Ghostface/Reader - Obedience
DBD Shorts | The Ghostface - Obedience
Warnings: Violence, Blood, Angst, Danny being a whole piece of sHIT
also it says good girl at one point but other than that it’s pretty gender neutral so feel free to just switch that up to good boy or whatever
You could feel the pulse of his finger as it pressed into your neck, a threatening accompaniment to the flutter of your own nerves.
He was watching you. The pale white of his mask shifted in the glare of the moonlight, tilting this way and that to view your trembling expression from every angle. It was rare to see him so close. There was a fading blur of crimson spread across the pale visage, settled in the shape of a panicked hand that had reached out in defence. The fabric of his cloak rustled as he shifted, gently pulling his leg over you and settling his knee down into the dirt.
You were caged in, now. Powerless. The urging thought to fight him was quelled only by the glimmer of his knife that he held against your hip, the tip frighteningly gentle against your skin. One wrong move and you’d be nothing. You knew that. He knew that. It was obvious he was revelling in this power he had over you.
“Not going to say hi?” He rasped. “You wound me.”
The knife dug in, just enough to give you the warning without the bloodshed. You wondered if entertaining his cruel conversation was the only chance you had to get out of this encounter alive. The trees weren’t going to help you. The other survivors were no longer breathing. Your words were all you had.
You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. A silent, terrified whisper barely fluttered from your lips, and Danny tilted his head to the side.
“Speak up, sweetheart,” he cooed. “Daddy wants to hear that pretty little voice of yours. I won’t hurtcha.”
You didn’t believe that, but you still tried. You did not want to give him the incentive to harm you.
“Hi,” you croaked, fear digging into your spine. The sound of your voice fluttered against his hand, and the he shifted to accommodate it. It was looser now, but you knew that meant nothing. He was not relenting here, regardless of how his actions seemed to say it. You weren’t safe.
“Hi, Danny,” he urged, his thumb pressing against your jugular. The increasing pressure was accompanied by a sting in your skin, and the uninvited squeak of pain that bubbled from you was enough of an indicator to know that the knife had broken your skin.
“Hi, D-Danny,” you trembled, repeating him. It was all you could do to play along with his taunts. With his hand on your neck and his blade at your side, you knew you’d already lost. Any chance to escape his grip had vanished the very moment he’d dragged you to the ground.
“Good,” he hummed, a crackle in his tone. “I do love an obedient little whore.”
The word brought anger to you, but you didn’t dare challenge him.
He carefully lifted the knife and slid that flat end of the blade to your belt, where you felt the sharpened tip of it sneak beneath your shirt. Cold, and ever-so-slightly slick with a tiny bead of blood that smeared across your stomach the further he went.
You lay there in silence, eyes focused on the bottomless void beneath the eyes of his mask, the flat end of the blade slipping smoothly across your flesh. Your skin tingled and the overwhelming sense of danger made your nerves bounce.
The tip of the blade hit the underside of lower bones of your rib-cage, and he finally stopped. His grip was gentle, allowing the knife the rise and lower in tune with your rattled, heavy breathing, but he wasn’t entirely placid. The hold on your neck was enough for you to hold your tongue.
“It’s funny,” he sighs, a sorrowful facade in his voice. The blade flips, the other end pressing smoothly down onto your body, chilling tremors rippling through your skin from the metal. Danny clicks his tongue and finally drags his eyes away from you, focusing on the shimmer of his knife, carefully watching his forefinger tapping at the hilt. “I’m just not sure what I prefer,” he begins to muse, “chasing you, hurting you, teasing you...”
You clench your jaw and refrain yourself from interrupting him. It was best to let him talk; to feed his ego.
“I’m a big fan of watching that sweet, innocent little face of yours. Oh yes, you. I know, I know,” the knife lifts away from you and he waves it dismissively in the air. “Oh, what could possibly make you so deserving of my attention? What makes you so...” Again, the blade hits your skin, but this time it’s your neck, replacing his empty hand in favour of the weapon. The very tip scrapes over your jugular and up to your chin, where he forces your face heavenwards to reveal more of your neck to him. Exposing you. Making you even more vulnerable. His voice lowers. “What makes you so fascinating?
You don’t respond. It’s not as if you have the answers. You wish, you so desperately wish that he’d find someone else to toy with, but the hope it futile. You know that. You pray he’ll lose interest soon, but you’re scared that he’ll simply dispose of you the moment he grows bored. It would have been safer to have never crossed paths with the man.
Danny let’s out a soft, dreamy little sigh. “Are you scared?” He asks. “Now, I know you are, believe me. I can feel you shaking. I can hear your trembling little breaths, but... Humour me, would you? Tell me you’re scared. Go on. It’s alright,” he shifts, his knees digging into the sides of your thighs as he presses his weight down on you. The tip of the knife twirls threatening against the underside of your chin and you shut your eyes, willing him to leave. It doesn’t work.
He waits for only a few moments.
“Baby,” he urges, a taunting, singing tone in his voice. “You don’t want me to lose patience now, do you?” The knife digs in and you whimper, your neck singing with a a sharp pain as a sudden warmth pools around the tip of his blade. “Tell me you’re scared of me, sweetheart.”
You’re almost in tears at this point. Violently shaking beneath him, you try your best to answer his commands. “I-I’m... I-I’m scared of you,” it’s all you can manage. Fear stops the words from working.
And yet, he seems pleased with it, judging from the happy little bounce of his shoulders as he quietly chuckles at you. “That’s it. There’s a good girl.”
