𝐏𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑
・┈ ✦ ﹕𝖥𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗆: dead by daylight
・┈ ✦ ﹕𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝖾𝗋(𝗌): the trickster ( hak ji-woon )
・┈ ✦ ﹕𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝖳𝗒𝗉𝖾: gender-neutral reader
・┈ ✦ ﹕𝖭𝖲𝖥𝖶: ☐ Yes ☑ No
・┈ ✦ ﹕𝖣𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗌: ☑ Yes ☑ No
・┈ ✦ ﹕𝖢𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖶𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 (𝖢𝖶): mention of blood, trials, murdering in the background.
・┈ ✦ ﹕𝖶𝖢: 0.555 K
back to dbd masterlist or to the trickster masterlist
You're basically asking to be his favourite problem when you sneaked up on The Trickster mid-reload to push him into the locker he was rummaging through, pushing a gasp out of the lilac haired male as he felt himself being shoved into the darkness of the locker, only for you to follow right after.
And when I say feeling himself getting pushed; it's not like he did anything to stop you from cornering him into such a tight space. If anything, he Iet it happen. Turning smoothly on himself so he could face you with that signature smile of his; blood stained lips curling as one of your lithe hands found its way on his hip, keeping him right where you wanted him.
A small surprised laugh could be heard bubbling from his throat as his bright yellow eyes stared into your own orbs, as if two twin dancing flames were able to read your soul whole while the dark drowned the place. The only source of light left between you once the locker door shutted, two glowing orbs.
There's a soft amused exhale that slips onto your face when Ji-woon breathed out his amusement, your own space just as violated as you did with his. Your breath mingling into the cramped space.
❝ Bold, ❞ the murmure was deep as his voice dropped away from that exaggerated stage persona he always kept on, even around you. You've gotten used to being around him more than others, especially more than any other survivors — except for Miss Lee Yun-jin who knew him before. But it was still there, more in a. . . private show, kind of persona.
It was so clear to him what your intentions were; separate him from the other killer he had been teamed with, that other monstrous being hunting down your teammates. . . trying to buy them some time. . .
And yet, here you are. Hiding in a locker with the very man who once sent chills down your spine with a single glance.
The same chills that runs up your spine now, make butterflies swarm your stomach when you felt the faint edge of one of his blades caressing the skin of your thigh, of your forearm, before he gently taps it against the wood of the closed door behind your back. It's slow, rythmic as he tilt his head, gaze lingering like he's studying something fascinating. . . something he wants to love and break at the same time.
He's so, so close. You can almost taste the metallic tang of blood on his lips, smell the faint sweetness mango and pineapple beneath the sharp scent of iron lingering on flesh and fabric.
❝ Jagi. . are you trying to save them? ❞ he chuckled darkly, his grin sharp enough to show all of his pearly whites in display despite the little light, danger slicing through the silence.
You blame the distant screams echoing beyond the locker when your heartbeats spikes up, swallowing the pool of saliva pooling in your mouth when he gets closer than already. As if he was testing you, crowding your space as he's waiting; watching for the smallest of flinches.
But you don't, not even a breath out of place as you don't move. And you definitely became his favourite distraction.
❝ . . or, ❞ his voice brushes against your lips softly this time, ❝ keeping me for yourself? ❞
