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thesleepysphinx · 2 years

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Summer on the Horizon

Telltale's The Walking Dead Luke x Fem!Reader

Chapter Content Warnings: mention of violence/murder

*Please refer to the masterlist for a disclaimer on the AU this takes place in*

Series Masterlist ◈ Previous Chapter ◈ Next Chapter

Chapter 4: Burnin' Daylight

Word Count: 3723

The three survivors dump the contents of their backpacks out on the counter of the cabin that they are calling home for now. They look upon their treasure and start organizing it.

Clementine speaks up. “We should separate supplies evenly between us in case we get split up or lose a backpack.”

Luke looks down at her with a sense of pride. “Good thinkin’, Clem. Better not to put all our eggs in one basket.”

They separate all the supplies, setting the clothes they collected aside to change into later. A new t-shirt for Y/N and a pair of jeans without any holes in them, as well as a couple pairs of socks, a slightly oversized t-shirt for Clementine so she’d be able to grow into it as well as pants and socks for her, and a nice red short sleeved button up for Luke.

As they finish organizing, Luke speaks up, “Let’s eat real quick, then we can go check the bathroom out there for walkers. Don’t want any surprises later.”

“Sounds good to me,” Y/N agrees. After a quick thought, she moves towards Luke and starts rummaging through his pack.

Luke stands there for a second, brows knitted together in confusion. “Uh, whatcha lookin’ for?”

One second later, Y/N pulls out the pancake mix they found earlier. “I’ve been dying to have this since we found it!” She moves over towards the propane cooktop. “We can really only make one at a time, but it’ll be worth the wait.” She opens the cabinets in the kitchenette and finds a decently sized bowl. “Hey, Clementine, can you go in my bag and look for the syrup packets? I’ll get started here.”

“Yeah, you got it.” She starts to look through the pack and eventually finds the syrup packets in a small pocket. But, something next to the syrup packets catches her eye. She pulls out a small card with a picture of Y/N on it as well as her name. In the corner, it reads “University of Georgia.” Clementine holds it up to Y/N. “Hey, what’s this?”

Y/N looks over to Clem and smiles. “That’s my student ID from college. Keeping it just gives me hope that we can get back to normal someday. Stupid, right?”

Luke comes over and looks down at the student ID. “Not stupid at all. Makes me wish I kept mine.” He smiles softly at her.

After studying the ID more, Clementine speaks up again. “My friend Lee used to teach at this school.” Her gaze remains on the piece of plastic, stoic and somber.

“No shit? What was his last name?”

Clementine looks up at her, conflicted over whether she should say. He was a convicted murderer afterall. But eventually, she decides that doesn’t matter. “Everett.”

The gears start turning in Y/N’s head as she remembers that last name.

Luke speaks up, “Why does that name sound so familiar?”

Y/N answers almost immediately. “Because he was convicted of murdering a Georgia senator, just before the world went to shit.”

Luke’s eyes grow wide as Clementine now looks up at them. Her voice is steady. “It doesn’t matter what he did before. He helped me survive, taught me how to survive. He was a good man.”

Their eyes soften as they gaze upon the eleven year old. She sounds so sure of herself that Y/N nearly forgets her age. Y/N places a hand on top of Clementine’s hat that sits on her head. “You’re right. He must have been a good man if you’re this smart and capable. He did a good job.” She turns back around to the counter to continue making their lunch. “Now I don’t know about you guys, but I’m really excited for this meal.”

Clementine puts the ID card back in Y/N’s pack and gathers the syrup packets. Meanwhile, Luke moves to stand next to Y/N. “Here, let me help.” He starts to mess with the hotplate, turning it on while Y/N starts to mix water into the powder. Luke chuckles next to her. “If only we had some chocolate chips or something.”

Y/N smiles with him. “You better not be picky about this, cause I’m not making anything else.”

“Hey now, just cause I have taste and appreciate the finer things in life doesn’t mean I’m picky.” He elbows her in the side, the smile on his face growing.

This is nice�� Y/N thinks to herself. How does this feel so… safe? And normal? She’s not sure, but she suspects it may have something to do with Luke. Maybe he makes it feel… different.

Not long after lunch, the trio starts their trip to the showers, weapons drawn in case any stragglers found their way to their little piece of paradise during their lunch. Once they get to the showers, they follow the same procedure they have for every building. One of them opens the door, another checks the room, while the last one acts as backup. The first side they check is the women’s side, in which they find two walkers that appear to have been camp counselors if their lanyards are anything to go by. Next, they check the men’s side. Completely empty.

The bathroom doesn’t have as dingy of a smell as the women’s side, which can probably be attributed to the lack of rotting bodies. Clementine makes her way towards the showers and looks up at the shower head. She reaches out to turn a knob, just slightly, and a small trickle of water makes its way out.

“Holy shit…” she says, looking towards the others. “The water works.”

The other two walk over and Y/N holds her hand out under the trickle. “I can’t even remember the last time I took a shower…”

“Me neither,” Luke says as he pulls a hand back through his hair, feeling the grease that has accumulated over time. His hair has grown longer too, a little too long for his liking. “A shower and a haircut would do me wonders right about now.”

Y/N looks between her companions. “How about we grab our new clothes and take turns keeping watch for each other. We haven’t seen any stragglers for a bit, so we should be good for at least a few minutes.”

Luke and Clementine instantly smile at the idea. Clementine looks around the area and finds some bottles on the counter. She grabs them and places them on the shelf of the first shower. “Shampoo and soap.” For the first time in a long time, her shoulders relax. “This is going to be really nice.”

Y/N smiles at her now, a happiness washing over her knowing that this kid that grew up too fast will have just a small luxury. The world really has gone to shit, hasn’t it?

“Come on, Clem,” Y/N calls. “Let’s go get our clothes. You can go first.”

Luke and Y/N stand outside the showers facing in opposite directions, keeping lookout while Clementine takes her shower. Though they’ve only known each other a few days, the silence is comfortable. But Y/N decides to break it.

“I can’t believe the water up here still works. It’s been almost three years.”

“Well, the water probably comes from a well instead of a water plant, and the pumps are probably powered by propane,” Luke explains. “When you live out in the middle of nowhere, you can’t really get the same stuff they do in cities, or towns even.”

Y/N chuckles to herself as she asks, “So you were that kind of farm boy, huh? Did you have to ride a horse to school every day?”

Luke can barely hold back his own laughter, trying to keep a straight face as he replies, “I’m not even gonna justify that question with an answer.”

Y/N scans her surroundings as she continues, “Well, no matter what kind of farm boy you were, I’m sure it comes in handy when you need to grow food.”

“Yeah it does,” Luke replies, looking off into the woods for any type of movement. “It helped a lot with my old group. We were set up at a hardware store and put a greenhouse on the roof. Worked out pretty well.”

The girl behind him glances over her shoulder at him. “And, what happened?” She almost regrets asking when Luke is silent for a moment.

After a few seconds, he breathes out a laugh. “The first asshole with a mustache happened. He was ruthless.” He holds a hand on his side, feeling where Carver had broken his ribs.

Y/N nods in understanding. “Sounds like you’ve been through a lot.”

“Trust me, Clementine has been through a lot more than I have.”

She turns her body towards him now. “Yeah, I’m sure she has. Doesn’t mean you have to minimize your own struggles, though. You’re still allowed to be sad.”

Silence settles over them for a minute, with Luke still keeping his back to Y/N. Eventually, he whispers out, “Yeah. You’re right.”

The next moment, Clementine walks out of the bathroom dressed in her new clothes, featuring a brown leather jacket she picked up from one of the other cabins. Her hair is still wet, tied back up into pigtails, just a little neater now. Her face is much clearer now without the layers of dirt that must have piled on during their time in the woods.

“How ya feelin’ Clem?” Luke asks her.

A small smile graces her lips as she closes her eyes in bliss. “Better than I have in a while, that’s for sure.” She opens her eyes again and pulls her screwdriver out. “I’m ready for my watch.”

Luke turns to Y/N. “You go ahead next, just don’t hog all the hot water,” he says with a smirk.

Y/N returns the smirk as she starts to walk inside. “Bold of you to assume there is any hot water to begin with.”

As she disappears behind the door, Luke resumes his position, scanning the woods for any threats. Clem does the same, looking in the opposite direction, as she says, “It was nice to take a shower. I wish we could stay here.”

Luke smiles to himself sadly. He knows she’s right, that they can’t stay here. But still, he asks her, “And why can’t we?”

“It’s too open. There aren’t any fences, and we don’t have enough people to build fences. If a herd were to come through here, we wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Luke can’t help but think how smart Clementine is. I guess that’s what growing up in a world like this does to a kid…

“We’ll find another place,” he assures her. “A better place that we can defend a lot more easily. You’ll see.”

Clementine nods. “We just have to keep moving.” She turns more towards Luke now. “But, it would be nice to spend one more night here. The mattresses are a lot more comfortable.”

Luke laughs to himself about how straightforward she is. “Yeah, I think we could spend one more night. And we’ll take another look around later to see if we can find a tent and sleeping bags. That’s at least a couple steps up from sleeping in the trees. And I’ll end up with fewer bug bites.”

Clem laughs a little at Luke. He is always the optimist, and whether he knows it or not, one of the only people who could get Clem to laugh after everything she’s been through. She almost feels like he’s helped keep her human.

“And it’s nice that Y/N is with us now,” Clementine says. “I wasn’t sure how much I trusted her when we met, but she’s smart, and she looks out for us. And it doesn’t feel like she wants to leave us.”

Luke’s smile falls. “You don’t have to mention Jane. I know good and well the mistakes I made.”

“I don’t think you made any mistakes,” she clarifies. “If anyone made a mistake, it was Jane.”

As she finishes her sentence, Y/N swings the door open, still rubbing her hair dry with a towel. “Good luck with that water, farm boy, it is cold as ice!”

Luke cringes for a second, thinking back to the lake they crossed just a few months ago. But he swiftly recovers, making his way into the bathroom. “I’m sure I can handle it.”

Y/N pulls her hunting knife out once again as she stands next to Clem. Once it’s been a few moments, she asks, “So, who’s Jane?”

Clementine isn’t very surprised by the question. She’s used to hearing things she wasn’t supposed to, so she figures it happens to everyone else. “She was with our group for a while. We escaped from this guy named Carver together.”

“Is that the asshole with a mustache?”

“Yeah. He is. After we escaped Carver, we had to find somewhere safe for our friend Rebecca. She was… having a baby. After we found a safe place and she was okay, Jane left. Luke was really upset. He really liked her.”

An ache blooms in Y/N’s chest as she hears her say the words “he really liked her.” What does that mean? What kind of like?

“I don’t think they would have worked out, though,” Clementine continues. “She only cared about herself. Luke cares about everyone.”

The ache in her chest dulls a bit. “Yeah, he really does.” She crosses her arms and turns more towards Clementine. “I never really thanked you for letting me join you guys. I know how hard it is to trust people these days. So, thank you, really.”

Clementine smiles to herself, then looks up at Y/N, seeing the shy appreciation painted on her face. “Yeah. No problem. We like having you with us.”

Y/N uncrosses her arms now. “I’m glad to hear it, cause I like being with you, too.” Once again, silence falls upon them. But something Clementine said just won’t leave Y/N’s head. Although she knows it’s probably a sensitive topic, she can’t help asking, “What happened to Rebecca and her baby?”

Clem turns her face away, her ball cap shrouding it in shadows. “They didn’t make it.”

I just had to ask, didn’t I? Y/N scolds herself. With a silent sigh, she says, “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” Clementine responds softly. “So am I.” She looks up at Y/N and they lock eyes, a mutual understanding passing between them. They’ve both lost people, those they loved and cared about, but now they have each other. And they’re going to keep moving.

The door to the bathroom creaks open one last time as Luke walks out, hair clean and damp, wearing a new pair of blue jeans and a red button up, unbuttoned to show a gray tee shirt underneath. The lack of dirt on his face allows Y/N to finally get a good look at his features. But she refuses to let herself stare, instead turning back to Clementine.

“Alright, now that we are lean and clean fighting machines, we should plan what we’re doing next,” Y/N says, trying her best to not act flustered. God, he looks good, I can’t handle this…

“Well, Clementine and I were talking earlier, and we both think we should move on from here. We just can’t protect it, not properly. We’re better off taking the supplies we can find and moving on up the river.” He looks out towards the intended direction. “But we should spend one more night here. The day’s almost run out of daylight, and we should see about finding a tent and some sleeping bags.”

Y/N finally looks towards Luke again, slightly calmed down. “Sounds like a plan to me. We should see if there’s a storage shed around here. It might be down by the river.”

“Well then, what are we waitin’ for?” Luke takes the lead heading towards the river. Clementine runs up to walk beside him, leaving Y/N to take up the rear. She has to stop herself from watching Luke as he walks, though it’s very difficult.

For the love of god, why does his ass gotta look so good in jeans? She rubs her hands down her face, as if it could make the embarrassment go away. Stop it, Y/N. Pull yourself together.

After a few short minutes, they make it to the river. Clementine points off to the right. “That looks like a shed. Trust me, I know sheds inside and out.” She crosses her arms, glaring at Luke, but a playful smile arises on her lips.

Luke laughs and looks at her incredulously. “Now, I thought we’d moved on from that. And you know I was against it in the first place.” He starts walking towards the shed.

Y/N starts walking beside Clementine. “I assume there’s a story there?”

Clementine nods. “His people locked me in a shed the first night I met them. They thought I was bit.”

“But you weren’t.”

“I was,” she says in a solemn voice. Then she looks up at Y/N, “by a dog.”

Y/N lets out a sigh of relief, not realizing she was holding her breath to begin with. “And they couldn’t tell the difference?”

“Even if they could, they didn’t want to take the chance.” She takes a moment to think back on the people she grew to care about in so little time. “But all of them are gone now.”

Y/N looks down at the girl in sympathy. “You still have Luke.”

“Yeah…” the girl looks straight ahead at Luke as he nears the shed. “I do.”

Luke slows to a stop and turns around to wait for the girls that follow after him. “Come on, now, we’re burnin’ daylight.”

They pick up their pace and on their way, Y/N asks, “Is he always like this?”

Clementine smiles knowingly. “Only sometimes.”

After a more than successful trip to the shed, the survivors sit around their cabin eating a mix of rice and beef jerky, feeling more full than any of them have in weeks. Next to them lays their haul from the evening: a folded tent, three rolled up sleeping bags, and some extra cans of propane so they can bring their cooktop with them. It’ll be difficult to carry everything they accumulated, but they’re sure they’ll manage. They also found some kayaks in the shed, but decided against water travel, much to Luke’s relief.

Clementine makes her way up to the loft to turn in early. Meanwhile, Y/N stares up at the ceiling as she chews her rice, the final rays of sunset bouncing off the wood. She closes her eyes for a moment, appreciating the peace that washes over her. She hears footsteps coming towards her, already knowing who it is without opening her eyes.

“Whatcha’ thinking about?” Luke asks, balancing his own bowl of rice as he sits down beside her.

She hums in response at first. “Just appreciating this peace while it lasts. I knew it wouldn’t last anyway, but it sucks we have to move on from here. I was already getting used to it.”

“I don’t blame you. This place has felt like paradise. With how little trouble we’ve had, you’d think the world was goin’ back to normal.” He sets down his bowl and lays down on the floor, hands behind his head as he takes in the sunset’s rays as well. “Some foolish part of me feels like things could be normal again.”

Y/N opens her eyes and turns her head towards him, finding the slightest hint of a frown on his face. She pulls her knees up to her chest and hugs them. “I don’t think it’s foolish at all. We can’t give up hope, not when we’ve survived this long.”

“Hard to believe it’s almost been three years… Summer’s just on the horizon. Feels like just a few days ago I was sittin’ on Nick’s porch talkin’ bout how good life was.” He lifts one hand and rubs at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

Y/N lays down facing Luke, one hand under her cheek. She can feel her own eyes start to water at the raw emotion. After a few moments, she chokes out, “They live on through us. We keep living for them.” She thinks back to her own family, what little she found left of them. But it’s still too painful and she pushes the thoughts back down. “I’m sorry… for all you lost.”

“Yeah…” he opens his eyes and turns his head towards her. “I’m sorry, too.” His eyes are glassy as he speaks. They lay there a moment, drinking in the sadness that surrounds them, acknowledging their hurt. Moments like this… they don’t get them often. They don’t get to feel so human. Luke gazes at her, contemplating a feeling he hasn’t felt in eons. Never thought feeling so vulnerable would feel so safe… I haven’t gotten a chance to really feel in… in a long time.

“We should probably head to bed…” Y/N whispers, starting to sit up. “We should head out as soon as the sun’s up.”

Luke sits up as well, stuttering, “Oh, uh, yeah. You’re right.” Embarrassment settles over him as he realizes that he was basically staring at her until she broke eye contact.

They both shamble up the ladder to their loft, finding Clementine already fast asleep. Y/N sighs and frowns a bit. “I feel bad that we’re having to leave this so soon… She’s so comfortable here.” She moves to lay down beside the girl.

Luke takes the last space beside Y/N. “This place just isn’t safe enough. We’ll find someplace else.”

“Yeah… We will.” She turns on her side, facing away from him. “Goodnight, Luke.” A heat spreads through her body as she says his name.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” He stares at the ceiling as he waits for sleep to overtake him, counting the knots in the wood as if they’re sheep, trying not to mourn the loss that awaits them in the morning. I’ll worry about that when it’s daylight.

Next Chapter: Moving On

A/N: Here it is! My weekend at anime expo really messed up my schedule sadly :( I'm gonna try to keep to my schedule as much as I can!

Also, wow each chapter is getting longer and longer lol I love to see it. I'm having some bad writers block with my next chapter, but I plan to eradicate it soon! Worry not, citizens!

#twdg #twdg s2 #telltale the walking dead #the walking dead #twd #luke x reader #twdg luke #twdg luke x reader #clementine #twdg clementine #twdg season 2 #summer on the horizon

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wiypt-writes · 3 years

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25 Days Of CHRIS-Mas

Summary: Ransom is still a disaster in the kitchen but knows just how to rescue the meal he’s been trying to cook all day…

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale (Knives Out) x Reader

Warnings: Bad Language, smut (NSFW, 18+)

W/C: Hazard a guess about 2k ish

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction, any likeness to any persons or events in real life are purely co-incidental. I do not own any characters contained herein bar the reader and/or any original characters. I do not give consent for my work to be copied and posted/translated onto any other sites. If you see this fiction anywhere other than Tumblr, it has been taken without permission.By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer and ALL warnings posted here.

A/N: HE IS BACK!! Real Life Tasks Ransom and Reader return and we get an insight into their lives as parents now!

Posted on mobile with my left hand. Apologies in advance for any mistakes! Dedicated to @sweater-daddiesdumbdork and @jennmurawski13 who wrote this Ransom with me last year…

25 Days Of CHRIS-mas Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Day 22: Ari Levinson (Red Sea Diving Resort)

Miserable. That was the only word he could think of at the moment. Ransom Drysdale was miserable.

He'd been attempting to make dinner, a fancy one at that, in three attempts now and so far, he burnt it, undercooked it and somehow turned a sauce into a gelatinous glob.

"This is bullshit," he said flatly. A coo sounded as he looked behind him at his eleven month old son, Teddy, happily gnawing away on a snack cracker and fruit while he suffered over the filthy counters and stove.

“Thanks for your support,” Ransom’s hands felll to his hips. “Suppose you think this is funny.”

A squeal came in reply.

“I would tell you to eat shit,” Ransom arched a brow before he scoffed and looked at the devastation on the kitchen side, “looks like your mommy’s gonna be doing that.”

Teddy signed for more snacks and Ransom groaned.

"Words, kid, they're in there, just... speak."

“Abbabbbaaddd,” came the nonsense reply.

With a tremendous eye roll that would put Joni to shame, Ransom scoffed at his son and went back to whatever bleak situation dinner had become but not before tossing his son another biscuit.

He cussed and he groaned, his fourth and now his final attempt at a meal falling from the pot and pan and straight into the garbage.

Checking his watch, he flicked up his brows. "Perfect. Just enough time for Bistro de Paris to deliver."

He reached for his phone and just as he was about to call through his order, it rang, his mothers caller ID flashing on the screen. For a moment he hesitated, ready to decline the call, but his Nanna Wanetta hadn’t been well recently so…

“Linda?”

“Lovely to speak to you, too.” His mom's sarcastic response came.

"To what do I owe the lack of pleasure ?"

“I wanted to know if me and your father will be seeing you, Y/N and Theodore on Christmas Day.”

“No,” he replied simply, cutting the call.

That easily handled, he dialed the bistro and put in the order for the exact meal he was attempting to make. Once he’d read his card details out he tossed the phone back into the side abs looked around at the mess in the kitchen.

“Fahk,” he grumbled, his eyes flicking back to Teddy, “you know, before I met your mom my time was filled with alcohol, hookers and drugs. Now it’s housework, puke and dirty diapers.”

Teddy blinked, blue eyes so like his own gazed back up at Ransom and then his baby boy smiled at him. A smile so big it caused his little nose to scrunch up, flashing the four teeth he had.

"You're lucky you're cute," Ransom snorted and collected Teddy from his high chair. "Let's get you down for a nap, huh?"

Then in a quick move, he puckered his lips and pressed them into his son's forehead.

Teddy down in the pack and play, Ransom quickly got rid of any evidence of his kitchen disaster. He’d become quite adapt at most household chores over the last few years since you had fallen pregnant; okay, some had resulted in trips to the ER, others almost burning the house down or blowing it up. But he tried. Which was more than anyone had ever expected of him.

And in that he was proud. But dinner, he'd yet to master anything beyond boiling water and the simplest of meals. In a way, it frustrated him, annoyed him to a desperate end each time and for once, just once in his life he wanted it to get it right the first time.

It was your favorite meal, chicken cordon bleu with dauphinois potatoes and a beurre blanc, and it mattered to him that he got it right. For you.

He tossed the pans into the dishwasher and set it going, before grabbing a beer and heading to the lounge. He found himself googling cookery classes before he snorted and gave his head a wobble.

“Fahk this, I’d rather hire a chef.”

That was it, the answer to his Christmas gift for the two of you. A chef, to handle dinners and the shopping. Weekends you could manage together, breakfast, he was getting good at and lunch was simple enough to throw together. Dinner, yep, Merry Christmas, you were getting a chef.

Just as Teddy began to stir, the gate buzzer went signalling the food was here. Setting it to one side to serve just before you got home, he got his son's dinner ready.

"Butter noodles and peas for you tonight, spawn," he set a few tablespoons on the highchair and began plating your meal.

In the knick of time, you pulled in and he smirked to himself as he set the last container in the trash.

You walked onto the kitchen, kicking off your heels and beemed as Teddy gave an excited shriek.

"Hi handsome, how's my baby?" You cooed back at him, plucking him from his chair.

“I’m fine.” Ransom replied.

“I was talking to Ted.”

“I remember a time before the crotch goblin when I was the first person you’d kiss when you got home,”

"But you're always my last." You kissed him.

“Good day?” He asked as you set Teddy back in his chair.

"Meh, this Christmas charity ball is going to kill me, but I'm better now. I had to work through lunch and I'm starved."

Ransom frowned, “that asshole Barber works you too hard. You’re a legal secretary not a fucking party planner.”

"There's a committee of us, Ransom," you shook your head, "and Andy is a senior partner, who happens to have his turn this year as the event head. They rotate each year. It's fine, I'm fine, just tired."

“He’s still a prick. And that son of his is a creep, reminds me of Walt’s brat.”

"Well, just... Let it go, okay?" You patted his cheek and sighed. "Dinner ready, handsome?" Now you looked to him with the moniker.

"Yup,” he nodded. “Go change and I’ll serve it up.”

"Okay!"

“You can wear my sweater, no need for anything else.”

"I might do just that."

With a smirk, you left the room and headed to change. You pulled on his soft cable knit, a pair of bed shorts and chunky socks before you made your way back down to the kitchen.

"That's what I'm looking for," Ransom smirked as he eyed you.

“Save it for later, Tiger, I’m starved.”

He handed you a glass of wine and you went to sit. He grabbed the two plates and followed right behind you.

As you sat, he placed a plate in front of you and you blinked. “You made this?”

"Yep, worked all day on it.”

“I’m impressed.”

"Thank you," he shrugged.

“I mean the house didn’t burn down…” you took a sip of wine, “wait, you still got all your fingers?”

"I'll show you what all ten fingers can do after he," he nods to Teddy, "goes to bed."

"Maybe you can show me, in the den by the fire and our Christmas tree."

“As long as your not gonna make me watch some Hallmark shit beforehand.”

"Fine, how about you read to me, you haven't done that in a while."

Ransom smiled genuinely, his cheeks sporting just a hint of a flush. For all his bluster and bravado, there were certain moments with you he loved. Reading to you had become a habit when you were pregnant, and one he’d happily adopted for Teddy too.

“Okay.”

"A Christmas Carol?"

He shrugged “you know Scrooge was on crack, right? It’s the only explanation.”

"Absolutely," you snorted.

“But I’ll read you the crack fic, Princess.”

You smile warmly in appreciation.

Breezing through the rest of dinner, you allow Ransom to clear the plates while you bathed Teddy for bed. His night time bottle of milk was had as he sat on his daddy’s knee, Ransom gently reading to him as he sat snuggled up in his little blue pajamas.

Becoming a father had truly brought out the best in your husband, who so many before you had written off as a spoilt, trust fund prick. Which wasn’t entirely inaccurate, but you saw a side to him no others bothered to even try and notice.

And you knew, despite what anyone may say, he’d die for the little bundle that was now starting to fall asleep on his lap. He didn't even make it to the final page of the nursery rhyme book before Teddy was fast asleep, the bottle languidly hanging from his mouth.

Ransom glanced down, smiling as he pressed a kiss to your baby’s hair. “Love you, spawn”

“Stop calling him that!” You admonished.

"I mean it endearingly," he lifted the tot and gently led him in his crib.

You tucked him in and turned on the night light, the pair of you posing in the doorway, watching for a second.

“He is beautiful, Ransom,” you sighed, “how did we make something so perfect?”

"I ask myself that every time I look in the mirror."

You turned to him with a sigh and roll of your eyes as he ran his hand through his hair, a soft look on his face.

“I know I’m an asshole, and I don’t deserve anything so wonderful but here we are, huh?”

"Here we are."

“Come on, princess.” His arm dropped round your shoulders. “I owe you a story.” His nose dipped into your temple as his lips fell over the shell of your ear. "And a few fingers."

“You do,” you smirked. “Which one d’ya wanna do first?”

"Fuck you into Christmas morning," he nipped at your ear as you walked the halls.

"That’s a week away… you think you got that kind of staying power?”

“Oh baby, you know I do.”

You flicked your brows, you knew he did. You definitely knew he did.

“Still wanna go downstairs?” He rumbled in your ear as you passed the door to your room.

"Nope." You pulled him into your doorway with a flirtatious giggle.

“Mrs Drysdale, I like your style,” he smirked as he kicked the door shut behind him.

Your lips were quick on his, his hands finding the hem of that sweater he loved to see you in so often. He loved your body, the way in ways it remained the same before Teddy and the supple ways it had changed since. His eyes flashed in the dim light coming from the strings of bulbs which hung down over the outside of your windows as he took in your bare chest, tiny shorts and socks which were pulled up to your knees.

"Fuck you're so beautiful," he breathed out as he backed you into the bed, his knees crawling across the mattress while your ass scooted along the plush surface. "My little kitten."

You blinked up at him coquettishly, your hands moving to the top of your right sock, but his fingers were quick to curl round your wrist, the metal of his wedding band cool against your skin.

“You know I like them, princess, leave 'em on.”

“Kinky fucker." You bit your lip.

"With you, anything," he smirked.

His lips pressed back you yours, the kiss urgent as his tongue battled for dominance with yours

"No foreplay," you nipped at his bottom lip. "Need you."

“So we’re skipping the fingers,” he nodded, sitting back in his heels and tugging your sleep shorts down, “needy bitch.”

Gracefully, he rose to his feet and whipped off his burgundy sweater before he undid his belt and jeans, and in a flash was naked by the side of the bed.

"Plans change," you swallowed, admiring your husband's body and form. Stay at home fatherhood didn't change him in physical or mental prowess whatsoever.

His hands gripped your ankles and he gave a sharp tug, pulling you down the bed so your ass was just perching on the edge at the foot.

"I thought I said... Oh fuck," his thick shaft slipped right inside.

"What was that?" He grunted as he pulled back and thrust forward again, his hands on your ankles, wrapping those smooth legs of yours around his slender waist.

"Oh fuck." You shuddered again.

“Yeah, that’s it…” he thrust deeper, “fahk, you were made for me.”

Your hands grasped for the comforter, fistfuls as he plowed into you as deep as he could. Your preening and gasping well heard no doubt if company were around.

"Fahking take me so well, kitten."

“Hugh, fuck…”

"Don't... call... me... that..." he grunted with each thrust. "Say my name."

You smirked sinfully and preened as he hit a sensitive spot, "Ransom."

"Yeah, baby, you’re mine.”

"Harder, please. Fill me up," you whimpered.

"Gonna fill you so good you’ll be feeling me for days, princess.”

"Dripping with you," you panted.

“God, you’re a dirty bitch,” he grunted, pulling out of you. You whined but didn’t have much chance to protest as he manhandled you onto your front.

Ass up, face down, his hand curled a kind your neck as your cheek pressed to the bed. In a jolt he was back inside you, a loud hiss coming from his mouth.

"Such a tight pussy, kitten, all mine," his flat tongue laved up your spine as he pistoned into you.

"Yeah, always…”

A few more deep thrusts and you were crying his name as you came. Your body went lax in his hold as your orgasm washed over you, your mind a pure blank as his hips continued powering in and out of you

You could feel him swell and pulse inside you, his fingertips pressing into your hips. A gutteral growl boomed from his throat and chest as he spilled into you.

A moment later he collapsed onto the bed besides you, turning you both as he did so. Strong, possessive arms held you to him, your back pressed to his chest.

He peppered between your shoulders with kisses, soft and slow. Your chest inflated slowly as you steadied your breath, breathing out long exhales.

"I love you," his nose bumped the back of your ear.

"I love you, too." You replied. "And I love Bistro de Paris."

You giggled a little as you felt his kisses stop, his body grow rigid behind you, his softened cock still stuffed inside you, plugging his essence from dripping out. "What?"

“You heard.”

That low, deep chuckle grew in his well sculpted chest, "Busted."

"Mmhmm," you hummed. "Next time, take the trash out beforehand."

“I did try. Those pans we have kept burning everything.”

"Blaming the pans isn’t going to improve your skills, Ransom."Gently you turned in his hold, your body freeing him from your heat. "But, I deeply appreciate the effort, honey. I know you try."

He smirked a little, his lips pecking yours, “we know my skills lie in the bedroom, princess, not the kitchen.”

🎄🎄🎄🎄

Day 24: Andy Barber (Defending Jacob)

#wiypt25daysofchristmas #ransom Drysdale #ransom Drysdale x reader #ransom Drysdale x you #reader insert #chris evans characters

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tumbleassbitch · 2 years

Text

another lost soul (letting my instinct take control) | The Quarry | TravisxLaura

Characters: Laura Kearney, Travis Hackett, The Hackett family Summary: Max dies in the cellar. This changes everything.

Chapter 9/? | Chapter 8

July 15, 2022

All things considered, it’s not that bad.

Underneath the fluorescent lights of the shower room, the bruises along her ribs look… normal. No internal bleeding or squashed organs.

Probably, Laura thinks dubiously.

Looking over her shoulder hurts like hell, but she only finds a collage of purples and blues beneath a scattering of crimson scrapes and pricks, the worst covered up by bandages. It kind of looks like an ugly Jackson Pollock painting, but at least it’s non-lethal.

She pulls her shirt back down with a wince and makes the stilted walk back to her cot, trailing one hand along the wall to keep upright. By the time she’s made it halfway, sweat is beading along her brow and she feels uncomfortably close to passing out.

That is, until a steady arm loops under her own.

“You should’ve called,” Travis says, irritation lacing his words.

And do this whole dance and song again? she thinks dismally, but there's no point in starting a fight with the person who’s literally holding her up.

“Thanks,” she says flatly.

They make it back to the cell in quick time, and she slumps down with a heavy breath, taking no effort in masquerading just how much that short walk took out of her.

Travis lingers by the cot, folding his arms in stern judgment.

There’s a reason she didn’t ask for help. Looking at him now in the light of day makes last night all the more worse.

“I brought you your things,” he says after a moment of loaded silence. “They’re tucked under the bed.”

“Cool. I’ll make sure to dig around for them later.”

“I didn’t—” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I put them there so you wouldn’t trip when you got up.”

Laura grunts, but there’s no real malice behind it. He eyes her shrewdly.

“I brought you some ice to switch out for the heat pack, and I’ll charge that while you rest. Breakfast and coffee will be ready in a bit. I figured something with protein might feel good, so I’m defrosting some sausage and—”

He’s rambling.

“—is your pain level? Do you need something stronger? I guess now’s about the time to take another dose, huh?” He feels around his shirt pocket, and his mouth dips into a deeper frown.

“Shit. I’ll get you the pills before breakfast. Afterwards, I can help you to the showers if you want, maybe put a chair in there so you can sit—”

Travis pauses, and his eyes narrow with accusation. “Are you even listening to me?”

“...Yes?”

He purses his lips, looking both exasperated and uncomfortable all at once. “Okay, you know what? I’ll go get your meds. Don’t do anything stupid in the minute that I’m gone.”

He casually tosses something on her pillow, and her world goes still. It’s her phone. The bright but scratched, polka-dot casing stands out amongst the grays. Max’s mom got it for her two Christmases ago.

When Laura looks up, he’s already gone.

July 16th, 2022

“You missed the funeral.”

“Yeah.”

"Yeah?" Skylar Brinly's breath is heavy against the receiver. "That's it? Where have you been, Laura? I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for weeks!”

A beat.

“Max. Max is. He's... You haven’t even called until now."

“I know.”

“You know?” Her laugh is a staccato, bitter note. “I know that my brother’s body was so mangled that they gave us his fucking shoes to ID him. I know that my mom, who took you in like a daughter, didn’t eat for a week. We had to admit her into hospice. She’s still there, by the way.”

A whine builds up in the back of her throat.

“Are you even listening to me? Say something, Laura! Say anything! …Laura?”

“Yuh- yeah.” Laura’s words break off into a silent cry, and she curls up in agony. Her muscles scream against the sudden stretch.

Skyler makes a discontented note on the other line, but Laura interrupts her with a gasp of air, like she’s finally breaking the surface of a long dive.

“I’m s-suh-sorry," her breath hitches, "I’m s-so sorry, Sky, I-I can’t explain⁠— I wasn't there and I should've been there, I wanted to be there for you and Dave and Jules but I wasn't. I fucked up. God, I fucked up."

"Hey," Skylar says hesitantly, her own voice suspiciously wet sounding, but Laura blubbers over her.

"No. Fuck, Sky, listen. I'm a fucking curse. I shouldn't have made Max go with me in the first place. But I'm gonna m-make it better, alright? And then if yuh-you guys still want me then, I can come h-home—"

"Oh, Laura."

"—but I can't do that right now, 'Kay? I can't. I can't."

Skylar shushes her. Her contact photo is one of the both of them at high school graduation, and even through the cracks in her old phone screen, they look flushed and sweaty and happy.

It aches to look at now, after everything, but Laura latches onto it like a lifeline. Her shoulders rack around another sob.

"Are you…" Skylar asks hesitantly. "Is this about…?"

She's talking about That.

"No," Laura says as firm as her voice will allow. It isn’t much.

"It’s not your fault.” Skylar’s voice goes soft, familiar. It’s the tone she used when Laura used to have an episode. “There wasn’t anything you could’ve said or done to stop him. You know that. The cops were already there.”

“It’s not,” she starts, licking her lips. “It’s not about that.”

“Well, it kinda sounds like that. Because you’re saying you can’t come home after my brother died, and yet you weren’t even there when it happened. So it seems to me like you’re blaming yourself again for something completely out of your hands, again, and I don’t want to see you go down this path. Again.”

“I’m not, Sky. I won’t. I’m just not… ready.”

“...Okay.”

“I miss you.”

Skylar’s voice hitches, and it takes a moment before she speaks again. “I miss you. I miss Max, too…”

They go on like that for a while, even if most of the conversation is the two of them sobbing and stumbling through their grief. But, still. It feels good to talk to family again.

Skylar ends the call with a promise and a threat to talk again soon, and that if she isn’t home in the next few weeks, she’ll hunt Laura down herself.

Coming home would be good, if not quite feel right. It’s hard to imagine going back to the old room in the Brinly household, eating cereal with Dave at the old and dented kitchen table.

What really stops her above all else— Even beyond your revenge fantasy, girl?— is the thought of seeing Max's face again. His dorky, bright, beautiful smile is forever memorialized in the dozens of family photos littered around the house.

She hasn't dared open the gallery on her phone, and she zoomed past the home screen photo of them at the zoo as if it would leap out and grab her. Fuck, it took her a day after getting her phone back to call his sister, her best friend.

She's a coward. That's the truth.

And maybe she hasn't stumbled out of this cell because of it. This werewolf curse is too convenient of an excuse to go back into the "real world" of funerals, and college, and starting over. Maybe that makes her a bad person.

Honestly? This isn’t even the defining moment of making her a bad person. This is just another nail in the very real, heavy coffin that is her life. Just one more mark against her that she has to wipe clean before other people can see it, too.

A cough pulls her from her thoughts, and Laura sharply inhales.

Travis stands in the doorway of her cell like an awkward penguin. She’s still curled up in a fetal position like some unstable person.

Of fucking course. It’s almost like he waits for her to crack before appearing like some ghoulish phantom.

“What,” she says flatly.

“I—uh. Wanted to check on you.”

Laura furiously wipes at her face. “I’m fine.”

“On your injuries,” he elaborates, fidgeting with his belt. “Won’t take a minute.”

It’s going to take a fucking hour, she thinks ruefully. Her back hurts so bad that she had to crawl to the toilet in the middle of the night, and it’s not like the rest of her is doing any better after that emotional dump of a phone call.

She lets the silence stew, and Travis eyes her warily. Maybe he expects her to lash out. That, or break into tears, which is a mortifying enough thought that she musters up a glare that could wither stone.

“I already checked them this morning,” she replies. With her clogged nose and grated throat, it sounds little more than a whine. The weight of his stare makes her crack first, if only to get this moment over with sooner.

“You may approach, officer,” Laura says sarcastically.

Travis rolls his eyes, though something about him clicks back into normalcy. This back-and-forth routine is far more comfortable than whatever they teetered on so carefully just two nights ago.

Slowly, grimacing with pain, she manages to roll onto her front. It’s like her back is seizing up more by the hour, and she’s tempted to abort halfway.

“Just do it,” she mumbles into the pillow when he hesitates. “Don’t get handsy.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Travis says with a disgruntled note. But his hands are still careful when they roll her shirt up, and his touches are short and quick along her spine and sides.

“It’s looking better. At worst, I think you just bruised your ribs,” he says after a while, rolling her shirt down. “But it might not even be that bad, from the looks of it. Your breathing’s still clear?”

“Yup.”

He hums in acknowledgement. One finger lightly traces over the skin of one of the scabbed-over cuts, and his touch leaves a trail of nerves in its wake.

“There’s nothing we can really do, ‘cept continue to wait,” Travis says quietly. He places another fresh pack of ice on her back, and stands with a grunt.

As abrupt as he first appeared, he turns to leave. She stops him. “What did you tell them?”

“Who?” It’s obvious who she’s talking about. He’s stalling.

There’s a lingering stretch of quiet, like the balm after a long storm. His mouth dips like a bobber in the waves.

“You and Max were traveling to the motel. He forgot something back home. Rather than make you drive with, he dropped you off to reserve a room and left on his own, and took a corner too fast. These back-country roads aren’t easy for out-of-towners. It was… quick.”

“It was,” she says, worrying her lip absent-mindedly. He clears his throat, suddenly averting his eyes to the wall.

“Travis.” Laura waits for him to look at her before continuing. “Thank you.”

His lips part softly in surprise. Thank you for doing what you could to save my life, is what she was going to say, but the sudden openness to his face, the vulnerability, stops her short. It’s like the years have melted off of him.

It’s too much, is what it is. This side of Travis feels weird to know. Maybe ‘weird’ is too strong of a word, but all she knows is that it makes her insides twist uncomfortably and that, in itself, is weird.

“And that’s my kindness quota for the day,” she blurts. “So, if you don’t mind…?”

His brow crinkles in confusion, then irritation when she makes grabby hands.

“Don’t get addicted,” he says gruffly, slapping two painkillers into her palm. She accepts them greedily.

And since she’s in a better mood than usual, Laura doesn’t even tease him for the way his ears have gone pink.

July 18th 2022

It’s a little past midnight, and Laura is woken up by the sound of someone else in the building.

“...the middle of the night?”

It’s hard to say if it’s a man or a woman, but Travis’ hushed words leading to the office carry over from the main room like an agitated bee hive.

It’s a while before their voices come back around. They must be heading back towards the entrance.

“...none of your business…”

“Couldn’t you, y’know, handle it?”

It’s definitely a man. It would be weird for Kaylee to come by this late, she supposes, yet the disappointment comes all the same.

“...you even hear yourself? ... a police officer!” Travis has never quite sounded like this before. He’s angry, obviously, but there’s a different note to it that she can’t place a finger on.

Laura strains to hear more, but their voices continue to fade.

“ ...won’t...keep your mouth shut.”

They’re gone.

She must drift back to sleep while listening for anything else, because the next thing she knows, a strike of a car engine overhead jolts her back to awareness. The headlights cast fingers of light across the stone, reaching past the bars on her little window, and settle into the lines of the stone wall and Travis’ face.

Her throat closes up. There’s Travis, leaning against the wall, a bottle of something dark in hand. The light flits away as the car moves on, the crunch of pavement sounding faintly. All that’s left to illuminate them both is the pale touch of moonlight.

Her mind instantly runs through every question, her possible escape routes, but… he’s just sitting there. He isn’t in her cell, and he doesn’t even seem to notice that she’s awake.

He probably couldn’t even walk a straight line. The bottle looks more than half empty.

Travis releases a heavy sigh into the night, and he slumps further down the wall. Seeing him this way feels… wrong. Like she’s witnessing something forbidden.

It’s not my fault he camped out here, she thinks defensively.

“Didn’t mean for this to ‘appen.” His slurred voice catches her off guard. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

She lies painstakingly still.

“Y’shouldn’t have thanked me,” he goes on to say. “M’not worth that.”

The way he appears before her is typically so self-assured. He stalks around here with an air of well-worn exasperation, always ready to unleash his own brand of confidence through dry wit and blunt honesty.

This? This sad man stretched out on concrete and moonlight, drinking straight from the bottle? She doesn’t recognize him.

Yes, you do, she thinks ruefully. What other kind of man goes to the trouble of covering up his family’s mess?

He huffs a bitter laugh, and sloshes the bottle’s contents around before setting it down with a look of disgust.

“I’m fucking pathetic, is what I am,” he comments wryly, gazing up at the window. It’s eerily close to her train of thought, and for a second, she’s worried she spoke aloud.. A lopsided grin twists his face in a mockery of amusement, and the smile dies after a few breaths.

He swallows heavily, throat bobbing with the movement, and slowly rises to his feet. It takes a few unsteady steps before he remembers the bottle, and it takes even longer for him to lean down and swipe it.

“Sh-iiiit,” he mumbles, stretching out the curse. “Fuck me. Fuck.”

Laura holds her breath as his shuffled gait disappears down the hall.

Later, much later, she’ll wonder if he understood the gravity of what he was apologizing for.

July 20th, 2022

“I’m ready,” she announces.

Travis looks up from the coffee pot in surprise.

“Ready?” he repeats drily. A packet of oatmeal is in hand, and a bowl is already out for her. It looks like she came by just in time.

“I was able to walk all the way here without help, so yeah, I’m ready.” She puts a hand on her hip, relishing in the soft, familiar material of her leggings. The matching cropped jacket and baseball cap make her feel almost normal, as if this were a casual summer trip and not a manhunt.

His calculating gaze sweeps over her, and if it were coming from any other man, she’d feel like a piece of meat. Instead, she just feels irritated.

“We agreed. It’s been three days.”

The last couple of days has been a slow crawl of pain meds, hot and cold packs, and one awkward session of bandage changing that Laura immediately vetoed from ever happening again.

It’s been painful in nearly every faucet, and Kaylee still hasn’t stopped by.

Travis himself offered up the compromise, “if only so you could please shut up for five goddamn minutes,” so, here she is.

Though, given what she happened to witness a few nights ago, some productive time away will do him some good, too. He can blame it on her impatience as much as he wants, but she’s seen beyond the mask.

Travis needs a distraction, and she needs a partner who isn’t five steps away from getting drunk and watching pretty girls sleep. Yikes.

Her boot taps impatiently against the side of her bag. It’s a little shoulder pouch she packed to ferry around bandaids and snacks at camp, and it doubles as a perfect overnight bag.

He eyes her unimpressed. “We agreed to reassess in three days.”

“And the full moon is in just a few days!”

“That’s right,” he says matter-of-factly. “Which means I have prepping that I need to do, and you still have to take it easy. I’m not dragging your ass up another ravine.”

“C’mon,” she says flippantly. “Don’t act like you haven’t already taken the day off.”

He makes a sort of indignant sound, but he doesn’t deny it. “The day, I could maybe swing. But what’s with the bag?”

“In case I need it,” she says vaguely. “It’s a bit of a drive, right?”

His eyes dart up towards the ceiling. Thinking. Perhaps… waiting, is a better word.

She can see the moment his resolve cracks. Wordlessly, he puts the bowl back in the cupboard and walks past her, scooping up her bag in one smooth motion.

They take no detours. His broad stride takes them to the main entrance, and when he locks up behind them, it feels like the closing of a chapter.

Laura pauses to take it in. The sheriff station stands like a monument to another time; the chips on the double doors reveal layers of old paint, years of cosmetic cover-ups stacking up into a sheet of grime. Last night’s soft summer rain still lingers in the air, and her old hiking boots scuff lightly against the pavement.

Here, in the pale light of morning, something’s changed.

“I thought you said you were ready?” he asks next to the cruiser. A light note of sarcasm dances along his tone.

“I’m surprised we’re not taking a personal car,” Laura says. Travis shoots her a look, which she takes as an invitation to continue. “I just figured… the ‘North Hill County Sheriff’ cruiser might attract a lot of stares.”

“I don’t have a personal vehicle.”

She frowns thoughtfully. “Is that a… cop thing?”

Travis’ mouth twitches. “I suppose… you could say it’s a ‘cop thing.’ I just never used mine, so I lent it to a family member who needed it.”

Laura hums in consideration and gets in, shooting a quick glance to the backseat. And— yup. She smirks; his duffle bag is already there. He doesn’t look at her, but he does switch on the radio almost immediately.

“Get comfortable,” he says. “It’s a three hour drive to Colton.”

Def Leppard thrums alive over the speakers, and Travis turns the volume up. So much for conversation, she thinks wryly.

It’s been a while since Laura’s gone on a long drive. Being with Max was all about noise; the bright notes of the latest pop song, his constant need to fidget, his driving urge to make her laugh.

Travis is the exact opposite. This man is made up of thick, solid lines drawn in the sand. The center console is paramount to the Iron Curtain. But after an hour of thick tension, she has to break it.

“Have you heard from Kaylee at all?”

He looks at her out of the corner of his eye. “No.”

“Really? Nothing?”

“Surprisingly, she has nothing to say,” he replies slowly.

“Have you tried to reach out?”

He snaps his head over with a scowl. “Out with it.“

“Nothing, geez. I’m just asking, I want to know that she’s okay. It’s weird that she hasn’t come by, so…”

Travis sighs through his nose, glancing off to the side. His fingers flex on the steering wheel. When he looks back to the road, his face is set in stone.

“Look. I appreciate your cooperation with me, despite how all this… started out. But I don’t think it would serve either of us if this agreement went any past that.”

“...Um, what?”

She watches as irritation passes through his face, but he locks it down, face resetting back to that same impenetrable stone.

“Let’s not mix business with pleasure,” he says.

Laura blanches. “Pleasure?”

Travis is already shaking his head before she finishes speaking, and this time, annoyance is plastered all over him.

“Okay, no. God. You know what I mean.” He takes a deep breath. “Look, I appreciate you caring about my niece. I really do. But I don’t want things to get more… complicated than they already are.”

“I think this is as complicated as things can get, Travis,” she deadpans, but he moves past it.

“Once this is over, you can move on, live your life. Hell, you can even go and turn me in for false imprisonment,” he says wryly, then fixes her with a serious look. “But I ask you this— leave my family out of it. Leave Kaylee out of it. I know that might be asking a lot of you, but. Please. I don’t need another thing to get tangled up with.”

Another thing.

His words twist something ugly in her chest. Laura Brandt. Another thing.

“Sure,” she says neutrally, looking at the passing scenery.

She doesn’t feel much in the mood for conversation after that.

Eventually, the highway unrolls into the meandering sprawl of country roads. There, nestled within thick evergreens and heralded by an American flag, is an old sign reading, “WELCOME TO COLTON.”

Aside from an odd cow statue that greets them with a plastered hoof full of cheese, there’s nothing much to the town.

It’s small; maybe a bit larger than North Kill, but only just. Travis takes them down the quiet main street for several blocks before turning down a side road bracketed with pines, houses scattered in-between.

They reach a backroad that feels like it was intentionally set aside, and Travis pulls over to the side. Across the street is the town library and a gas station a bit further down. It takes a moment for Laura to actually notice the purpose of their road trip.

The cemetery is, frankly, underwhelming.

It’s split into two levels, which may be a bit odd, with the typical tombstone and flat marker laid out in rows. The dirt lot next door looks big enough for a neighborhood to fit, but it’s hard to imagine a literal circus being held in a place like this.

It’s not like she’s been to a lot of cemeteries before; only once, and that was to visit her mom’s grave. But this one doesn’t exactly scream, ‘Hey, witches and werewolves! Come check this out!’

Though there’s obviously been an attempt at upkeep, the bushes lining the fence are heat-fried, and their dried corpses look less than friendly beneath the wrought iron words, COLTON CEMETERY: HERE LIE OUR FALLEN FRIENDS.

They step out of the cruiser in silence, and come to a pause outside of the rusted gate.

“Any idea on what we should be looking for?” she asks, peering down the lanes.

"The Vorez name, I’d assume.” Travis’ hand lingers near his gun. “Anything else that seems… otherworldly.”

“Right.” She crosses the threshold, and despite not expecting it, she’s still vaguely surprised that nothing… happens. No goosebumps, no chills down her spine. Just another Sunday morning at the graveyard.

“I’ll start on this half,” she says, gesturing to the right half that’s down a few steps.

“You really want to split up?” he asks with a raised brow.

Absolutely. “I don’t see any cliffs nearby,” she says drily. Her face splits into a shit-eating grin that doesn’t quite feel natural. “What, you scared?”

His flat stare speaks volumes. Travis takes the other half of the cemetery without a word. And something in her uncoils.

After being stuck in a car with him after that stellar conversation, leaving his orbit is like a breath of fresh air. Literally. It’s like she can actually breathe again without snapping whatever tenuous peace they’re see-sawing off of.

She rolls her shoulders with a wince, and descends the concrete steps into the next level. At first glance, the graves aren’t anything unique. She mentally rattles off each name while passing through.

Edna Graceson, 1886-1929

Steven Callick, 1935-1972

Geoffrey Beaumont, 1955-2003

The late morning sun starts to heat up, and she unzips her jacket. At least her baseball cap keeps the sun out of her eyes.

God, she’s missed wearing a hat. Maybe it’s stupid, but it’s been so long since she hasn’t had one at hand. Having the choice to wear something? Priceless.

The sound of grass whispering under foot rasps a ways above, and Travis’ stalking figure passes by in the upper rows. The sharp, dark lines of his body fit in with the decor.

“See anything?” he calls.

“No,” she replies. “Just… a lot of dead people.”

He studies her face. “Once I finish up here, I’ll join you down below.”

“Alright,” she starts to say, but he’s already disappearing behind the ledge. “O-kay,” she mutters. Pretty dramatic for an old cop.

The longer she looks, a trend makes itself apparent: the cemetery is very, very old. There’s more than a few markers from the 1800’s, and several of the darker, weather-beaten stones read birth years from even earlier.

One group of tombstones catches her eye. There’s no mementos in this section— flowers, photos, the like. Etched in weather-beaten stone, she reads years from the 1700’s. These probably belong to the earliest settlers in Colton.

Laura crouches down, squinting at the barely-legible carvings.

ÉLÉ NOR M RIE VALET

Below the faded name reads, ‘no longer shall you face.’ That doesn’t make sense. Face what?

Travis’ footsteps creep up behind her while she’s still trying to figure it out, and she shifts to the side to give him room.

“Check this—” she starts, but the words lodge themselves in her throat.

Because this isn’t Travis.

She isn’t sure what it is.

The mass of contorted limbs and flesh is so unlike anything she’s ever seen, that it takes a moment for her brain to recalibrate. It looks human. Or, at least it was.

The angles are all wrong, so, so wrong. Shoulders and elbows and hips and knees have been dislocated and forced in unnatural bends. Its sallow flesh is tinged and hanging with rot, sticky with dusty scraps of fabric that have long since passed the point of recognition.

But the middle— that’s where her eyes stop. Because lodged in whatever is meant to be its midsection is a large metal pole. There’s no blood. Just… dark folds of skin, swallowing it whole.

The moment hangs by a thread. Laura slowly rises from her crouch, white noise humming between her ears.

She can’t say what holds her in place as it jerkily reorients its limbs; a leg flips to the other side, the spine practically snaps in half. In the center of it all, blooming like a flower from hell itself, is Eliza Vorez’s face twisted around a gaping maw.

She takes a step back, and the thing twitches forward.

Holy shit.

Everything clicks back into place. Adrenaline hits her bloodstream like a bullet, and Laura takes off in a run. The steady pop of joints and bones and the metallic clang of the pole bouncing along the ground confirms the horrible truth.

It’s hunting her.

“Travis!”

She doesn’t have a gun. Why doesn’t she have a fucking gun?

Laura hops over the tombstone on jegs made of jelly, pumping her arms in time with the thump, thump, thump of her heartbeat. The bruises along her back and thighs, the dozens of cuts splitting open with the movement, none of it registers as she sprints amongst the graves.

Later, she won’t be able to describe what compels her to do it. But one moment, there’s a strange high whistle in the air, and Laura pivots sharply to the left out of instinct.

A half a second later, something unyielding crashes almost directly into her leg. The impact knocks her over with a cry.

Next to her, the pole is lodged into the ground, caked with rust and some other brown substance. If she hadn’t moved, if she’d just been one millisecond too late—

Eliza’s mangled body skewers itself on the pole once again, slamming into the ground with a solid thud. Laura doesn’t waste any more time.

Her fingers dig into the manicured grass for purchase, and she scrambles up to her feet in a staggered run. Pain doesn’t even register at this point.

The stairs are so close. Where the fuck is he?

She desperately leaps over another tombstone, and the sharp ring of metal against stone follows quickly after.

She takes the stairs at a breakneck pace and almost loses her footing on the last step, if it weren’t for someone grabbing her arm. Laura chokes on her gasp, and in her panic, she tries to shove away and almost tumbles down.

“Hey! Hey, it’s me!” Travis has her locked in place. “What the hell’s going on?!”

The tint of fear in his voice is enough of a drive to push him back, moving them both away from the ledge.

“There’s a- it’s chasing—!” she garbles out.

Travis pulls her behind him without another word. His gun is already drawn, and he scans the area with the end of his barrel. Laura spins around so they’re back-to-back, and her eyes desperately scan the rows upon rows of graves behind them.

“Do you see it?!” she asks breathlessly.

In the distance, the gas station sign across the street flickers.

“No.”

“It was- was some kind of monster,” she says, voice embarrassingly cracking. “It had Eliza’s face.”

His back goes tense, and the muscles coil against her spine. It’s silent, save for their heavy breathing.

Travis starts to rotate, and she follows his lead slowly, heel by heel. They’re too out in the open, but is it truly better to run at this point? Could it outrun the car?

A dry rustling sound breaks the silence, and he sharply pivots in front of her. She grabs the back of his shirt out of instinct, and immediately feels stupid. It’s just a fucking bird in a bush.

She swings back around, desperately looking back for something, anything, that crawling mess that will forever live on in her nightmares, but… there’s nothing. Belatedly, Laura steps back.

She looks up to find that he’s already been watching her.

“I’m not crazy.”

“I know,” he says, and drops his chin meaningfully. “If you’re seeing things, then that has to mean we’re getting close. I’d tell you to go back to the car—”

“No way in hell.”

“—and that’s what I thought.” His eyes have a knowing glint.

He searches her face, looking for some wordless confirmation. Finally, Travis lowers his gun, but he doesn’t holster it. “Let’s go back to where you first saw this thing.”

The rational side of her brain is screaming to leave and never come back. But it’s not so rational, is it? They’re getting closer. She can feel it.

Fuck, she could be Helen Keller and still realize something’s up. It would be idiotic to turn back now.

Don’t bitch out, Kearney, she thinks furiously. That’s not what we do.

“Okay,” she acqueices, and Travis’ face glimmers in satisfaction.

Shoulders squared and eyes alert, they retrace her steps. The soft summer light felt warm before, but now it feels harsh and stark against the rich greens and sun-bleached browns.

Neither of them can deny it, now. They’re not alone.

The old graves haven’t changed or moved an inch from where she found them. Nothing monstrous or supernatural looks to have taken place. Still, she can’t help but lower her voice.

“This is the one,” she says quietly. “Éléanor Valet.”

Travis moves in, crouching down to inspect the markings. After barely a moment’s worth, he inhales sharply.

“Does this look familiar to you?”

Brow crinkled, she leans down beside him. “Um… no?”

“No longer shall you face your blight,” he reads breathlessly. He fixes her with a lopsided grin that borders on manic. “It’s part of the poem. Look,” he caresses the stone, “there’s more here, it’s just faded.”

She looks again, and holy shit. “Or fear the dread of the full moon’s light,” Laura reads aloud. He’s right.

Travis sits very still.

“I found my copy of the poem in the wreckage thinking that those motherfuckers wrote a ‘101 Guide on Werewolves’ for tourists,” he says softly, voice weirdly detached. “Turns out, Eliza and Silas were on the scavenger hunt of a lifetime.”

He dips his head. The pressed shirt on his back begins to ripple with how violent he begins to shake.

For a moment, she thinks he’s crying.

But then he throws his head back in a silent laugh, little cracks of air puffing out of his lungs. It builds into a desperate chuckle that leaves him bent over his knees.

This side of him is unlike anything she’s seen before. The pathetic man drinking alone in front of her cell was a different creature entirely. This? This is unhinged.

He stands abruptly.

"Family is everything,” Travis spats in a mocking tone, turning his face of unbridled fury on her. Laura involuntarily takes a step back. “That’s why they came to my fucking town. She was probably looking for a fucking cure."

She watches as he puts himself back together piece by piece, chest heaving around some unimaginable pressure. His eyes remain wild, but where there was a burning devastation radiating from his bones before, a wasteland has replaced it. The fortress has been rebuilt.

It’s unnerving to watch.

Laura is fighting to say something, do something, when Travis strides past her without a second glance.

“Hey!” she calls. “Where are you going? What about the rest of the graves?!”

No response. The petty part of her wants to stick around and force him to either leave her or come back, but then she’d have to be alone. Gritting her teeth, she strides after him, up the stairs, past the gate.

Unexpectedly, he stalks right past the cruiser and heads for the library down the road. There’s a new intensity to his gait, and an added edge to his jaw that wasn’t there before.

Travis crashes through the front doors. The middle-aged woman at the help desk regards them as if she’d been staring into the void, and the void spat them up.

“Um,” she stutters.

“I need access to your computers,” he commands.

The woman’s eyes dart over to Laura for help, but then she gives her a onceover and her face turns even more pale. Travis follows her gaze.

“It’s for police business,” he offers up.

The woman’s eyes go wide as if Travis lightly mentioned there being a homicide taking place in the science fiction section. She nods desperately. “Yes, absolutely! Let me get you in with a guest account.”

She scurries over to one of the computers, and the only other one occupied within the same vicinity is a pimply teenager who takes one look at them and awkwardly flees.

The moment they’re logged in, the woman leaves and Travis settles into the chair like it’s his personal throne. Laura remains standing.

“What the fuck are we doing here?” she hisses. “Let’s keep looking.”

“I thought you said you do research,” he says airily.

She blinks. Laura takes the chair beside him, scooting close enough to slide the keyboard and mouse over. A quick search of ‘Éléanor Marie Valet’ and ‘Colton, New York’ yields several ancestry websites, but the one she clicks on first is a grave index.

It’s a photo of the same plot, and the inscription is as disappointedly faded as the one in person. However, the sidebar has a bit more information.

Born June 18th, 1765 Gévaudan, France

Died November 10th, 1796 Colton, New York

“She was French?” she repeats. Something pings in the back of her brain. “That town sounds… familiar.”

She tries another search, typing “Valet” and “Gévaudan,” adding in “Werewolf” as an afterthought.

It’s as easy as that. Hundreds of thousands of search results come up, and Travis leans in.

“The Beast of Gévaudan is one of the most famous werewolf stories in modern history… Of course. This Valet family knew enough to leave their knowledge behind in a way that wouldn't be destroyed by time.”

Wondrously, his face splits into a wide, unadulterated grin. “This is good, Laura.”

She can’t help but smile back. It’s contagious, and his hope seeps into her own chest. She clicks on a page and scrolls, scanning till she finds it.

“‘The Beast of Gévaudan made its first recorded attack in 1764,’” she reads aloud. “‘A young woman, Marie Jeanne Valet, was tending her cattle when she claimed a wolf-like beast came upon her. She managed to keep it at bay, though terror striked the region as more and more victims were reported.’”

“‘Lone men, women, and children were repeatedly attacked while tending to their livestock… Researchers surmise that upwards of five hundred deaths were attributed to this beast over the three-year span of attacks.’”

Laura exchanges a wordless look with Travis. That’s a lot of death over a very short span of time. And at some point, Marie and her kin must have taken it upon themselves to gain some tricks up their sleeve.

It’s not that hard to believe. Hell, it took one encounter for her to be sitting here next to the cop that kidnapped her, searching up werewolf lore on a library computer. But five hundred deaths? All the work of one werewolf, or more?

Speaking of… Laura types in a few more searches with the added information, pulling up an old genealogy site.

“Shit,” she mutters. This Valet line died out by the mid-1850’s.

“What about cousins?” Travis suggests, and there’s still a hopeful tint to his words. He doesn’t take his eyes off the screen. To the average eye, he looks calm and in control, but she’s been around him enough to recognize his tells. Right now, a frenetic energy practically vibrates off of him.

“Maybe they don't hold the surname, but there’s a chance that if this family did know something, they could’ve passed it along,” he adds.

“True, but the American immigrants didn’t exactly thrive over here,” she says grimly. "What do you think brought them over?"

Travis shrugs, the excitement loosening him up a bit. "From what I can recall, France had quite the witch hunt for werewolves. I think… thirty thousand were executed in the mid-17th century out of suspicion.”

Given the attacks almost a hundred years later, the tables obviously turned at some point along the way.

“Maybe that’s where the Vorez family originates from?” she ventures. “If these guys were… werewolf hunters, then there were probably families fleeing from persecution.”

It’s a dismal thought, hunting down fellow immigrants suspected of being a werewolf.

Isn’t that what you’re doing? a little voice needles back.

This is different, she thinks. Silas is dangerous.

So are you. So is he.

Travis’ finger lightly taps the desk. "There's a good chance this poem might not be over. Wherever their next stop would’ve been after North Kill… we need to check there first. Go back to the graves website.”

She pulls it back up, and he leans over to type in the most recent death. Their shoulders brush.

Théo Louis Valet, 1810-1853.

Lincoln, Maine

Travis scrutinizes the computer with a heavy brow as if he could scare the words into changing. The sudden mood shift makes no sense.

Laura frowns. “What? Travis, we have a lead.”

He’s silent for a long moment, still glued to the screen. Finally, he swivels towards her with a grave expression. He steeples his hands like a man about to make a deal with the devil.

“It’s in Maine,” he says matter-of-factly.

“Yeah. It’s close.”

“You’re kidding,” he says flatly.

The ease in which he gives up is infuriating and disappointing all at once, and she grits her teeth, turning back to the computer.

“Where’s Lincoln?” she mutters aloud, opening a new tab and typing it in. “Holy shit, it’s eight hours from here? We could start driving today.”

“We can’t. Not today.”

If they weren’t in a library, she’d probably slap him. “You’re ridiculous,” she hisses. “I thought you wanted to end this?”

There’s no other way to describe it. Travis unravels.

“Of course I want to end this. I want my fucking life back,” he growls. “I want a full night’s rest. I want my niece to go off to college and get out of my shithole of a town. But I can’t just, just be gone for another day like this.”

“How the fuck—” she cuts herself off after an older gentelman in the VHS section gives her a dirty loo, and leans in impatiently. “Why are you always making things so damn complicated?”

“Because there’s lives on the line!” he outright snarls. More people are starting to give them looks, and Travis notices, buckling it back down with visible reluctance. “C’mon.”

She has no real desire to go anywhere with him like this, but she does it all the same. They leave with a wide berth around them, the scant library visitors parting around them like waves.

Only when they’re back outside does Travis rub his face, looking down on her with a bleary set of eyes.

“I can’t just— I-it’s not. Fuck,” he says with a deep breath. “You keep forgetting that you’re not supposed to be here. Right? You’re not supposed to still be alive. My family would kill you in a heartbeat if they knew about you, all in the name of keeping themselves safe.”

“You can’t… let that be what stops you,” she says awkwardly. Yeah, she’d prefer not to die, but he can’t seriously be saying that they’re not going to go any further just because of what might happen to her?

“You’re not stopping me from doing anything,” he says increduously, as if the very notion is stupid. If they weren’t in the middle of an argument right now, her face would probably flush like a tomato.

As it is, she scowls. “Well, that’s what I’m hearing. You’re worried your ‘little ma’ is going to put a bullet between my eyes, isn’t that right?”

He shuts his eyes as if the very effort of looking at her is beneath him.

“You’re being awfully reckless with your life, Miss Kearney. I don’t think you really get just how important it is that I don’t, ah, rock the boat. Y’see,” he says with emphasis, leaning in like she’s a lost kid on the playground, “There’s expectations of me that I gotta meet, or it’s going to tip them off, and that’s the end of this little venture we have going on. Did you get all of that?”

“So, we just wait for the grave to grow legs and walk?”

He scoffs in disbelief, his little effort at intimidating her failed. He moves to get into the cruiser, and she can’t just, just give up like that.

Laura catches his wrist and pulls him back. “No, look. I’m sorry,” she says earnestly. “I’m just saying… sooner or later, you’re going to have to go. That, or continue to wait for things to line up for you, but I don’t think either of our luck is that good.”

His eyes stray towards her hand, and she belatedly releases him.

“I don’t like this,” he says finally. “These risks.”

“I know,” she replies delicately.

He wets his lips. “No detours.”

“None.

“And no more splitting up,” he adds, softer this time. The change in tone takes her aback. She follows his gaze; he’s looking at the blades of grass still sticking to her legs.

When she doesn’t respond, he cocks a brow meaningfully.

“Done,” Laura agrees readily.

Travis nods, giving her another onceover before getting in the car. “Wipe your shoes before you step in!” he calls before slamming the door shut, and she rolls her eyes. He doesn’t even blink when she plops down, mud and grass and all.

He pulls onto the quiet road, and they leave the town cemetery behind without another word.

They don’t need to talk. Enough has already been said.

#fuck this was long #another lost soul #laura kearney #the quarry #the quarry fanfic #travis hackett #the quarry fanfiction #laura kearneyxtravis hackett #hackearny #slow burn #enemies to lovers #so many tropes in here #you might want to read on ao3 at this point #but I post here for people like you #I love you

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mrsalwayswrite · 3 years

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To Call Forth Love - Chapter 10

I’m sorry its taken me so long to update. I haven't had much time to write lately due to....well, life. But here we are and its long, so hopefully that makes up for the length.

Side note- the Norwegian used is from Google translate so....

Warnings: swearing, mild sexual content, Lothbrok family dynamics (yes, its a warning), threats of violence

Words: 15,700 (yep, my longest chapter yet. I packed ALOT into this beast)

Tag List: @youbloodymadgenius @evelynshelby @pomegranates-and-blood @heavenly1927 @zuxiezendler @punkrocknpearls @love-all-things-writing @southernbe @ecarroll1978 @breezykpop @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie

Series Masterlist

"Where are we going? I thought we were going to your flat?"

Gyda slyly smiled at Kari, sitting in the passenger seat of her bright yellow Porsche. "Change of plans."

Kari stared at her friend. "I'm scared to ask."

"Torvi asked for female reinforcement. So, we are going to keep her company."

"Ok…. But where is that?"

"At the brothers' house." The blonde answered nonchalantly as she made a quick right-hand turn. "It's tradition. Kind of a last family summer party before it's too cold to swim anymore. They have a pool in their backyard."

Kari felt her stomach drop. Ivar had told her he lived with his three other brothers. Gyda had her own flat while Bjorn and Torvi owned a house nearby. Whenever she tried to ask Ivar about his home, he would shrug off the question or ignore it completely. Eventually she just stopped asking. Curiosity certainly reared its head when she wondered what his home was like. For how much money meant nothing to him, she guessed it was massive and expensive. Maybe he knew she would not fit in and that was why he never brought her? Even through his speeches of wanting her to be his girlfriend, he knew she would not fit into his lifestyle. Why else would he keep her away? It was a valid truth that she had come to terms with. Even if she found herself secretly desperate to ease into his life, she never would.

"Of course, they do…." Kari rolled her eyes at the notion that obviously, there was a pool in their backyard. It fit the stereotype in her mind. Then she thought about what Gyda just said. "Wait. Do you have a swimsuit with you?"

Gyda raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow at her while keeping her eyes on the road. "Don't worry, I've got you covered. Torvi brought an extra of hers for you."

"You had this planned, didn't you? We never were going to your flat, were we?"

"I don't kiss and tell."

"Yes, you do. There was that guy you hooked up with two weeks ago that kept sending you dick pics after."

"That guy was way too proud of his dick. I mean it wasn't even that big."

"I don't want to hear this again." Kari groaned, tugging on her diamond earring. She enjoyed Gyda but she had learned far more about the woman's sex life than she had any desire to know.

"Okay, fine. And yes, Torvi and I planned this. Ivar doesn't know you're coming."

"Why?"

Gyda smirked. "Because he's been so secretive and only Hvitserk has seen you two together. Besides, the rest of the brothers want to meet you. We may be at each other's throats most of the time but we do care for one another."

The brunette let her friend's words sink in. Hvitserk had mentioned the others wanting to meet her, but she had not fully believed it. Sure, she wanted to meet them and was curious after hearing Ivar talk about them, but why would they be interested in her? She glanced down at her clothes, the capri leggings and tank top that were practically a signature look for her. For once, she wished she dressed nicer regularly. "I wish you had said something before."

"You wouldn't have come then. You'd have created some excuse why you couldn't come." Gyda pointed out the obviously painful truth without remorse.

Kari slouched in the passenger seat, butterflies doing somersaults in her belly. Slowly, she pulled her ponytail down, letting her hair hang loose past her shoulders, running her hand through it absent-mindedly in hopes it looked decent.

At a red light, Gyda looked over at her with a bright smile. "It'll be fun."

"I don't know…. isn’t it supposed to be just family?"

"Ubbe sometimes brings his girlfriend but yeah, it's usually just family."

There was another long silence before Kari spoke again, unable to fully conceal her nerves. "You should drop me off and just go. I don't want to intrude."

"You're not. I'm bringing you because there is always way too much testosterone." Gyda groaned, then reached over and swatted Kari's leg. "What are you so worried about?"

"What if they don't like me?" She whispered. The weight of her confession hung over her like a dark cloud.

"What?"

She kept her gaze out the window. "The…. the others. What if they don't like me?"

Gyda laughed. "Kari, don't worry. They will love you. I promise. And if they say anything fucking stupid, I'll slap them or Ivar will stab them. See? Simple."

A smile grew on Kari's face. "That shouldn't make me feel better…. but for some reason it does." Maybe she had already spent too much time with various Lothbroks if the idea of people resorting to violence made her feel better.

"You aren't alone, if anything we'll steal Torvi and Asa away and have a girls' party."

"Asa? That's her daughter, right?"

"Right, and Hali is her son. I swear that boy is going to be a miniature version of Bjorn."

"I've never been around kids much."

Gyda chuckled, waving a hand dismissively. "They are great, Asa is a sweetie who prefers to cuddle in someone's lap. It's Hali who is a bit wild but all his uncles love to play with him. He'll probably be swimming in the pool the whole time anyway."

Still staring out the window, Kari thought about everything Gyda had said. Of course, she was still nervous about just showing up to a family event unannounced, even if she was sort of being kidnapped by Gyda. Some of her nerves faded away with the knowledge that Gyda and Torvi both wanted her there. She really would not be alone. She had friends. She had people that wanted to spend time with her. Hopefully Ivar would be pleased to see her. His potential reaction was the only real wrinkle in her fluctuating confidence.

"Okay. I can do this." She said aloud, wondering if she was trying to fully convince herself.

"Good, cause we're almost there."

Kari stared out the window as they approached a gated community. Gyda showed her ID to a guard who chatted with her like they were old friends. As the yellow Porsche drove by the houses in the community, Kari just stared in awe. She had seen houses, mansions was a better term, like these before but it always amazed her that people lived in them. What did they do with all that space? All of the homes were set back from the road so Kari only caught glimpses of them but it was enough to remind her how out of her element she was.

Finally, they pulled up a long driveway to a massive two-story house. It was white with an insane number of windows, and a huge garage attached on the left side. On the right side looked like an expansive addition that made Kari wonder why they needed more space. The roof was made of some slate gray tiles, with a balcony above the front door and ivy draping elegantly over the corners. There were various sized potted plants and shrubbery around the front of the house and leading down the sides. Several European beech trees were strategically placed in the front yard to block most of the view from the road in an attempt at privacy. Whoever the grounds keeper was, for surely they had one, needed a raise.

Kari could only gape for a long moment, unable to move as she took in the immaculate, beautiful house. To think this was where Ivar lived and he always came over to her tiny townhouse. It was a struggle to tamper down the post embarrassment.

Gyda started talking as she parked in front of the house. The only other vehicle in sight was a silver four-door Audi, that Kari recognized as Torvi's. "Aslaug chose the house for them. When she isn't traveling for work or staying at their family home in Norway, this is where she stays. So, she insisted on this place. Something about the natural sunlight and old aesthetic blending with the new vibe. Or some other shit. I can't remember."

"Huh." Kari said as she followed the blonde out of the car. She noticed there was no mention of the father, Ragnar, and wondered where he stayed but knew it was none of her business so she kept her question to herself. Maybe Ivar would explain it to her.

Gyda opened the solid, wood front door, waltzing in like she had done this a million times. Kari took two steps in and froze. The vaulted ceiling in the foyer was enough to stare at but it was the large chandelier that caused her to stare. The way it caught the afternoon light through the many windows and gently cast it about was truly gorgeous. This view was worth owning the house for itself, in her opinion.

A tugging on her arm made Kari squeak as she found herself suddenly being dragged along like a ragdoll.

"You can stare later, Torvi is waiting for us." Gyda stated, a large purse over her shoulder and her heeled boots clicking on the shiny, wood floor with each step.

Kari caught glimpses of other rooms as they passed down the long, straight hallway. A living room with a TV that took up most of the wall it was on. A kitchen that would make any celebrity chef drool. Pictures and awards displayed along the walls in the hallway that were obviously put up by their mother.

The two finally stepped out into a room with glass walls, where the pool and expansive backyard lay before them. Most likely what used to be a porch before being enclosed. Still being pulled along, Kari followed Gyda through a side door onto the stamped concrete that surrounded the pool and lounge area. A pool in a rectangle shape dominated the area, a diving board on the far end. A quick glance around showed a jacuzzi on the other side, closer to the house, the water bubbling like a cauldron. There was a large grill, several short tables and lounge chairs spread over the stamped concrete. At the far end was an adult size statue of the Buddha with two flowering pots on either side of him and some kind of cheap, plastic crown on his head.

The backyard was several acres wide and at least that many in length. Trees and large shrubs blocked the views of the neighbor's properties and made the place feel almost like a hidden oasis. Further down in a corner was a lovely gazebo with a cobbled stone path leading to it and gardens decorating the way.

"Gyda! What took you so long?!" A distinctly male voice called out.

"I had to pick up a package." She called back, pulling Kari into full view of the others.

The brunette gave a small, self-conscious smile at the many pairs of eyes that she could feel land on her. Before she could really get a good look at who was around, a shout of her name startled her.

"Kari!" Hvitserk jumped up from his lounge chair, wearing only dark green swim trunks, and walked over to her with a beaming smile.

"Hey…. OH!" She started to greet him only to be swallowed into a hug and spun in a circle. Unable to deny him, she hugged him back and laughed. It was funny since last time she saw him, he was in business attire, coming to check on her per Ivar's instructions. Now she could not help but notice his toned body. His form reminded her more of a runner, while she was used to seeing Ivar's muscular torso. A couple tattoos on Hvitserk caught her eye and she wondered if all the brothers had them.

When he finally set her back on her feet, he kept his hands on her shoulders, green eyes twinkling with a mischievous glint. "I didn't know you were coming here."

"Yeah, I didn't know either until Gyda told me on the way."

He chuckled, glancing over her head to his half-sister. "Yeah, not surprising."

"Uh huh. Watch yourself, boy. I could still beat your ass if I wanted too." Gyda quipped.

"Maybe fifteen years ago. You don't have a chance now."

"Keep telling yourself that, Hvitty." She teased, then yelled at Torvi. "You got it?"

As soon as Kari was released by Hvitserk, she could sense a pair of sharp, blue eyes boring into her. Skin prickling under the sensation, she hesitantly looked up and immediately met Ivar's intense gaze right away, as if subconsciously her mind already knew where he was without having to search for him.

Reclined back on a cushioned, lounge beach chair, he wore loose black sweatpants, instead of swim trunks, under his leg braces, but without a shirt. His tattoos were a stark contrast on his skin and shamelessly on full display. Her fingers twitched with the urge to trace them again. It was his penetrating gaze though, the lack of emotion on his handsome face, that made her wonder if being here was a bad idea.

Before she could make a run for it, Gyda grabbed her arm as if sensing her desire to flee. "C'mon, let's get changed."

With one last glance at Ivar, she followed behind Gyda and Torvi, who had joined them, back into the massive house. They headed to the kitchen and Gyda pointed out a bathroom across the way.

Placing the beach bag on the kitchen counter, Torvi dug in it for a moment before murmuring a quiet "here it is" and handed Kari something. "Here. I bought this forever ago but never wore it. Bjorn said he didn't like the colors."

Kari took it, guessing it was the promised swimsuit, and peeked down at the two pieces of clothing in her hands. "Um…. where’s the rest of it?"

Laughing, Gyda rolled her eyes. "Get in there and change or I'll do it for you."

With a concerned look between the swimsuit in her hands and the two blondes staring at her expectantly, Kari finally conceded defeat and stepped into the bathroom. It was only a half bath, with a toilet and sink, but it was still roomy and felt fancy somehow. The mirror above the sink was large and there was a small, pretty flowering plant on the counter that upon inspection, turned out to be real.

Quickly, she changed out of her leggings and tank top and into the swimsuit, figuring it was best that way, like ripping off a band-aid. Plus, if she stopped moving, her nerves would get the better of her and she would somehow find a way to sneak home. Even if she had to crawl through a window. A smile grew on her face remembering Hvitserk's enthusiasm to see her. That had honestly surprised her but she found she did not mind. Hvitserk seemed like a good guy and the little bit of time they had spent together, she felt comfortable with him. He was funny and caring.

Then Ivar's blank face came to mind and all of her excitement slipped away like water down a drain. There had been no acknowledgement, not even the hint of a smile, only a hard stare that made her anxious and self-conscious.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to remind herself what Gyda said. At least the two Lothbrok women wanted her here, and apparently Hvitserk was happy to see her. That was what she needed to focus on and not Ivar's reaction.

Once done changing, she finally took stock of what Torvi had leant her and gasped.

"Oh no. No, no, no. Hell no."

She stared down at the wide-band bikini. The top and bottom both had alternating white and light pink stripes, strangely reminding her of cotton candy. The design was certainly something she would never pick out for herself but she did not hate it. The real problem was the way half her ass cheeks hung out of the bottoms and more of her breasts saw the light of day than they ever had before. Never had she been so exposed. Even swimsuits she bought in the past were never this revealing. Her gaze immediately zeroed in on her fuller hips and thighs, fully exposed. Faint whispers that sounded like her mother's taunts echoed in the recesses of her mind as she stared at herself. There was no way she could go out in this. She would rather wear her leggings and tank top than have anyone see her wearing this. They would all laugh at her.

"Kari? You done yet?" Torvi called through the door.

"I'm…. I’m not coming out in this!"

"Let us see it first!" Gyda shot back.

"But…." Kari tried once again, unsuccessfully, to tuck her breasts into the bikini top. "It's padded!"

"Open this door, Kari." Gyda demanded, suddenly sounding closer.

She took one more look at herself, feeling the embarrassed tears welling in her eyes. With a deep breath, knowing she could not escape Gyda just yet, she opened the door. Immediately her blue-green eyes scanned to make sure it was only Gyda and Torvi in the kitchen before she further opened the door so they could see.

"Shit, Kari, you look great." Gyda said after giving a wolf whistle.

"Half of my butt is hanging out and most of my boobs. I can't wear this out there." She said, almost panicking now.

"No, they aren't, you're overexaggerating."

"Kari," Torvi said kindly, drawing the brunette's frenzied attention, "you're more curvy than I am and let's be honest, your ass and tits are bigger than mine. I'd kill to have a body like yours. You look beautiful. But if you're uncomfortable, I think I have a cover you can wear over it."

"Please." She replied softly, hating how she sounded like a fearful child.

Torvi smiled at her. "I'll be right back."

Swiftly, Kari stepped back into the bathroom before Gyda could say anything. Her nerves felt alight and not in a good way. Grabbing her phone, she scrolled through her Pinterest, anything to distract herself from this nightmare. If it was just Gyda and Torvi seeing her in this, she might have been uncomfortable but she could tolerate it. Even with Ivar she might have shied away some but he always made her feel so desirable that she doubted her nerves would have lasted long. It was the thought of prancing around in this in front of the other brothers, men she had never met, that made her stomach twist into knots and her breathing quicken painfully.

Finally, a gentle knock on the door and a quiet, "It's me," had Kari open it to take the cover from Torvi. It was a solid white oversized V-neck cover with a simple pattern around the neckline. Without wasting a moment, she slipped it on over the bikini, immediately feeling better. The hem of the cover touched the tops of her thighs, higher than she would have liked, but it was better than before.

She looked up, running her hands over the cover. "Thank you."

Torvi smiled softly with understanding. "I understand. I don't wear swimsuits that show my stomach anymore. Stretch marks." She shrugged casually, moving back to slip onto an island stool.

Kari trailed behind her with her bundle of clothes and purse. Without a word, Gyda slipped into the bathroom to change, leaving the other two waiting for her. It was now that Kari really took note of Torvi's swimsuit; it was a classy black and white one piece with thin crisscross straps across the back. The blonde could easily wear a bikini and look amazing in it, but it made Kari feel marginally better that she was not the only one self-conscious about her body. Perhaps that was why Torvi shared about her stretch marks?

"Is it…." Kari started then stopped, leaning against the black marble countertop. Surveying the grand kitchen for a second, hoping to gather her thoughts, she took a deep breath before continuing. "Is it okay that I'm here? Gyda said this is a family event and I don't want to intrude."

Torvi turned to face her fully, green eyes gazing at her before she shrugged again. "Normally we try to keep it just family, Ubbe sometimes brings Margrethe, but I doubt anyone will be upset you're here. Honestly, the brothers keep asking about you, so now maybe they will finally shut up and stop teasing Ivar."

Kari fiddled with the hem of the swimsuit cover. "He didn't seem happy to see me."

"Ivar?" At Kari's nod, Torvi snorted. "I don't think it's you he's upset with. He's a very private person, as I'm sure you know. If I took a guess, I'd say he was keeping you hidden."

"But why?"

"Look, I've known the Lothbroks for about ten years and during that time, I've seen Ivar go through some ups and downs…. well, as much as he lets anyone see. I mostly heard it from Bjorn. Point is, he's allowing you into his inner circle. Hell, you're probably at the center of his inner circle. I saw how he acted with you at the yoga studio. You mean something to him. It's no secret he wants you to be his girlfriend. Maybe he is worried that you'll meet his family and decide we're too much or that you find one of his brothers more attractive or easier to deal with? He pretends to be super confident but it wouldn't be the first time that a woman chose one of the others over him."

Every time Kari heard that, her heart broke once again for Ivar. How many times had he been overlooked because of his legs? Or his harsh demeanor? Something that she was beginning to realize was just to protect himself, to keep others at arm's length. It made her want to hug him and never let him go, to remind him he was more than just his disability. That he was worth being cared about by more than just family.

Kari must have been lost in her thoughts for longer than she realized. Suddenly she was drawn out of her inner musings by Gyda coming out of the bathroom, having changed into a plant print cutout tankini. Of course, looking like she just stepped out of a magazine cover. There had to be something in the Lothbrok blood for everyone to be this damn attractive.

"Are we ready?" She asked, her large bag in hand, presumably with her clothes in it. "Kari, you can put your stuff in here for now."

Torvi touched Kari's shoulder. "Don't worry. If anything, you are here to keep me and Gyda company, okay?"

Kari smiled, finding herself reassured and grateful for the two women. "Thanks." She slipped her clothes and shoes into Gyda's bottomless bag. They stashed their bags in the glass room and then headed back out into the backyard.

Soon as they stepped out, a little girl came running over. Torvi swept her up into her arms gracefully. She turned to Kari with the little blonde girl on her hip. "This is Asa. How old are you, Asa?"

The little girl stared at her mom before shyly tucking her face into the crook of Torvi's neck, while her blue eyes stayed on Kari. After a moment, she held up two fingers.

"You're two?" Kari asked. When the little girl shyly nodded, Kari's smile widened. "I wish I was that old. It's nice to meet you, Asa. I'm Kari."

Torvi pressed a quick kiss to the top of her daughter's head. "Did daddy let you play in the pool yet?"

Asa shook her head.

"Alright, let's go kick his butt. He did promise, didn't he?"

That made the little girl giggle and Kari could feel her heart melting slightly. She was just too cute and most likely spoiled by all her uncles. Even her swimsuit was a purple halter top and green bottom with a little skirt that was very The Little Mermaid-esque.

A happy scream followed by a splash drew Kari's gaze to the pool. A young boy resurfaced laughing loudly. Bjorn, she recognized, was in the pool also, but turned to look up at Torvi as she approached with Asa on her hip.

"Let's go sit down." Gyda slipped her arm through Kari's and pulled her along to where there was a grouping of lounge chairs. Ivar, Hvitserk and a curly-haired blond reclined with beers in hand.

Kari could feel Ivar's gaze tracing over her form as she approached, like fingers trailing over her skin leaving a fire in its wake. She sneaked a peek at him, only to find his ardent gaze on her. She blushed and kept her eyes downward. At least he did not look impassive anymore, but she still felt hesitant.

"Hey boys. What are we drinking this time?" Gyda questioned.

Hvitserk turned the beer bottle to show the label.

"Ew. I don't why you drink that shit. I'm going to get some wine. Kari, you want some?"

"Ah, sure." She murmured.

"Good. You boys be nice to my friend, especially you Ivar." With that Gyda walked back towards the house but not before giving Kari a subtle wink.

"Take a seat, Kari." Hvitserk gestured to an open chair next to him.

For a split second she considered slinking into the seat, anything for the attention to be taken off her, but realized that was not what she actually wanted. It had been two days since she had seen Ivar and the last time they hung out, it was when he returned from his trip to Italy. He had picked her up the next day to take her out to eat but he ended up spending the majority of the time on his phone, yelling into it in a foreign language and seeming on the verge of throwing his phone or punching a wall. She ended up ordering take-out for them that they ate at her townhouse but he was too wired to really relax and left soon after. The next two days he had been busy with work so they could only text. The one time they managed to Face-Time, she could not help but notice his bruised knuckles and when she asked him about them, he said he did some boxing to release stress.

With butterflies doing somersaults in her belly, she took a step closer to stand near Ivar's lounge chair. Tugging on the hem of her cover as she quietly spoke. "Hey, Ivar. Can I sit with you?"

"Oh, you're acknowledging me now?" He snapped, never removing his severe blue eyes off of her.

She blinked owlishly, surprised by his sharp tone. Her stomach dropped to her feet and she could feel an embarrassed flush rising on her cheeks. "Yeah, I'm sorry." She whispered, dropping her chin, unable to meet his eyes anymore. This was all a mistake, she knew it. This only sealed her poor decision.

Shifting to look back at the house, she wondered if she should find Gyda and beg to drive her back home, or if she should find the closest bus stop. Before she could take a step away, a calloused hand snatched hers in a firm grip. Startled, she looked down to see Ivar holding her hand. Her eyes jumped up to stare at him in shock, confused by his conflicting actions. In those vivid, expressive eyes she could easily read the regret in them. Without her conscious decision, her heart softened.

"Sit." He said quietly, what most likely meant to come out commanding but sounded more as a plea. She nodded and allowed him to guide her onto the wide lounge chair next to him.

A furious blush warmed her cheeks when Ivar wrapped an arm around her waist, tucking her into his side and pressing a quick kiss to her temple. What she assumed was his nonverbal apology.

"Hey, this is Sigurd." Hvitserk said, gesturing to the unknown blond sitting with them. "I don't think you've met him yet. Ubbe had to take a call, so you'll meet him later."

"Hi, it's nice to meet you." She said, looking at the other Lothbrok. He had light blond, curly hair in frazzled braids and brown eyes. At first glance she would not have guessed he was one of the brothers, but she figured genetics were always weird. He had a lean body similar to Hvitserk with a tribal tattoo sleeve and a Thor's hammer necklace laying on his bare chest like the other brothers wore.

He silently raised his beer bottle at her, still stretched out in his chair like a lazy cat in the sun.

Thoughtfully she peered up at Ivar, keeping her voice low. "I'm sorry, I didn't know Gyda was bringing me here otherwise I'd have told you. She literally didn't tell me until we were pulling up."

"It's fine." He murmured evenly, but Kari got the feeling that was not how he truly felt.

"Do….do you want me to leave?"

He sighed, his grip around her tightening for a moment, before he seemed to relax. "No. I'm glad you're here. It won't be boring…." a wolfish grin grew as he slid his hand up her exposed thigh sensually, ".... especially if you take off this cover and let me see what's underneath."

"No!" She squeaked, grabbing his roving hand before it could migrate further.

He chuckled. "Come on, kitten…. just a peek?"

"Ivar, no."

"Why not?"

"Its…. it’s scandalous."

Hvitserk raised his hand, a devious smirk on his face. "I want to see."

She covered her face with her hands, embarrassment flooding her. "Oh gods, this was such a bad idea." Then she had to rapidly grasp Ivar's hand as it slipped under the swimsuit cover to caress her hip and trace her bikini bottom. "Ivar…."

"Fine." He slipped his hand back out but splayed it over her exposed thigh. "You can show me later."

Thankfully, Gyda reappeared with a glass of white wine in each hand and another blond male in tow who carried the wine bottle. He had short, cropped hair and a muscular body that spoke of many hours in the gym. Kari wondered if this was the brother that Ivar regularly worked out with.

"Why are you sitting with Ivar? I brought you here! I'm even bringing you wine!" Gyda teased, handing a glass to Kari.

"You also dragged me here unknowingly. Wine is the least you could do." Kari said without thinking, making the others laugh.

"You know damn well you're happy to be here." Gyda winked then took the open lounge chair next to her. "Right, I'm guessing you've been introduced to Sigurd." She flicked a hand in the curly-haired Lothbrok's direction followed by vaguely gesturing to the last unknown brother. "Now this pain in my ass, over here, is Ubbe. Ubbe, this is Kari."

Sitting between Hvitserk and Gyda, Ubbe rolled his blue eyes but leaned forward to shake Kari's hand. "It's nice to finally meet you."

"Yeah, likewise."

Ubbe sat back with an impish glint in his eyes. "So, you're Ivar's girl?"

"Um…. we’re just..." She started, unsure what to say to his family.

Ivar broke in, his single word answer almost coming out in a growl. "Yes."

She whipped her head to look at him, only for him to stare her down as if waiting to see if she could refute his claim. Logically, she knew she should say something, argue that they were only friends. Yet any rebuttal died on her tongue under his fierce gaze. Instead she chose to sip on her wine generously.

"Right." Ubbe finally said, watching the two with an amused look.

Sigurd scoffed loudly before taking a swig of his beer.

"Something you want to say, Sig?" Ivar turned narrowed eyes at his brother.

The curly-haired brother smirked, seeming to debate saying anything. Finally, he sat up and his gaze zeroed in on Kari. "How much does he pay you to fuck him?"

The reaction from those around was instantaneous. Next to her, Ivar tensed, ready to spring up and fight his brother. A sharp reprimand of "Sigurd!" came from both Gyda and Ubbe while Hvitserk pinched the bridge of his nose.

Something rose up inside Kari though. She understood enough to know about the animosity between Sigurd and Ivar. His comment felt more like a cruel jab at Ivar than her. She was just the pathway to try and cause torment between the brothers. But if no one else was going to stand up and defend the dark-haired Lothbrok, she would.

So instead of taking his words personally, she just smiled sweetly at Sigurd, placing a hand on Ivar's thigh as she responded. "He doesn't. I'm happy to do it for free. Besides, he has something you never will."

"And what's that?"

"A cock big enough to pleasure someone….is that why you go through girlfriends so quickly?"

The rising tension evaporated in a flash. Gyda snorted so hard she almost dropped her wine glass. Hvitserk threw his head back laughing while Ubbe tried to cover his smile with his hand. Kari was sure her eyes were comically wide as what she said without thinking sunk in. Her face flushed and she pressed her face against Ivar's shoulder. Sure, she had meant to defend Ivar but she had not meant to be so crass. The statement seemed to fly out of her mouth before her brain could catch up.

Next to her, Ivar laughed as he nuzzled her. She squirmed under his onslaught but also at realizing she just insulted one of Ivar's brothers. Even if it was the one he liked least of all. For a fleeting moment, the idea she had just made herself an enemy crossed her mind.

When she sneaked a peek, Sigurd quickly drained the rest of his beer and walked away murmuring something about getting another one.

"I think you'll fit in, Kari." Ubbe stated, still trying unsuccessfully to hide his amusement.

Kari was unsure of that. She quickly took a large sip of the wine to settle her fraying nerves. What had she been thinking? It hurt to hear Ivar's brother being so blatantly cruel to him and if this was a regular occurrence, no wonder Ivar wanted to spend most of their time at her place.

"I didn't realize you liked my cock so much, kattungen." Ivar whispered salaciously into her ear, drawing her back to the present. His tongue flicked her earlobe, making her jolt. "I think I'll have to give you a reward later."

She shivered at his tone, her core clenching without resistance. It was unfair how just at his husky tone alone, her body betrayed her desire. But they were in public though, in front of his family no less, so she willfully attempted to cool the heat warming her veins. With a smile, she tried to nudge him away from her but he was too strong, only tightening his grip on her and laying a quick kiss to her neck.

"I can't believe I said that." She whispered, hoping only he heard her.

He smirked, an unmistakable fire in his eyes. "It was sexy as fuck."

Thankfully, Torvi came over to join the group, a welcome distraction for Kari as she was sure the fire in Ivar's gaze was enough to set her ablaze and further stoke her own heat.

Torvi settled into Sigurd's now absent spot. "What did I miss?"

"Kari said Ivar's cock is bigger than Sigurd's." Hvitserk stated smugly.

Torvi stared at Kari with a tilt of her head and an amused grin. "Really? And how did we get on the subject of dicks already?"

Some of the group laughed as Kari covered her face once again, mortified that she was the center of attention because of what she thoughtlessly said. She had the sneaking suspicion none of them would ever let her live this down.

"Alright, enough. Come on, it's girl time now." Gyda grabbed Kari's hand and dragged her to her feet, much to Ivar's obvious chagrin. She scoffed, meeting her half-brother's gaze. "I'll give her back later."

The three women wandered over to some open chairs further down from the guys and closer to the Buddha statue. Gyda carried the wine bottle and her glass while Kari carefully held her own glass. Torvi snatched a beer from a nearby cooler as they meandered over. Gyda settled on a single, lounge chair adjacent to a cushioned two-person seat which the other two sat on.

"Alright, we have a very serious matter to discuss. Your answer may or may not break our friendship." Gyda started, leaning forward as she pointed a single finger at the brunette.

Kari found herself straightening in her seat, hand clutching her wine glass tighter.

Eyes intent, Gyda's voice dropped conspiringly. "Who is sexier: Steve Rogers or Bucky Barnes?"

Shock rendered Kari momentarily speechless. At Gyda's serious tone, she had imagined a topic that would involve confessing a secret, not…. not a movie franchise. "Um…. Bucky." She hesitantly answered.

"Yes!!" Gyda shouted, throwing her arms up and almost spilling her wine. "I knew I liked you! Ivar, she is mine now!"

Kari laughed at her enthusiasm; all concern having vanished instantly. "I take it you like him too?"

"Hell yeah. I would willingly choke on his cock or he could pound my pussy to pulp and I wouldn't complain either way."

Torvi shook her head, a hint of a smile tilting the corners of her lips up. "Something's wrong with you."

"You prefer Steve?" Kari inquired, once she recovered from choking on air at Gyda's blunt statement. Her friend always had a way of surprising her, and giving her second-hand embarrassment.

Torvi shrugged. "A tall, handsome blond. That's my kind of man."

Peeking over at Bjorn who was still playing in the pool with both kids, Kari hummed thoughtfully. "Huh. Makes sense."

"No wonder you are with Ivar if you prefer Bucky Barnes."

"But we aren't…. together." Kari fixed her eyes on her wine, knowing her answer sounded lame even to her own ears.

Gyda patted her leg. "You keep telling yourself that."

"We're just friends."

"No, you aren't."

"Kari, it's fine." Torvi shot Gyda a look. "It's between you two, it's not really our business."

"She's our friend!" Gyda whined, throwing herself back in her seat dramatically.

"And she will let us know if something changes. Including telling us if Ivar does something stupid and we need to kick his ass."

Kari giggled as Torvi tapped her beer bottle against her wine glass. "I promise. Hvitserk already made me swear too."

"Good. So is Ivar really that good in bed?"

"Gyda!" Kari exclaimed but laughed at how shameless her friend was.

Torvi thankfully changed the topic of conversation to Ubbe's birthday coming up next month. Asa wandered over, wrapped in a green and brown towel with long ears sticking out that made her look like baby Yoda. When Sigurd eventually appeared, Hali dragged him to the pool where they jumped in together. Not long after, Hvitserk joined them, doing a cannon-ball with the splash almost hitting the ladies.

Kari chatted with Torvi and Gyda for some time, enjoying herself immensely. The topics varied, but she never felt unincluded. More than once, she glanced over, only to find Ivar's gaze already on her. After the third time, he tipped his head to the side and patted the spot next to him. A not-so subtle invitation or demand, depending on how you looked at it.

A smile teased her lips and she nodded. She started to rise, with her second glass of wine in hand, when the sound of a loud "shit" from Gyda distracted her.

"What is she doing here?" Torvi quietly asked with an undertone of frustration.

Curious, Kari followed their gazes towards the door leading into the glassed-in porch. She was met with the sight of two blondes emerging in matching, white swimsuits that barely seemed to cover anything. Both strutted as if they were on a runway, while chatting with one another.

"Kari, go sit with Ivar." Gyda encouraged, snatching her hand and leading her back without a moment's hesitation towards where Ivar and Ubbe were still sitting. The wine was left forgotten on the side table.

"What's going on?" Kari asked in a hushed tone.

"Drama. I can't believe that bitch brought her. What was she thinking?"

"Gyda?"

She clicked her tongue but hurriedly whispered back. "That's Ivar's ex."

Surprise made Kari almost stumble but she managed to catch herself at the last second. Further explanations had to wait because they came upon the brothers at the same time the two blondes did. Soon as Kari was close enough, Ivar held out his hand, a sweet gesture, but she could see the tension and anger in the set of his shoulders and the thin line of his lips. Silently, he guided her to sit between his spread legs, arms banding around her waist and pulling her indecently close. For once though, she did not complain.

"Hey, baby." One of the blondes said in a sickly-sweet voice as she pressed a kiss to Ubbe's cheek. "Sorry we're late."

"It's fine." Ubbe slowly answered as he shifted his gaze to the other blonde. "I didn't know you were bringing someone."

"This is supposed to be family only." Gyda snapped, having dropped into her seat next to Ivar and Kari.

The blonde, who stood next to Ubbe still, narrowed her eyes at Kari. "Then why is she here?"

"That's Ivar's girlfriend." Ubbe answered.

"Uh, hi, I'm Kari." She decided to speak up, hoping introductions would somehow break the rising tension. At her words, Ivar momentarily dropped his head to kiss her shoulder. Unsure if his actions were encouraging or reprimanding, she laid her hands over his, which were still wrapped around her.

"Hmmm…. Margrethe." She replied flatly, with a pinched look, as if talking to Kari was beneath her. "I'm Ubbe's fiancé."

The other blonde smiled pleasantly as she looked Kari in the eye. "I'm Freydis. It's lovely to meet you."

"Yeah, nice to meet you too." Kari managed to say around the suddenly tightened grip around her waist. She would be a liar if she said she was not intimidated by Freydis. While both women were beautiful, something that seemed required to be in the presence of the Lothbrok family, Freydis was a step beyond that. With her doll-like features, lovely blue eyes and flawless skin, she was gorgeous. Kari could feel all her own insecurities screaming at her in the presence of Ivar's ex. How the youngest Lothbrok went from someone as stunning as Freydis to as girl-next-door as Kari, she had no idea….and it made her uncomfortable.

"What the fuck is she doing here?" Ivar demanded, ignoring Freydis' presence completely.

Margrethe rolled her eyes as her hand slowly stroked across Ubbe's shoulders. "I get bored and wanted to spend time with my best friend, so fuck off." She turned her head to look at Freydis beside her. "Come on, let's get something to drink."

After a quick kiss to Ubbe, the two headed back towards the house but not before Freydis glanced back at Ivar and Kari one last time.

Once they were far enough away, Gyda rounded on Ubbe, not even bothering to contain her ire. "Fiancé? Really, Ubbe?" She sneered.

"Hell no. I haven't proposed. I damn well don't plan to and she knows it."

"Why are you still with her? She's a greedy bitch."

"Gyda, I know you don't like her but she's still my girlfriend."

"Who the fuck knows why."

Ubbe turned his attention to Ivar. "I swear I didn't know she was bringing Freydis. I'd have told her not to come then."

"As long as she stays the fuck away from me, I don't give a shit." The dark-haired Lothbrok growled at his older brother.

The residual tension in the air was painful to abide in. It felt like a caged animal, pacing, waiting, ready for the moment to unleash a terrorizing attack.

"Hey, I have a question." Kari blurted out, unable to take the way the tension made her skin feel like it was being sunburned. Once Gyda and Ubbe shifted to watch her, she posed her question. "Ah, well, I've been wondering for a while but why don't you guys have bodyguards or something?"

Ivar snorted, brushing her hair over her shoulder to press his face into the crook of her neck, making her squirm although he did not relent his position.

It was Ubbe that answered with a wide grin. "Eh, we don't need them. We can handle ourselves."

"But you guys have drivers, isn't the next step to have bodyguards?"

"You worried for us?" Ivar whispered, nipping at her skin, only to soothe the spot with his tongue.

"I'm serious."

"Let's just say we know how to protect ourselves. Besides, no one is stupid enough to come after us." Ubbe concluded, raising his beer in a mock salute.

Gyda snickered. "This is why I stay out of the family business."

"You've no issue spending Father's money though." Ubbe retorted in a jovial way.

She shrugged and sent Kari a playful wink.

A minute later, Bjorn, Torvi and Asa came over, taking open seats with Asa sitting in Torvi's lap. Even though Kari had met Bjorn before, it still shocked her to see how much larger he was compared to the other brothers, both in size and physique. Now sitting next to Torvi, he appeared larger. With his long, braided ponytail and shaved sides, a short beard and sharp, blue eyes, he seemed quite formidable. Kari wondered briefly if that helped with the family business.

"See Kari there, she is the one who teaches yoga." Torvi softly said to Asa.

Asa peeked over at Kari, shyly smiling, still wrapped in her towel but with a juice box in hand.

"I bet if you ask nicely, she might show you something." Torvi said then looked up at Kari. "Lately she loves watching me do yoga at home. It's cute when she tries to do it with me."

Bjorn chuckled, slinging an arm over the back of his wife's chair. "And usually falls down onto her face."

"Hey, she's trying!" Torvi defended, elbowing Bjorn in the side.

Looking at the little girl across the circle of seats, Kari smiled. "Want me to show you something I've been working on? I'm not very good at it though, so if I fall over, you can laugh at me. I'll be laughing at myself too."

Asa nodded fervently, eyes wide in anticipation.

"What do you say?" Torvi tapped her daughter's nose.

Asa looked up at her mom then back to Kari. "Please." Even though it came out sounding more like "peas".

"Sure. I need to stretch some first." Kari stood up and immediately had to slap Ivar's hand away that prowled down the curve of her ass. She tried to glare at him over her shoulder, only to be met with a mock innocence. Overly aware of the eyes on her, she chose a spot nearby in the plush, green grass, trying to keep her nerves to a minimum. Carefully, she warmed up her muscles, doing a few simple stretches so as not to hurt herself. Honestly, she was nervous since she never did advanced poses in front of others. It was not that she was unable to, for she did them frequently at home on her own time. It just felt like she was vying for attention or trying to show off when she did advanced poses in view of others. Conflicting memories of her grandmother's encouraging voice fought with her mother's reprimand in her mind as she stretched.

"What are you going to do?" Gyda called over, returning from retrieving her wine glass and bottle.

The question pulled her from her mind's internal war, bringing her back to the present. "Um, it's called the super soldier."

"Oooo, I like it already."

Once stretched, Kari stood frozen for a moment realizing she was going to need to take her cover off to do the pose.

"Kari, you look sexy as hell, now take the damn cover off." Gyda called out.

Kari hesitated, fears and insecurities rising afresh within her.

"Do it or Ivar will get his ass up and help you. I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

"I hate you." She mumbled but gave in. Slowly, she walked back over to the circle of chairs, pulling the white cover off and dropped it on the lounge chair Ivar still sat on. Her eyes briefly flickered up only to meet Ivar's smoldering gaze. Instantly, she could feel herself flush. Hoping no one noticed, she moved back to her grassy spot. A loud wolf-whistle came from the direction of the pool, most likely from Hvitserk but Kari ignored it, knowing if she thought about it too much, she would make a run for it. Mentally preparing herself, she pulled her hair back into a bun on the nape of her neck, then faced the group but kept her gaze downward, too scared to look at them.

After taking a deep breath, she bent over to lay her hands flat on the grass without bending her knees. Next, she hooked her right shoulder behind her knee and extended her left arm for balance. She took a long, deep breath before continuing onward. Then she lifted her left foot and grabbed it with her right hand, still tucked behind her right leg. After another deep breath, she pulled her left leg up until her knee was pointed towards the sky. She held it there for three breaths before slowly releasing her leg back down and carefully straightening back up.

A small round of applause greeted her when she straightened.

"Another!"

"You go, Kari!"

"Do another one!"

Blushing furiously at the cheers, she leaned forward into downward facing dog. Carefully, she slid her hands forward until her elbows touched the grass with her ass still in the air. Taking a deep breath and hoping she did not make a fool of herself, she engaged her core and kicked her legs up so she was doing a handstand but still on her elbows. Once she felt stable, she pressed her legs together and slowly bent her knees until they were almost parallel with her forearms on the ground. Feeling the burn in her core and arms, she hoped she could finish the pose without falling on her face. Next, she lowered her legs, knees apart now and big toes touching until her feet touched the top of her head. She could not help the smile that stretched across her face as she held the pose for a couple seconds, making sure to breathe slow. Scorpion pose was one she was still trying to master on her own, let alone in front of others. If anything, this felt like a victory for her. Methodically she unfurled, bringing her legs up and then back to the ground.

When she finally stood up, brushing the grass off her forearms, it was to another round of applause.

"That was amazing!" Torvi said.

"I was thinking sexy as fuck!" Hvitserk exclaimed, a smile on his face from where he now stood, leaning against Ubbe's chair.

Self-consciously, Kari tugged on her swimsuit, making sure everything was tucked into place, as much as it could be, before pulling her hair out of the bun. She walked back over to the lounge chair quickly and yanked the cover back over her body.

"I'm going to wash my hands." She said without meeting anyone's eyes, skirting around the group and heading towards the glassed-in porch.

Laughter erupted behind her as she approached the door but she ignored it as she walked inside. She padded through the porch, stomach twisting in knots, and turned into the kitchen. Her feet stuttered to a halt as she noticed Margrethe and Freydis standing there with bottles of something in hand. For a split second she thought about turning and heading to the bathroom but it was too late as the two blondes noticed her intrusion.

"Hi, I just need to wash my hands." Kari explained. After a moment's hesitation, she walked around the opposite side of the massive island from them and towards the kitchen sink.

"So, you're Ivar's girlfriend?" Margrethe stated with a mocking undertone. "I didn't think someone like you was his…. type."

"Margrethe…." Freydis chided.

"What? Look at her. I mean she's got tits and an ass, and I guess she could be pretty but that's it."

"I'm sorry." Freydis apologized kindly. After a long, awkward pause where the kitchen was silent besides Kari washing her hands, she asked, "How long have you and Ivar been together?"

"Um, we aren't…. we’re just friends." Kari found herself admitting, as she finished drying her hands and turned around to see them both staring at her. Though Freydis had a gentle smile on her face, Margrethe looked nothing less than the cat that caught the canary and planned on lording it over everyone.

"Oh?"

"See. Told you, Dis. He is still single." Margrethe smugly said, flicking her hair over her shoulder. "He's just playing the game."

"Game?" Kari muttered aloud.

Freydis set her glass down and came around the island to stand in front of Kari. Her blue eyes were bright as they met Kari's. "You seem like a nice girl and clearly the others like you too. So, I'll be honest because I don't want you to get caught up in the Lothbrok drama and get hurt. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Ivar and I are getting back together. We're just taking a break right now. Truly, I know we are destined for each other and he agrees. We had a bad fight and needed some space but he loves me just as much as I love him. So, I know he will come back to me when he is ready. I'm so sorry to tell you that you're just the rebound girl. I'm sure he likes you but that's as far as it will ever go. Gyda likes to try and mess with the brothers' love lives so I am sorry if she dragged you into this without telling you the whole truth. It's not your fault. I am sure Gyda lied to you and probably Ivar too. But it's good for you to know now. I don't hold it against you if you've have had sex with him but just know your time with him is limited, okay? How long have you two been 'friends'?"

"We met last month." Kari whispered, dread and despair a writhing mess of snakes churning in her stomach. Air refused to fill her lungs, leaving her struggling for breath.

Freydis sighed. "It probably will be soon then. Just take advantage of the things he purchases for you, so when he leaves, you can have something to sell if you're in a pinch. Yeah?"

"Ah…. sure."

"Good. You seem like a nice girl. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this."

"It's…." Kari choked back a sudden sob. "It's alright. Thank you."

"Of course, we girls need to look out for each other. Is there anything I can do for you?" She inquired, sounding so genuine in her desire to help, her gaze imploring and lips in a faint, comforting smile.

"No…. no. I just need to check my phone. Have you seen Gyda's bag?"

"I think she left it on the porch." Margrethe helpfully added, never having lost the smug grin on her face as she watched Kari with a hawk-like intensity.

"Oh, right. Thank you." Kari shifted back and forth on her feet, body primed to run, to flee before anyone could see the tears that welled pathetically in her eyes.

Freydis reached out and squeezed her arm, a brief exchange of understanding, then strutted back around to grab her drink and follow Margrethe to the porch and outside.

Once alone, Kari pressed a hand over her mouth to try and stifle the sob that lodged itself in her throat. She knew it. Everything Freydis said made sense.

Without a second thought, she rushed around the island and onto the porch, quickly locating Gyda's bag. She scooped her purse and clothes out only to hurry back inside. A quick check of the time and she figured she might be able to catch a bus, but in this gated community, there was no way buses came through so she would end up walking somewhere. Feeling the sting of tears in her eyes, she sniffled, trying desperately to hold them back. She looked up the nearest bus stop on her phone, pleased it was only a few blocks away from the gated community.

Once positive she knew where she was going, she stared down at her clothes on the counter, wondering if she should change before leaving. It would certainly look odd for her to be walking down the street in the swimsuit cover and sandals in such an upscale neighborhood. Then she thought about any of the Lothbroks finding her trying to leave and pushed the potential oddity of her attire from her mind. It appeared there was a gas station nearby when she found the bus stop, it would be simple to change there quickly. Somehow she could give the swimsuit and cover back to Torvi…. but not today. Right now, she needed to leave.

She tried to shove her clothes into her purse, only succeeding by making it look like an over-inflated balloon but it worked. Lastly, she reached to grab her phone off the kitchen counter but froze. Ivar bought it for her. Freydis' words came back to her about taking advantage of the things he bought for her. Bile burned the back of her throat at the idea. She promised herself she would not be one of those girls to him. Slowly, she retracted her hand, forming it into a fist by her side. Ivar could give the phone to Freydis or throw it in the trash for all she cared. Even with the feeling of her heart being ripped in two, she refused to take advantage of him or his money. She was a better person than that. Or so she hoped.

Worried someone would come in soon, she tossed her purse over her shoulder and swiftly headed towards the front door. She passed through the hallway she entered in, but the pictures and awards blurred before her eyes as the repressed tears threatened to make an appearance. Hastily, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand but knew it was ultimately futile.

"Kari?"

Her stride never faltered towards her escape, even after hearing Hvitserk call her name from what sounded like the porch.

"Kari? Where are you going?" His voice came from behind her, probably standing at the entrance of the hallway now.

"I have to go." Kari said, not bothering to turn around, unsure if he could even hear her. She could barely hear footsteps behind her over the sound of her sniffles and ragged breathing. It did not matter since she was close to her escape, just a couple more moments. Her hand touched the handle, just beginning to pull the door open when Hvitserk's hand appeared in her direct line of vision and slammed it closed. Although the sound was muffled, it echoed in her mind like a gunshot.

"What's going on?" Hvitserk stood directly behind her, his hand still firmly planted on the door as if to prevent her from even considering leaving without permission again.

"It's nothing." She murmured, staring down at her feet.

"I seriously doubt that if you are trying to sneak away while crying…. what happened?"

"Nothing. I just…. I just want to go home."

"Okay." He shifted to lean his shoulder against the door, ducking his head to try and catch her eyes. "Does this have to do with the yoga stuff?"

"No. Just…. please, Hvitserk."

"You need to tell me something. Look, I'll give you a ride, we can leave right now but you have to tell me what happened."

She swallowed thickly, still refusing to look at him. It was taking all of her willpower to keep the tears at bay. At any moment she felt the tears would come forth with all the power of a hurricane, reducing her to a sniveling mess on the floor, nursing a broken heart. It was all her fault though. How could she have believed someone like Ivar Lothbrok would actually be interested in her for more than just a one-night stand. She was just a challenge for him, someone to pass the time. Then once she gave in, once they finally had sex, he would walk out of her life and back into Freydis' arms and bed…. where he apparently belonged.

"Kari?" Hvitserk softly prompted.

"It's…. I just have a better understanding now…. of where I stand…. of my purpose here."

"Your purpose?"

She sniffed, wiping her wet eyes once again before the tears fell. "I'm just a rebound girl….and that's alright. I get it. But I just want to go home now."

"Fuck. Freydis said that, didn't she?"

"It doesn't matter. Can you please just take me to the bus stop, I can get home from there." She knew she was begging but she did not care anymore.

"Kari, give me that." He grabbed her purse from her and tossed it onto a wooden side table. His hands held hers in a manner that was comforting verse restraining. His thumbs rubbed along the back of her hands as he softly spoke. "Look at me, you know it's not like that."

"It doesn't matter." She shook her head, even as her hands gripped his tighter, the feeling being the only thing keeping her from falling apart at the front door. "I shouldn't have let Gyda bring me here. I should have made her drop me off."

"Kari…." He began but was interrupted.

"Hvitty?" Ivar's loud voice boomed from the kitchen. "You better not be trying to fuck Kari!"

Kari flinched at the sound. The facade of strength she fought to maintain evaporated like smoke. The tears she had been trying so desperately to withhold slipped free, rolling down her cheeks like a cleansing rain.

"Over here!" Hvitserk called back, releasing her hands but not moving away.

Ivar's measured gait could be heard coming down the hallway like the footsteps of doom.

"What the fuck is going on? You disappear to find Kari and then…." His voice trailed off as he entered the foyer, piercing gaze zeroing in on her tear-stained face. What sense of jovial teasing transformed into enraged fury. When he spoke next, it came out in an animalistic growl that bespoke impending violence. "Who fucking hurt you?"

"I'm fine." She mumbled, wrapping her arms around herself. Her chin rested on her chest, tears still streaming down her cheeks. "I just want to go home."

"Freydis….and I'm betting Margrethe also said something to her." Hvitserk snitched, leaning fully against the door. He watched both Kari and his brother as if ready to intervene at a moment's notice.

Ivar snapped, stepping closer. "What did they say?"

She was unsure who he directed his question to but she still shook her head, refusing to look at either brother. Hearing his wrath, it only made her heart ache more. All of this was a show, it had to be. Why would he truly care? The sound of his heavy gait coming closer brought a fresh wave of silent tears.

Moving to her other side, he cupped her cheek. When she resisted looking at him, he shifted his hand to grab the back of her neck, forcing her gaze to meet his. A tempest swirled in his icy blue eyes. "What. Did. They. Say?"

"Why does it matter?" She questioned, bottom lip trembling as a sob rose from her chest.

"Because they hurt you."

"But I'm no one. I don't matter." She shook her head, pressing a hand over her mouth to contain the cries bound to escape at any moment. "You're just going to get back together with Freydis when you get bored with me."

His eyes widened as if she had sucker-punched him. His mouth dropped open for a moment before he collected himself, the maelstrom rippling under his skin on the verge of breaking free. "Did they say that?"

"Freydis said…. she said you two were just taking a break….and I'm the rebound girl."

"Fuck. Fuck!" Ivar stepped away, running his hands through his loose hair. In an instant, he grabbed the decorative bowl off the entrance table and threw it. The shattering against the wall reverberated in the foyer followed by Ivar's guttural shout. "FUCK!"

"Ivar." Hvitserk softly said, warily watching his younger brother.

"I'm going to kill her. Fuck! I can't believe she would fucking say that!" Ivar ran his hands through his hair again, looking on the verge of ripping the strands out. The ferocity in his eyes was unmatched as he glanced down the hallway, clearly wanting to go after his ex, then shifted back to Kari, who remained silent and unmoving. "What else did she say?" He barked at her.

"You're destined for each other." She confessed after a moment's hesitation.

Ivar stormed over to her, devouring the ground beneath his feet as he invaded her space. Standing before her, he cupped her face, eyes imploring her to believe him. "Freydis is a crazy, jealous bitch. She manipulates to get what she wants. Don't believe a word out of her fucking mouth. Fuck! Please, Kari, don't cry. I'm right here, kitten."

His words seeped into her mind, slipping in through the cracks and delving deep into her soul. His words alone should not have reassured her like they did. Between his pleading eyes and his gentle touch, her few walls surrounding her heart crumbled, unable to fight him. She believed him, even before her mind fully recognized it.

She lightly placed her hands on his bare chest, one directly over his heart, feeling the rapid tempo under her fingers. "Promise?" She whispered wetly. "You're not just…. I’m not just a rebound girl?"

Ivar groaned, pressing his forehead to Kari's. "I swear. I never thought that about you."

And she believed him again. The truth falling from his lips resounded in the very core of her being. It made no sense how she knew, but somehow, she did.

After a long second, Hvitserk pushed off the door from next to them. "I'm going to head back and keep an eye on them. Kari, if you still want a ride just text me, alright?"

"Thank you, Hvitty." She reached out and snagged his hand, giving it a quick squeeze. With a smile, he responded in kind before heading down the hallway towards the backyard.

Soon as Hvitserk started walking away, Ivar grabbed her hand and led her in the opposite direction. They hurried through a short hallway to arrive at a closed door. Impatiently, Ivar thrust the door open and pulled her into a room, slamming the door shut behind them. She had a brief moment to scan the new room and notice the two walls with floor to ceiling bookshelves packed full and the couple couches near a large window.

Before she could do anything, she shrieked as she found herself suddenly yanked back, her body colliding with the closed door. Immediately Ivar's mouth claimed hers in a hungry, feverish kiss. His body pinned her to the door, hands kneading her hips. It was all she could do to just breathe. Her hands clung to his broad shoulders, desperate to stay above the waves of passion-fueled desire that surged unchecked within her.

Ivar withdrew his mouth from hers, but only to place kisses over her cheeks, washing away her tears with his affections. "Don't listen to her. Her and I. We are through. I will never go back to her. She has been sniffing around but that ends tonight. I won't fucking let her talk to you again. I fucking swear it."

"Ivar…." She whined, tilting her head. An open invitation which he took.

He swooped in, continuing to speak between leaving open-mouth kisses on her neck. "It's you. It's you I want. It's you I think about all the time. Fuck, kitten, you have no idea how much I want you. And seeing you do those yoga poses in that swimsuit…. fuck! You looked so goddamn sexy; I got a hard-on just watching." He grabbed her thigh, lifting it up and curling it behind him, pressing himself against her core. At the touch of his hardened length against her, she whimpered. "Do you feel that? That's for you, søte Kari."

She could not help but roll her hips, grinding against his erection, body automatically seeking friction.

"Yes! Fuck." He growled against her neck. "Come here."

She whined when he released her leg, letting it fall down to the floor. Her breathing was unsteady already, heart hammering away in her chest. A part of her knew she should stop this, open the door behind her and walk out to avoid the temptation. Yet when his hand latched onto hers once again, tugging her towards one of the couches, she followed willingly, unable to deny the sweet sin that was Ivar.

He dropped onto the couch and settled her into his lap to straddle him. As she settled, he grabbed a handful of the cover over her and yanked it off, tossing it haphazardly onto the floor. Her first instinct was to cover her chest, but as her arms moved to do that, Ivar guided them behind his head. His gaze drunk in the curves of her body, an unashamed starved look in his eyes that made her shudder as it further ignited the fire in her belly.

"Kattungen min." He whispered reverently. "Fucking hell, so gorgeous. No one else gets to touch you like I do. Got it? You're mine." He started lavishing her chest and neck with his mouth, alternating between his lips and tongue.

She knew she should feel more self-conscious straddling Ivar's lap in only the swimsuit that barely covered all of her assets; but it was as if his touch banished the thoughts away. Instead she felt beautiful and cherished.

He palmed one of her breasts and the moan that escaped her was pure wanton. Hands tangled in his long locks as her hips ground harder against his erection in response. His leg braces were only an afterthought that did not impede her actions.

"Ivar, please."

"That's it. Fuck, you're so beautiful. I can't wait to fuck you senseless."

Suddenly he shifted under her, his hand fumbling between them. Her mind barely took notice as he sucked the skin between her breasts, something that would definitely leave a mark. Next thing she knew, his cock was freed, standing at attention between them.

Before she could protest, he spoke up. "I know you're not ready." He slid it under her, pulling her hips back down. At the sensation of his cock rubbing her slit with only the thin barrier of the bikini bottom between them, she threw her head back with a whine. Desire roared through her like a freight train as his cock rubbed against her soaking core.

"You like that, kitten?"

"Yes." She sighed out, head tilted back as she rolled her hips.

"Good, my turn." He reached behind her and promptly untied the straps of the bikini top behind her back.

"Ivar!" She tried to cover herself but he swatted her hands away.

"Trust me."

Once she relented, he laid a hard kiss to her lips then tugged the top over her head, the band behind her neck without a tie. She desperately wanted to cover herself, now before him feeling on full display. But it was the look on his face that stilled her movements.

"Guder. Du er utsøkt. Faen. Den vakreste kvinnen." He murmured with adoration and awe dripping off each word.

"What did you say?"

Instead of answering her, he lowered his face to her chest and captured one of her perky nipples in his mouth. His other hand moved to grab one of her ass cheeks, encouraging her to keep riding him.

All breath vanished from her lungs. All thoughts and insecurities fled under his touch. Her hands tangled in his hair, keeping his mouth on her. All she could feel was him. All she wanted to feel was him. Gasps and moans slipped from her as she allowed herself to be overtaken and drawn into an ocean of pleasure.

She could feel herself rising higher and higher, riding the wave. Her mind was becoming delirious from fire in her veins and the motion of her hips rocking over his exposed cock.

To her surprise, Ivar grabbed a handful of hair at the back of her neck. "That's it, beautiful. Fuck. Let's see what that bendy spine can do." Carefully, he pulled on her hair, not in a painful way but as if to guide her. Willingly submitting herself, she bent her back, following his lead. When her chest was parallel to the ceiling, he stopped pulling, keeping her suspended with her back arched.

Ivar groaned loudly, thrusting against her. She met his action, too absorbed in the bliss to care about decency.

"All the dirty, fucking things this makes me want to do to you." He licked a scalding line up her sternum, only to swirl his tongue around one of her nipples, making her mewl as she continued to move her hips faster. "Come for me."

"Yes, yes." She chanted. "Ivar, please."

"Keep begging, kitten. Let me know how much you want my cock."

As her climax hit, the tightening coil in her core sprung loose, her mouth dropped open in a silent scream. Wave after wave rolled over her. She could feel Ivar grunt and thrust a few more times beneath her before retracing his cock and spurting onto her exposed stomach. After he released her hair, letting her rise back up to face him. Their eyes fixated on one another, chests heaving as they struggled for breath.

Gently, she reached out and touched his cheek, a shy smile on her face. Then, when he made no move to pull away, she leaned forward, uncaring of his cum slipping down her stomach, and drew him into a lazy, slow kiss. He responded, lips melding to hers in a way that was full of softness and contentment. After a moment, she felt him reach behind him for the blanket laying on the back of the couch and wipe her stomach off, all the while never abandoning their kiss.

Once she was clean, he dropped the blanket to the floor and somehow managed to keep their lips locked as he guided them to lay down on the couch, their bare chests pressed together and his arm under her head, legs tangled.

"Do you believe me now?" He eventually asked, leaning back but only far enough so the tips of their noses almost touched.

"Mmmm?"

"That it's you I want. Freydis and anyone else can go fuck themselves for all I care."

She bit her bottom lip and dropped her gaze. "I don't understand why."

"What are you talking about?"

"I mean…. Margrethe said I'm not your…. type."

He snorted and muttered under his breath, "fucking bitch".

"But she's right." Kari pressed onward, her hand running up and down his side as if to ground herself. "I mean, I could never compare to Freydis…. or Torvi or Gyda or any of them. They are all beautiful and….and in perfect shape. I'm not. My thighs and butt are too big and I'm maybe pretty but that's it."

"You're right. You're not my usual type. But those girls, I'd fuck them and then never look their way again. You though, fuck, I can barely take my eyes off you when you're around. And these," he reached down and grabbed a handful of one of her ass cheeks, making her squeak. "I love them. And these thighs, fucking hell, kitten, I want you to suffocate me with them when I finally eat you out."

She gasped, a bolt of electricity shooting through her at the image.

A devilish grin grew on his face, his hand stroking her ass cheek. "You like that idea? My tongue teasing your folds before slipping inside of you. Your thighs wrapped around my head as I feast on your pussy."

"Ivar." She whined, unable to stop the sudden roll of her hips.

"Soon, sweet Kari." He chuckled darkly, ceasing her movement by melding their hips together. "And your tits, gods, they are perfect. I could stare at them all day."

She giggled even as she flushed under his praise. "I'm sorry for doubting you. I guess, I'm still just surprised you'd…. well, that you want me."

"You are mine. You're my woman." He stated resolutely, gazing directly into her eyes so she could see how serious he was.

"But we aren't dating…."

"Doesn't fucking matter. You're mine. And one of these days you'll change your mind and stop playing this game of trying to keep me away."

She sighed, wishing it would be that easy. Before he could continue with that argument, she changed the subject. "You know, I think we exceeded our kiss quota for the day."

He snorted. "I didn't see you complaining earlier."

"That's true. Do you think we should head back out?"

"If I see Freydis or Margrethe right now…." His voice trailed off, but the fury from earlier lingered in the unspoken threat.

"I know. We don't have too. I'm okay right here."

A grateful smile on his lips, he kissed her quickly then rolled her onto her back and laid his head on her chest. They relaxed like that for several minutes in silence, her hand running through his hair, just enjoying the feeling of complacency and peace between them now after their fight. If you could even call it that.

Finally, she spoke up in a hushed tone, a random question coming to mind. "Do you ever get in the pool?"

"No."

"Oh." Was all she could say after his sharp, barbed answer. Clearly it was a subject that was not open for discussion. Her mind wandered, wondering what happened to cause such a response from him. An uncomfortable tension hung over them after his response. Something she was not sure if she should try and dissipate or ignore for now.

After a minute of continued silence, he kissed her chest, letting his lips linger there as if using the extra time to mentally prepare himself. Before she could tell him it was none of her business, he spoke. His tone was quiet and, in anyone else, almost shaky.

"I…. I used to try when I was younger. They'd put me on one of those stupid floating things and pull me around or someone would hold me. Then, when I was about seven…. Sigurd and I got in a big fight earlier that day. He claimed I broke one of his toys. Fucking asshole. I was sitting by the pool, this in our childhood home in Kattegat, I liked to watch things float on the water. Sigurd walked by me and….and pushed me over the edge."

She gasped. "Oh Ivar…."

"Ubbe jumped in and pulled my half-drown ass out." He nuzzled against her skin; his tone having lost the insecurity as he reassured her. "I'm alright, Kari."

She drew his face up and gave him a long kiss, their mouth connecting with a deeper need and alleviation. "Remind me to thank Ubbe when I see him next."

He rolled his eyes. "Don't. He's never let me forget the fact."

"Still."

They laid there for some more time, wrapped up in one another and content in the peaceful stillness. She could not help but think about the memory Ivar shared with her. How far back did that resentment go between the brothers? Had there ever been a time where they cared for one another? And how bad was the animosity between them if one was willing to kill the other, even as children? If her arms tightened around him, neither one mentioned it as they continued to lay there.

A loud knock on the door followed by a yell through the door of "are you two done yet?" disturbed their peace.

"Hvits, fuck off!" Ivar called back, burrowing his face between her breasts.

"Do you have clothes on at least?!"

"I do!"

Kari swatted the back of Ivar's head at his admission. Leaning up slightly, he gave her a cheeky wink before laying his head back down.

"Well cover up, I'm coming in!" Hvitserk yelled through the door.

"Ivar, get up." Kari softly said, a panic setting in at the brother coming in and seeing them in this suggestive position and her topless.

"No." He mumbled.

Before she could shove him off, he snatched the throw blanket off the floor and threw it over his head to cover her chest. As she began to protest, the door cautiously opened. In an instant, she tried to spread out the blanket over them as best as she could, keeping the blanket over her chest and spread it somewhat over their torsos. Although how much good it did was questionable. She peered over to see Hvitserk standing in the doorway with an amused look before shaking his head and stepping in, closing the door behind him.

"What the fuck do you want?" Ivar asked, muffled by the blanket and his face still pressed against her skin.

Kari raised her gaze to the ceiling for a moment then mouthed to Hvitserk, "I'm sorry."

Hvitserk winked at her before answering. "Bjorn and Torvi want everyone together before they leave. Sounds like they have an announcement or something."

"Are the bitches still here?"

"Yeah." Hvitserk sighed.

"Then no."

"I'll go." Kari softly said. "It must be important."

"No, you aren't." Ivar nipped at the side of her breast, making her squirm.

"Well everyone is waiting on you two." Hvitserk pointed out as he watched, clearly entertained if his broad grin said anything.

"I'm coming."

Ivar pulled the blanket back slightly to stare up at her. "Why the fuck do you want to see them?"

"Is it….is it terrible I want to show Frey…. her that I'm still here. That no matter what they said, that I'm not going anywhere."

A positively, feral grin spread over his face. He swooped in and pressed a devastating kiss to her mouth, not letting up until she thought she would suffocate from the intensity of it. "Let's go."

He started to rise up but when she squeaked and tried to clutch the blanket to her, he froze.

"Hvits, leave."

"You sure I can't stay?" His smirk grew as he caught Kari's eye and watched her flush deepen.

"GO!" Ivar bellowed, glaring at his older brother.

"Fine. I'll wait out here for you. If you're not out in three minutes, I'm coming back in." Hvitserk stepped outside and closed the door behind him.

Ivar carefully slid off of her, standing up beside the couch, the blanket in hand. His predatory, blue eyes remained trained on her form, raking over her body like a sweet he wanted to devour completely. A familiar warmth awakened in her core, even as she shyly glanced away, covering her naked breasts with her hands.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous. On second thought, I think we should stay. I need another taste of you and to hear you moaning my name for everyone to fucking hear."

She squealed, quickly skirting away from him before he could pounce on her. "Ivar, no!" Yet, miraculously, he managed to snag an arm around her waist and drag her back against his chest.

"Should we make an announcement of our own?" He asked, running his nose along the shell of her ear, chuckling under his breath when she shivered against him.

"What do you mean?"

"That you're my girlfriend. That this just-friends is shit."

"I…." She balked, eyes wide and heart beating a painful staccato in her chest. “We…. we can't."

"Why the fuck not?" He grasped her breasts, rolling her peaked nipples between his fingers.

She practically swallowed her tongue, biting back the moan lodged in her throat. When she was positive she could control her voice, she replied. "We've talked about this. I'm just…. I’m not ready."

"But you'll practically let me fuck you?"

At his harsh snap, she tried to push out of his embrace, unwilling to have this conversation in their current predicament or maybe have the conversation at all. The innate desire to flee rose up in her but she tried to force it down as she squirmed in his arms. He held her firm, not giving up an inch, her body flush against his own.

"Ivar!"

"What aren't you telling me?"

She hated both herself and him in the moment as she ceased her escape attempts. She hated him for continuously pushing her, for ignoring her words and trying to force her where he wanted her to be. Even more though, she hated herself. If she had kept away from him, however unlikely that was, if she did not have to hide, then none of this would matter. If she could be honest, truly honest, he would most likely reject her. And that was why she hated herself most. Because she was selfish and wanted his attention and affection, even knowing if he knew who she truly was, he would walk away.

Carefully, she turned her head to meet his stormy eyes. "I promise one day I will. I just…. can we please just enjoy this? What we have? I just need…. time."

He stared down at her for a long time. She wondered what he read in her face when he finally gave a resigned sigh. "Fine. I'm telling people you are my girlfriend though."

"You're unbelievable."

"I think you like that about me." He matched her smile with his own before letting her go.

She quickly found her bikini top, noticing Ivar not-so-subtly adjusting his sweatpants. She slipped it over her head but when she went to tie the straps, a pair of calloused hands covered hers. Without a word, he tied it behind her back. Once done, his hand slowly prowled down her back to lightly smack her ass.

"Hey!" She whipped around, only to see a Cheshire grin on his face.

"That's my sexy ass."

"Oh my god. Unbelievable." She muttered to herself as she snatched up the cover and pulled it over. She looked down at the blanket piled on the floor.

"Leave it. I'll deal with it later." He took her hand and walked with her towards the door. When they opened it, a still-shirtless Hvitserk stood leaning against the wall across from them.

"Took you two long enough. Damn. Almost came in and threw Kari over my shoulder to get you out."

Ivar spat something out in their language that made Hvitserk roll his eyes. Before they could move further down the hallway, Hvitserk reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, freezing her in place.

"Hey, whatever they said. Just try to ignore it. We all want you here. Hell, all of us would kick them to the damn curb if Ubbe would let us. But Ubbe and Bjorn have already approved of you."

Ivar scoffed but Hvitserk kept his gaze on hers, letting her know he was serious.

"Just know, we're on your side."

"Thank you, Hvitty." She squeezed his hand, warmth blooming in her chest at his words.

"Either one of them tries to talk to her, I'll strangle them." Ivar growled, starting down the hallway, towing Kari behind him.

"You can't kill them, Ivar. Mother said murder is wrong."

Ivar laughed, looking over his shoulder at his brother. "Mother still loves me."

"Yeah, yeah, we all know you're her favorite."

"Can you blame her? Look at me. I'm far superior and more interesting than the rest of you."

"Keep telling yourself that."

Kari could not help but smile at their teasing, a mock argument that sounded like it had been executed many times before until now it was said out of fondness and mock sibling rivalry.

The three walked back outside through the glassed-in porch. On the way, she noticed her purse back next to Gyda's bag and wondered if Hvitserk moved it there for her. Outside, everyone else sat on chairs or lounge chairs that were grouped in a haphazard circle, obviously waiting for the remainder of the group to join.

"What took you so long? Thought we'd have to send a search party to find you." Bjorn called out as the three approached.

"I got 'em. The library reeks of sex though." Hvitserk said, dodging Kari's swing.

Ivar guided her back to the lounge chair they had been sitting in earlier, tucking her into his side with a hand laying possessively on her hip. Hvitserk sat on her other side instead of pulling a new chair over. She tried to ignore Margrethe and Freydis who sat across from them, keeping her eyes trained on her lap, fiddling with the hem of her cover.

"Ok, now that we're finally all here." Bjorn said, standing up with Asa in his arms. "We just wanted to tell our family the good news in person."

"Torvi is pregnant!" Gyda blurted, staring at her sister-in-law in shock.

"Fuck! Gyda!" Bjorn groaned.

"Daddy said a bad word." Hali looked over at his mother from his spot next to Sigurd.

"Yes, he did, thank you, Hali." Torvi replied smiling then addressed the group. "I'm about two months along. So right now, we are only telling family, so please don't share this with anyone else yet."

"Wow! A third! Congrats!" Ubbe started, others immediately echoing their own congratulations and well-wishes.

Kari jumped up and moved to give Torvi a hug after Gyda. "I know we haven't known each other long but I'm so excited for you. You're an amazing mother."

"Thank you, Kari. Maybe your own time will come soon." She shooting her eyes over to Ivar for a second then meeting Kari's again.

"Oh, I don't know." She blushed at the thought. After another brief hug, Kari returned to her seat.

"How old are you?" Hvitserk asked suddenly.

"Um, I turned twenty-five this summer."

"Ha! Still the baby of the group." Sigurd laughed, pointing his beer bottle at Ivar.

"Hey, nothing is wrong with an older woman. We're in our sexual prime." Gyda defended.

"She's not that much older." Ivar retorted, his hand skimming up and down Kari's thigh. "Just a year."

"And a few months. You're turning twenty-four after the new year." Ubbe helpfully added with a grin.

"Fuck off."

"Mommy, Uncle Ivar said a bad word now."

"Yes, he did, Hali. I think it's time for us to go. Say goodbye to everyone." Torvi said. After a round of goodbyes and hugs to all the uncles and aunt, the small family headed back through the house to head to their own home.

"Did you know Ivar is younger than you?" Hvitserk asked conspiringly, once conversation started around them again.

She tilted her head as she looked at him, slowly answering his question. “Yeah…. we talked about this a while ago."

"Good. Do you want kids?"

"Hvits, what is this?" Ivar butted in.

"Just testing the waters to see how she feels about having my babies. You know they'd be beautiful." Hvitserk chuckled when Ivar glared at him.

"Be nice you two or I'm moving." Kari chided.

"Yes, mom." Hvitserk said, sneaking a kiss to her cheek before jumping away. He turned around and pointed at her as he walked backwards. "One day you'll have my babies!"

She laughed, shaking her head. She could practically feel the smoke coming from Ivar's ears. Before he could burst a vein, she leaned closer to him and laid her head against his shoulder. "He knows I'm yours."

"He fucking better or I'll beat his ass to remind him." Ivar murmured, nuzzling her temple.

She relaxed against him, looking around the backyard. Hvitserk and Ubbe had started some kind of wrestling competition in the pool, both looking like they were trying to drown each other. Gyda and Ivar called insults from their seats. Sigurd was texting on his phone but occasionally looking up and making a comment. At one point he caught her eye and gave her a brief nod, which she smiled back, hoping any animosity between the two of them from her earlier comment was gone. She purposefully ignored the whispering between Margrethe and Freydis, taking a note from Ivar's book and acting as if they did not exist.

Looking at the Lothbrok family around her, she smiled at the group, still amazed she found herself in their midst and how welcoming most of them were. For almost two years she had been alone in a new country, thinking that was what she wanted. Now though, she wondered if she had just been missing a group that accepted her without question.

She peered up at Ivar, heart swelling with gratitude and affection. Without second guessing herself, she kissed his cheek and leaned back against his shoulder. He hummed, placing his own kiss to the top of her head.

She wondered if she should just give up fighting this, whatever this was between them. Maybe it would work out. Maybe everything would not fall apart as soon as the truth fell from her lips. Maybe he could accept her past and who she was.

Silently, she shook the thoughts away. It was still too soon to tell and if she was honest, she did not want to lose this.

Or lose him.

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detectivereyes · 4 years

Text

I Want to Hold You Like You’re Mine

Summary: TK gets lonely in the ER.

Notes: idk if anyone is going to really read this because everyone is kinda distracted with the new episode and the promo for next week but yeah. this idea wouldn’t leave my head so now you get to read it too.

title from “agnes” by glass animals

beta’d by @marjansmarwani

read on ao3

Watching the bustling waiting room, TK nervously twiddles his thumbs. He’s spent far too much time getting to know the emergency room at St. David’s that when he closes his eyes, he can picture the entire layout.

And yet, he somehow found himself back here again.

It wasn’t exactly his fault though. Granted, he could have been a little more careful going up the ladder on the truck. But the situation was getting urgent and he was so focused on getting to the top of the ladder that he didn’t even notice when his right foot got caught on one of the rungs and twisted his ankle in the wrong direction.

Which is how he ended up sitting in the waiting room yet again, his right ankle elevated on the chair across from him and the now melted ice pack resting on the swollen joint. He knows that he could just ask someone for a new one, but he’s been here long enough that they should be calling his name any moment now.

However as the minutes tick on, he gets more and more restless, and he wishes that there was someone here to talk to and take his mind off the persistent ache in his ankle. There had been some discussion about someone from his team staying with him but he had insisted that there was no real reason for the team to be two members down for something as minor as what’s probably only a sprained ankle. And of course, the 126 was called to another scene before it could be discussed further.

After Tommy dropped him off at the ER entrance, he thought he would be okay. However, on this abnormally busy day at the hospital, he only gets lonelier as he waits for his name to be called.

His loneliness getting the best of him, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and shoots a quick text to Carlos.

TK: are you busy?

He doesn’t even have shut the messages app before he sees the typing dots appear on his text thread.

Carlos: I’m on a call right now, but I can call you in a few minutes?

Of course. TK knew Carlos was working today, he should have known better than to bother him.

TK: nevermind, forgot you were on shift. it’s okay.

He shuts off the device, only for it to light up again with Carlos’ name in the call ID. TK frowns, hitting the red decline button. His boyfriend should be focusing on his job, not needing to worry about how accident prone TK is.

His phone lights up again, and he declines it again.

By the third time it lights up, TK sighs in resignation and presses the green accept button.

“Hey Carlos,” TK greets with his best cheery voice and fake smile.

“TK, you denied my call twice. You do not get to ‘hey Carlos’ me. What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing, I forgot you were working today,” TK answers quickly. “I can talk to you later”

“It’s clearly something. Just tell me TK,” Carlos says, pausing while he waits for TK to answer.

TK wonders if it’s worth it to explain the situation to his boyfriend. He knows that as soon as he tells him, that the other man will drop everything to come be by his side. And while the companionship would be welcome, he would feel guilty pulling Carlos away from his job.

Unfortunately, he waits too long to answer and Carlos speaks up again. “Wait, aren’t you on shift today too?”

“Well, yeah..”

“TK, where are you?” he firmly asks.

TK can tell he’s beginning to put the pieces together. The ambient noises of the waiting room are no doubt filtering through his phones speaker, not to mention the red flags it raises that TK is calling him while on shift to begin with.

“That’s not really relevant,” he says, trying to shift away from the topic.

“You’re at the hospital, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit, TK. Okay,” Carlos says, and TK can hear him mumble something in the background before coming back to the phone. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“That’s not really necessary,” TK tries to wave him off before Carlos cuts him off.

“Is anyone with you?”

“No,” he trails off.

“Then I’m coming.”

TK smiles to himself. He knows at this point there’s no talking Carlos out of it, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to seeing the other man. “Okay, I’m still in the waiting room.”

“See you soon.”

The call disconnects, and TK cycles through the apps on his phone while he waits for Carlos to arrive, periodically looking up at the sliding glass doors of the emergency room entrance.

Eventually, Carlos does make his appearance in the waiting room, still in uniform and face flushed as he scans the area before meeting TK’s eye.

TK gives him a little wave and small smile, greeting his boyfriend with a kiss when Carlos takes a seat next to him.

“Hey, what happened?” Carlos asks, trying to mask the concern in his voice but TK still picks up on it.

TK explains the situation, watching as Carlos’ eyebrows furrow in worry as he processes the story. When TK finishes, Carlos smirks a little before speaking up. “I thought you making the transition to being a paramedic was supposed to be less dangerous.”

“It’s not my fault they needed a medic up there, and I have more experience on the ladder than Tommy or Nancy.”

“Clearly,” Carlos stifles a laugh, gesturing to TK’s ankle while the other man gently swats him. Leaning down, Carlos removes the ice pack to further inspect the swollen joint. “TK, this ice pack isn’t very cold.”

“Yeah, I’ve been here a while,” he shrugs.

Carlos presses his lips together, before getting up, ice pack in hand, and making his way over to the reception desk. TK watches as the other man exchanges a few words with the nurse sitting at the desk. After their brief exchange, Carlos returns with a fresh ice pack which he places gently on TK’s ankle.

“The nurse says they should be calling you back next,” he says with a smile.

“Thank you,” TK says softly, returning the smile.

True to his word, just a few minutes later his name is called and Carlos is helping him transition into a wheelchair to be wheeled back to an exam room.

After being poked and prodded, and an x-ray just to confirm it’s nothing more major, the doctor verifies Tommy’s initial diagnosis that it’s just a bad sprain. He’s given a sturdy black brace, a pair of silver crutches, and strict instructions to take the next few weeks off work.

That last note causes a pout to settle on TK’s face as the doctor exits the exam room.

“Hey,” Carlos catches his attention, rest his hand on top of TK’s own. “It’ll be fine. Tommy will understand.”

“I’ve barely been on the job for a week, and I already have to call out. Not a great reflection.”

“Well she’s been working out your house for a few months, so I think she knows to expect that her newest paramedic is also a danger magnet,” Carlos chuckles.

“Yeah, I guess,” TK sighs.

Carlos gently runs his hand through TK’s hair, knowing that it calms the other man down. “You ready to get out of here?”

TK nods. “Can you just drop me off back at the station?”

“I thought I would just take you home. You should probably rest and ice your ankle a little more.”

“There’s ice at the station,” TK says with a mischievous grin, only to be met with Carlos’ unwavering expression. “I just would rather be around the team that sitting at home alone while you finish your shift.”

“TK, my shift ended 30 minutes ago.”

“Shit, Carlos,” he looks up meeting the other man's eye. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for you to get pulled away for this long. I hope you don’t get into trouble.” “It’s fine, I told my captain what was going on after you called and she let me go. I wasn’t planning on going back anyway.”

TK smiles, wondering how he got so lucky to have a boyfriend this caring that he really would drop everything to spend a few long hours in the emergency room with him.

“Now, why don’t we get out of here, yeah?”

He nods eagerly, letting Carlos help him off the bed and graciously accepting the crutches the other man hands to him. “Thank you,” he whispers to Carlos with a smile, before making their way out of the hospital.

#911 lone star #911 lone star fic #my fic #usermaximus #tuserpaige #userkimmy #userac #userajb #userbones #userjilly #idk i'm too lazy to bring up my list

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howlinchickhowl · 3 years

Text

Alright this is happening. The other day @mickeyssleevelessflannel made this post about Ian being sick and not wanting to give in to it, but then giving into it and then enjoying Mickey taking care of him, and I maybe got a little obsessed with it and ended up writing something as a sort of post-script to the actual post.

I’ve called it Song of the Hearth, and it’s basically 2000 words of Mickey making Ian soup and you can read it here under the cut, or here on A03. Enjoy?

The ringing phone is too loud in the quiet of the kitchen and Mickey quickly thumbs at the volume button to bring it down a couple notches while he waits. Next place they live they’re gonna have some doors.

It’s usually not a problem, it’s just the two of them and it’s not like either of them have a strong attachment to privacy. A lifetime of sharing bedrooms with innumerable siblings followed by six months of shitting in front of each other in the joint takes care of that sort of thing pretty quick.

But Ian’s finally passed out on the couch after spending most of the day feverishly insisting he isn’t sick and doesn’t need a nap, and Mickey wouldn’t mind if the little kitchen he’s currently hovering in had some kind of closeable door instead of just a corner to hide around so he could take care of his shit without waking the little drama queen up, is all.

The call rings through to voicemail. Fucking typical. He hangs up without leaving a message and is leaning against the countertop where he can watch Ian shivering unhappily under his ratty star blanket when it starts to ring.

He glances quickly at the caller ID before bringing the phone up to his ear.

“Hey.” He mutters, trying to keep his voice as low as possible while still being audible at the other end. “Thanks for calling back.”

“I saw your number on my missed calls list and I thought I was having some sorta hallucination! Is everything ok?” She’s trying to play it off for laughs but the question, her concern, is very real. In retrospect he thinks he probably should’ve just texted.

They text each other sometimes. Every now and then Mickey’ll see an article about some kid getting eaten by a ‘gator at Disneyworld and text it to her with the raised eyebrow emoji because Florida’s a dumbass fucking place to choose to live.

Sometimes he wakes up to pictures of a sunrise over the water or some frolicking fucking flamingoes or some shit and an inspirational quote because Fiona Gallagher is an idiot who moves to swampy shitholes but she is also a first class fucking troll who loves to waste his time.

Sometimes she’ll text him to ask about Ian. Sometimes he answers.

He’s never called her before, he should’ve known it would set off some kind of alarm bells.

“I need your soup recipe.”

Best tactic for dealing with a concerned Gallagher sibling is to cut them off and then confound them. Don’t give them a chance to work themselves up into a fit, just get straight to the point.

“My…My what?” He thinks it’s worked, worry in her voice giving way to confusion and amusement.

“Your soup recipe. For soup.”

“Mickey, I don’t think I have a soup recipe.” Maybe he’s confounded her too much?

“Ian says you used to make soup when he was sick.”

“He’s sick?” She’s worried again. And Christ he gets what Ian means when he says she can over-react. Understands why Ian doesn’t always want to let her know when something’s going on with him. Mickey can practically hear her planning what to pack in her fucking suitcase when she gets off the phone so she can come up here and nurse him back to health.

In the living room, Ian shifts under his blanket, his huge-ass feet in faded white athletic socks sticking out from the bottom end look so small as they rub against each other. His face is scrunched up in a grumpy frown that Mickey thinks is pretty cute, even if it’s because he’s not feeling good.

It irks him, Fiona jumping into battle mode. Ian’s a grown ass man and he’s doing real good and he doesn’t need Big Sister Energy barging in here trying to take care of him. He can take care of himself. And when he can’t, well, he’s got Mickey. And it pisses him off just a little bit every time Fiona implies, even if she doesn’t mean to, that that’s not enough.

“It’s just a fuckin’ cold man, he’s fine. But he hasn’t eaten a lot and he keeps yackin’ on about your fuckin’ soup so I figured I’d make it for him for dinner.”

“Mickey –“ God he can hear her fucking melt, the affection creeping in when she says his name like he’s some sort of sweetheart fucking marvel for wanting to make soup for his own fucking husband. He’s gotta shut that shit down straight away before it gets out of hand and she starts thinking it’s ok to start calling him Sweetcheeks or whatever it is she calls Ian.

“Look he’s gotta eat something alright? Just give me the damn recipe so I can make a list for Wholefoods.”

“Wholefoods? You hit your head there Milkovich?” Yeah that about did it, cut-off and confound, works every time. Her saccharine lovey-dovey-voice has been replaced with her give-Mickey-shit-voice and that’s a spot he’s much more comfortable being in.

“Yeah, on your baby brother’s rock hard cock, just tell me what’s in the damn soup?”

Fiona laughs quietly and he can hear her moving around, rustling something. Ian (Mickey and Ian, Ian would insist) bought her a kettle for Christmas last year and he can hear it start to whistle. As she tells him,

“It’s nothing special.” The whistling stops as she pulls the kettle off the stove and clanks around with cups and spoons and whatever else you use to make tea. “You probably don’t even have to go to the store. I never had the money for Wholefoods. I just used to dump a whole buncha Herb-ox into some hot water and stir in whatever vegetables were in the freezer and bits of chopped up bacon.”

Mickey processes all of that information with a grimace.

“Jesus. That’s the greatest meal Ian’s ever eaten?” That does not sound like soup. That sounds like salty lumpy chicken water with stuff in it.

“Yeah. It was pretty disgusting, honestly?” She chuckles like it’s a joke, but Mickey definitely agrees with her. “It was just hot and salty and cheap, and only when they were sick, no sane or healthy person would be asking for it.”

“Alright, well guess I don’t gotta go anywhere then, pretty sure we got Herb-ox. What flavor?” Quiet as he can, he starts pulling open the cupboards where Ian keeps all the herbs and dried shit. Pantry cupboard, he calls it, cute little grin on his face because he likes the idea of them having a pantry, even if it’s just a cupboard that he’s decided to call that. Mickey’s face can’t decide whether to grin or roll his eyes when he thinks about it. It probably ends up doing both.

“Whatever we had? If you have both I would do two parts chicken, one part vegetable. And if you’ve got any of that wagon wheel pasta he likes you could throw some of that in as well.”

“Yeah alright I’ll check.” He’s pretty sure they have some of that stuff, Ian makes it for Franny when they babysit.

It’s quiet for a minute, Mickey looking for the ingredients for the world’s worst soup in the cupboards and trying to figure out how to get off the phone now that he has what he needs without seeming ungrateful or impolite or whatever.

“It’s nice of you to do that for him Mickey.” She’s gone soft again, like she’s smiling at him, like she’d give him a hug if they were in the same room, and that’s enough for him to stop caring about being polite.

“Yeah I’m gonna go now.” He tells her and he can hear her grin on the other end.

“Give Ian my love?”

“Nope.” He drops the call while she’s laughing and sets to boiling up some water for the “soup”.

Fifteen minutes later he sets the bowl down in front of Ian on the coffee table and touches his fingers to the little curls on top of his sleeping head, stroking through them gently until Ian stirs and snuffles his way into consciousness.

“Whassit hmm?” Ian murmurs, rubbing his eyes and scrunching up his cheeks, flushed with illness and with sleep, cute as a fucking button.

“Gonna have to try that one again man, whatever you think you said, it wasn’t words.”

“Hmm, sorry, m’sleepy.” Ian still hasn’t fully opened his eyes but he turns over and stretches, trying to wake up properly.

“I know, but I got something for you.”

“I don’t think I can have sex right now Mick.” The little shit pats him on the knee with a smug smile that would be really fucking alluring if he wasn’t wearing yesterday’s pyjamas and a layer of fever-sweat. “Maybe in like an hour.”

“That’s adorable that you think I want anything to do with your sweaty ass, probably fucking contagious dick right now, but no. I made soup.” That gets Ian to crack an eye open. One full, one squinting at him suspiciously.

“You made soup? Like you bought soup?”

“No, like I called your bitch of a sister down in God’s waiting room and I got her to tell me how to make her soup. And then I made it.”

It’s the mention of Fiona that gets Ian really to perk himself awake, using his elbows on the arm of the couch to lever himself up to sitting as Mickey passes him the steaming bowl of sad, pathetic, poor-people soup that he really hopes is gonna be as good as Fiona’s would have been. Ian accepts the bowl and the spoon and stares at it a little goofily.

“You did that?” He beams up at Mickey like he’s done something real, and Mickey can feel his face start to flush with the pleasure of it. He tries to tamp down his smile a little bit as he lowers himself down to sit next to his husband.

“Yeah, Raggedy Ann, I did that. So now you owe me a BJ for the soup, and probably also one to make up for me having to have a conversation with Fiona.”

“Fuck you, I’m at least Andy. And you like Fiona, you don’t get blow jobs for talking to someone you like.” Ian has returned his focus now mainly to the soup, stirring it around a little, blowing on it to cool it. Mickey’s arm stretches itself out along the back of the couch and his hand finds its way into the hairs at the base of Ian’s skull, just stroking through a little in the way they both like.

“Alright. We can argue the fine details later, right now you gotta eat.” And Ian does.

He takes a spoonful and brings it up to his mouth with enthusiasm, but residual lethargy. Mickey can’t help but watch his face for signs of disgust or disappointment. And he’s not ashamed to say he loses his breath a little bit when Ian’s face lights up after swallowing his first mouthful.

He turns to Mickey, licking his lips and smiling the biggest, shiniest fucking smile and whispers, like it’s a secret, like he’s awestruck, “this is Fiona’s soup.” And Mickey could cry with how happy Ian looks in that moment, like Mickey’s given him the greatest gift.

The rest of the soup disappears within minutes, Ian making happy little slurps and hums as he brings the spoon to his mouth over and over again. And Mickey just watches him, fingers rubbing in his hair, and thinks about how he never expected to feel happy like this. Never in a million years would have thought that happiness was watching your feverish husband eat shitty soup on a rented couch on a Wednesday afternoon. But it is. It fucking is and Mickey will never get used to feeling this happy, will never get enough of it as long as he lives.

Ian finishes the soup and as soon as he’s set the bowl down he’s shuffling over to wedge himself against Mickey’s side, properly under his arm, face buried in his neck huffing hot shallow breaths into his skin as he falls quickly back to sleep. Mickey shifts a little so that he can press a kiss into Ian’s hairline, he’s still warm, skin tacky and honestly pretty gross. Maybe after he’s slept a bit Mickey can get him in the shower.

He reaches for the remote and spends a few minutes flicking through the channels idly while Ian shuffles around and makes himself comfortable using Mickey as his pillow. Discovery channel is running an afternoon of dinosaur documentaries that looks pretty interesting, so he puts on the subtitles and turns the volume way down, settling himself in for a lazy afternoon.

“Hey Mick?” Ian mumbles, fingers clutching at the material of Mickey’s hoody, like he’s trying to hold on to being awake for just another minute, like he’s got something important he has to stay awake for.

“Hmm?”

“Thanks. For th’soup.” Mickey chuckles. Real important shit to say Gallagher. Good job keeping yourself up for that one.

“Yeah yeah, you’re welcome.” He tells him, too fond, always too fond. “Fucking soup junkie.”

“Mick?” Fingers tighten in his hoody again, and it’s stupid cute that Ian seems to be using that as a grounding tool.

“Shhh,” Mickey whispers into his hairline, smoothing back his hair at the front with his free hand. “C’mon man go back to sleep.”

Ian smacks his lips and loosens his death grip on Mickey’s sweater, and then, as he’s drifting into deeper breaths and his eyelashes start to flutter against the skin of Mickey’s neck, he breathes,

“You take real good care of me, y’know?”

#my fic #gallavich fic #ian x mickey #IDEK I did not intend for this to happen?#I mostly just wanted to write the Mickey/Fiona conversation because..be the change you want to see in the world you know?#mickeyssleevelessflannel #fic

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spencers-renaissance · 4 years

Text

The Colour of Waiting is Purple

Summary: Spencer's just trying to get home as quickly as possible when a bad decision to take a shortcut down a back alley leaves him broken and bleeding into the night. // Hotch thinks it's a new case when his phone rings at 3 in the morning. It isn't.

Tags: whump, hurt/comfort, physical assault, major character injury, hospitals, dad hotch, hurt spencer, angst with a happy ending, eventual fluff

TW: graphic descriptions of violence // physical assault (no rape/non-con)

Pairing: Gen, Aaron Hotchner & Spencer Reid

Word Count: 3.7k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

Disclaimer: I'm sure there are some medical inaccuracies here, everything I know comes from google, whump tumblr blogs, and my embarrassing obsession with medical dramas. I also have no knowledge of the US medical system aside from what I know from the aforementioned sources so excuse any issues there.

Spencer doesn’t think anything of it when he leaves work at his usual time, the clock pushing midnight and the offices deserted. He packs his few personal belongings up and turns off his lamp before nodding to the janitor, the only other person to be seen, and taking the elevator down to the ground floor where there’s a little more sign of human life at least.

As soon as he steps out into the crisp winter air, he feels the exhaustion of working close to 18 hours straight on far too little sleep hit him. They haven’t even been working a case, he just gets so caught up in his reports and consults that he doesn’t notice the hours whizzing by until he looks up and the bullpen is deserted, dark except for his desk lamp.

Inevitably when spending the day at the office dealing with banalities, he finds something that captures his interest. It tends to send him on a trawl through the internet — or, occasionally, to another part of the building — looking it up in every journal he buys a subscription to until that itch is scratched.

The others always gently touch his shoulder or call out to him as they leave, which he tends to hear about 50% of the time, and Hotch especially tries to make him leave at a more sensible time, but he can’t help the way his brain works. Once it latches onto something it’s not letting go until it’s satisfied.

His feet carry him to the Metro station while his brain absently thinks over his most recent fixation, and soon enough he’s at his stop and back in DC. The streets are slightly more lively in the city, and the noise and light snap him back to reality enough to remind him of his bone-deep fatigue. He usually walks down the main streets to get to his apartment building, occasionally catching a bus if he’s earlier than usual or a cab if he’s later, but tonight he’s just longing for a quick microwave meal, a shower, and his bed. So, he dips down an alleyway and takes the shortcut home.

It’s stupid.

He knows pretty much every statistic there is to know about his city, and at the forefront of his brain are those concerning crime. DC has one of the highest crime rates in America, and a person’s chances of being a victim is 1 in 18, and although it’s slightly lower in Adams Morgan which is one of the safest, violent crimes are still 36% higher than the national average. This is decidedly increased when you take stupid risks like walking through the backstreets in the dead of night when you’re on your own.

Sadly, this does not occur to Spencer before he’s deep in the back streets of the city, being slammed ruthlessly against a wall by two men he didn’t see coming.

He’s winded immediately, and before his brain can catch up with what’s happening, a knife is being held dangerously close to his neck. All his self-defence training, all the moves Derek had spent hours teaching him when he’d first joined the BAU fly out the window and he can only breathe heavily with what he knows must be a terrified expression on his face.

“Well, well, well,” the man holding the knife leers, his arid breath hitting Spencer’s face, “look what we have here.”

The other man doesn’t speak. He’s stood slightly further back, arms crossed as he stares Spencer down. Although he’s physically the lesser threat right now, something about him has ice pooling in Spencer’s stomach.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen, you fucking pansy,” he continues, pushing Spencer further into the wall, pain blossoming across his body, “you’re gonna let us look through your gay ass purse, and we’re gonna take whatever we want from it. And then, you’re gonna let Paulie here do whatever he wants to you. He’s had a real bad day, and a pathetic little queer like you is just the punching bag he needs, you hear me?”

It’s all Spencer can do to nod his head frantically. He wants to open his mouth, to negotiate, to talk them down, but this is nothing like when he’s faced with the FBI’s most wanted. He’s in control there, he’s on his turf, his playing field, it’s his game and he knows every rule, every bylaw, every exception.

Right now, he’s completely at these men’s mercy.

“Paulie, take his bag.” The man doesn’t take his eyes off Spencer’s face, scanning his expression and body language for any sign he’s about to bolt, for any reason to put his knife to work.

He tries to calm himself down a little, enough to catch his breath at least. He’s taken countless beatings throughout his life, he knows how to survive, just… please, don’t let it be anything more. It’s all Spencer dares to hope for.

The other man steps forward and snatches his messenger bag, unceremoniously dumping the contents of his bag on the pavement. Spencer’s just grateful that he doesn’t have anything in there that hints towards his career. He knows this type: they’re intimidating but they’re easily scared. Right now, he’s a weak twenty-something on his way home, he’s not a threat to them, but who knows what they’d do to him if they realised he’s a fed?

They take his wallet and his phone before they rummage through his pockets to find some spare cash. His badge is tucked in an inner pocket in his blazer and his Quantico ID is still hanging around his neck, hidden under his scarf, blazer, and thin overcoat; he’s so glad he never took it off.

An icy tear drips down his face as he stands there, pressed against the wall, awaiting his fate. All he wants right now is to be back at home. No, that’s not right. All he wants right now is Hotch. As soon as the thought of his father-figure crosses his mind, the tears start flowing faster, desperate to feel safe again, knowing Hotch is the only person to really let him feel that way.

The man holding the knife has turned to watch Paulie sift through his bag and rummage through his pockets, but as soon as his steely grey eyes return to Spencer’s face, his face splits into a shit-eating grin. “Aw, are you crying?” he mocks, starting to laugh. “Are the big bad men making you feel scared? You gonna run home to Mommy?”

He knows that it’s exactly what the man wants, but he can’t stop the tears from devolving into full-blown sobs at his words. The whole terrifying experience, the implications, the realisations of what might be coming for him in the next few minutes start to catch up to him and he’s violently shaking as he cries uncontrollably.

“You’re pathetic,” the man spits, releasing his grip on him slightly, letting Spencer’s shaky legs collapse under him and send him crashing towards the ground. “He’s all yours, Paulie. I’m gonna enjoy this.”

His position is quickly taken over by Paulie as the other man leans against a dumpster close by to watch the show, and Spencer looks up at the intimidating man with fear blazing in his eyes as he hangs in purgatory, knowing the hell that’s about to rain down on him.

Paulie doesn’t take long to get started and he doesn’t hold back, his sturdy, black boots kicking him relentlessly in the stomach and his thighs before moving up to his chest, slamming the toe of his boots into each individual rib. Spencer can hear the other man laughing maniacally over the sound of his own bones breaking, over his own choked pleas for mercy, but it’s like Paulie doesn’t hear either of them. His face is blank as he gives Spencer the beating of his life, and it only makes him more terrifying.

He quickly gets bored of kicking Spencer and bends down to yank him up by his scarf, only to land a hard, brutal punch on his jaw, then his cheek, then his nose before dropping him down again, this time so his back is vulnerable, at the mercy of Paulie’s cruel feet.

The torture continues for a few more minutes, and Spencer doesn’t know how no-one hears his desperate cries, but they’re left alone in the alley as he coughs up blood and feels his bones break under the tread of Paulie’s boots. He’s deprived of air as his chest is stood on, as his windpipe is crushed, but finally, finally it’s over.

“I’m bored,” Paulie grunts, giving Spencer one last brutal kick to the base of his back before walking over to the other man. They both saunter off down the alleyway, not casting a single look back at Spencer lying curled up on the ground, surrounded by his own blood.

Soon, the men have left, and he’s alone with only his ragged, painful breaths for company. He can hear the hoots of a bachelor party just a street over, but no-one’s coming to save him. No-one else is stupid enough to venture down the backstreets of DC. Not with crime rates like those of their city. Not in the small hours of the morning. Not alone.

He doesn’t even have his phone to call for help.

⭐️

Hotch expects it to be work when he picks up the phone at 3am. By the time he’s sat up in bed and sliding the bar on his phone to answer it, he’s already half in work-mode, ready to call Jessica and drive Jack over before racing into work to beat the others on the team. He can already taste his first coffee of the day.

“Hello, is this Aaron Hotchner?”

It isn’t work.

“Uh, yes,” he says hesitantly, shifting upright a little further, sleep-addled mind trying to guess who the caller could possibly be, “speaking.”

“Hi, my name is Mary Kutner, I’m calling from George Washington University Hospital. I have you down as Spencer Reid’s emergency contact, is that correct?”

Hotch’s heart plummets, and he leaps out of bed immediately, ready to get dressed as the shock wakes him up. “That’s correct. What’s happened?”

“I’m afraid I can’t divulge much information over the phone, sir, but we’ll need you to come to the hospital urgently.”

He isn’t usually an emotional person, but he can feel tears springing to his eyes already. Spencer is a surrogate son to him, and knowing he’s hurt without knowing what he can actually do about it is an atrocious feeling. Please don’t let me watch another member of my family die, is all he can think as he tries to gain enough composure to reply to the nurse on the other end of the line.

“Can you tell me his condition?” he asks, somehow managing to get the words past the lump in his throat.

“He’s currently in theatre, sir,” Mary replies as gently as one can in such a professional tone. “If you come down to the hospital and report to the ER a doctor will be able to tell you more. I’ll need you to bring identification with you, please.”

“Okay,” he breathes, trying to keep as calm as possible, “okay. Thank you for letting me know. I’ll be right there.”

He throws the phone on the bed as he finishes throwing his clothes on. He packs two bags: one for him (mostly filled with things Spencer might need) and one for Jack, pulls on his coat and shoes before creeping into his son’s room and lifting him out of bed gently, carrying him down to the car.

Jack is a heavy sleeper — he frequently wakes up the next morning tucked in his room at Jessica’s, sometimes in the car on the way — and he’s endlessly thankful for that now. Explaining why he’s dashing out of the flat with a panicked look on his face to a seven-year-old is a conversation he’s glad to avoid.

He rings Jessica on the way who, used to his early morning calls waking her up, has no problem with looking after Jack.

Somehow, he manages to make it to the hospital only forty-five minutes later, and he didn’t even have to park illegally. Thank God the hospital is at least a little quieter in the dead of night.

“Hi, I’m Aaron Hotchner, Spencer Reid’s emergency contact,” he explains shakily to the woman at the front desk, laying down his FBI identification bag down as ID. He could use his driving licence, sure, but… if knowing they’re FBI agents will make any difference to Spencer’s care then he doesn’t give a damn if this could be construed in some way as abuse of his position. He’d rather lose his job than lose his son.

“Oh, hi Agent Hotchner,” the woman says with a tone of recognition, glancing at his ID before typing something into her computer, “I’m Mary Kutner, I spoke to you on the phone. Dr Reid is still in surgery but I’ll go and find a doctor who can explain the situation to you.”

He nods absently, face stern and pinched as furious anxiety toils inside him. He feels like the last forty-five minutes have been a daze, and now the bright lights and noisy machines and bustling action of the Emergency Department at a major trauma centre are slowly snapping him out of it, the implications of ‘urgent’ and ‘surgery’ and it being the middle of the damn night finally catching up to him.

Some number of minutes pass by — he’s too anxious and caught in his head to keep track of the linear passage of time right now — before he’s approached by a young doctor, wearing a mask carefully constructed of confident professionalism and reassuring compassion.

“Agent Hotchner?” She’s clarifying uselessly, she knows it’s him. He knows she probably has to confirm for some stupid HIPAA rule, but he just wants to know what happened goddamnit.

“Yes,” he replies shortly, “what’s happened to Spencer?”

He doesn’t miss her almost perfectly concealed wince, and he feels his stomach sink further. “He was involved in an assault on his way home from work. A passer-by found him in a back road not far from the hospital and called for an ambulance. Luckily we got him into surgery quickly. Upon admission’s initial assessment, he had a ruptured spleen, a collapsed lung, a double kidney contusion, and he suffered a pelvic fracture along with multiple broken ribs, a fractured jaw and cheekbone, and several severe breaks in his left forearm, wrist, and hand.”

Hotch stares at the doctor in disbelief as she lists Spencer’s injuries: he feels like he’s going into shock. How could anyone want to hurt the sweetest person he’s ever met? How could anyone be so brutal? He’s worked with serial killers for nearly two decades and still, nothing could prepare him for this. He sits down in the seat behind him as the world spins, his brain trying to piece everything together.

“Are you alright, sir?” the doctor asks, sitting down in the seat next to him. “Do you want a glass of water?”

“What?” He turns to look at her before her words sink in and he realises what she asked. “Oh. No, I’m fine… I— is he going to be okay?” As soon as the first tear spills down his cheek, he can’t stop them from falling one after another, dripping down his face in his most public display of emotion since Haley died.

“He’s going to need a lot of care,” she reasons, “he’ll need to stay in hospital for at least a week depending on the outcome of the surgery, but we have every reason to believe he’ll make a full recovery.”

“What’s— what’s the surgery for?” He feels like he’s having an out of body experience.

“They’ll address the internal bleeding first by either fixing or removing the spleen and making sure we didn’t miss anything else on the scans. The surgeon will also assess the damage to Spencer’s kidneys and make sure they aren’t contributing to the internal bleeding. They’ll address the pelvic fractures and the collapsed lung as well. You need to understand that Spencer may need further surgery and he’ll definitely need very close monitoring over the coming weeks and months.”

“What about his broken bones?” Hotch asks. “How bad is it?”

She sighs. “They’re bad,” she admits. “The pelvic fractures are likely going to have a big impact on his mobility, and he won’t have the use of his left arm for a long time. We’re looking at a long recovery, Agent Hotchner. But we have every reason to believe that he will eventually recover.”

She pats him comfortingly on the hand before getting up. “Someone will fetch you as soon as he’s out of surgery.”

It’s not until she’s halfway across the waiting room that he realises she never even told him her name.

It’s close to 8am by the time a surgeon walks over to him, still dressed in scrubs. There’s a smudge of blood on his shirt and Hotch winces at the knowledge that it’s Spencer’s.

“How is he?” he asks, leaping up. He doesn't want any screwing around. He just wants to know if Spencer’s going to be okay.

“He’s stable. The surgery went well. Unfortunately, we had to conduct a full splenectomy to stop his internal bleed which does put him at risk for serious infections, but otherwise, it’s good news. His kidneys will need support but should heal in a timely manner, and we were able to set the rib that punctured his lung and reinflate it, although we’re going to keep him on oxygen to be safe. His pelvis was severely fractured but we managed to reposition the displaced bone fragments and inserted a screw and metal plate to hold them together.”

“Oh, thank God,” Hotch sighs with relief. The worst, immediate threats have been dealt with, and it settles a small part of the anxiety he’s feeling.

“He’s in room 338 if you’d like to go and see him. He should be waking up shortly.”

⭐️

Wasting no time, he races up to Spencer’s floor where a nurse lets him onto the ward and leads him down to 338. He pushes the door open apprehensively, swallowing his emotion at the sight of the man he considers a son lying in a hospital bed. He’s lost count of the number of times he’s been rushed to the hospital, but it’s never been like this. It’s always after a case: Spencer knows the risks of the job, they all do, and he puts himself deliberately in harm's way for the sake of others.

This time, though… this time he was just walking home from work. This time he had no say in the matter.

His left arm is in a cast and his face is bruised and swollen, chestnut hair matted and tangled. Opening the bag he packed, he pulls out a comb and gently teases out the tangles until he can comb through the curls completely unobstructed. There are undoubtedly more knots at the back of his head, but those can wait until he’s woken up at least. It just makes him feel like he’s doing something.

It’s only when he sits down in the chair by his bed that he realises it’s Thursday morning now; he’s supposed to be at work today, they both are. No-one except Jessica knows what’s happened.

The first thing, he supposes, is to ring Strauss.

Once that’s out of the way and she knows that neither he nor Spencer will be in today and he’ll inform her of the latest updates as soon as possible, he messages Rossi. He’s the only one who will be able to remain objective enough to inform everyone, and he’s enough of a dad to the team to help manage everyone’s emotional responses.

Just as he hits send on the message, his head snaps up at Spencer’s quiet whimpering as he comes around.

“Hey, hey, Spencer,” he says as soothingly as possible, “it’s okay, I’m here. You’re in the hospital. Are you in pain?”

Spencer blinks his eyes open blearily, wearing such a pained and vulnerable expression that it goes right to Hotch’s gut. He nods in response to his question, his good hand reaching to hold Hotch’s.

“Okay, there’s a PCA pump right here, I’ll turn it up a little. Is that better?”

“Yeah,” he whispers, tears springing to his eyes. Now he’s not in as much physical pain, Hotch knows this is pure emotion, and he thinks that’s somehow worse. Spencer’s been through a horrifying physical ordeal, but the emotional recovery is going to be just as gruelling and last years. If there’s one word he’d use to describe Spencer, though, it’s resilient.

He shushes him gently, bringing a hand to his hair and caressing it lightly. “I’m here,” he repeats. “You’re safe. I won’t leave you, okay?”

Spencer nods and relaxes into his touch, eyes fluttering closed as he calms down a little.

“You rest now,” he murmurs. “I’ll be here when you wake up. Everything’s going to be okay.”

They’ll deal with the fall-out later. They’ll deal with the team coming to visit, with the paperwork for his sick leave and the frustration of government bureaucracy. They’ll manage their way through processing the trauma of what happened to him, the physical, mental, and occupational implications of the assault. They’ll stay glued at the hip while Spencer’s interviewed by the police, while doctors explain to him just how serious his injuries are.

Right now, though, Spencer will sleep and Hotch will sit by his bedside watching the rise and fall of his chest, listening to every steady beep on the heart rate monitor, searing the living breathing proof that Spencer is alive into his mind. Spencer will sleep and Hotch will cry silently over the cruelty of the world, he’ll grieve for the man he said good-bye to 12 hours earlier, knowing he’ll never quite be the same again.

Spencer will sleep and Hotch will be there, holding his hand, waiting for him to wake up again.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @strippersenseii @suburban--gothic @takeyourleap-of-faith

#criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds writing #criminal minds whump #whump #spencer reid whump #aaron hotchner #hotch #spencer reid #aaron hotchner & spencer reid #criminal minds gen #criminal minds gen fic #criminal minds angst #tw violence #tw assault #tw beating

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