I’m not sure is THIS blog is still active either, but I’ll leave a request anyway since they’re open
Could I request hcs for the Huntress, the Legion (Julie), the Trapper, and the Pig with a reader who’s had an AWFUL life and had absolutely EVERY right to become a killer, but just didn’t? AND THE READER’S LIKE.. WEIRDLY NICE DESPITE HOW DOOKIE THEIR LIFE HAS BEEN 💔
I just think it’s really interesting, and your writing is amazing! Thank you so much if you accept! <D
Hi, the blog is active and I'm still alive. I just had a vacation. And thank you for your words and your request. I don't get requests about fandoms like dbd very often, and that's why I'm especially pleased to write them
Headcanons Unexpectedly nice
⛏️ Trapper x Reader 🪤
Evan had seen many survivors. They were all trying their best to escape from him. Every time he saw new faces, the faces of those he hurt. You were one of the survivors, but you seemed kinder to him. You always tried to help others, even if you might have suffered from it yourself. Even when one of your friends dropped a pallet on his head, you turned around and looked at him as if you wanted to apologize to him. You were nice, even strangely nice, especially when it came to him, even though you should have been afraid and hated him
After the next trial, the last thing he expected to see was you. He was just going to rest and take care of his wounds, but you came and brought a first-aid kit with you. At first, Trapper thought it was a cruel joke, but you were quick to apologize for the fact that your friends hurt him. You knew they were defending themselves, but you just couldn't stay away. Listening to you, he was surprised at how kind you were. But it was because of your kindness that he believed you and took the first-aid kit from you. You offered to help him, and he, knowing full well that with your help he could handle it faster, agreed
You started coming to Evan's house a lot, and you even talked. He wasn't very talkative, but he didn't feel as lonely around you as he used to. One day he asked you about your life, about how you used to live, and you told him without hiding it. But this was not what Evan had expected at all. He expected to hear a happy story, but the more he listened to you, the more he realized that it was almost a miracle that you were a survivor. There were a lot of bad things in your life, and he wouldn't be surprised if you killed someone at some point. But you tried to stay positive and friendly with others, even in a place like the realms. It surprised him and aroused respect for you. You reminded him of himself in some ways, but he would never tell you that
Trapper didn't plan to hurt you. He started to like it when you came to him. Next to you, he didn't feel like a killer, but just an ordinary person. He wasn't sure when he'd last felt like this. Evan hoped that together you could help each other forget about the past pain that you felt, and at least feel a little happy
🐰 Huntress x Reader 🪓
Huntress is used to seeing survivors scared. They were afraid of her, they tried to escape from her. Some were even willing to leave their comrades to die for this. When she saw you for the first time, she was sure that you were the same as the others. But the more she watched you, the more she realized that things weren't quite as she'd imagined. You always tried to help your comrades, you gave them encouraging smiles, and if there was a choice between saving your own life or the life of one of your comrades, you always sacrificed yourself by distracting her or other killers, giving your comrades time to save. This surprised the woman, but it also aroused her curiosity
When you first came to her forest outside of the trial, Anna was surprised. You didn't go near her hut, wandering curiously through the forest, but she came closer to you on her own. At first, you looked worried. You were afraid that she might hurt you, but when you saw that she wasn't going to do it, your lips stretched into an awkward smile. You tried to talk to her, but she remained silent. She didn't send you away, and you took that as permission to stay in her forest longer. She was watching you and making sure that you didn't try to harm her or invade her home. But you didn't even think about doing that. You just walked around and sometimes you talked. You weren't even sure if you were talking to her or yourself, but from what she heard, she realized that it was amazing that you were a survivor. You went through a lot of pain, really a lot, and if you became one of the killers, it wouldn't be surprising, but you were a survivor and for some reason you continued to be surprisingly nice to others. What she found out about you allowed her to trust you more, and so she began to show you small signs of attention
You often began to find small wooden toys that she made herself, and she left them especially for you. It was her way of lifting your mood. During the trials, she might not specifically attack you, and if you were alone, she could show you where the hatch was. You didn't understand the reason for her sudden acts of kindness, but when, during your next visit to the forest, she finally spoke to you, you realized that you had unknowingly done something unexpected. You aroused warm feelings in Huntress that she hadn't even thought about before, and now she was striving to make sure that you were safe with her
For Anna, such feelings were something new, and together you tried to figure them out. She let you into her hut and you realized more and more that behind the animal mask there was a person, a lonely person who, if she had been in a different situation, could have been different. You understood her, because you were both in a similar position, and because of this, you understood each other better, and your strange, unexpected relationship only became stronger
🐽 The Pig x Reader 🪤
Amanda had been through a lot before the Entity took her away. When she saw you, it was like she saw herself in the past, before she became who she became. You were sincere, attentive to others and eager to help them. She was sure that you would become more gloomy over time. Amanda was sure that you had never faced difficulties before, and that was why you were such a surprisingly sweet and pleasant person. But every time she saw you, she was more and more amazed that you didn't change. It was as if you continued to believe that everything would be fine and that you had a chance for a good ending and you would be able to free yourself and leave the realm of mist
You were genuinely interested in exploring places where you could go outside of trials. That's how you came across her. Amanda wasn't trying to harm you until you crossed her personal boundaries. But she was interested in talking to you, so she didn't specifically kick you out. Amanda was watching you and asking you about your life. You didn't hide anything from her, for some reason continuing to smile at her as if she wasn't stalking you and the other survivors. But the more she listened to you, the more she realized that there were a lot of bad things in your life, maybe even as much as in her life. But she started killing, and you continued to maintain a positive attitude. You believed in the best and continued to be surprisingly friendly, even though you could easily have started killing too and then you would have ended up in the same position as her. But you didn't do it
Listening to your stories, she herself did not notice how she began to fall in love with you. You seemed like the ray of light that could change her life. Next to you, she might not feel like the Pig that the survivors feared, but just like Amanda, who could also love. You were kind and gentle with her, especially when you started dating. If any of the survivors found out about your relationship, you would be treated like a traitor, but you didn't seem to care about it. You continued to communicate with other survivors and with her, seeing no problem in this
Even if you became a killer, she would be there for you. She accepted you for who you are, even though she was surprised that you continued to be so surprisingly sweet no matter what. You were strong in spirit and you could handle any difficulty, even if you didn't realize it yourself. But Amanda understood that, and she wanted you to stay that way
📼 Julie Kostenko x Reader 🔪
Julie has been living a good life for a long time. She had friends, she got everything she wanted out of life. Confident and willing to take risks, she did not regret what she had done or becoming a killer. She loved what she and her friends were doing. She wasn't usually interested in survivors, but when she noticed you, she was curious to see what you were capable of. She was watching you and you started to seem more and more strange to her. You were so sweet and friendly with the other survivors, you tried to help them. You seemed naive to her, and she didn't understand how you could stay so nice to everyone, even though you had to worry every day. It was out of curiosity that she decided to eavesdrop on a conversation between you and another survivor
From the fragments of your conversations, she realized that everything in your life was far from perfect. But she learned a lot more when you talked in person. You didn't dislike her, which was amazing, but it made Julie get to know you much better. From everything she's learned about you, she's realized one simple thing. You could have been one of them. You could have killed and then become one of the killers. But you didn't do it. You remained as sincere and kind as ever, you weren't going to hurt others. Your strangely sweet disposition surprised her, but she realized that maybe chatting with you wasn't such a bad idea
You started spending a lot of time with her and her friends. At first they didn't understand the reason for this, but over time they got used to you. Julie spent a lot of time with you. She began to like you and she often thought about what would happen if you met in ordinary life. Maybe she wouldn't have noticed you, or maybe you would have become one of them. Julie would be lying if she said she didn't want to see you more often. She really liked you, despite your kind disposition. And even the fact that you were on opposite sides of the fence didn't bother her
Sometimes Julie wondered how you could stay so good despite everything you've been through. You were much stronger mentally than many. Despite the many difficulties you faced, you remained true to your principles. You tried to treat others equally and did not harm others. Julie was surprised by this, but she also respected it. But she was wondering how long you would stay like this in a place as disturbing as the one where you were trapped
Ask about their manhood size Headcanon (Dead by Daylight)
Headcanon for my beloved masked men from Dead by Daylight. What have they got for us?
NSFW Content. MDNI.
The Trapper
In this case, you didn't ask to know his size. You learn about it accidentally when he secretly washes himself in the heavy rain.
He takes off his workwear bib and lays it on the ground; only his fully naked body is shown. He scrubbed his body to wash out all the blood stains.
That is when you find out how beautiful his body is.
Well-built, gorgeous muscle, perfect body fat ratio, thick pecs, mass thighs, and well-rounded buttocks.
And, of course, his manhood part.
The sight is not clear, but it can be assumed that he has an 8-inch shaft. Not to be surprised, there are open wounds on it as well, making you wonder if it hurts or not.
Curiosity does kill a cat; your foot makes a cracking sound because of the dried branch nearby. Notified by the sound, he quickly reached for his cleaver and walked directly to the source of the noise.
You attempt to run, but then your foot steps into the bear trap that he placed inside the bush.
Evan finally reaches you. The shadows of his body covering your entire body show how big he is compared to you.
To your surprise, he does not pick you up to bring you to the sacrificial hook. Instead, he pushes you down on the floor, and your face tastes the ground. The trapper lifts your hips up and tears open your pants.
You are in trouble—very deep trouble now. Hopefully, it is a kind of trouble that you have on your mind.
The Knight
"If I were to show you such a private matter, would you accept to be a sex slave for me and my pack for a week then?" Tarhos makes an offer. One that is very difficult to turn down.
You slowly took out the metal armor on his lower part until it revealed a thin red loincloth and what he had inside.
Around 4 inches when flaccid. Then you have to put in some work to make it hard.
6.5 inches when fully erect, and the tip of his cock is pretty red, so it can be assumed that he has not done it for awhile.
He is also uncut.
Not well-trimmed pubic hair. It is not so shaggy or dirty; you can assume that he does not have much self-grooming experience, so he might use any convenient blades he could find to cut those hairs.
Now that you know the answer, you know what is going to happen next, yes?
Tarhos strikes his sword down the ground, a green aura lights up through his sword, and the faithful three are summoned.
"Let us enjoy this slave I found," Tarhos said, his lustful eyes looking through his helmet. The same goes for those three who just show up.
People need to be have more hype for all my favorite characters. I’m tired of going to look for fanfics and being forced to write because there’s LITERAL CRUMBS
Hello!! May i request trapper and doctor (seperate) with a s/o that tries to cheer them up after they have a very bad trial? Thank u!! 💖💖💖
Thank you for the request !! (*´ ˘ `*)
A/N — I really hope this is satisfactory! I'm not as familiar with writing Trapper or Doctor, so fingers crossed it's in character (´,,•ω•,,) ... I did some extra studying on them, though!
TRAPPER ♡
Originally, you were quite excited when you were faced against Evan for the trial. Even if you were most likely going to escape, you couldn't help but smile just thinking about seeing Evan. However, that happiness soon faltered when you noticed that generators seemed to be activating a bit too fast for him to keep up with. Only one person had been hooked, which should've made you confident, but instead, it made you feel a bit bad for him. In the end, you still escaped, but you were reluctant to leave him behind after a bad trial.
However, you had an idea to work on in between trials to build his confidence back up.
Once trials were beginning to finish, rather than heading to the campfire with your fellow survivors, you decided to visit Evan's realm; The Macmillan Estate.
"Darling?" you called out, loud enough for him to hear if he wasn't nearby already. You figured a pet name might ease him a little. You looked around, in hopes of seeing a familiar silhouette lurking. Just as you were about to seek him out yourself, you felt a heavy hand on your shoulder.
"Do you need something?" he asked, his voice low and firm. You swallowed, somewhat nervous.
"Ah- I made you this," you said, holding out a neat drawing of him.
Oh, that left him stunned alright. He looked like someone came over and consecutively dropped 5 pallets on his head. "...Thanks," he said, awkwardly. His stoic expression fell a bit.
"I brought some paper and pencils. I figured drawing may soothe you a little bit. Trials were a bit rough today, hmm?" you hummed.
After that, you and Evan talked and drew for a while, you occasionally asking for tips and him giving feedback. It was a much needed break for him.
Safe to say, it worked. Not that he showed it, though. Either way, you could tell he definitely appreciated your company.
DOCTOR ♡
Herman is always quite excited going into trials; to torment the survivors, send them into a deep madness. Therefore, it's only safe to assume that he himself will be sent into madness if he has a bad trial. You were there to witness it. No matter how many times he shocked the survivors, made them hallucinate...he just couldn't catch them.
You already knew that right after the trial he would hole himself in his realm. You knew there probably wasn't a lot to do to help him that didn't involve you being a test subject, but you were going to try anyways.
You entered Léry's Memorial Institute, and it wasn't hard finding Herman; you had the hallways memorized, and you knew exactly where he would be.
You found him inside his office, heavily invested in his work. He seemed almost...determined? As if he wanted it to be the best he's ever made. Hesitantly, you greet him.
"...Herman?" you whisper. He turns to you, studying your expression. He doesn't respond right away.
"Hello love," he greets quietly. He turns his attention back to his work
You place a gentle hand on his shoulder, taking a look at what he's doing. Knowing Herman, showing interest makes him at least a little happy. "What're you working on now?" you ask.
Now, that sparked enthusiasm. Were you prepared for the in depth lesson when you asked? Not really. However, it seemed to calm him down. Eventually, he worked less harshly and seemed slightly more carefree.
After what seemed like forever, your brain was practically mush and basically suffocated from all of the new information. However, you learned how much he likes it when you express genuine admiration. As a thanks, he gave you a little shock; it's his way of showing affection.
Trapper x Fem Reader - in-progress slow burn - Brief depiction of alcohol consumption + Mild language + Hawaiian shirt jump scare + a little fluff, a lil angst, a lot of horny + Trapper is his own warning and this chapter is Trapper city + alternating POV - 8.7k
Summary: Trapper takes you home. The reality of your situation sets in. You're both very cool about it.
Note: Huge, huge, huge thank you to my girl @emo-elysium your guidance and insight ultimately led to this chapter becoming what it is 😭 🫶 ilysm
You're escorted back to the ground floor of the facility by Travis. The quiet main entrance teases your peripheral, your one and only landmark of familiarity.
The approaching sundown sees the surrounding desert blown out in exposure, a canvas now blanked before the colors of sunset are spilled across. The position of the sun reveals itself in the dramatic angle that streams through the windows, and sweeps the floor low. Travis glances the light and shadow, his brow softly etched. With a quick draw of his watch, his confirmed hunch whistles through his teeth.
"Well this day was eager to disappear on us. Engaging conversation'll do that." The butterflies in your stomach all take off at once when he looks at you, pointed and unfeigned. "You make for very good company, I appreciate your ear."
As if on cue, you can feel their tips burn.
"And I appreciate you being so welcoming." You try not to sound as bashful as you feel. "You're the first of the team I've met, really. Thank you for letting me in."
Travis blinks, his expression stalled. Then his eyes widen. "That's right, you've only just arrived. I was sure to take up all your time, eh? There goes those first impressions." He grimaces sheepish, but playfully so. "I can take you 'round to meet Dr. Gish tomorrow, if you're up to it. She's packed it up for the day by now, I'm sure."
The end of your day barrels into you like a semi, now that you acknowledge it's arrived.
You'd been up before the sun that morning to make your flight, and the day had only stretched endless from then. The desire to curl up in the bliss of solitude to sleep off your adrenaline high screams for recognition. A twinge blooms in your temples, your shoulders throbbing in a subtle, now persistent, dull ache.
"Sounds good." Even the smile you give him feels tired, but you attempt it nonetheless. "I think I'm ready to call it a day too, if that's okay."
His expression is tender with empathy.
"The circadian rhythm is a cruel and indifferent mistress." He commiserates. "We'll getcha sorted in a tick." Fingertips glide in to soothe with the barest graze between your shoulder blades. It takes everything in you not to shiver.
"Oh! Listen, about that," he starts, his head shaking in apology before he even begins to voice it, "about the lodging, I don't want you to have any worries." A hand still at your back, he brings the other to rest over his heart. "I'll be an exemplary roommate, scouts honor. You say 'jump', and I ask 'how high', right?"
That's when it dawns on you.
Then, and only then.
This is who you'll be spending your foreseeable future with. The one with whom you'll be in close proximity, for that unfixed, indeterminate length of time.
The dry, terse, balding man you'd been picturing - who's turned out to be this man.
This off-beat, scarily perceptive, infectiously affable man. Who smells like sun and sand despite the absence of the beach. Sun-kissed to such thorough perfection it should have been fake, if he wasn't otherwise so genuine. Who slings around pet-names like there's a lifetime of history between you.
Who also happens to share your taste in music.
If the confrontation of your jet lag was an 18 wheeler, this one's a steam roller.
Well. Fuck.
"Likewise." You croak. The smile you force must look as painful as it feels to stretch your lips into. The room gives a lurch. "Thank you for being so accommodating, I really don't want to put you out."
The words are sincere, but the ringing in your ear drowns your Lombard reflex. You can only hope you kept to a normal volume.
"Perish the thought." He's all cheek, but it does nothing to dampen his assurances. "It's been the Travis and Scylla show for the last six months, a human counterpart will do me some good."
His accompanying wink doesn't land nearly as devastating this round. He's as easy and breezy as ever when he says it, but the undertones of alienation cut deep.
So enamored by his peculiarity, you've forgotten completely that it's the leading cause for outcasts.
"I don't know about you, but I could eat." He confesses in a chuckle. You get the sense that he could go all day without eating if he's engrossed in his work. "Let's take you back, yeah? Give you the lay of the land, get your bearings, and then we can rustle up some grub."
The main lobby disappearing from sight, you follow Travis's lead in the opposite direction. He rounds corners and ducks down halls, ambling with the insouciance of one who knows the place like the back of his hand. He halves his strides for you to keep up without struggle. Carrying himself like he's taking a midday stroll through his favorite park, with the placidity to match.
The further along you go, the more upfront the outpost becomes, giving you but a preview of how labyrinthine its lay-out. Learning your way around will have to be your first priority. Your head on a swivel, you blur through one nondescript, gray section to the next.
Though you suspect, if you do ever get lost, you could grab someone at random and simply ask to be returned to Travis. Without exception, anyone to cross your path is recognized by him, who he's able to address by name. A quick two finger salute here, a clap to their shoulder in passing there, all done with the hallmark crook in his grin. Piercing eye-contact non-negotiable. He seems to know everyone, and he's equally as enthused to see the next person as he was the former.
Your whole day up till now has been a whirlwind, and the onset of fatigue - both physical, and mental - spreads its roots deep. When you come upon the double doors of the back exit, denoted by the clear signage, the question blurts from you without permission.
"Where are we going?"
"Out back, where I'm parked." You can't even help the deepening crease of your brow, and his mirth turns more crooked. "You and I'er holed up aalll the way out on the properties edge." He reveals, his shoulder dipping noncommittal. "Helps in keeping up appearances."
Once your bags had been cleared, they'd been collected from you first thing. Logan - the head of your security entourage - informed you everything would be delivered to your new quarters. You just didn't give much thought to where those might be.
It hadn't occurred to you, not even once, that you'd be rooming separate from the facility itself. The jury is still out on whether this turn of events is preferable. Not that you really have the chance to consider. Or an obvious alternative.
The adrenaline that carried you this far had crashed and burned.
Disoriented as you are, trailing him to the back exit springs giddiness from the pit of your stomach like a well. Crowding your chest until it tingles, tight against its own pressure.
Déjà vu blows in to snuff your fading rationality. You've had these exact jitters before. Walking by his side, all eyes on the two of you together.
The moment he pushes open the double doors, and the flood of natural light rushes you from the outside, you're back in high-school. Leaving through the auditorium doors to the seniors parking lot.
Three whole years older, the premier crush of your adolescence, and your neighbor - Adam Bannion is giving you a ride home for the first time.
Just being seen in the hall with him had been head turning. Whisper stirring. Covetous.
With Travis, now, is near indistinguishable. The difference in men is what sets the experiences apart. Where Adam walked ahead of you, Travis sticks to your side, even as he leads. Already proving himself to be a loyal companion, when given the chance.
I'm definitely delirious.
The reflection does nothing to curve the helpless smile that bullies it's way onto your face.
And as Travis brings you out to his car, you buzz with the same girlish thrill.
All in the effort of maintaining cover, the outposts staff park in the spaces between the layered rows of transport and vacuum trucks, their placement strategic, and explicitly for show. To the odd, distant traveler, the vehicular fleet that would otherwise serve as evidence of Monarch's presence, is then concealed in plain sight. Blending within the back-drop of towering steel derricks and onshore drilling rigs, outpost 55 achieves near-perfect inconspicuity as the oilfield it pretends.
Being back in the fresh-air feels like a lifetime has passed since you last breathed it in. The sky offers light still, though it's fast dwindling. The heat you remember from the afternoon has tamed, but only some. A rogue breeze rustles through you, doing wonders to calm where multiple blushes had earlier inflamed.
Having walked the path many times over, Travis moseys in the direction of his car, sliding his shades into place. Another errant gust kicks up in time to tousle his hair more irresistible. The diffused hues of sun-down shadow him heartbreakingly gorgeous.
"Usually by this time of the day things are pretty well cooled off." He swipes his forehead with the back of his wrist. The tweak of his shoulders unbothered. "Guess today's been a hot one."
Beginning to build your understanding of his brand, when he approaches a rough and tumble '92 YJ Wrangler Sahara and regards it like an old friend, it only makes sense. The tan soft-top pops against its bright copper poly, gleaming burnt umber in the receding sun. Cutting across the sides of the body is a streak of gold, jagged-edged like a thunderbolt. Amidst the sea of muted sedans, it refuses to yield. Standing loud and proud, the metallic flecks in the paint shimmer. A flashy display of just how resolute its nonconformity.
Dust coats the windshield. The rims and tubular side-steps caked with orange clay. Somehow, you know that the neglect isn't from a lack of care. It bears the wear and tear like a badge of honor. Travis doesn't seem like the kind of guy to care about getting his hands dirty. Why should his ride be any different?
He retrieves the key fob from his back pocket, not that you're looking there at all, attached to a woven lanyard the length of a wristlet, its edges frayed. Unlocking the passenger side first, he swings the door open to give you a peak inside.
Leather accents and trail-cloth seating, the interior reveals a wear-pattern that favors the drivers seat above all else. The fabric wrinkled, and starting to ravel around the edges of where the seat catches his weight. A pile of his things occupy the passenger side; a loose stack of papers, Old Spice Deep Sea deodorant, and a leather bound journal held together by some masking tape and a prayer. A yellow and blue Sony Sports Walkman sits on top, the headphones still plugged in.
Your eye drifts to the pair of Birkenstocks stowed in the foot-well, ragged too kind a word for their sorry state. They're joined by a box of surfboard wax.
It takes him no time at all to gather everything. A swiftness that suggests he forgot he'd left it laying there in the first place.
"Birks." You remark to yourself without thought, lips quirking. "Of course"
"Yeah, they serve me well." His belongings are tossed to the backseat without ceremony. "But there's a strict policy inside against open-toes. Imagine?"
Stepping back, he invites you in with an extended, upturned palm. A silent offer to help you up.
You're proud of yourself when you're able to conjure a smile of thanks, accepting with your heart fluttering to a relative minimum. You barely even pay any mind to the delicious scratch of callouses you find there.
Only to be smacked by the full brunt force of him once you climb in.
Old, warm leather, and his coastal musk, the heady combination boiled to heavy concentration after hours of baking in the sun. Every inhale makes your head spin. Vision pinched, it swims around the cabin in sensory over-load. First to demand your attention is the gear shifter.
He drives stick. You whine, inconsolable. Obviously. Why wouldn't he.
There's a packet of sugar-free spearmint gum wedged in the cup holder, a handful of cassette tapes overflowing from the center console. A tiny Hula dancer in her grass skirt bobbles on the dash. Arms folded behind her head, one knee tilts inward to pop her hip, her pose decidedly pin-up. A lei of orange hibiscus wreaths her head.
Your gaze continues along it's upward trail while Travis rounds the front of the Jeep.
Clipped to the drivers side visor is a photograph, creased by the decades and faded by sunlight. A woman, with his eyes and the same warmth inside of them, is crouched on a picnic blanket. A black and tan speckled Aussie Sheperd sits at her feet, tongue lolled for the picture. Her arms are wrapped tight to a young shirtless boy, tanned and wiry. Despite the mop of sandy hair falling in his face, the wild expression peeking through the strands is recognizable in an instant. It's the same unruly self-amusement that tweaks his features now, as he plops himself heavily next to you.
Travis begins to pry off his boots with a needless grunt of exertion, like he just wouldn't be himself if he wasn't animated in some fashion at all times. He twists to deposit them behind his seat. His socks are soon to join them.
Pulling his door shut, he cards fingers through his hair before slotting the key into the ignition. Your thoughtful peering has descended into gawking. A smirk spreads through his stubble.
"I'd be walkin' around the place barefoot if I had my way, seeing as how you breath through your feet 'n all." He volunteers, pulling up the parking break. "That's what I was known for at Uni, among other things."
At this point, nothing he could say should surprise you, but every new detail serves in reminder that the only thing you're certain of about him, is how little of him you grasp. "Even while you drive?"
A carefree grin hung lopsided, he inserts the key in the ignition, and twists. "Especially when I drive."
Cranking the engine, it chugs to life in a roar that builds, thundering beneath your seat. His sound system is next to wake up. Jolting to life, it assaults you with the squealing, electrified dueling guitar intro to Reckless. Pledging his allegiance to Judas Priest was no exaggeration. Every beat shakes the car, each synth-heavy propulsion punching straight through your chest.
You couldn't stop the goosebumps even if you tried.
Fingers spinning the volume knob, his adjustment is such that he only has to shout a little bit to be heard, as opposed to a lot.
"Sorry about the A/C." With thoughtless ease, his left foot presses the clutch pedal all the way down, and works the gear shifter to the far right. "On its last legs. I have the parts layin' around, just haven't got the chance to switch 'em out."
What of your shame has survived until this point then dies an undignified death. One hand on the wheel, he crowds your space. Sliding his arm around the back of your seat as an anchor, he cranes to check through the rear window that behind him is clear. Beads loop the rear-view mirror, with a single shark tooth dangling from the end. It twitches and sways with the car as he backs it out.
You catch his body-heat like dry kindling, and erupt in a full-body blaze just as fast. His scent is heightened, a cocktail of mandarin and magnolia and him that further stokes your fire.
Fortunately for you, he's oblivious to your plight. Falling back into his seat with thighs kicked apart, he guides the shifter into neutral and eases off the clutch. Once it catches, he sticks it back to the floor and throws it in first gear.
The horizon scorches vermilion ahead, its surface warping with heat while the sun continues to drop. The Jeep bucks with vigor as he accelerates straight for it.
He doesn't shy away from speed, but nor is he out of control. His movements are fluid and certain, innate with confidence. He handles the Jeep like it's an extension of himself.
You're looking at months ahead of you, spent with this man. Plural. Months, with an 's'.
I'm not even gonna last the weekend.
He misinterprets your frown as dread for the climate. Glancing your way, his penchant for consoling is as crushing as ever.
"Not to worry though, it's only a stones throw from here. And the A/C back at our place runs beautiful."
You nod with a thin smile, chewing your tongue. Your internal screams have reached a fever pitch.
Our place. You nearly combust on the spot. Thanking the desert terrain, and the rugged, high-contact four-wheel-drive. For every divot and drop in the ground, the chassis is jerked, jostling you to your senses, and out of your body's mortifying default to go limp whenever his line delivery hints dreamy.
You arrive before the guitar solo ends, and his remark about keeping up appearances then falls into place.
Before you sits a trailer home, 800 or so square feet, all by it's lonesome on the property line. Canyon rims carve out a border of seclusion in the far off distance, their rusty bedrock glowing in the setting sun. By your estimation, this is as close to an honest oasis as real life allows.
Vertical board siding in a soft, unassuming cream, the mobile unit fits right in with the facade of standard-fare utility. In an already remote desert plain, anyone passing through would deduce it was a temporary work trailer, completely within the ordinary.
"Monarch didn't purchase it for me, so much as it was lumped in with the acquisition. A bit homier than the facility itself, I think you'll find. The nature of Scylla's case making the time frame what it is, I thought putting a little tlc into the place might pay off. They certainly had no objections." He dips his head to regard you from over the top of his shades. "Really, they're just happy to get a break from me."
Situated alongside the trailer where an actual garage might occupy, Travis jerks his head towards what looks to be a double-wide shipping crate of corrugated steel.
"They were gracious enough to supply the carport, though." His gratitude sincere. "Everything else has been on me."
He pulls in through the open doors, and kills the power, the engine puttering once it's cut. The inside walls are lined with various tools, and equipment. A beat up jack, and orange traction boards readily identifiable among them. In the corner rests a small plastic cooler, with an old silver boombox perched on top.
You weren't outside for long, and the drive over in total took less time than the struggling a/c could splutter into action, yet it was plenty of opportunity for the heats damage to be dealt.
Whereas on you it clings grungy, on Travis it's just… sexy. Unfairly so. An action-star shimmer, the sheen makes his tan glisten, instead of seep, like sweat. You wilt a little where you sit at this discovery.
Travis continues to bop along to a rhythm only he can hear, pushing his door open to drop his sandals to the ground, echoing with the clap of impact. Stepping into them, he's at your side in a flash. Once more getting the door for you, with a hand ready to help you back down.
In just a few steps, you're out of the carport, and face to face with your new home.
An aluminum awning shelters the front door, and what could almost constitute as a porch, no wider than to allow the two of you standing side by side. A wind-chime of tiger cowrie shells twirls from the front post. As you ascend the steps, the wood gives weak protest to your combined weight, creaking in a way that feels lived. Weathered.
If a home could give a first impression, you're almost certain you're pleased to make this ones acquaintance.
"Alright, without further ado," glossing over the preamble, he opens the unlocked door, and steps aside to allow you ahead. "Here's home."
You're welcomed by the lingering of extinguished incense, and more warmth than you ever could have imagined.
If it passed for utilitarian on the outside, it more than makes up for discrepancy on the inside. The walls are wood-paneled. The windows outfitted with woven bamboo shades. Details you're confident are original. It looks like it was taken straight from memory, near identical to the beach bungalow your family would rent on occasion when you were young. The last evocation you were expecting was nostalgia.
"Not exactly shiny and new, but she's cleaned up well." The door shuts behind Travis as he joins you. "A bit dated, perhaps, but I'm not fussy."
You're distracted first thing by just how many windows it boasts - and all the natural light available for their greed. But when he reaches over to turn on a nearby floor lamp, habitual in the way he doesn't have to look, but finds the switch by touch, the space unfolds all the richer for it. An added effulgence that dims it velvet soft, and hazy. No harsh overheads. All the lighting is task, and ambient, originating in little pockets from where they make the most sense.
The golden hour does wonders for any space, but Travis Beasley's lends itself to the pink flood of left-over sunlight in a way that only already inviting homes can achieve. A strong foundation to support the compliment, it's modest, and intimate. Cozy. Full of texture variety, and color contrast. Your surprise doesn't last; it has big personality, much like the man it homes. Desert afterglow bleeds through the shades like it doesn't belong anywhere else, and pours in a dreamlike wash of amber. Your eye is drawn up towards the ceiling, where a pair of sky-lights wait for you to notice them. Your breath catches when you do.
You toe off your shoes with care, settling them as out of the way as you can manage. There isn't a designated shoe spot that you can see. Travis follows suit, leaving his Birkenstocks right where he steps out of them.
A small rattan shelf to your right, it's bursting with CD's and cassettes. An expansive collection, you can hardly believe it all traveled with him. Though the more perceptive part of you can't imagine him without them.
He returns his sunglasses and car key to the coconut bowl on top. Along with a wallet that wouldn't survive the weight of too long and hard a stare, and another stick of deodorant. Above the console is one brindle leather outback hat, hung by itself. When you spot it, you have to bite your lip to keep from grinning too much like an idiot.
"When I first checked her out, I just sorta fell in love. She's got good bones, good energy. Wasn't exactly move in ready, but with Scyll as hurt as she was, I had downtime. So I took a crack at fixin' her up myself." He hangs back out of the way, hands in his front pockets as he tracks your motion. You haven't strayed too far, by your head bobs this way and that, as every detail all tries to ingratiate itself at once.
The front entrance doubles as the living room, and it draws you without effort. A comfortable looking loveseat in deep chocolate takes the back wall, where the right cushion dips considerably to give away his spot. An acoustic guitar propped in the corner by its arm. The teak coffee table is low profile, and unadorned in it's construction. All of it's tethered together by an oversized, dusty blue rug.
You make sure to nod along as you listen, before taking your first hesitant steps forward. Afraid to break the spell that cradles the atmosphere, rosy and dreamlike. Delighted to find the wool fibers are even more plush underfoot than they looked.
Not too far away from the couch on the same wall, underneath one of the windows, sits a desk. Appropriately cluttered, a handful of paperbacks are stacked in unapparent order, next to the lamp. Loose-leaf sheeting and post-it notes flank a lap-top, one that was left open.
The kitchenette takes the left corner, the whole of it able to be seen from anywhere in the living room you stand. Only a half-wall of separation, it allows for conversation to carry between both rooms. Complete with a dining table, it's just large enough for two, but too big for the kitchen. Pushed against the divider, it's chairs are mismatched. An observation that flutters your insides.
Running parallel with the kitchen, to your furthermost left, is a narrow hall to the other end of the trailer.
You've completed your spin, arriving back at the couch where you started. A used mug on the coffee table lures your attention, leading your gaze to a ceramic incense burner, the base smudged with ash. This close, you're really able to lift the specifics of vanilla, pineapple and cranberry. You hum.
"What scent is that?"
You look over to see him still standing by the door while he watches you. His expression curious.
"Sex on the beach." He tells you.
With a subtle noise of acknowledgment, you find another nook to admire, ducking away to hide your stricken expression.
Maybe, your self preservation suggests, we just stop asking questions.
A homemade mountain range of even more CD's and tapes is what saves you. Pushed against the far wall of the living room beneath the west-facing windows, they're gathered in haphazard piles that form the peaks and valleys. It would take you hours to read every album label and artist, but you move to crouch before it anyway. You can feel his eyes follow.
"There's still some more to be done, but I don't mind the work. I like to keep occupied." Leisurely, he moves to join you, stopping at the carpets edge. "I think more clearly with busy hands. There's only so much maintenance the Jeep needs."
The longer the silence stretches on, the greater his need to fill it swells. He's been observing you carefully, waiting for something he can't name.
It's only when he catches sight of the genuine little smile tugging at your lips, one that so badly wants to pull wider, does it click. A sensation that lifts up and off of him - one an awful lot like relief.
That euphoria is short lived, as he finds another project to feed his fixation. He snags on the books left strewn all over the coffee table. As if noticing them there for the first time, he's swept up by an impulse to straighten them.
Suddenly conscious of the fact that he didn't do as good a job cleaning prior. That for some reason, it needs to be more presentable now that you're here.
"I didn't really "move in" so much as I've invaded." He disclaims, before he attempts another pass at tidying. He plucks the balled up hooded sweatshirt from the couch, spotting an old sneaker missing its pair on the floor. He nudges it underneath with his toe, in the off chance you hadn't caught sight of it.
"I was wrappin' up a gig in Machu Picchu when I got the call about Scyll. Already had most all my stuff with me. Whatever I don't, I grab as needed. Op shops are wonderful for that kinda thing." He motions around to the eclectic mix as reference.
Everything felt intentional because it was. A curation of accomplishments and life experiences built up over time. It gives you a more complete picture of him than you ever could have hoped for, an even playing field. You realize you'd been crafting a caricature of him, an imitation.
All around you now are little signs of life, proof of his existence. His habits, his preferences, and they help you fill in the gaps. His home frames him as not a stranger to you, but a person. One relatable, and reachable, now that he's within the proper context.
You straighten, abandoning the stacks of his music. Your face scrunches as you mull over 'Machu Picchu', thumbing through your memory. Their titan on the tip of your tongue.
"Peru…," you murmur, hesitant to reply at the possibility of getting it wrong. Blinking, it comes as more a question, than statement. "Quetzalcoatl?"
Travis looks thrilled.
"You know your stuff, very good." He praises. "Poor fella was sporting some nasty stress fractures in his beak. I was with him for about, oh… four months, give or take. I'm pleased to report he's made a full recovery."
He tucks the hoodie under his arm while he sets about neatening the books. You're able to glance the title Aquaculture Pathophysiology (Volume II: Crustacean and Molluscan Diseases) before it's covered by another.
You consider how to express that while you appreciate his efforts, the flurry of organization isn't needed, in as less an overbearing way as possible. He continues to talk.
"I've made do," he tosses his chin, indicating the house at large, "it's not for a lack of trying."
"No, no," still continuing your scan, afraid miss even the smallest detail, you beam at him. One ear to ear. "It's… perfect."
His posture already at rest, it loosens even more.
"Ah, well, it could certainly use a woman's touch, anyway." He scratches his jaw, boyish. "So, shall I give you the grand tour?"
Wood-grain cabinets, and the basic amenities. Thre's only one window in the kitchen above the sink, but it spans the length of the wall it occupies. The sill holds a mini trove of shells, all varying in texture and shape. As he brings you over, he rattles off the work he's done so far. Tackling everything, from minor caulk work and ceiling fan installation, to repiping the bathroom, and both reglazing and weatherstripping no less than every last window.
The grand finale comes when he reveals he had to gut the kitchen walls.
"Water damage." The threat of a smirk betrays an otherwise grim tone. "One causality of many from the shoddy plumbing, no two ways about it." He leans against the counter next to the fridge. A lime has already been left out to come room temperature. "A little conscientious demoing, some new drywall. No biggie." Reminiscent, he studies the cabinets, and the fresh coat of butter yellow paint around them. "Which reminds me, gotta hit up the loo next. It's due to be re-primed."
The visual of him shirtless and sheened, and powdered by spackle dust, while his arms and shoulders flex around a sanding block, intrudes with a vengeance. It takes effort to swallow it down, but you manage.
"You've done an amazing job." You try not to sound too breathless. He accepts the compliment as well as water accepts oil.
"She just needed a little love, is all. It's been a welcome change of pace for me, gotta say." He nods to himself, concurring. "I don't stay put for long, but it's been nice, y'know, to put the work in. To have someplace to come back to."
"To have something that's yours." You offer gently. Full of an understanding that has heft. Mutuality.
"Ours." His correction is light, but insistent.
You know he's technically correct, but your nerves demand you reject the privilege.
"I'm not looking to take up more room than I have to."
A reassurance he neither wants, nor needs.
"We're a bit of a team now, yeah? Wouldn't do either of us any good to dance around each other. You take up as much or as little room as you like."
You relent quietly, averting your gaze with a small simper. In dodging his eye, the fridge door comes into view, and the picture collage stuck to its surface. You move in for closer inspection.
A smattering that would put National Geographic to shame, you wouldn't be able to identify all of the destinations with several days, and hints. He gave the impression of traveled, but severely understated just how well.
Lush, endless forests and tall grass prairies, mountainscapes are the most prominent feature. An avid hiker and rock-climber, his rare appearances are either scaling the side of a crag, or stood triumphant on it's peak.
And always by himself. You think back to his counterpart remark, and your heart aches.
Before you can think to comment on any of them, impressive as they are, you spot the outlier of the bunch. The rest dissolve to obscurity. Another landscape shot, but one far less exotic.
A row of young lifeguards stand huddled on a beach, just after sunrise. Red and yellow uniforms, wicked tans, and blinding white smiles. It takes you mere seconds to find him, third in from the left.
Sonofabitch. He is a life guard. You almost scoff out loud. A real one.
"Right, love. This dinner business." He startles you from another spiral, hands clapped together. "What are we in the mood for? What's the craving?"
A yawn breaks free before it can be stopped. Travis chuckles as you try to conceal it behind your hand.
"I think I'll take a rain check tonight. It's been a long…," your tongue pauses on the word day, but you decide on a different one. "Well, week. I should probably turn in early."
"Say no more, darl'. You've been a trooper." He says with too much ease and not enough awareness. The pet names are gunning to take you down before his scruff and scoundrel even get the chance. "C'mon, I'll show you where to crash."
He brings you down the hall, where three doors wait. The bathroom is central, and it sits between what is to be your room, and the second, which he'd converted into a proper office space. Your stay either puts him out on the couch, or a cot in his office. Guilt rushes you without mercy. Not that the situation allows for a different solution.
Travis can see the protestation building behind your pout, and quickly comes to your defense.
"You'll make better use of it than I have." He placates. "It was one all-nighter away from becoming a catch-all for the laundry."
The bedroom is simple, airy, and unobtrusive. Which is all to say it's exactly what you need.
You worried for a moment, once you had seen the rest of the house, that if enough of Travis was embedded in it's framework, you'd be too timid to settle. But the walls are bare. The bed soft, and clean. There's a low wooden dresser of straight edges and lines, already emptied for your belongings to fill.
So you set to it.
Mindless busy-work does wonders for helping you decompress, and the quiet monotony has you floating before you're even half-way through. Granted, you didn't bring anywhere near a comparable amount of your life with you as Travis did. Your stay here even more temporary, you brought the essentials. Toiletries, clothing basics, small comforts, and a literal handful of personal mementos.
Hunting for your work bag, you know exactly what needs to be unpacked from it, and you reach for that pocket first thing.
You didn't bother to bring many pictures with you (your phones bursting storage attesting there was plenty material to fall back on in the event of homesickness) however there was one from your place that just couldn't be left behind.
A 5 × 7 candid of you and Max from the office holiday party, two years prior. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, lips squished to his scruffy cheek in a sloppy, capricious peck. Yours are colored with the one-too-many vodka cranberries that preceded the snapshot. Your hair different, back then.
And then there was Max, in that stiff wool turtleneck. With his perpetual dark circles, and signature deadpan. His affection for you obvious, in the way his fingers are curled around your wrist.
As you set it down on the dresser, you swear you can hear him muttering from over your shoulder.
“Oh gimme a break.”
You grin despite yourself, nose crinkling. It comforts you in a way that only annoying him is able to provide.
You're about to dive in to putting away more clothes when there's a knock at the door, two quick taps in rhythmic succession.
You call for him to come in, and the door creaks inward. Travis's upper half peaks in, hanging from the doorway by an arm raised above his head.
"Hey! Sorry, you got a sec?" Despite the time of night, and the hours he put in with Scylla, he's bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. An endless well of energy that's traditionally reserved for toddlers, and puppies.
"Sure, yeah," you motion him forward, "come in."
He drops from the door frame, but doesn't take more than one step inside. There's something he's fidgeting with slightly, but the ridged width of his fingers, long and work-worn, hide it from sight. A crease forms between his brows, as he regards what he's holding, before those baby-blues snap back to you.
"I wanted to give you this." His hands part, and hold out for you a house key. A single chain is clipped to the head, and on the end dangles a mini, plastic 8 ball. "It's the key to the place. I never lock up, there's not much point out here."
Your lips part in the moment to say something, even a word of acknowledgement, but nothing sounds. Your tongue sticks like its glued. Dumbly, and with unsure fingers, you reach up to accept the key. Clasping it like its something precious.
Travis continues in nonchalance.
"Thought having it might help you come 'round to the idea that you're more than just a guest." He lounges back against the frame, both hands slotting into his front pockets. You're staring down at the key, still evaded by cohesive thought. "Monarch's got you on a tight enough leash as it is, you don't need to be choked up like that here. I reckon even just a bit of autonomy'll go a long way."
A hush falls over you both, suspending you further at a loss.
I don't know what to say. I don't know if I can accept this. Are you sure you want me to have this? You really don't have to-
The slew of acceptable remarks crowd against the back of your teeth in a jumble, but none of them hold the appropriate weight to land if spoken. Only to evaporate when you try to find articulation in their mess.
The skin at your nape prickles. He's waiting for you, and all you're giving him is dead air. The anxious in you braces for the fuse of his patience to hit it's end.
It never does.
When finally you chance a look back at him, he's calm. Relaxed. He's got nothing but time for you.
Your fingers grip the key tight.
"What about you?" Is what wins out. Blurted fretful, and quiet. You're aware your eyes are bowed cowish.
A half-finished thought, he understands your fear of locking him out, and waves the scenario away like it's truly immaterial. "Nothin' about me to worry for. There's always plenty to get up to at the facility." His eyes turn softer on you than they have any right to. His assertion more straightforward than you're equipped to handle. "I don't mind having to wait on you."
You're not able to hold his eye-contact for very long at all, and it retreats back to the key chain where it's safe. You nod a little to yourself, biting your lip as you spin it around, the motion instinctual.
"If it's trouble, I can get a spare." He compromises, now able to recognize your expression as an inward retreat. He begins to draw you back out like he's had a lifetime of practice. "I don't think it will be though."
In rotating the charm, you realize it's not just an 8 ball, but a magic 8 ball. You give a testing shake without thinking about it, and the dice rises up through the blue dye. Outlook good, it says.
It's weak, and hitches on the knot in your throat, but a hum works itself around it.
Travis takes that as a sign you accept. As well as his cue to go.
"Right then, I'll leave you to it." His smile, like every one to come before it, is all teeth. "If you need anything, anything at all, give us a shout, yeah?"
"Yes." You acquiesce, mild and polite. It's all you're able to get out.
His head bobs, poised to take his leave. Just as he pushes off from the doorway, you clear your throat, and pipe up one last time.
"Wait, uhm - Travis?"
Your voice cracks around his name for the second time, but the first time you address him so intimately. The length of his fingers wrap the doorjamb, catching himself before dipping away completely. He stays quiet for you, head cocked anticipatory. Allowing your lead without interjection.
"Thank you. Seriously." You're firm, despite how his direct focus makes you want to shrivel away into nothing. You motion to the room around you, the key-chain swinging from your grasp. "For everything."
"Don't mention it." His tone notches lower, almost lulling. "And I've already had a word with the bed bugs, set 'em straight about any funny business. Rest assured you'll sleep tight."
A snort you can't stop, it slips through a half-cocked smirk.
"Good night." You shake your head, incredulous. Seconds ago you were back in your shell, and without any effort from him at all, he's made you forget it exists.
Travis's eyes crinkle in triumph. "G'night." He parts, and the door clicks shut on his way out.
Behind the cover of a closed door once more, you stand there for a moment. The pad of your thumb gliding over the tiny plastic sphere. How he knew that your sentimentality trends loud is beyond you.
Moving back to the dresser where the rest of your bags sit abandoned, you set the key down with reverence, placing it next to the picture frame of you and Max. You let yourself linger on it for a beat longer, your pulse all sorts of erratic. Your brain laggy.
You grab for the bag you think has a pair of pajamas.
Sifting through the clothing, your fingertips meet hard plastic and silicone. Your flush is immediate, and burns so hot it's almost cold. Your vibrator. Mortified that you packed it in retrospect, it's still not enough to prevent you from rummaging deeper to double check that yes, you indeed remembered to bring the charger.
You suck in a breath and release it as a groan.
We cannot be going down this road, this soon, girl. You warn yourself. You have a job to do. He's just... being nice. So nice. Too nice. But you need to focus.
Quitting on the hunt for pj's, you drag yourself back towards the bed and decided, with no small shortage of grace, to flop onto your stomach. Unable to keep your eyes open for long, you don't even try to fight it as the mattress sucks you in. Ordinarily, the thought of sleeping in any sheets other than your own would skeeve you out, but you cannot find it within yourself to care, or budge an inch from where you've collapsed. Nose pressed to the linen, you catch whiffs of fresh eucalyptus, sage, and salt-air.
It just makes you think of him.
From beyond the door, you're able to track his path, muffled as it is. The floor creaking with his weight as he retreats further away. The rattle of the fridge door opening and closing.
Yes, you've only just met. And yes, your faculties are much too scrambled for you to maintain objectivity.
Yet as you lay there in the quiet of your new room, and you hear Travis down the hall, you can't deny the inevitable, as it swirls in your chest, and melts you deeper into the bedding.
You do, genuinely like him.
Travis eases the door behind him, the latch catching with a click. Padding down the hall, he turns the corner into the kitchen, and shuts the light on his way.
It isn't until he's retrieved a bottle of Bell's Two Hearted IPA, and pries the cap off with a hiss, that he releases the hearty exhale he's been holding since you stumbled upon him playing with Scylla. His lungs sear with the relief.
He opts out on the wedge of lime entirely tonight. Much too dire a situation for indulgences.
Don't get cute. He warns what of his better judgment might still be lucid. I'm no spring chicken.
When he agreed to open his home, he didn't think much of who might darken the doorstep. Nor did he factor in all of the logistics about cohabitation. Not since Uni had he lived with someone else, and his plan had been to just sorta wing it. He got on well with pretty much anyone, and he's never been the sort to get in a twist over the theoretical. All the what-ifs, and potential points of friction.
He's adaptable. He's agreeable.
So he can't putz around in the nude anymore - there were greater atrocities. He's still free to sleep that way, of course. It's all a give and take.
He didn't have even the concept of a person in mind before you met. There was no point. They - you - would turn up soon enough, and then the unknown would be put to bed.
He did imagine someone a bit nosy perhaps, a little underfoot, but well meaning. Nothing he couldn't handle. His bedside manner was one of his greatest strengths, after all.
But when he turned around and saw you standing there, wide-eyed and cautious as a newborn foal? Well, he kinda fumbled. He hoped his recovery was smooth.
As his luck would have it, you immediately found your groove. The first spark of connection undeniable and blinding, all built around a single commonality.
Scylla really had been so good to him.
He just wasn't expecting you to be so, y'know, what was the word?
Ah yes. Gorgeous. Stunning. Stone cold. A knock-out. He could've cackled, because surely a creature as lovely as yourself sent his way was a joke. The universe giving him as good as he gave. A tongue-in-cheek twist of things that made him feel like he was actually insane.
Your interest in Scylla was real. Beyond her capacity for destruction, or what was needed to subdue her. You asked questions. Thoughtful, and engaged. You listened when he spoke. Posture receptive, eye-contact steady.
So many people have one sided conversations. They talk at you, instead of with you. They're quiet - but only to bid their time until it's their turn again. Genuine synergy didn't just happen.
But it happened with you.
And now, he's wandering around the place well and truly aimless. Pacing even. He feels a bit in crisis, which is a foreign feeling in and of itself.
Where most experience restless leg, Travis gets it in his hands. Itching with a surplus of vim and vigor and nowhere to stow it, he's of half a mind to go out to the Jeep and replace the compressor clutch coil.
You gotta get your act together, mate.
Instead, he gives a cursory glance around what of his domain is most immediate.
He isn't a slob, but when you're beholden to only yourself - there's a lot of slack to give. This morning he was so unbothered. The next thing he knows, you're standing in the middle of it all, and he needs your approval. No warning whatsoever.
Should probably vacuum up a bit more. He palms the back of his neck. Do some dusting while you're at it. S'certainly not gonna hurt.
Continuing to survey, he finds his other sneaker a ways off, laying on its side under the desk in a tangle of laces. His gaze narrows. How the hell d'you end up there?
He takes another swig of IPA like all the answers are at the bottom of the bottle, only to then regard it with distrust. Idly scrutinizing his middle, fingertips prodding into much softer muscle tone than he'd like. His thoughts bang a left.
Maybe I should pick jogging back up. A background musing, one comically ambitious at that. It's only been, what, fourteen years? When he played assistant coach for the girls track team at his former secondary school. His blown out knees are quick to staunch the spread of that lunacy.
Reign it in, bud. His tendency to be too much too soon isn't always taken as endearing. Don't foul your own nest, just… keep her comfortable.
Your first morning rolls in with a hang-over like fog. You hadn't slept, so much as you'd passed out. Devoid of dreams, and the satisfaction of restfulness from slumbering soundly. Your eyes peel open one at a time.
You swear, just moments ago, you laid down to shut them. Now early morning light pours through the gauzy knit of the curtains. Needling your dry, disgruntled sclera.
That isn't to say you received a rude awakening. You stir, pushing yourself upright and into a stretch that gently pops along the line of your spine. The activity from the kitchen continues it's attempt to coax you out of bed, with the scent of buttery sourdough toast, and These Eyes crooning from the sound-system. Muted through the door, at a volume that's considerate of the hour.
You're still in your clothes from yesterday.
With surprising efficiency for only just being conscious, you perform a quick wardrobe change. Something comfortable and casual, that also happens to flatter your figure.
Not intentional, of course. Purely incidental.
The idea of walking out from the shelter of a closed bedroom stalls you with cold-feet. The sort of nervous energy that can only be pushed through, not worked around. So you gather your self-care necessities, and sneak into the bathroom. Holding your breath every time you're forced to open and close each door.
You freshen up in no time at all, washing the grogginess from your face, and corralling your hair into something presentable. Your teeth brushed, and body spray layered, heavy on the toasted coconut and spun sugar. By the time your tooth brush is tucked next to his, you've reached full rejuvenation.
A minty mouth and sweet scent will have that affect.
You exit the bathroom just in time for the bridge.
These eyes are cryin'
These eyes have seen a lot of loves, but they're never gonna see another one like I had with you
Tip-toeing down the hall, you peer into the kitchen to see Travis's back. Successful in having avoided detection, you're given the opportunity to freely admire the sight.
His shoulders are the first thing you notice, or more accurately, his garish Hawaiian shirt in lime green and yellow. Patterned in bird of paradise plumage, and vibrant coral blooms in large, broad repetition. Sun bleached jorts with very distressed hems complete the look. Barefoot of course, as he mans the stove.
Funny, how you hardly know him at all, and yet it seems just right for him.
"Good morning," you announce yourself, finding the stack of toast, plated and ready on the counter beside him. A heavy hand in his application of butter, the creamy spread brings an appreciative twinkle to your eye.
A fellow advocate of the healthy fats. You're already swooning.
A french press sits at the ready next to his elbow, with a sizable width of grinds collected at the bottom. Kona blend, if the label of the bag left out is to be believed.
His feathered waves flounce as he looks at you from over his shoulder. The easy grin he flashes you is perceived as a direct threat by your knees.
Oh. You begin to mourn. It's too early for him to be this tempting.
"Mornin', sunshine!" A small sauce pot gurgles from over the flame, and he snuffs the burner with a flourish of his wrist. "How d'you take your coffee?"
if there's a market for mash on here, then enjoy! <3
Trapper John McIntyre was one half of the resident pests of the 4077th. That wasn't unkind, of course, he was more than aware and quite proud of his achievement.
Trapper and yourself had a history since arriving in Korea. When you were first sent to the 4077th, the last thing on your mind was love. You were here to do your job, and that was all that mattered. However, life had other plans and before long you had found yourself in Trapper's arms every other night. It was an unrelenting war, and each day was as unforgiving as the last, so it wasn't uncommon for anybody to end up this way.
He had always been kind to you, defending you on your first day from Frank Burns, who had berated you for dropping the tool he had asked for. Trapper, and subsequently Hawkeye Pierce, were quick to your aid in telling Frank to get lost. From then, you had felt a connection with Trapper and the more you hung out, the closer you got.
You found out he was far more charming and wonderful than he had first let on. He puts on a tough show like a hard-ass when you first meet him, but underneath that act, there is a funny and rather sincere man. That's what made you fall in the end. You hadn't meant to get to close, so attached, but circumstance dictated that there really was nothing you could do about it now; there was no going back.
Today had been particularly rough for you. You had gone out for supplies in the jeep with a few other officers, and been caught in the crossfire and bombing that had seeped its way back from the front line. Once you'd arrived back to camp, the doctors were quick on their triage. You had sustained quite the injury to your left side, but you knew that the others in the Jeep were far worse off.
Among the chaos and voices, Hawkeye grabbed your shoulder.
"Hey, are you alright? Didn't get hurt?"
You shook your head, and lied. "No, I think it missed me. Maybe a graze or two, but I'm good. Thanks, Hawk. Think we should get to these guys first."
With a nod, you walked off with Pierce to get him ready to operate, but had failed in sensing another doctor's eyes on you, narrowed.
After the surgeries were over and each officer was laid up in bed, Hawkeye dismissed you so you could rest. Thanking him, you left O.R. and sat outside for a while on the boxes, just taking a minute to breathe.
"Hi, can I talk to you?"
That Boston accent was not lost on you. You had heard it many times before, in a multitude of different ways. You knew it was Trapper, and you looked up and smiled at him, never unhappy to have him in your company.
"Trap, of course, something the matter?" you asked, and he held out his hand for you to take.
"No, nothin' with me. I'm just happy you came back today," he replied, pulling you into his arms and holding you against his chest. Wincing a little, but hopefully not enough to alarm him, you responded by wrapping your own arms around his midsection and allowing yourself to relax. After a moment, his low voice broke through the air.
"Why don't you come to the swamp and have a drink, settle your nerves after today, yeah?"
Nodding, he laced his fingers with your own and walked you to his tent. Something about the way he just did that like it was nothing gave you butterflies. Before you had arrived at the 4077th, Trapper chased anything on legs. Now, however, it was apparent that nobody so much as caught his eye anymore. These days, for him, it was only you he wanted.
Opening the door for you with a smile, you walked in to the same old swamp. It was dirty, things were strewn everywhere, and it was comforting as shit to sit down in. There was a certain charm to the mess in the swamp, it brought you comfort in a strange kind of way.
"Please, sit on my cot, make yourself at home like always," Trapper winked at you, before grabbing two martini glasses and pouring them out. He made his way to you and knelt down, reaching under the bed.
His hand came out to reveal a small, first aid kit. He gave you a knowing smile, and you blushed red.
"How could you have known?" you asked, and he chuckled.
"I'm a doctor, sweetheart, you think I can't spot an injury from a mile away? Clearly, your side is up to no good, so I'm gonna fix it for you."
"Hawkeye didn't-"
"Hawkeye noticed, too. That's why you're here now and not doing the rounds in post-op. Now, relax and let Trap take care of you."
As he smiled down at you, your heart melted. Then, you felt yourself lie back and allow him to work on your side. Your ribs were grazed and quite badly bruised, but you didn't need any surgery. His hands worked so nimble and delicate, and he was careful to bandage you with as little pain as physically possible. Once he was done, he lay down in the bed beside you, his hand stroking your bare hips as he did so.
"There, all better now," he chuckled. "Don't you ever go lying to us again, alright? We can tell, we are qualified to tell."
You laughed, knowing somewhere in that sentence was a jab at Frank.
"You know," you started, placing your hand on his chest as he scooted closer into you. "I don't think any doctor I have ever been to has patched me up so well."
He raised his brows. "You should send your compliments to him, then."
"Yeah, I could even kiss him, I think."
Trapper leaned into you, careful not to touch your ribs, and wrapped his arm entirely around you as he stayed propping his head up on the other. His eyes looked into yours, as your own darted between his lips and keeping the eye contact. The captain leaned into your ear, kissing your cheek as he went, and whispered slowly.
"I am a doctor, and we do take tips."
You reached up and pulled his face to yours and kissed him. You had kissed him a few times before, but this was altogether new. It felt so different, and in a way it felt desperate. You were afraid of not making it back to him today, and Trapper was just as afraid of losing you. All those emotions you had both held back had finally come to the brink, and this was the only way you could let it out.
Your hands found themselves wrapped in his curls, as his hands found safe haven up the back of your shirt, with no ill intent, just simply for the skin contact. Pulling away, Trapper kept you close to him, looking down into your eyes.
God, those eyes are beautiful, he thought.
"We should rest, I think. Doctors orders and all that," Trapper spoke quietly, and you giggled, knowing that was his way of asking you to nap with him.
"Well, if my doctor isn't needed anywhere, then I guess orders are orders. Will my doctor be staying with me whilst we rest?"
Even though it was a joke, hearing you call him yours felt so right to Trapper. He wouldn't express it, but it really did things to him. He loved it.
In a moment of rare seriousness, Trapper smiled and nodded.
"I'll be here, baby. You're safe in my arms here, don't you worry."
You loved this man. You knew now it really was love. That would complicate things massively if this war ever came to an end, but you didn't care. For now, you were each other's rock, and it was going to stay that way. For the first time in forever, you felt truly relaxed and safe, and for that you could thank your silly little doctor.
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🖤 Killers Reacting to Nervous!Reader Holding Their Hand (Pt. 2) 🖤
AN :: Since my last one was well received, I decided to do another one as a quickie! I'm also testing out a new layout so lmk what you think!! Hope you guys enjoy <3
Characters :: Kazan Yamaoka (The Oni), Eva MacMillan (The Trapper), Frank Morrison (The Legion), Susie Lavoie (The Legion), Bubba Sawyer (The Cannibal), Ellen Ripley (Bonus!)
Pt 1 Here [link]
༉ Kazan Yamaoka :: The Oni
[PT: Kazan Yamaoka: The Oni]
✴ He's surprised by it at first, your small hand in his giant one.
✴ It puts into perspective just how tiny you are compared to him, though these days it's rare for anyone to be bigger than he is.
✴ You're so small, so frail. It gives him a surge of protectiveness, the need to keep you safe.
✴ He leans over and brings the back of your hand to his lips, kissing it softly, gentlemanly.
✴ Fucking hell that makes you blush even more.
✴ He chuckles a bit, ruffling your hair with one hand. A small act of affection to let you know you're safe.
✴ He will keep you safe, no matter what.
༉ Evan MacMillan :: The Trapper
[PT: Evan Macmillan: The Trapper]
✴ Honestly? He's a bit nervous too.
✴ He won't admit that though, won't even show it. Him? Nervous over someone holding his hand? Nah, he would never.
✴ He squeezes your hand in return, pulling you just a bit closer, but doesn't have much immediate reaction to it.
✴ Absolute sap about it in private though, can't stop thinking about it. It was so simple but it reminded him that you loved him, only him.
✴ The next time you're together he takes the initiative and holds your hand first. Keeping you close to him to really let everyone know who you belong to.
✴ Fuckin dork.
༉ Frank Morrison :: The Legion
[PT: Frank Morrison: The Legion]
✴ Aw, lookit you! You're so nervous from just some hand holding.
✴ "You're damn cute when you blush like that, babe."
✴ You pout in return and he chuckles, pulling you a bit closer and kissing your forehead.
✴ "You're just provin' the point, y'know?"
✴ More pouting and he's grinning ear to ear, bastard that he is.
✴ But you suppose that's why you love him in the first place, cocky son of a bitch.
✴ Anyways, similar to Michael, his hand now. It shall be returned within 3-5 business days. Dw about it.
༉ Susie Lavoie :: The Legion
[PT: Susie Lavoie: The Legion]
✴ asdfghjkl;'
✴ Oh my god hand? Hand Holding???? You are Holding her Hand?????
✴ Screaming internally
✴ You're blushing so much oh fuck you're so cute you're so pretty
✴ What does she do oh shit fuck uuuuuuh
✴ Holds your hand tighter, trying not to implode from her own nervous wreck of emotions.
✴ Eventually, and very quickly, she kisses your cheek.
✴ Trying not to die from her own blushing and embarrassment.
✴ You give her hand an affirming squeeze, smiling at her, and she relaxes.
✴ God how did she get so lucky?
༉ Bubba :: The Cannibal
[PT: Bubba: The Cannibal]
✴ You...you're holding his hand?
✴ You're so gentle, your hands are so small, so soft.
✴ He could crush your hands if he wasn't careful, a similar worry to Michael's.
✴ But you were holding his hand!!! Your dainty little hand was in his!!!!
✴ It was a sign you loved him, really loved him!
✴ He starts giggling, he can't help himself. He doesn't even notice how nervous you are, consumed with his own delight.
✴ Pulls you into a really, really tight hug. One of the ones where you have to remind him to be gentle.
✴ He makes an apologetic noise and nuzzles his face into your hair, picking you up bridal style to hold you close.
✴ He's so happy you love him, he loves you just as much. He's so darn lucky to have you.
༉ BONUS :: Ellen Ripley
[PT: Bonus: Ellen Ripley]
AN 2: wifewifewifewifewifewifewife
✴ Damn that's sweet.
✴ Sweet like the feeling of fresh coffee in her veins, like hearing her cat purr against her chest.
✴ And you're so damn cute all nervous like this, it makes her heart sing.
✴ God she's so glad to be trapped in this hellhole with you.
✴ She kisses the back of your hand and runs her thumb over it gently, giving you this look that lets you know you mean the world to her.
✴ And you look at her the same way.
✴ Wordless but full of meaning in such a simple touch. Affection that goes beyond what words could describe.
✴ The other survivors are gagging from how sweet you two are.
Final Notes :: I'm a big butch lesbian so I added my Wife as a bonus because this was a bit of a sausage fest (besides Susie, perfect lil angel baby). It was weird writing romance for Susie tbh bc when I look at her I'm just like "Ah yes, my child." because whenever I play as her I get weirdly protective and if she gets palette stunned it becomes like, a personal offense. That's my fuckign niece dude!!!!! But I know some peeps would love to be romantic with her so I am here to provide. As is the authors duty. If you make it weird I'm shanking you behind a Wendy's.
Anyways, hope you enjoyed! Don't forget to rb and follow if you enjoyed!! <3
