his thumb rubbing into your clit mixed with the pain and his filthy mouth has you babbling and moaning absently in response, bucking your hips into his hand, breathing hard, grinding your ass back against him so you can hear that sexy voice drop, hear him lose track of his words just like you are, turn him on so much that he shuts up for once, and maybe, just maybe, he’ll fuck you, and oh god what kind of terrible things is he going to do to you , the thought of his cock in you and his knife at your throat nearly throws you over the edge, and he speeds up, relentless, and he growls “Are you gonna cum for me, kitten?” and you just beg for it and then--
You’re face first on the ground. There’s dirt in your mouth. Steel-toed boot grinding into your back, wounds reopened. Suddenly you’re terribly alert, and the pain hits you like a truck (he did an awful job, he did it on purpose ).
All you can hear is laughter.
“Oh my GOD I can’t believe that worked, hooooly shit. You look like a kicked puppy, your eyes are so huge and glossy right now it’s like you’re a lil cartoon character or something. Did you really believe all that shit about--” he puts on a mocking tone, twisting the boot into your spine with each word, “ Nooo, you can trust me, I’m a serial killer who gets off on people in pain and am definitely about to drug you but I’m not EVIL or anything~”
You want to hit him. You want to tear his throat out. You want to fuck him. You want to kill him.
“But-- but you said you weren’t going to-- we were just-- I- I was gonna--” You spit a broken tooth out onto the ground.
He’s still giggling maniacally. “Cupcake, oh boy-- and this is gonna shock you-- I lied! I really didn’t think you’d be that gullible , that easy. I barely touched you and you were straight up begging to cum on my fingers. Oh, this rules .”
You’re stunned into silence. That box in the attic with all the pain and shame and fear is tumbling down the stairs and you are fucked .
“ You called me ‘sir,’” he adds, incredulous. “I didn’t even have to ask or threaten you into saying it, you just did it. Would you have called me ‘daddy’ if I had kept going?” He doubles over in laughter again until he’s just wheezing.
“Oh shit, oh I’m crying, oh man.” He faux wipes away a tear.
“Whew. Alright, well, it’s been a pleasure, doll.”
He steps off your back for one blissful second, and then drops his entire body onto the center of your back. All of your ribs break instantly. You can’t help but howl now, unhinged, you know he loves it, but your existence is an explosion of pain and nothing more.
Except: a poisonous, sweet whisper snaking through your head.
“And one more thing: I take back what I said earlier about having a quote-unquote ‘intellectual curiosity’. Sorry pumpkin, I’m fucking obsessed with you now. When I get my hands on you again, oh. You don’t even want to know.” You sob.
“See ya soooon!”
He giggles, plunges the knife into your back, he is absolutely still hard, you’re dying, you wish you were dead, you wish you had cum, everything is going black but not fast enough, please god make it stop, he’s dragging your head back like he was not moments ago, FLASH , then
darkness
darkness
darkness