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terrence-silver · 7 months

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A story about yandere!Gus Travis please? 🥺

(Gus Travis x Reader)

---

His hand drags you forward, refusing to let go.

Rushing towards the lone beach church at the end of the mountainous hiking trail of Cape Flattery, tucked in between the bosom of the black jagged rocks overgrown with moss and the rough, sandy plateau of the foggy coastline as pale as a bone in the shadow of the tall, blackened Spruce trees, car parked behind him near the rocky terrain waterfront, gloomy and overcast before the afternoon rain, his men, in a pair of two, silently following suit, serving as witnesses. Nice, isolated, no people present to intervene, Gus thought, with determined steps stepping into the sand --- and as a result, a perfect place to conduct a quick marriage. He reassures himself, his fingers touching the hilt of his gun tucked into his belt beneath his jacket, deciding he can simply flash it to the priest in case of any inhibitions to the contrary, or even go as far as pull it out and make a valid argument with it if push came to shove, his other hand latched unto yours, ushering you where you two needed to be. He acquired you a dress. Had you wear it. Went as he was. Leather, jeans and a dress shirt, right off of the docks right before he headed back to finish up back there. Wrap up all loose ends. He had no time to play dress up. He needed this done and he needed to be practical on his part. He needed this to be binding. Today. Doubly so. Having just driven out here from the registry office up at Port Angeles.

Deciding that it was now or never.

So, it was infinitely better if it was now.

Gus pulls you to him, shoulder to shoulder, sliding off his jacket in a hurry and wrapping it around your shoulders tightly, keeping you warm from the oncoming wind gusts blowing in sharp from the open, wavy sea front, utilizing his body to shield you from it. Keep you pretty. Although, you always were, regardless of the circumstances. His very own mermaid on dryland. -"I know it's bad now, but I'll get a leave and a honeymoon and we'll go. We'll go whenever you want. Maybe get a boat. Just for you and me. Sail somewhere warm."- He speaks, close enough to touch your face with his as he bent his head down to catch your expression better. He was certain his boss would give him a week or two worth of break. Gus's grip on his gun instinctively tightens. You shoot him a concerned, puzzled look. -"But, how can you get a leave when you..."- You start and he immediately interrupts you before you can even finish saying what he was thinking you'd say. Yes. He already knew. He knew and he didn't wanna hear any more of that crap. He wasn't a doctor, an accountant, a baker, a mechanic or a lawyer. He robbed banks, smuggled, stole and killed for a living, yes, if the occasion required it. There were no holidays and breaks from shit like that. There were only stalemates. But, he'd ensure some of the spoils of all his efforts over the years would pay off and that he'd get the due diligence rewards he deserved in leaving with you for a while. That was the least of what he was owed. His thoughts take the shape of the firearm his fingers were caressing for a moment and Gus figured that if he doesn't get it though, at this point, he was just as willing to go solo. Shoot his way out of this mess, with you in tow or die trying.

If Bonnie and Clyde could do it ---

He turns to his men, with a glance tossed over the shoulders.

-"Keep the engine running. Wanna be out of here quick."-

Gus orders and one of the burly, sullen looking guys wordlessly nods and turns back, sauntering towards the solitary vehicle, while the other one took the hint, and stood discreetly aside, hands tucked into his pockets, head averted. Good call. The rush wasn't quite that big, but he wanted a second of solitude with you, to drill something into you. Gus grabs your shoulders and turns you to face him, looking at you directly. Trying to make you understand. -"Hey. I can. I'll find a way. I always do. Doesn't matter. So long as we're together. Always together."- He reassures, vehemently. Hands travelling from your shoulders to your cheeks, warming their cold, windswept surface with his warm palms, protecting you from the ire of the ocean. -"You were given to me, remember? The best work bonus I ever got in my whole life and I'll take care of you forever, okay?"- He presses his forehand against yours, holding himself there, closing his eyes and trying to remember when you were first brought in to the compound. One of many girls his boss wanted to put to work. On the street. In bars. In clubs around Washington State. In private joints. Hauling them off to private collectors. Caught anywhere and everywhere. Abroad. Domestically. Smuggled across the border with Canada. Promised jobs. Opportunities. Thing was, a man could only rob a bank once. A person? He could sell multiple times. Countless times, in fact. It was lucrative business. But, Gus? He picked you. He knew he wanted you the minute you were brought in. He wanted you untouched. Unharmed. Unspoiled. All for him. And now, he'd have you. He opens his eyes. Meets yours.

-"And those days? They're long gone. They're never coming back."- He coos, pressing his nose against your neck, inhaling the scent there. If anyone ever touched, tried to use, did as much looking at you wrong again, he'd dump them off of the nearest port in so many bits not even the fish would find them as viable chow.

Gus swore that much.

-"But you sort of owe me something for that. I paid a hundred grand in cash for the privilege of that even though you would've made some pimp out there ten times that much. What I gave for you is more than these bozos make in years."-

He reminds, not unkindly --- never unkindly if he could help it, pointing his nose towards his men for emphasis, but it needed to be brought to your attention that he bought you off of the hands of his syndicate with more money than most people have ever held in their hands all their lives, saving you from a life of sucking cock for a buck and showing your ass on some pole somewhere to dope shooters, petty dealers and the occasional street thug. You quite literally belonged to him. And much like all treasures, you were expensive as heck, but it was worth it. You were worth it. The coastal church was looming just ahead, against the cloudy vista. All that was necessary was to walk through it now. You already had matching bands on your fingers and it was all legal. This was really just a formality. A romantic formality. He couldn't help the appeal of it. A wedding elopement with the one he loved. Now, if he only had a boat baptized with your initials so he could make this day perfect. Sail somewhere up North. Never to be found again. -"I've nothing to repay you with and you know that, Augustus. I don't have a single thing."- You shake your head, using his full name, seeming somewhat defeatist, and no, that wouldn't do either, because you did in fact, have something. The name of the something or someone was inscribed in ink above your heart. A tattoo, matched to his. He grabs the hem of his collar and shows you your own name marked in black on his skin, peeking out from under his shirt and his braided chain necklace, beneath his collar bone, so you'd never forget you and him were one. Even if marriage certificates could burn, wedding bands could be lost or sold, branded flesh was a constant.

Even after death. Even if you fought this, ran, acted willful, lied and schemed, butt heads with him and made it impossible for him to be as good as he wanted to be and if he was forced to do something as unthinkable as tie your legs with bricks and submerge you into the sea, you'd still die with his name on you, and if he jumped after you to join you, he'd die the same way.

That was true matrimony.

-"But, you do. You do!"- He protests, pointing at the inked letters.

-"You've got me now!"- Gus presses your hand against his torso, squeezing it there with his own grip. -"What you owe me is in there."- He looks towards the church and then back at you, hearing the distant buzzing of the ignited car engine stir the wind and the slamming of the door as his getaway chauffeur sauntered back, waiting at ease, adjusting the neckline of his jacket and lifting it up once the first, mist peppered dash of rain broke through the air. It was time, yeah. Gus collects the hem of your wedding dress, carrying it for you, not caring if your own attire wasn't exactly the most practical compared to his, feeling you needed and deserved to look the part of the princess today of all days, grabbing your hand and leading you up the slope, towards the rocky chapel courtyard and its iron cast front gate. His hand finds yours once again, fingers entwined, embracing you to shield you from getting wet. On instinct, his hand is on his gun once again. -"That and letting me lead you because I'm not leading you anywhere bad again. I love you."- Gus guarantees, giving you a kiss, tasting the salt of the wind and the sea on your mouth before he sought to refresh your memory and saying;

-"We love each other."-

#black point #black point 2002 #gus travis #gus travis x reader #gus travis x beloved #tw; human trafficking #tw; dubious consent #tw; some form of blackmail or other #tw; branding #tw; murky morality #tw; crime and criminals

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thatbluegibson · 6 years

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CH 67

Beep

Liz squeezed her eyes shut and tried to run her tongue across the roof of her impossibly dry mouth.

Beep

She tried to swallow, but it felt as if she had a mouth full of sand.

Beep

Forcing one eye open, she stared at the water-stained ceiling tile above her head. Her other eye opened and she took a minute to focus her vision before trying to lift her head.

Beep

“Oh fuck,” she groaned as pain exploded inside of her skull. There were a few monitors, an IV bag and light blue curtains in her peripheral vision, but she was alone in the space just big enough for a bed.

Beep

She held her hands up in front of her face, curiously eyeing the bandages wrapped tightly around each palm and silently thanked every celestial being she could think of that her arms still worked.

Beep

“Oh fuck off,” she whispered before ripping off the oxygen monitor taped to her finger. Tossing it aside, she looked back to the screens and watched as a peaked line went flat. She moved to sit up, the pain in her head so intense that she had to shut her eyes and remember to breathe, but it felt like warm, comfy hands were gripped tightly around her neck, preventing her from filling her lungs. She reached up and clawed at the thick foam neck brace, finally finding the little Velcro latches that held it together and tore it loose, letting it fall open on the pillow behind her. As soon as she regulated her breathing, she slowly pushed herself upright, trying to ignore the intense pain as she stared at the blue curtain at the foot of her bed. Taking inventory of her remaining senses, she could hear a television though it was quiet and muffled, and then the sound of footsteps. Again, they were a ways off, but they were quick, a running speed and then they stopped with a squeak, reminding Liz of an NBA game she had been dragged to with McCartney. Then there were clear voices.

“Sir, I can’t let you in here.”

“No, I need to get back there-”

“There are no visitors beyond this…”

The voices faded in and out as Liz tried to focus on them. One was English, the accent northern and the other was American. The latter was so familiar that she was immediately annoyed that she couldn’t place it.

“Look, I know you’re just trying to do your job, but she’s alone back there and-“

Liz was suddenly conscious of the way her body reacted to the voice. She felt her shoulders relax and her breathing calm, she felt a little bit safer than she did a few seconds ago.

“I still can’t let you back-“

Jesus, lady. Just let the guy do what he wants, she thought.

“She’s my girlfriend. Please just let me see her.”

Girlfriend? Once again ignoring the pain, she looked around before throwing the flimsy blanket off her legs and grabbing her IV tower for support. She shakily stood up and, vaguely reminded of her first steps after giving birth to Jack, used the tower as a crutch to shuffle her way past the curtains.

“She’s my girlfriend. Please just let me see her,” Dave pressed his hands together in front of him, begging the nurse to let him by. He was considering just making a break for it, but he had no idea which curtained room Liz was in.

“Sir, I’m very sorry, but I can’t even confirm the name or… names that you’ve given me,” the woman looked exhausted, but she really did seem sorry.

He knew it wasn’t her fault the privacy laws were insane, hell those same laws protected him when he was there just a few years prior and Taylor so many years before that, but he had to get back there. By some miracle, probably in the shape of beloved tour manager Gus, his schedule had cleared for an entire week and he had immediately booked a flight to London before anything else came up. A quick text to Travis put him in contact with Andy, who had sworn not to tell Liz and had also let it slip that she was missing him fiercely. He was just settling into his hotel room when Andy had called in a panic, asking him to meet in the emergency room where he was still trying to get specifics from someone, anyone on the movie set. They had run through a maze of triages and hallways before stopping in a ward ominously marked “Trauma”, where they were intercepted by this nurse. Andy had taken off with the promise that he would get Dave back to Liz, but he hadn’t returned yet. Dave sighed deeply and raked his hair off his face, turning away from the woman to think for a moment. Who could he call? Her parents needed to know, but he didn’t know how to contact them. Krist probably did, he could call him. He scrolled through his phone and found his number just as he heard the nurse gasp sharply. Pressing his phone to his ear, he looked back at the sound of her running footsteps and saw Liz halfway down the long hallway, leaning against an IV tower with a half grin on her face. She was wearing the customary blue hospital gown, her head was wrapped in thick white gauze and she gave him a weak wave with a bandaged hand just as the nurse carefully pulled her back behind the curtains. He let out a shaky breath that sounded a little like a relieved laugh and ended the still ringing call. Only Liz would get out of her own hospital bed after a major injury just to stand in a fucking hallway and wave at him. The nurse appeared again and motioned for him to come back. He didn’t hesitate before sprinting towards them, his worn Vans skidding to a stop as the nurse pulled the curtain aside. She smiled warmly at him and patted his shoulder. “I’ll go find you a chair,” she said, leaving them alone.

He stared at Liz as she sat up against some thin pillows, her half grin still on her face. Her red hair seemed matted, though it was pulled into a knot at the top of her head, surrounded by crisp white gauze and an angry bruise was forming on her left cheekbone. She had gained a massive foam neck brace and she shifted a little, clearly uncomfortable that he was staring at her.

“Guess who’s concussed?” she asked, trying to sound cheerful and pointed to the top of her head, “It’s me!”

He felt a smile pull at his lips before hurrying to her side, reaching out to gently hold her bandaged hands. “What fucking happened?” he asked, looking her over again.

“I… oh,” Liz paused and looked down at her lap, a small laugh escaping her lips. “I actually don’t know.”

Dave felt a bit of panic rise in his chest. Her eyes were darting around like she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

“Blunt trauma to the left side of the skull resulting in a minor skull fracture, concussion and deep laceration to the scalp,” an American man in a crisp white lab coat appeared with a plastic chair, setting it behind Dave before stepping up to the bed and helping Liz lay back onto her pillows. “Hi, Elizabeth,” he called down to her, far too loudly for how close they were, “I’m Dr. Michael. Do you remember what happened?”

“No,” Liz replied, squinting into the penlight he was shining into her eyes.

“Are you nauseous?”

“Um… No?”

“Well, you arrived in an ambulance with a pretty nasty bump on your head,” he walked around the bed checking her reflexes as he moved, “It seems a light fell from quite a high elevation and connected with your poor skull.”

Liz only grumbled and Dave frowned, noticing her words were getting less and less intelligible.

“Not only that,” the doctor went on, pulling a computer screen towards him, “but a piece of the light sliced up your scalp and then busted all over the stage which you promptly fell on, causing glass lacerations to your hands. You, Miss Colbert,” he finished with the computer and turned to her, “are having a bad day.”

“So now what?” Dave asked, tearing his eyes from Liz to sit in the chair.

“Her fracture is linear, which is ideal when it comes to breaking your skull,” Dr. Michael turned the computer screen towards Dave and pointed to an x-ray showing a dark, blurry line on what was apparently Liz’s skull. “It’ll heal on its own in about four or five months. Her MRI looks great, just a minor concussion that would equal a rough football tackle. As for the staples in her hair, those can come out in a couple weeks.”

“And her hands?”

“Superficial, no stitches necessary. We glued one or two cuts, but the bandages can come off tomorrow,” Dr. Michael turned to Liz, leaning over so he could see her face, “We’re going to keep you for a bit, just to make sure you’re tolerating the concussion, okay?”

Dave watched her nod once and squeeze her eyes shut. Recognizing she was in pain, he jumped up from his chair and held her shoulder while the doctor checked a box on her IV tower. “I’ll get her some pain meds,” he said quietly and left them alone.

“I’m having a bad day,” Liz repeated her doctor’s words and slowly opened her eyes again.

“Yeah, babe. You definitely are,” he muttered, trying to hide the horror he felt when he noticed her hair was completely matted with blood.

“You’re here,” she slurred, her words were getting shorter and less Liz-like.

“I came over early to see you,” he said, lightly dragging his fingers across her bruised cheek.

Dr. Michael stepped through the curtains holding a syringe and plugged it into a port on her hand while watching her face. “You don’t happen to know when her last tetanus shot was, do you?”

Dave shook his head. How the hell was he supposed to know that? “She’s not…” he started, looking between Liz and her doctor.

“We can talk out here,” he said, finishing with the IV and leading Dave into the hallway. He snapped off his gloves and leaned into the wall with a heavy sigh. “She’s the luckiest trauma patient I’ve seen in months,” he said. “Had she been a fraction of an inch to the left, we’d be having a very different conversation right now.”

Dave swallowed hard and stole a glance at the curtain Liz was behind. “She’s not herself, though. Her words aren’t…,” he trailed off, not sure how to explain what Liz was normally like.

“It’s a mixture of her pain tolerance and the concussion. It’s new, so new that she won’t remember anything for a few days and then once her brain heals, the memories will probably come back. And if they don’t? Well, who wants to remember a thirty-pound piece of metal falling onto their skull?”

“Can she sleep?” Dave remembered something from his distant past, maybe lacrosse practice, maybe that time Krist smashed himself in the face with his bass at the MTV awards, but someone with a concussion should stay awake.

“She should sleep and the pain meds will force her to do just that,” Dr. Michael paused as Dave looked down at the floor and sighed. “You’re welcome to stay with her as long as she needs. I can put in for an extra bed in her room.”

“Yeah, that would be great,” Dave replied, thankful he didn’t have to leave her alone.

Michael gave him a kind smile and pushed off the wall. “We’ll move her upstairs as soon as we can. Until then, try to relax.”

Dave sat in the darkened hospital room, staring blankly at the pillow under Liz’s head. A soft whirring noise indicated the wraps around her legs were inflating again, trying to prevent a blood clot from killing her while she slept. Andy had undertaken the undesirable job of notifying her parents, then talked them down from dropping everything and making the flight over the Atlantic until they knew more about Liz’ condition. Dave wasn’t thrilled with the idea of meeting her parents in a hospital hallway, but he understood their need to be with their daughter. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it free, swiping his finger across Taylor’s name to answer.

“Hey.”

“What the fuck, dude!” Taylor yelled, causing Dave to pull the phone away from his ear. “Is she okay?”

“They say she’ll be fine, but she’s a fucking wreck right now,” he said softly.

Taylor was quiet for a moment and Dave could hear Ally asking questions in the background. “It’s all over the fucking news here. How did this even happen?” Taylor finally asked, his voice much gentler now.

“I have no idea,” Dave replied, pinching the bridge of his nose. “All I know is that the ambulance fucking dumped her here and she was alone for who knows how long until someone decided they should her management know.”

There was a scuffling sound before Ally’s voice came through the phone, “Dave, sweetie, we’re on our way.”

The line went dead and he stared at the picture of Liz and Paul McCartney arm in arm on the famous zebra crossing outside Apple Studios he had set as his background. She had sent it to him the day before, just as he secretly confirmed his plane ticket to England. She looked so happy that he found himself smiling in spite of the chilly and depressing hospital room they were now in. He shoved his phone into his sweatshirt pocket and leaned forward, resting his head next to Liz’s arm and closed his eyes.

#ThatBlueGibson #dave grohl fiction #fanfiction

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terrence-silver · 1 year

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Do you have any headcanons on Gus Travis? I've just watched Black Point and I think I'm in love 💖

Him?

― Gus Travis has a major problem with jealousy. Why? Because outside of having a natural propensity for doubt (maybe due to the nature of his job, being a career criminal where you have to watch your back, against everyone, at all times) his wife betrayed him in the past and ran off with another man covertly acting as an informant and Gus' boss' money. Almost sounds like the typical entanglement in the life of someone on the wrong side of law enforcement hiding out in a small port town on the borders of Alaska and Washington state, but the event left Gus reeling, even less trusting and somehow, even more territorial and fidgety when it comes to love as a mere concept. In short notes, Gus Travis is as jaded as can be.

― Which means, despite seeming like the type who has had his share of easy sex, easy cash, easy profit, murky jobs, shady deals, Gus doesn't fall in love easily. Not before the event and certainly not after. He's a rough man, with a rough exterior, rough manners, a rough job and initially, he doesn't seem like the type to care for such things at all, but the opposite is very much true because internally, he's someone who tends to fall and fall hard which has left him messed up in the past. In his words, I treated her like a princess and gave her the world and this is how she repays me? He doesn't want that happening again and so, when he meets you, his first instinct is to be standoffish and stay away from you. Better yet, warn you to say away from him.

― Might have the typical gangbanger 'Do you know who I am?' or 'Do you know who you're dealing with?' vibe about him purely to push you away, even though he's quite as likely to contradict himself and be the one pursuing you. Gus overflows with clashing emotions where he isn't certain if he'd rather scare you away or lay his claim on you and make you his. Maybe just visit some nearby, shady portside pub and get himself someone who looks just like you; a whore, a hooker, a one night stand, anything, and get you out of his system through fucking someone else, not that that helps one bit at all and everyone either looks too much like you or not at all and he always comes back to craving the real deal, and he hasn't...well, he hasn't even laid a finger on you yet.

― Thing is, as I said above, Gus loves deeply. A surprising amount for someone who could only be labeled a bad boy and something of a thug in the most classical sense. The type of love that has him tattooing your name somewhere on his body --- maybe next to his heart, perhaps way before you even know it...or him --- wearing maching clothes, wearing matching rings and bracelets and necklaces. Where he dreams of buying a boat one day, sailing out with a bunch of cash, and naming it after you, as his muse, his lucky north, his compass. Where he sees you as his near overromanticized mythical being. His mermaid. His selkie. His siren. Interesting how someone otherwise so bitter and disappointed with love also has the amazing capacity of being borderline poetically idealistic.

― Of course, the nature of his career criminal leanings and rough and tough sailor and streetwise lifestyle might not exactly allow for him to express his idealistic side outright because there's a reputation to maintain and part of him doesn't want to. And yet, he still desperately does to the point his cravings are making him volatile. He fears being a fool in love again. He fears his men viewing him as a fool in love too. So, he might come off a bit hostile and passive aggressive; like someone who has a general distaste for you, which is far from true, his behaviour ranging anywhere from acosting you in public or god forbid, anyone you might be out on a date with, because he's fatally jealous. Gus can't handle himself or the gravitas of his feelings around you and he protects himself through what he feels is nessecary. Through being a bit of a bastard.

― It doesn't remain unnoticed though; just how much attention Gus Travis is giving you, even if this attention is masked through the guise of negative social interactions. It all becomes suspicious, though. The sheer quantity and volume of it. Him stalking you, catcalling you from his car, threatening to goddamn near shoot anyone else who dares, honking his horn at you, bullying you one minute and then flirting the next, harassing your friends and suitors out in bars or restaurants, having them scared away from you or outright beat up so they'd be afraid to stay in touch with you, being pushy, intrusive, threatening and petulant, having his men follow you around covertly and report back to him on your daily whereabouts, offering to lend you money so you'd be indebted to him, breaking into your place, kidnapping attempts. You name it!

― Ultimately, you will be his, and his grip on you will be tighter than any relationship he ever had before because he dreads losing you like he's lost meanigful people in the past and it has his possessive tendencies flaring up dramatically; he will correct the mistakes he made before you came along, he swears it. Realistically, he is difficult. Very difficult. He is difficult because he overcompensates. Overcalculates. Over-worries. He questions every interaction, every glance, ever action, imaginary or real, towards someone else from you or from you to someone else because the dread of you being whisked away from under him is acute, and so, most people never even discover Gus Travis even has anyone serious as you're his most fiercely guarded treasure. Hell, not even most of his men and crooks know. And if nobody knows you exist and you're merely abducted one day --- missing posters riddling your home town, only for you never to be found again, then nobody can coax you away from him in the future.

#gus travis #black point 2002 #tw; kidnapping #tw; criminals and gangsters #tw; tsundere #tw; yandere #gus travis x reader #gus travis x beloved #gus travis black point

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