Prehistoric tension
Henry Loomis x reader
Summary: You and Henry Loomis flirt on the boat, tension building as the island gets closer.
Word count: 692
The boat engine hummed low beneath your boots, salt spray kissing the air as the island drew closer on the horizon. You leaned on the railing, one boot hooked on the bottom rung, sunglasses shielding your eyes from the early morning glare.
Behind you, footsteps—soft, hesitant.
“Do you always stand like that when you’re about to risk your life?” a voice asked, a little amused, a little nervous.
You smirked before turning around. Dr. Henry Loomis, in all his freshly-pressed, nervously handsome glory, was fiddling with the strap of his backpack like it might bite him.
“Only when I’m trying to impress the awkward paleontologist behind me,” you said coolly.
His mouth twitched. “Well, it’s working. I’m deeply impressed. Terrified, too. But mostly impressed.”
You raised a brow. “Terrified of me or the island?”
He took a step closer, lowering his voice like he was letting you in on a secret. “Both, honestly. But only one of them is wearing combat boots and a knife strapped to her thigh.”
“Smart man.” You turned to face the ocean again. “And here I thought you science guys were all talk.”
“I’m mostly talk,” he admitted, standing beside you now. “But I did pack a flare gun. So I’ve got that going for me.”
You laughed—short, surprised. “You really think a flare gun’s gonna save you from a Quetzalcoatlus?”
“I was hoping you’d save me, actually.”
You glanced sideways at him. He looked mostly innocent, but his eyes were glinting, and he definitely knew how to deliver a line. There was something boyish about it—earnest and curious, but with just enough nerve to try.
“You know,” you said, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were flirting with me.”
He cleared his throat, flushed faintly. “Was it obvious?”
“A little.”
“I’m rusty,” he said. “Last time I tried flirting, I compared a girl to a protoceratops. It didn’t go over well.”
You snorted. “Please tell me you didn’t use the word ‘frill.’”
His ears turned red. “…I may have.”
You shook your head, grinning. “God help you on this mission.”
He smiled, then looked out toward the mist-shrouded island. “I’m more worried about the dinosaurs, if I’m being honest.”
You let the silence settle for a beat, the waves slapping rhythmically against the hull. The others were below deck prepping gear. Up here, it was just you and him—and the tension between your wild confidence and his endearing dorkiness.
“Hey, Loomis?”
“Yeah?”
“If you survive this thing, I might let you take me out for a drink.”
He blinked. “Seriously?”
“No frill metaphors. That’s the deal.”
His grin spread slow, eyes sparkling. “Deal. I promise to keep it strictly post-Cretaceous.”
You bumped his shoulder lightly. “Then try not to die, dinosaur boy.”
“I’ll do my best, trouble.”
And for the first time since boarding this boat, the thought of heading straight into danger didn’t feel so heavy.
Not with him beside you.
Not with that look in his eyes.