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?"
I would say this is a fan service… but, truthfully, I couldn’t help myself. This is a service to myself LMFAO (enjoy the gif of Dan in The Guest since GxK is still fresh in theaters. I cannot wait for this movie to come out in hd quality 🤭)
『••✎••』
Trapper was a bit of a wildcard, in your opinion. You'd known him since your teenage years and had been the one to give him his name. He'd always been a bit of a recluse, even back then. The man was more comfortable around animals than he was with people. The compassion he had for the four-legged beasts was something you had always admired. It was his love of nature and the wild that had drawn you in; you'd never been able to pinpoint why.
That had been over ten years ago, but it felt like no time had passed. You had gone to school, became what you always dreamed of, and moved back to your hometown.
And, of course, it was only inevitable that Trapper would have trapped you.
It hadn't happened right away.
No, it had started slow, like a creeping fog. You didn't even notice it until you found yourself missing the smell of his cologne and his walkman that he still carried around everywhere.
“Yeah, luv, not everywhere's got Wi-Fi, you know?” He would always say, and the thick Australian accent would make your heart flutter.
He was kind, gentle, and a bit goofy. He could sing like a dream (not really, he was quite awful) and was the best vet in the whole world, or at least in your mind. He was utterly perfect on the inside.
And the outside? Well, a pure accident had gotten you two together.
You'd gone into his office, just like every other time, to borrow another of his rare records. Usually, he was there to let you in, but when he wasn't, you were thankful he kept a spare key under the mat.
The office had been quiet, and as you walked through the small space, you frowned, knowing that he never missed a day, even when he was sick.
Turns out your suspicion was right.
His water got cut off, so he swung by the office to shower, and well, you'd gotten to him before he'd managed to change. So, there you were, in your scrubs and lab coat, walking in on him fresh from a shower, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist.
It had been an awkward encounter, to say the least.
Trapper was not a big guy. Sure, he had broad shoulders and was decently strong, but his height was on the shorter side, and his muscles were more toned than they were bulky. He was handsome in his own way, and that was one thing you'd always liked. He didn't look like a bodybuilder or some sort of model. He looked like a normal man.
But the moment you saw him standing there, dripping wet and looking a bit shocked, it was like a switch flipped. Your knees felt weak, and the butterflies that had made their homes in your stomach started flapping their wings, making you feel all flustered and a bit embarrassed.
It made it worse when you realized he had his Walkman hanging around his neck. Dude couldn’t even make it a day without his favorite tunes.
And the fact that you had his favorite record clutched in your arms wasn’t helping.
You were the first to speak.
"S-Sorry, I didn't mean to barge in like this; I was just-."
He cut you off.
"Ah, yeah, forgot to call, didn't I? Water got shut off this morning, thought I'd shower here." He looked around. "Sorry 'bout the mess. Didn't know you were coming by today."
The towel was slipping. You could see his hip bones. You tried to look away, but you couldn't help it. He had such a nice body, and you'd never even noticed it until then.
You shook your head.
"It's fine. I, um, was just looking for one of your records; I didn't mean to."
He raised his hands.
“Settle down, sweetheart, don't get yourself worked up. No harm done."
It was only then that he seemed to realize what was happening. His eyes widened slightly.
"Oh. Sorry, I can just..."
"No, no, it's fine. Go ahead."
It was then that he noticed the album you had clutched to your chest. A smile spread across his face, and he gave you a knowing look.
"Fleetwood Mac… again? How many times is this now? Four?"
You flushed.
"I told you, they're my favorite."
He smiled and shook his head.
"You're lucky I don’t mind sharing. Come on, let's see which one it is."
As he took the album from you, his hand brushed yours, and you couldn't help the jolt that went up your arm.
He didn't seem to notice, thankfully, and instead flipped open the case.
"Ah, Rumours. My personal favorite."
Your heart was racing. You could hear your blood in your ears, and all you could think about was how good he looked in a towel.
He looked up and met your gaze. His lips twitched upwards.
"Welp,” He closed the case and handed it back to you. “Go ahead. It's all yours."
He stepped past you and walked to his office, leaving a trail of water behind him. You stood there, unable to move, just staring after him, the record still held tight to your chest.
"Hey, Traps?" You called.
He appeared in the doorway.
"Yeah?"
"What’re you listening to?"
He grinned and held up his Walkman.
“Toto. I was feeling a bit… nostalgic."
You couldn't help the laugh that came from your lips.
"Of course you are."
His grin was contagious, and he disappeared back into his office, leaving you standing there, feeling like a teenage girl with her first crush. Except the crush didn’t stay a crush for long.
You forget what happened initially, but one minute, you were holding the record out in the hallway; the next minute, you were on the couch in his office, the record discarded on the floor, and his lips were on yours.
You weren’t really sure who had kissed who first, but you had been surprised at his actions, and he had pulled away quickly.
The break was short-lived, and the next thing you knew, you were both making out, his freshly picked out plaid pullover discarded somewhere, and your hands buried in his hair, tugging at the ashy blonde locks as he peppered kisses all along your neck.
His skin was soft, and you could tell he put lotion on. His hair smelled like the shampoo he used, and his breath smelled like coffee and mint.
He had a bit of scruff on his cheeks, and you could feel the hairs brush against your skin. Ticklish, but in a good way.
He had strong hands, and they were running along your sides, pulling your hips against his, and the pressure was enough to make you moan into his mouth.
Nothing further had happened that day. It was his workplace, after all. It's one of the things he actually took seriously. But that didn’t stop you two from doing things in his office on the weekends.
Like now, for instance.
He had you pressed up against the door, his mouth working along your jaw and down your neck, his hands running over your back.
Your head was swimming. You couldn’t think straight. The only thing you could process was him: his touch, his smell, his voice.
You felt him push a leg between yours, and you ground yourself against him.
The groan that rumbled in his chest had you shivering, and you reached for him, fingers grabbing for purchase on his shirt.
He was a sight to behold. Hair mussed from your fingers, lips red and swollen, eyes darkened by lust.
His Walkman was never too far, and as his lips moved back up to meet yours, his hands were fiddling with the buttons. Honestly, it was a miracle he could still find the music while being preoccupied.
The sounds of the first few notes of the song had you smiling.
He pulled away and grinned, eyes sparkling with amusement.
"A fan of this one?"
You didn't answer.
Instead, you took his hand and twirled him, pulling him against you, chests pressed together.
His laughter rang in your ears, and the next thing you knew, you were swaying back and forth, cheek resting against his chest, his chin resting atop your head.
For a little while, you forgot about everything: no work, no big apes or lizards, no giant monsters or crazy scientists.
There was no need for them. Not now.
You were trapped in his arms, and you had no plans of breaking free.
A/N: Dan Stevens has completely consumed me body and soulllll. Every time he's the leading man in a movie he absolutely KILLS IT I've been watching his entire discography, and this special guy (cold blooded killer) has won me over :3 This is superrrr self-indulgent so sorry if the writing is shit I just had too many thought not to share them {This is my first time doing headcanons so I hope I'm doing this right}
Warnings: Includes violence, David being David tbh, reader is vulnerable, lonely and almost as unhinged as he is (matching his freak quite well)
How you guys met/ how you started dating
You were relaxing in your one-bedroom apartment when you hear a knock at the door.
You were super confused when you open the door to see a random man with a bookbag slung over his back.
He claimed to be friends with your brother who passed away in the military
You were extremely skeptical of him but invited him in nonetheless, your heart aching a bit at the mention of your brother.
He showed you pictures and shared stories of him and your brother, and you slowly started to warm up to him.
This man is a SWEET TALKERRRR he knows exactly what to say, and how to say it to make you grow fond of him.
After a while of reminiscing, you offered him to spend the night, feeling guilty that he'd have to scramble to find a place to stay.
Thank God you have a pull-out couch
One night turned into a few days
Then weeks...
Then months...
He was just so charming, sweet, and helpful, how could you turn him away??
Plus having him around, made your brothers passing a bit more bearable, you felt, almost closer to him this way.
And the way he said "Yes Ma'am" with that slight country drawl?? Made you MELT.
He helped with bills, (you weren't quite sure where he was getting his money from, but you brushed it off as he probably saved up a lot during his time in the military) lifted all the heavy things, helped cook, ect.
You two would stay up into the late hours of the night, talking to each other and getting to know one another on a much deeper level, although David was much more cautious on letting you know the real him. Bits and pieces of the real him slipped through the cracks every once in a while, and David would feel his heart flutter when you accepted the real him with open arms.
There was obvious romantic tension between the two of you, but considering his past with your brother, you were reluctant, but that didn't stop David from treating you like an actual princess.
Some days you'd come home from work stressed and upset; David would give you a shoulder massage (he's unsurprisingly good with his hands ;3) and you would rant to him while he worked the tension out of your back and shoulders, whispering soft words of encouragement in your ear.
And then sometimes (most times) the people who were bothering you, just up and disappeared.
But if these people really upset you, David would do more than make them go missing, you'd see blurred crime scene photos of them on the news that made your stomach drop/ flutter at the same time.
You started to realize David wasn't exactly who he said he was, but you knew he wasn't lying about your brother, and you knew he cared about you, and that was enough.
So, when the police showed up to your house searching for him, you played absolutely dumb
David stood behind a nearby wall, listening intently, his gun clutched to his chest, his heart absolutely shattering at the thought of you figuring him out and what he might have to do to you.
When he heard you cover for him, an uncontrollable warmth spread across his face, he couldn't believe that you'd do something so dangerous, and so stupid, just for him.
When the police reluctantly leave, you're suddenly flipped around and pressed up against a wall, David's warm and soft mouth on yours.
The kiss is needy and passionate, with a touch of desperation in the way he held you, like if he let go it'd kill him.
He pulls away and looks down at you "why did you do that?" he asks, still dumbfounded at your unwavering loyalty.
Grabbing his face softly with both hands on either side of his face, you tell him "In that moment I didn't care what you did, the thought of losing you scared me so much, I couldn't possibly do that to you after everything you've done for me"
He smiles a very rare, genuine smile, and pulls you into a hug, he whispers softly in your ear "I have to leave, i'm so sorry"
You look up, panicked "What?! where are you going??"
He sighed, "Me being here is putting you in danger, I can't keep doing that to you, god forbid something happens to you, I don't know what I'd do" he says solemnly.
You held him closer to you, tears slid down your cheeks, "take me with you, please." your voice breaking with every word.
He lifted your face in his hands and kissed your tears softly. "You know I can't do that; I'd be putting you at an even bigger risk." He held you now tight to his chest "But I promise, i'll come back for you, when I know it's safe. I just need you to hold on for a bit."
And with that, he slipped out of the back door without a trace.
You knew you just had to trust him and wait it out, you knew, you'd be safe together sometime soon.
Cause if there's one thing about David, he has a dog-like loyalty and determination for the ones he loves (literally only you whoops).
Warnings: friends to lovers, mutal pining, smoking, wet dreams, confessions, oral (fem recieving), fingering, unprotected sex, passionate sex, quiet sex, praise kink, hair pulling, male + female orgasm
Word count: 2.4k
Genre: fluff + smut
Summary: You and Dan are forced to share a singular double bed.
Pairings: assitant!reader x actor!dan
A/n: The Dan brainrot is unreal atm guys, so here is the one bed trope and my fic for the actual darling Dan. (Also i know i normally use a gif for my story banners, but i couldnt find of Dan with his longer hair :_( so instead i used that picture because it also has a chokehold on me)
Proof read?: yes
"First you have hair and makeup at 10, then immediatly after, we have the cast introduction hall where you go meet the other cast in your costume, because you just have to be in costume because it wouldn't make any differance to our lives whtether you were or weren't. Not like it makes my life any less stressful." You gave a small nervous chuckle to yourself as Dan watched you from the opposite in the limo with a slightly concerned look on his face. "Then once you have been there for ,jesus, two hours, then we are heading over to the convention center where you are doing an hour of photo ops, an hour of autographs and an hour long pannel. After that, we can head somewhere to grab food, before we head back to the hotel room where two nice big beds are gonna be waiting for us. And we can relax and sleep before another lovely long day tomorrow." You leg started to bounce as you stared down at the ipad in your hands with the schedule on it.
Dan sighed watching you before snatching the ipad straight from your hands, making you look up and try to grab it back off of him. "Daniel i need that do my job please." Dan gave you a stren look with his eyebrows raised, before you sat back and pouted, when he gave you that look he was telling you to chill out and listen to him. "Dear, you have been staring at that ipad all morning, you've had the schedule sorted for an hour yet you keep saying it out loud, so for the last half an hour of this journey, your gonna be my friend and not my assistant ok?" You sighed glaring at him before crossing your arms and muttering "Fine." He smiled and put the ipad down before picking his phone up and turning to the camera.
He nudged your shoulder and held his middle finger up to you for the picture. You looked up and failed to hold back a smile before holding your middle finger up to him as he took the picture. He showed you the picture before you started chatting to each other like friends. Although you were rather unhealthily addicted to your work sometimes, you did miss these little conversations about nothing in particular. You and Dan had known and been friends with each other for 10 years now. For 6 of those years, you had been his assistant after his old one got caught stealing from him.
Soon enough the limo pulled up to the studio, where other members of the cast of Dan's next film were arriving and heading to their own trailers. You and Dan got out the car and headed to his trailer where a hair and makeup artist was waiting. She smiled and guided Dan to the chair as you went and sat a little further down the trailer starting to look at the comic con news page to make sure things were still going smoothly over there. Thankfully they were so you started looking for new outfits for Dan. All while you were once again distracted by the ipad, Dan was in the chair having his hair tampered with slightly as his current longer hair was about right for his costume anyway.
After finding a decent suit that really screamed Dan, you got up to go show him, only to realise that he had already gone to the meet up without you because you were that distracted by your side jobs. You sighed and sat back down and waited for him to get back. After about 45 minutes, Dan finally got back, he shut and locked the door and let out a loud sigh, before pulling his shirt off. You felt yourself staring at him for a moment too long when you looked away. The thing with you was, in secret, you had the biggest crush on Dan, how could you not? His long hair always did things for you, not to mention his body, not too muscular but still had prominent muscle on his biceps. Not to mention his gorgeous blue eyes, you had always wanted to just stare into them for eternity. And he had the sweetest personality, even if sometimes he did look quite intimidating in some of his roles.
The day went on as planned, Dan met a few really sweet fans at the comic con and got to see the cast of his latest film again on the panel. After the con, you both went and got some food from some fancy food place that you quickly forgot the name of. You took the food back to the hotel, signed in, and headed up to your room. You pushed open the door once it unlocked and mostly just dumped the bags in a space next to the door. You and Dan walked further into the room chatting and put your food down before Dan gave your shoulder a tap, looking at the main area of the room. "There's only one bed love." Your eyes widened as you spun round and groaned, seeing the affirmentioned only double bed in the room. "Shit im sorry Dan, i could have sworn i booked a room with two beds." He chuckled and shook his head. "Don't worry about it, we've known each other long enough, i think we can share a bed." You gave a small smile before grabbing your food and sitting down at the small table in the room to eat.
Later on you had finished ordering Dan the suit from earlier whilst sat on the bed, when you caught a glimpse of him over the top of your laptop. He was out on the balcony with a ciggerate between his fingers. God he looked gorgeous. A few stray strands of hair had fallen into his face, covering his eyes slightly as he took a drag from his ciggerette. He had on his black suit from earlier with a leather trench coat on instead of a blazer, as it was colder outside since it was currently october. You must have been staring for a while as Dan caught the sight of you in the corner of his eyes. He turned and looked at you smiling before letting the smoke slowly flow out of his mouth. Your cheeks turned bright red before you ducked down to hide behind your laptop again.
For the rest of the evening, up until you were in the bathroom changing into an oversized shirt and shorts for bed, the image never left your mind once. Whilst in the bathroom, you splashed your face with some water and hummed before coming out of the bathroom. When you looked at the bed, there was Dan, shirtless with the covers just up to his waist. You looked down and walked to the other side of the bed silently. You layed down with your back to him and turned off the lamp. You heard Dan groan slightly from behind you. "You alright there love? You're a bit quiet." You hummed quickly in response and closed your eyes to sleep, soon enough falling asleep.
Soon after your eyes closed, you felt yourself drift into a dream. As you looked round in the dream, you saw Dan back on the balcony, again with the ciggerate between his fingers, but this time, as soon as you saw hum, Dan started to walk over. He put the cigarette in an ashtray and leaned over. His hand tilted your face up at him before he gently blew the smoke down onto your face. The whole thing felt intoxicating as he pushed you down onto the bed and crawled over you. His lips pressed against your stomach and worked their lower and lower. You softly moaned out his name as his rubbed his palm against your clothed cunt before he spoke. "Darling, darling look at me, y/n wake up."
Your eyes slowly opened to see the real Dan looking down at you from where he sat up. "Hey, you were um, making quite a bit of noise." Your eyes widened as you remembered the filthy dream you had just been having about this same man. "Dan i um-" You were about to confess before you just stiffened up, you didn't know what to do. In the dim light, you could still see Dan's lips curl up into a smirk. "Darling i don't think you need to say anything else." His eyes darkened before he pulled you into a soft kiss. You felt yourself loosen, before climbing into his lap and holding Dan's face between your hands.
You pulled back for a second and looked into Dan's eyes. "Daniel Jonathon Stevens, i have loved you ever since i met you in that filty fucking bar and i have been waiting all this time for you to do this." He grinned up at you. "Trust me sweetheart, I've been waiting just as long to have you say those words to me." Before you could give him some snarky reply, Dan flipped you both over and kissed down your neck, as his hands roamed around under your shirt. Your hands held the back of his head against your neck, the feeling was 10 times more euphoric than anything you had ever dreamt of. You let out a small squeak as Dan's hand found your breast and gave it a desperate squeeze.
Dan smiled and pushed your shirt up, taking your nipple between his teeth gently. You hummed before he started to kiss down your stomach. You subtly bit your lip watching him before he slid your shorts down your legs, along with your panties. Dan pushed your legs apart and layed on his stomach between them, before lifting one of your legs and resting it on his shoulder. He looked up at your face for approval. "Please don't tease." Already you sounded so desperate, so whiny, all for him. "Wouldn't dream of it pretty girl." He wasted no time in licking a stripe up your cunt before pressing his tounge into you. You arched your back as your hands shot to tangle up in his soft brown locks.
One of his hands gripped your thigh so tight you were sure there would be a white handprint underneath. While his other hand was blindly groping and massaging the sound mounds of flesh under the shirt. Soft moans became muffled by your hand as you covered your mouth, knowing there were other people sleeping soundly in the rooms next to you, possibly even one of Dan's costars. You felt his hand pull away from your breast causing a small whine before you let out a louder gasp as Dan pushed two fingers into you, now sucking on your clit.
You threw your head back as your legs started to writhe, which was quickly shut don by dan as he somehow tightened his death grip on your thigh. Dan hummed against your clit, as his fingers curled in a 'come here' motion inside you, stroking that one spot. You clenched round his fingers, signalling that you were close. You felt right on the edge, when you felt an absence of fullness. Your head shot up whining to see Dan licking his lips and pushing his boxers down just enough to let his throbbing cock free. You could see your wettness in Dan's beard as it shimered in the moonlight.
"Don't whine now angel, i want you to come on my cock." He crawled back onto the bed and placed his knees either side of yours as he lined himself up. Your arms wrapped round his neck and pulled him down into a kiss right as Dan pushed his full legnth into you. You furrowed your brows and laid there with your mouth open as Dan kissed the side of your mouth sloppily. He let you adjust to his ,suprisingly large, size before slowly starting to move. Dan laid his forehead on your shoulder, groaning quietly. "Fuck you feel so incredible my love." Your hands once again found his hair and wove your fingers into it. For the most part you had been fairly quiet, that was until Dan managed to hit that spot once again.
You squealed his name before Dan quickly clamped a hand firmly over your mouth. You whimpered as he whispered against your skin between leaving small purple marks on it. "Shhh, quiet for me angel, don't someone to complain and make us stop now do we?" You shook your head as he hiked your thigh up and held it at his hip with his free hand. You soon felt you orgasm building again and tugged at Dan's hair slightly, causing him to groan and dig his nails into your thigh. "You close darling?" You nodded frantically and squirmed under him. "Go ahead, let me feel how good i make you sweetheart." His tone was lust filled and sultry as he spoke and panted in your ear. His voice was the last push before your orgasm hit. Your eyes rolled back and your thighs shook. Dan thrusted into you a few more times before pulling out and cumming on your thigh, cursing under his breath as he did.
Once he was sure the last drop of his load was on your thigh, Dan flopped down next to you, panting and glistening with sweat, and yet he'd never looked hotter. "You alright angel?" You turned your head to the side and nodded, smiling. "Much better now that you know how i feel about you." Dan smiled softly and leant over, kissing your cheek before getting up and going to the bathroom. You laid there motionless, staring at the ceiling with a small smile on your face at the thoughts of you and Dan finally getting together. He soon came back with a rag and some clean boxers on. Dan wiped the cum from between your legs and off of your thigh, before tossing the rag onto the pile of dirty clothes in the corner.
Dan got you into one of his hoodies and a fresh pair of panties before laying in bed and cuddling with you, his face nestled in your neck. You hummed and intertwined his fingers with your as his hand rested on your stomach protectively. You kissed the back of his hand before closing your eyes to sleep. "Oh darling one little thing." You hummed in acknowledgement, not bothering to open your eyes. "You should probably use some foundation on your neck tomorrow." You groaned as he chuckled. "You're lucky i love you Daniel bloody stevens."
They had felt relieved about getting this new job. It was a new start for them and they were excited to have finally gotten a decent job. When they got in, they were greeted by a knight on an alive horse. They were confused since they didn’t hear anything about this happening
“You must be the new night guard!” The knight says as he gets off of the horse now. He removes his helmet, which makes them blush at his attractiveness. “My name is sir Lancelot” Lancelot says as he takes their hand to give it a kiss. “What’s yours?” Lancelot asked as their hand goes back to its side
They were stumbling to say their name, which makes them feel extremely embarrassed. They did notice how alive the museum was, and was in shock. They saw how everything was getting along, and couldn’t help but smile. Lancelot thought their smile was the prettiest smile he had ever seen
He also realized that they were stumbling to see their own name in front of him. This makes him think that they might be crushing on him already. He smiles at the thought, and at how cute their own smile was. “This is wonderful!” They said as they looked back at him just to see him already looking at them
This caught them off guard, but they shook it off as a knight just doing his job. “Can I hold your sword?” They asked immediately, which makes him happily listen. “Be careful, it’s quite-“ he starts as they had an easy grasp on the sword. Their eyes lit up with pure joy at the sword, which makes him fall head over heels for them
They were able to calmly tell him their name now as their eyes go back onto his. His eyes never left theirs, which makes them feel a bit insecure about how they looked at the moment. “Umm… I’m sure you’d like me to return your sword” they say as they start to fiddle with their hair out of nerves. They reached it out for him to take, but he seemed way too distracted by their face to even move
They just placed the sword down, and ran off because the negative thoughts lingered in their mind. This makes Lancelot snap out of his trace, and wonder if he had done something wrong to upset them already. They walked around and felt so stupid for having feelings on a waxed figure of a knight
They find themselves lost in their own head to the point where they accidentally bumped into someone. “Oops! Sorry! I should’ve been paying attention to my surroundings. Especially with the museum being alive” they apologized, which makes the man smile. “You’re the new night guard!” He says cheerfully, which makes them embarrassed
“I am, and you’re the wax figure of Theodore Roosevelt” they say with a smile. “You’ve been paying attention. That’s really good! Did Sir Lancelot greet you at the entrance? He does that with every new night guard” Theodore asked, which makes them look upset. This makes Theodore worried about the impression Sir Lancelot made on them
“Sorry. He did an excellent job. It was just my stupid face being the problem” they say, which makes him feel bad for them. “Your face isn’t stupid. If ever feel like that again, please feel free to come find me, and I will assure you that you’re face isn’t stupid” he explains, which makes them smile again
“Thank you. You guys are very kind. That’s very refreshing. The last place I worked at all I got was complaints” they explained as tears started to leave their eyes now. “I’m so sorry. No one should be treated that way” he says as he now asked if it was okay if he could hug them. “I’m good. I don’t really do hugs really”
“How about a hi five?” This causes them to chuckle and nod their head afterwards. He smiles, and now the two gave each other a hi five. They were completely back to smiling, which makes them thank him for that. “No problem. Just know I’m always here to listen” he says as he now walks off. They felt better about themselves for a moment, and decided to go back to where they saw Sir Lancelot
Sir Lancelot was currently working on tricks with both the bone structured dinosaurs. When they came back into the main entrance of the building to see that, they were in awe. All the others had went off to do different things now, but this still made them love the magic of this job. They go over towards him, which makes him make eye contact with them
He addressed them as warrior followed by their name, which makes their heart explode. They bowed once they stood next to the two dinosaurs. He gets all giddy as he bows back. “I’d like to apologize for abandoning you earlier. I get self conscious about my looks, and I just assumed you were judging me” they admit as he walks closer towards them
“I was doing the exact opposite actually. You have such beauty that I haven’t seen in any other” he said as he places a hand onto their face. They were turning extremely red at the moment as he begins to crease their face. Their tears come back, which makes him gently wipe each tear away
“Your beauty shines brighter than any diamond in History” he continued, which makes them shocked by all the kind words. “Even the sun gets jealous of your beauty” he finished, and they didn’t care how cheesy all of that was, but it made them for once believe that they were truly beautiful
“Thank you” they say as his forehead is now pressed against theirs. “No. Thank you”
Warnings: bit of angst but a fluffy ending, mentions of war, anxiety and ptsd
Requested: Yepp by this angel: Could you do a matthew crawley fluff where he comes home from war (assuming no mary or lavinia) and confesses his love for the Crawley!reader.
masterlist
You and Matthew always had a special bond. Since the first day he walked into Downton it clicked and everybody knew it. You both were inseparable, doing almost everything together.
He was your best friend and you hated yourself for wanting more. But the fear of rejection and losing the friendship you both already had was too much of a risk so you did what you did best, you kept quiet and bottled up your true feelings.
And now you missed him, god you missed him and it was painfully obvious for everyone around you too.
"Have you heard anything from Matthew yet?" Your father asked carefully. You could tell by the nervous tremble in his tone that he was trying to hide his own concern.
"Not yet." You sighed, taking a sip of your warm tea. Your eyes shifted to the floor, not wanting to deal with the pity words and looks from your family.
The war was long, longer then anyone had ever imagined. When Matthew first left, he told you he'd be back in no time, bragging and joking about the fact you couldn't handle two seconds without him.
But the truth was you couldn't, two weeks was already long enough when he left once to London for business and now you had to deal with him being gone for six months?
Six months, thats what stood in the letter, just six months. But soon six months turned into a year and a year turned into two.
And now after three years, you had to admit that your hopes of holding Matthew in your arms again were rather low. The chance of seeing him again grew more little everytime he woke up in that hell fire.
But he couldn't leave you here all alone and by yourself, his heart belonged to downton and especially to you, so you both promised to write.
And you did, three years long, every week, talking about your day and how you were helping Sybil with nursing, joking about how Carson was so against the idea of turning downton into a hospital but most importantly you wrote about how much you missed each other.
Until now.
Two months had past since you received his last letter. You opened it so quickly, wanting to hear all about whatever he got to say.
Matthew never told you how the war really was, how over time the battlefield had grow more and more red and how he woke up with the most horrifying nightmares anyone could ever imagine.
No, he wanted to keep you out of it. You were his safe place, the one person he wouldn't have to talk to about the war and the one person he just could be himself with again, laughing over the stupid things that made life so exciting.
You loved him, you truly did and the tought of losing him without telling it to his face was terrifying.
"Y/n?" Edith asked softly, snapping you out of your thoughts. Your eyes shot up, seeing her face fall at your broken expression. "Dinner's ready." She announced, giving your shoulder a light but reassuring squeeze.
You nodded slightly, putting the cup of now cold tea on the piece of furniture in front of you. You gave Edith a look, meaning she could go on without you and that you would be following soon after her.
When everyone left the room and the door fell shut, you couldn't help but let out a heavy breath. The tears that were building up, finally let out. Your breath got stuck in your throat, trying to hold back a sob as the door opened again.
Thank god, you were faced the other way.
The puffiness of your eyes would immediately give away you had been crying and you were absolutely not in the mood to talk to someone.
"I have a slight headache", you lied as you fixed your posture, "you can start diner without me." You looked out the window, not really interested in what was happening outside, just wishing the person behind you could leave so you could sneak back upstairs.
"Such a lovely presence, we can't miss that." A familiar voice spoke, making your eyes grew wide. "Certainly not on my first day back."
The tears of sadness were immediately replaced with one of pure happiness. Turning around you were met with Matthew's twinkling eyes, a smile plastered on his lips. He still wore his uniform with his hat formally propped under his arm.
He came back.
The pure excitement pumping through your veins made you run up to him, wrapping your arms around his neck as he nuzzled his face in your shoulder. "I missed you." He cried softly, feeling a tear roll down his cheek. "I missed you so so much."
"I missed you more Matthew, believe me, you have no idea how much I missed you."
You let go of his embrace, arms still wrapped tightly behind his head as he holded you close.
You noticed the slight scars on his face and the way his hair had grown a little while he was away. You kissed his cheek, wanting to be as close to him as possible without overstepping the "friendship boundaries."
His eyes lighted up, missing the way he was so soft whenever he was with you, finally being able to show you all his emotions without being judged for it. He could finally show how terrified he was, terrified of losing you, and everything he loves.
"Marry me." He breathed out. "God, please, marry me Y/n. I can't go another day without you."
"Yes!" You laughed, tears rolling down your cheeks. "Yes! More then anything, yes."
Trapper x Fem Reader - in-progress slow burn - Scylla cuteness aggression + very mild horny containment breach + alternating POV - 4.8k
Summary: Trapper puts Scylla down for a nap, while the two of you establish a rapport.
Note: A more dialogue heavy chapter than anything I hope that’s okayyyyy. Basically just Travis and Miss Reader talking about how BAD Scylla got her ass beat.
Travis watches you while you watch Scylla, his aura charged, crackling and eager. Despite this, he seems to be mindful of the situations enormity, and gives you room to breath. You're grateful for his delicate handling of you; attuned to your needs without you even having to voice them.
His smell invades your personal space, now that you're close enough for it to breach. Coastal air and driftwood, it's grounded in subtle masculinity. Spiked vetiver that's smoothed back over by sea-salt, and citrus. If you inhale deep enough, you're suddenly somewhere tropical.
You try for as shallow of breaths as discretion affords.
With a wave of invitation, he coaxes you to join him back at the glass, his stride casual, almost meandering. It allows you to keep pace while your feet merely edge forward, a little at a time. His patience is palpable, extended like a steady hand to a filly he wants to keep from spooking.
You halt about a foot off the wall still, an invisible barrier that stops you short. All too recently had Scylla launched herself like an over-wound grasshopper, and you suspect the thought of being pressed up close should she choose to do it again, is what holds you a safe distance away.
Unlike Travis, who acts as though he can't get close enough. Propped up against it by a shoulder, eased back in a popped ankle stance, he watches over Scylla while she ingests her fill of synthetic waste.
"She gets a bit extra than she would if she had a clean bill of health," he volunteers with a jerk of his head, indicating the liquid refuse on tap, "but this way her diets controlled. We don't need her overdosing during her recovery, as it were."
You watch Scylla pick through her spoils. "I hope I wasn't interrupting, uh," you gesture, scrambling for the words that'll make you sound the least clueless. Coming up short, you cut your losses. Dr. Beasley doesn't seem the arrogant type. "I mean I understand she's being fed, but what was all that before?"
Your assessment of him is correct. If anything, he's itching for the opportunity to expand on her progress. Just as any proud papa would.
"Monarch loves to label her as a destroyer, but what's special about her is that she's a scavenger. The music acts as a lure to her food source. All she has to do is follow it." He explains. "The rest is up to her."
"You set it up so she has to hunt for it." You summarize in gradual understanding. The light bulb flickers. "So it's like, enrichment?"
He snaps his fingers, beaming. "Exactly." He continues. "I was afraid that if she got too bored, she might turn destructive. It was a shot in the dark, but it's been working. Keeps her mind occupied, her instincts stimulated. Still a bit worse for wear, she spends a lot of her time cooped up. She's gotta move around, stretch those legs."
You listen. You internalize. All you can think to give in the moment is a dumbstruck little,"huh."
Your honest reaction, the last thing you were expecting was a domesticated Scylla, nosing around what was essentially the titan equivalent of a treat dispensing ball. But here you are. "So it really is almost like she's playing."
Travis grins.
"That's…" you pause, a wry little smile plucking at you in turn. "I don't know what to say - incredible?" Your face heats. "That word doesn't quite do it justice, but I'll be honest, I'm at a loss."
"This's nothing, you should see her sit, stay, and roll over." He quips, and the speed with which he eases you is absurd. A titan and people whisperer. "We're gonna work on fetch next."
You're laughing before you can stop yourself, one breathy with disbelief. It's enough to addict Travis. He'll cheese his way into goading more of them from you, now that he knows he can.
"And she likes The Stampeders?"
"Ahh! A fellow fan!" He lights up, and his baby blues turn even more vibrant. Your heart skitters at an embarrassing volume, thundering in your ear. "What can I say, she's got a soft spot for the banjo." The bastard looks at you, and winks. "I think that's the real reason we get on so well."
Ximena. Your downward spiral locks on target as it picks up speed. You did not give me sufficient warning.
You anticipated he'd have his quirks. Not... swagger. With certain dread, you know if this man winks at you again, you're liable to burst a blood vessel from the blush you feel welling at your neck, threatening aggressive and inevitable.
"I would've thought that might aggravate her." You pivot, observing her mill about, as unbothered as a cow grazing a rolling pasture. Jarring, as your memory continues to supply the news feed of her toppling buildings with great prejudice. "How'd you know she'd...?"
"Like it?" Travis finishes for you. When you nod, he smirks, side-ways and rueful. "I didn't."
Such candor stalls you, but only for a moment. You're talking to a DVM with pierced ears. Who smells like suntan lotion, and incense. His flying-by-the-seat-of-his-pants demeanor far from left field, you're half expecting him to confess he arrived at the idea by "feeling out the vibes".
The answer he gives you isn't too far off.
"Usually we communicate with these guys through bio-acoustics, but once she was stable enough and we gave it a go, it had an adverse effect on her mood. Especially in the early days. She was in constant distress, the poor girl." His focus drifts over to her. "She wouldn't settle, she wouldn't work with us."
You catch yourself nodding along. Brows knit sympathetic, mouth set with severity. You don't dare interrupt.
"One riff off the ORCA, and she'd either try to hide, or go on the offensive."
He braces his elbow above his head, while his other hand falls to his hip. When he turns his full attention back on you, his gaze has weight.
"We're in a unique situation with her like this. We'll never know what we can get away with if we don't test the boundaries." He's kind enough to indicate for you the exact amount he means by pinching together his fingers, and squints. "Just a smidge."
That earns him another giggle from you, instantly self-conscious of the infatuated schoolgirl you're slipping in and out of.
But his grin is easy, and winning. He's on a roll.
"It just so happens that's what I was listening to when I got that particular spark of inspiration. So I cranked it up to 11, and the rest, as they say, is history." When he looks back at Scylla, his eyes, and tone, go soft. "It's all just percussion, right? Hums and vibrations? That's what she's really getting out of it, anyway."
You truly are impressed, but you fear that if you said it outright, it would sound snide, or disingenuous.
"And if, God forbid, she wasn't a fellow fan?"
"It'd be a good test of the new fortifications." He pats the support beam closest to him for emphasis, before adding, "and then we'd cross folk-rock right off the list and move straight away to heavy metal."
"Oh yeah? Any group in particular?"
God are you... flirting with this man?
If he picked up on it, he has the decency not to embarrass you for the trouble. His engagement unwavering, despite the conversational leaps made. "Judas Priest." He states in mock solemnity, as such a topic is of the utmost. "Gotta raise 'em right."
You're smirking without realizing. The urge to smile, and keep smiling, utterly irresistible when in his presence.
"You always rock out on the job?"
"I try to, if I can." A perpetual grin at the ready, it waits between every dip and pitch in cadence, and breaks in his speech. "Take painting, right? Something that needs to be done, but it's tedious work, a real pain in the neck. Pop on some disco and suddenly you're having a ball."
Your cheeks are sore. "You... dance while you paint?"
He grabs his chest with a rustle of the cords around his neck, scandalized. "You don't?"
You can only shake your head, losing the fight against your body's urge to flush.
From within the enclosure, the chute dials the pressure down from geyser to a drizzle, and then a full stop. A short and sweet chatter emits from Scylla, felt through your shoes more than it's heard. Travis's chuckle is fond.
It occurs to you then that you've yet to ask the million dollar question.
The one that has shadowed her every mention. That lurks around every conversation and debate, in which she's at the center. There were plenty of theories to go around, but nothing definitive enough to shine through all that muck.
"I'm curious," you begin with no small amount of caution. You want to maintain tact. The last impression you want to give is of the nosy, journalistic outsider. "What… happened in Rome? Why did she end up there?" Your questioning comes from an earnest place. "What was she looking for?"
Travis has to fight the impulse to groan.
He figured you'd ask, but not first thing. His plan was to get a little crowd-work in before you jumped headlong into the heavy stuff.
So much for foreplay, he resigns.
The very human part of him finds himself susceptible to your inquisitiveness, something he so badly wants to gratify. And further, the way you ask him in no uncertain terms. Not what he "thinks" happened; but what happened and why. You haven't scoffed at his eccentricity. You're not making demands of what he deduces by way of intuition. He is a learned professional, after all, but that's not how he leads. A by-the-book approach has never been his forefront. His preferred methods have always been for the unconventional, out of the box.
He's invaluable to Monarch, but his ways have a knack for making them squeamish. His answers to their questions aren't always neat, and digestible. Where Monarch is unspoken, implied, he's a straight-shooter. Upfront and honest to a fault.
He faces push back. Resistance. Skepticism. More questions.
The Rome incident grew into an organization-wide point of contention, and has since fallen prey to the trap of office politics. Something he has little energy, or experience, in trying to disentangle.
He's already given his beliefs on the situation. Monarch found their implications unfavorable.
For all of his idiosyncrasy, he's still not one to make waves, and Rome is a tsunami. He doesn't have to subscribe to it, of course. There's not much point in dwelling on the problem, when he can throw himself into working out the solution. He plays along, and regurgitates their shallow, tidy narrative.
But now all of the sudden here you are. Looking at him like his word is gospel.
He's not quite sure what to do with you.
His knee-jerk is to give his honest truth, but such could be an unfair burden this early in the game for you. Especially while on Monarch sanctioned property. So he passes this round, instead of playing his hand. Their "incontestable" official statement rises up the back of his throat, and the trust glinting in your eye turns the taste suspiciously akin to bile.
Scylla deserves better.
And he's only just met you, but he knows you deserve better, too.
You witness hesitation in him for the first time, his tongue nowhere near as free as it's been. His gaze assessing and conflicted, you get the unwelcome sense you've just picked at a scab. Heedless of the wound beneath, fresh and stinging.
"Eh, who's really to say, y'know?" You don't. The marked difference in his care-free cadence, flowing uninterrupted just moments ago, is immediate. He has the answer, or at least, a very likely idea of what drove her. You can tell he's kicking himself before he finishes pushing the words out. "She leans a bit greedy, maybe she just wasn't getting her fill."
Your lips purse acquiescent. Giving a polite nod, you elect not to push. His answer sounds rehearsed, if not scripted. He's not thrumming with a veritable current of enthusiasm after he gives it. Evasiveness on him is ill-fitting, on account of how clunky and obvious it hangs.
"But enough about us." Swift to redirect, he waves in vague gesticulation, as if referring to himself and the missus. Much to your everlasting shame, you've already sought the band of ring finger where such an identifier would reside. Finding, with an odd lightness in your middle, the space to be empty. Though married to his work was a given. Scylla occupied that role and left, literally, no room to spare. "They tell me you're writing a book about her?"
When his spotlight eyes land on you, you're left feeling stripped in the exposure. All too aware of how trivial your involvement now appears in his illuminating attention.
Here is a man who's involved, daily, in groundbreaking work. And you're writing a book.
He's all kind encouragement while he waits. You clear your throat, working to quell your skittishness.
"Yeah," you begin weakly, "my publisher's planned for a whole series on "the new age of titans"."
He makes a noise of intrigue, before inferring, "and she is the prom queen, after all."
He sounds just like Max in that moment. You nod. "There's a lot of public interest surrounding her. Her duality, her work in Antarctica, of course,"
"Of course," he reaffirms.
"Not to mention her significance in Greek mythology." You continue, working to corral your rambling to a minimum. Travis remains focused, like he has all the time in the world for you, and gives it without question.
Your fingers join at your middle, and without thinking about it, you twist the ring on your thumb. Travis clocks it, and catalogues it in silence.
"And now that she's alive, while also being a little more… passive?" You test the word, and Travis nods his assent. "I don't know, there could be high demand, if it's written well." You hurry to clarity, "with factual accuracy." His eyes haven't left you for a moment. That rushes you to blurt out the conclusion. "The marketing team at my firm thinks so, anyway."
His interest genuine, it blinds you, bright with authenticity. "A comeback story always sells, eh?"
"Exactly."
"Well, I can tell ya she prefers blonds." He cracks, all too pleased with himself. His efforts are rewarded by a snort that sneaks out before it can be wrangled, and Travis Beasley looks like he's just hit a home run. "You're welcome to pal around with us as much as you like. But a word of caution to any illusions of grandeur, most of the work is just a lot of, uh," he turns back to Scylla, just in time for her to lay herself down and curl inward, movements reminiscent in feline familiarity. His hands fall to his hips, chuckling, as if he's just watched his overtired toddler finally conk out. "Well; this."
"I'm very okay with that." You titter, finding yourself stealing more glances of her as she carefully arranges her legs. She's quiet, with imperceptible purrs vibrating through the ground. Contentment dulls her sharp edges. "I'm sure I'll have plenty more questions to pepper you with in the mean time."
"I expect you will." Mr. Congeniality. His grin crooks roguish, baring his perfect teeth.
Your shoulders release a tension you're only then aware had them locked.
"C'mon, I'll give you a proper introduction." He motions you to follow as he exits the observation deck, back towards the way you came. He presses the elevator buttons himself, and when the doors slide apart, he ushers you in ahead of him, unhurried. "Of course, she can't shake your hand, but at least she'll be able to look you in the eye."
It's a short ride, and on your way down you inquire about the esteemed containment measures, on account of him being chief in their construction.
His breakdown is informal, though obliging. He tells you of the seismic shock absorption that prevents her from "bringing the house down." The exact poly-composite involved in enhancing the radiation shielding. The specifics are beyond your understanding, but he takes no shortcuts, treating you as if you were anyone else in the facility. That you've got a brain in working order. There's never a hint of patronization, or annoyance. He welcomes any and all questions and confusion in a brand of forbearance with which he's now synonymous. It becomes clearer to you why the titans have taken to him as they have.
At least, "the lovely Miss Scylla", as Travis calls her.
You almost don't believe what you're hearing.
Travis notes your apprehension when you arrive at the next deck. Similar in size and structure to the first, the catch is that this one pits you right up close. Nearer to the ground level of the enclosure itself, the window book-ends the far edge of the corridor. One that reaches out towards Scylla, as opposed to set back, flush with the wall.
No part of him blames you, but his gears start turning for ways he can make you more comfortable. He knows where your experiences lay, where your qualifications begin and end, and he can only imagine how staggering this must be. He sees it all over your face.
Your very pretty face. A passive thought, he swats it away as fast as it buzzes in.
"Perfectly safe, I promise." He walks with you, side by side out of the elevator. "She's a tall girl, her vertically sort of demands the rafters, doesn't it?" He points up, indicating the higher level from where you've just come. "She's still not quite herself. These little exercises tend to tucker her out, spends most of her time all snuggled up like this."
You nod with a thoughtful hum, sticking close by him as he guides you, gradually, towards the end where Scylla waits.
Unlike before, instead of stopping well short of the window, you soldier through, coming to a stop only when he does to stand alongside him. Scylla doesn't move to acknowledge either of you, but she senses your presence. Though nothing of her pupils indicate articulation at the present, one can always feel, inexplicably, when she's set her sights on you.
You're a good sport. Your discomfort isn't lost on Travis, nor is it met with criticism. Scylla's eyes don't exactly inspire the warm and fuzzies. Unflattering as it may be, The Eye of Sauron has been his closest measure of comparison. Yet to his surprise, you don't flinch. You don't back away.
You reach forward, placing a hand on the glass in greeting. A tentative gesture, but sincere.
Scylla remains motionless, and unblinking. Then a low clacking echoes. An indication of appraisal, if he's not mistaken. He catches the faintest uptick at the corner of your mouth.
"Hello." You whisper. Nothing performative, nor with any expectation attached.
Scylla blinks.
She then seeks him out, and after a beat of nothing extraordinary, bows her head in rest, eye-lids suddenly heavy.
"Well now, that was as warm a welcome as they come." His tone drops to a conspiratorial pitch. "I'd say she likes you."
When he looks back at you, you're smiling wide enough to show teeth. He nearly stalls like a seized engine at the wattage.
Travis had agreed to your presence with unrestrained haste, when asked if he wouldn't mind aiding an up and coming writer. The others, those on Dr. Gish's team specifically, weren't as thrilled with the idea of a tag along. They'd all entertain you, and divulge pertinent information, but there would still need to be the acting chaperone. Knowing not a thing about you, he volunteered all the same.
And he couldn't be more pleased in retrospect.
You're new to this world, and he loves you for it. It's restorative, to glimpse what this all might be like to the uninitiated.
He spends his days in the company of alleged pros, and if he's being honest, he already feels refreshed by your awe. You eye Scylla with reasonable wariness, sure, but not the disenchanted malaise he's used to. There's nothing cold or analytical as you take her in. You simply see her; eyes wide with precious, attractive curiosity he's jonesing to indulge.
He's reigned himself in, just barely, from at-length chattering. Information overload never does anyone any good, he minds himself. He's used to all of this by now, but your cherry has yet to be popped, and he's nothing if not an assiduous lover.
He'll move at your pace, allow you to lead. And learn just how, and to what, you're most receptive to.
"During her tussle she sustained some pretty heavy shell damage, as you can see. That's why they keep me around. Track her progress, keep an eye for signs of infection and the like. Get 'er up and running again, that's the idea." He rambles, but with purpose. Direction. Despite his stream of consciousness delivery. "Something tells me they didn't anticipate this timeline. She is a titan after all, but her regens been real slow going. From what I've come across so far, her anatomy is gnarly." He's smooth with quick clarification. "And I say that lovingly."
"I saw the news footage of that fight." Your voice is quiet, as if to keep from disturbing her. You're now unable to look away, and as a result, you miss the intensity of Travis's concentration when he rests it back on you, and listens. "A few times. I can't... I can't believe she survived."
"Yeah, he knocked 'er around pretty good. These kids don't know how to play nice, that's for sure." He scratches the back of his neck, then shrugs. "But I'll tell you what, there's always a silver lining. It was the attitude adjustment she needed." All quips and nonchalance, when his drawl shifts lower, it's instantly sobering. He hasn't killed the mood, but he knows when to make it count. "He could've wiped her out. He just put her in her place instead."
It's your turn to stare while he turns back to Scylla. Legs folded, she's nestled them under her body, and, as much as she's able, has made herself small. Tentacles curled, and tucked away neatly. Eyes not yet shut, they continue to droop.
"I think it's safe to say this time spent licking her wounds has granted her some self-reflection. She's certainly more agreeable for it." He smiles at her through the glass, thumbs hooked in his belt. "Right then," he looks back to you, putting sentimentality away. "Any questions?"
"Several." You simper. He's positively tickled by your interest.
"I was hoping you might." He chuckles. "Shoot."
"You mentioned a timeline earlier." You bite your lip, brows creasing. You haven't even asked yet, but Travis has already determined that he likes this look on your face. "Is that suggesting Monarch has some sort of a deadline in place for her?"
"Mmm, not quite. They just assumed she'd be back on her feet by now." He explains. "They like their assets to be operational in a pinch, should the need arise."
"So the plan is for her to be used as a weapon?"
A natural conclusion, he considers for a moment, out of politeness. He then makes a show of wrinkling his nose. "Nah, she's still too unpredictable for that, I reckon. Bangs to the beat of her own drum, this one."
You seem to approve, your face scrunched in the endorsing grin you aim her way. Only now does he realize that this is the most he's enjoyed discussing Scylla with anyone.
He recognizes a twin flame when he sees one.
"What are your hopes for her, then?"
Oh, what a question. It lands between his ribs, blunt-force attentive. He's never shied away from sharing his wishes - but he's also never been asked.
"She's doing good work down at the caps, I just want to get her back to it. Have a productive, if not unprovoked, existence." He scratches his jaw with a smirk. "I'll be sad to see her go, but you gotta cut the cord sometime."
Your answering smile is tender with admiration.
He, perhaps, locks eyes with you for a little too long. Just as his perception gets a finger on the pulse of what passes between you, you're startled by the moment. Blinking owlish in a flutter of thick lashes.
"Okay, wait, I have one more question." You school yourself back to something close to professionalism, though hesitation betrays you. "But I'm worried it might sound… dense?" You try again. "Silly?"
Even just that hint of insecurity is enough to sink his heart. He wants to rectify it immediately, and banish it for good.
"You never have to have that worry with me." He promises, urging you to proceed as he relaxes further into an open posture. "Ask it."
"Alright, uhm," you brace yourself, collecting your thoughts. "Like you said, she's a scavenger by nature. So… why not just, give her materials that she can use to rebuild her shell?" Travis doesn't even try to stop himself from smiling. "I mean wouldn't that make her more comfortable?"
"That's not a silly question at all." His assurance soothes. Everything about him screams an appreciation for your line of thinking. "In fact it's an excellent one. And this time I at least have a much more satisfying answer for you."
Your cheeks stain the slightest shade of pink, and he pretends not to notice.
"A substitute would make her comfortable, but it's not sustainable long term." His sigh holds a decided parental despair. "I don't want her overextending herself, which a bout of false confidence is good for. Scylla's… not in a good way." He alludes. "I need her in something a little more permanent."
His affection for her is clear, as it is infectious.
"You really do like her." Your remark holds no judgment. It's not an accusation. It's a statement of fact, and one you sort of respect, now that you've seen it in action. Your observation turns him boyish.
"She's hard not to like."
Like father like daughter. Had she been closer to the correct scale, and far less radioactive, there's not a doubt in your mind that you would have found him in the enclosure with her, rubbing her belly like she was no more than a well socialized border collie.
Somehow, that's not even a ridiculous visual, now that you've met.
Once more, he lounges himself right against the glass, head lolled to glance at her while he grins. "Besides, she really likes me."
A pair of eyes glow from the murk, almost incandescent, communicating she's been privy to your conversation the entire time. There was nothing said to compel her input. Lending credibility to Travis's claim, they fix to him in acknowledgment, and seem to blaze even brighter. Live embers, brilliant and expressive.
"I see now why you're the expert." You can't help but compliment, though you find you're unable to look at him when you do.
He whistles. "Expert, huh?" That makes him chuckle, and for the first time it's one strained. He finds humility more comfortable, tip-toeing around the very idea of acclaim. "Never been accused of that one, before."
"They call you the 'titan whisperer' upstairs."
He takes the bait. Good-natured and unruffled, you suspect it's one signature of many.
"Hah! I've been called stranger, if you can imagine." He says wryly. You can. "Titans are basically animals. You just gotta learn how to read 'em."
"Easier said than done, I'm sure." You attest.
"Well, we've had a lot of time to get familiar." He gently taps the knuckle of his index finger to the glass, two in brisk succession. "Haven't we, old girl?"
"I notice you talk to her like she can answer." You raise a brow at him. "… Can she?"
"It's more for my benefit. I'm chatty." He confesses with a sly smile. "Though she's a clever one, don't be fooled. I do feel on some level she's picking up what I'm putting down." His shrug says he's unconcerned either way. "That, or she's very good at humoring me."
He tosses his chin in Scylla's direction, drumming his fingers rhythmically against the glass. With near comedic timing, she emits three rapid bursts of clicking. Brassy and cackled. As if she's in on the joke.
You and Travis exchange a similar look, and then turn in tandem to face her.
Silence grips you both and pulls you under. A hold short lived, it then shatters when Travis begins to laugh. Hard.
Without realizing you've even started, you're laughing too.
