Trapper X Reader

Trapper x Reader

twice saved, once trusted tw’s: typical dbd violence, strong language NOTE: made some edits :B

Kindness was something that did not exist in Evan’s world. Not anymore, anyway—not as long as the entity existed.

The closest thing to kindness to be found here was the sweet, merciful kiss of death after minutes of excruciating pain. To put one out of one’s misery… that is kindness.

So, when Evan—or “trapper,” as these feeble humans titled him in hushed whispers around the campfire—was shown kindness that resulted in being freed from pain without death to follow, he was at a loss for… well, anything.

You showed up without Evan being able to hear you over the blood rushing in his ears; timid and meek, like a rabbit first stepping out of the brush to check for predators. A bear trap—one of his very own—clamped painfully tight around his foreleg, crunching the bone and tearing ligaments at any tiny movement he made. Even worse, he was pinned beneath debris that fell atop the stun pallet that was thrown on him in a survivor’s attempt to flee. It was heavy enough to make him wheeze, lungs rattling with every slow inhale.

Irony was cruel like that—it didn’t care that he was the Trapper, caught by his own bidding. Evan sneered at the thought.

You must have heard his struggle—that, or you simply walked in on his unsightly hindrance and were curious—because you stepped out from the shadows and approached him, cautious.

“Are… you okay?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper. The gentleness and concern make Evan’s ears itch. Did you not know he was the killer? Could you not see who he was?

Unable to see, Evan relied on his hearing to pinpoint your location, listening closely to your careful footfalls that edged closer and closer.

Either you didn’t see that he was the killer and the shock of the situation finally dawned on you, if your startled gasp was anything to go by, or you truly were rattled by the grisly sight of the bear trap and couldn’t help but express it outwardly. Evan waited for you to do something—to run away screaming, to laugh and mock him, to finally kill him for the atrocities he’s committed against you and your community of survivors—but the silence merely stretched on, causing his lips to pull into a tight frown. Maybe you had run away, and he just didn’t hear you leaving.

Evan tried shifting the weight on top of him, the muscles in his calf contracting and making the trap tighten its vengeful grip on him. He groaned, low and in pain. His leg was starting to go numb.

Suddenly, Evan feels hands working to free him, starting with the trap first. It gives one last painful squeeze before loosening, the jaws falling open and releasing his leg from its teeth. The blood that rushes out feels both warm and cold against his skin. The contrast makes him grimace.

Next, the debris pile is being lifted, and finally Evan can see your face. He recognizes you at once—a killer never forgets his victims. Your brows are pulled taught in effort to push the wood and rubble off of him, teeth gritted as you struggle. Sweat causes the hair around your face to stick to your temples, dirt coating your forehead and chin. To anyone else, you might look grimy. To Evan, you were a sheen of light splintering cracks in his darkness.

The pallet and the items it collected topple over, granting Evan air to breathe deeply. His body creaks as he sits up, grunting. He reaches for the bear trap still hanging around his ankle, raising his foot to toss the gear haphazardly to the side. Despite the constant throbbing his leg is giving him, Evan clambers to his feet with low groaning, rolling his wide shoulders. He towers above you, enveloping your trembling frame in his monstrous shadow. You make no moves to get away; instead, you seem to be rooted in place, watching him with wide eyes.

Before you’re able to say, or do, anything further, Evan simply staggers forward on his bad leg and limps away, leaving you to watch his retreating frame in wild confusion that he let you go.

He wasn’t quite sure why, either.

———

The next time it happens, Evan could not be more frustrated or in disbelief at the sheer embarrassment of being caught stuck in a window. The barbs and spikes that protrude from his skin hold him hostage against pinewood, having one leg strung over the sill while the other kept him upright from the outside. His left shoulder remains pinned against the wall, his right arm hanging out the other side lamely. The survivor—Ace, he recalls—stops a few feet ahead of him and turns once he realizes he’s not being followed, barking out an incredulous laugh at the sight.

“Ha! What, can’t get out, big buy?” He sneers. “Should fuckin’ teach ya.” Ace spits on the ground in a show of defiance, but at Evan’s animalistic growl and effort to swing at him, Ace yelps and jumps back, wasting no time to scramble away in a cloud of dust. Evan snorts, unimpressed.

For the next few minutes, he tries to push, to pull—only earning protesting groans from the wall that refused to let him go. He’s ready to start clubbing the building when he hears an all-too-familiar gasp come from behind him, causing his hackles to raise.

“Oh, dear…” You sigh, matching Evan’s bewilderment at the deja vu. You don’t say anything else and tip toe to where Evan is able to catch sight of you in his peripheral vision, revealing the same sweaty face that so sweetly stared up at him with doe-like eyes. You’re sporting a new hat today, one that compliments your features. He would like to admire it more, but he’s growing more agitated by the minute.

As you take in his situation, you chew your bottom lip apprehensively, eyes sweeping him up and down. “Okay… I’m going to touch you, okay?” You warn him, hands hovering just above his bicep, but not making contact. Evan waits, until he realizes that you’re waiting for his consent, piquing his curiosity further. Were you really not that scared of him? Or just stupid?

He mutters before giving an approving grunt, which you take as a sign to go ahead and start pushing. The feeling of your fingertips against his skin is alien—they’re not calloused or rough at all. Not entirely soft, yet not scarred like his. You’re also incredibly warmer than he is, something that Evan finds himself not disliking.

“You—ngh—going to help?” You huff, jostling Evan back into reality. He resumes his attempts, teeth grinding as he strains to pull himself free. There’s a crack, then another one, and at a particularly hard shove from your end the wood finally splinters and breaks. You give one final heave, hands now against Evan’s back, sending the him through the window. Pieces of wood fall to the ground like rain around him, an unshapely hole now cratered on the side of the cabin. Evan couldn’t care less, though.

He staggers to his feet, craning his head to look up at your face, which looks immensely pleased. Evan tries to find his voice to thank you when he realizes that he hasn’t used it in ages, creating a sense of insecurity within him. It’s bound to be an unpleasant sound. He also realizes he’s supposed to be killing you, not thanking you. What Evan failed to remember, the Entity would surely remind him of.

But as he stares up at you—you, whose expression had dropped at Evan’s intense silence; you, who had helped him for the second time in a row without hesitation—he feels angry. A familiar emotion, and an even more familiar recipient.

The Entity. The cause of his suffering. The dark ruler of this forsaken place.

Evan’s grip on his weapon tightens.

“Thank… you,” He manages to garble out, correct about his assumption that his voice would be rough on the ears. It makes his innards recoil.

But you don’t grimace, don’t draw back at the sound of it. Instead, your jaw hangs open in shock, and you almost seem to lean in.

“You… talk,” You spectate. Moonlight filters through the bare tree branches above, casting shadows that dance in the gap separating you and he. Something about it is mystifying.

“…Yes,” He grumbles hoarsely, shifting his weight uncomfortably underneath your awe-filled gaze.

“Do you have a name?” You prod figuratively. Evan’s nose wrinkles beneath his mask.

“Not.. important,” He gruffly rasps, “you.. have a name?” You tell him, and Evan breathes it in like oxygen. Your name is much sweeter than iron and tears.

At the sound of a generator imploding, your and Evan’s head turns, and you’re both reminded of your roles to play in this fiendish game.

“Please,” You plead, earning his sights back on you. “Please, will you let us escape just this once? No killing, no attacking.”

It wouldn’t be the first time that Evan has defied the Entity—the marks on his back were enough to prove that. But, something in the way you look at him has Evan itching to bend the rules again. Break them, even.

So, he nods.

You look like you’re about to cry—something Evan doesn’t particularly want to witness—so he turns to leave. “I knew it,” You whispered, loud enough for his ears only. “I knew there was a reason I was supposed to help you.”

He pauses, then, “…Evan.”

“Huh?”

He faces you, eyes gleaming from behind his mask. “My name.. Evan.”

You crack a smile. If he had it in him, Evan was sure he might return it.

Unknown x Reader

echo unto an echo NOTE: reader has tourettes in this ficlet. if i have misrepresented the reader in any way, please feel free to correct me. i wanted to be as creative & inclusive as possible here, and i simply think this dynamic would work well :) again, if you have tourettes syndrome and something the reader does or says is not accurate, please feel free to point it out and i will correct it. thank you <3 tw’s: mention of tourettes/tics, tic episodes, strong language, anxiety, my inaccurate knowledge of dbd

“Shit,” You curse under your breath, then again a beat after, “shit. Shit, shit, shit.”

Like a mantra the word continues to roll off of your tongue as you nervously roll your hands, eyes flitting to and fro in the darkness.

This place was unfamiliar—new territory. And, with new territory, meant new danger. New monsters. New fear.

You hadn’t heard a peep from the start of the trial; no ringing bells to alert you that the Wraith was near, no electricity zapping through the air followed by cruel laughter to let you know the Doctor would be after you. The suspense was enough to trigger your lungs into shutting down momentarily, sending you to the ground as you fought against your own body to breathe. You nearly passed out twice. The crows that perched above you seemed to be laughing at your misfortune as they caw, caw, cawed, making your lip curl in a sneer.

“Fuck off,” You told them, “fuck off, fuck off.”

There were only two generators left to fix according to Leon, your rescuer who had found you hyperventilating against a tree. He helped you to your feet, staying with you to make sure you could stand on your own without fainting.

“Do you know what killer we’re facing?” You had asked, disoriented and dizzy. Leon shook his head.

“No..” He sighed, hand on your shoulder. “That’s what worries me.”

You split up after that, having to convince Leon that you would be fine. You wanted to help—you weren’t useless. At your stubbornness, Leon finally relented, informing you that he’d work on finding the other survivors and fixing the next generator they came across while you did the same.

“Be careful,” Were his last words to you before taking off into the trees. And then you were alone again. With as much breath as you could muster, you trekked on, focusing on as many senses as you could to keep yourself grounded. You pulled lyrics from your brain from songs that helped even before the fog, murmuring them under your breath as you stepped over shrubbery. It did little to calm your anxiety, but it was distracting enough.

And then, breakthrough.

The familiar clunking of a generator had your hopes rising, eyes alight as you quickened your pace over to it. Bending down low, you nabbed the wires in hands that shook in tandem with the engine.

“Alright, me,” You exhale, “don’t screw this up.”

You set to work, jammed to your elbows in the machine as you connected plugs, fastened coils, and hot-wired cables. Within five minutes, you successfully have the generator humming with life, ready to lift the gates that would lead you and your teammates to safe haven. You step away from your hard work and dust your hands, but feel a sudden chill race up your spine.

“Excuse me?”

Your heart flies to your throat.

“Ex..cuse… me?” The voice, warbled and inhuman, comes from right behind you. You hear shuffling as it comes closer. “Excuse me…?”

You make the mistake of turning around.

“Excuse me,” You parrot habitually, hands flying to cover your mouth as your eyes trailed up wrinkled skin and mangled bones. Still, muffled, your voice continues to shake as you meet pits-for-eyes, your chin jerking every few seconds, “e-excuse me? Excuse me?”

The thing tilts its head even more, twitching before it drops onto all fours, creeping towards you like some deranged animal. “E..x..cuse me?” It trills as it drags itself closer, forcing you back. “Sorry… is this.. yours?”

Fear possesses your body and tongue. Your thoughts are stampeding a million miles a minute, and you desperately want to run. You begin to rock, whimpers escaping through your nose.

“You.. help?” It asks, hand reaching out to caress your hair. You flinch, eyes squeezing shut as the strands fall through its fingers.

“P-Please,” You croak, finally finding your voice, “s—stop.”

The creature is silent, prompting you to take a peek at it despite every coherent thought pleading you not to. It’s staring at you with an empty expression save for its teeth bared in a permanent, lopsided grin, its body twitching every few moments. Then, it speaks.

“Pl..eeease,” It mimics, trying to match your inflection, “sss…top.” Again, “ple—ase… stop.” And again. “Please.. stop.”

You can’t help but squint at the thing, confusion added on top of terror and adrenaline. Was this thing… copying you? You swallow.

Deciding to test this theory, you pathetically choke, “g-go away.” It shivers.

“Go… away.”

“Go away,” You say again, and it wastes no time.

“Go away.”

You can’t help but force out a laugh of disbelief. It tilts its head, then lets out a terrible, guttural noise—a mix between hissing and gurgling. If that was its attempt at a laugh, you’d prefer for humor to cease to exist so you would never have to hear it again.

A loud buzz cuts through the air, causing the creature to jerk its head at the sound, distracted. Seizing the opportunity, you make a run for it, forcing your legs to push you farther than they ever have. Checking over your shoulder, you find the beast still standing in the same place, watching you. You don’t stop running.

old stuff

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