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[viking-raider]

(Huntersville One Shot) Sneak Peek

“Calm yourself, Cavill.” He berated himself, stuffing his phone into his pocket. “Get a bloody hold of yourself.” He sighed, as the alarm on his smartwatch started to buzz. “I can’t let her know I think someone is stalking us.”

[viking-raider]

I Know I'm a Wolf! *Halloween Fic* 🎃

Summary-> Marshall scents out his little Rabbit.

Pairing-> Marshall/Reader

Word Count-> 4.7k

Warnings-> M - Suggestive, Strangers to Lovers, Language, (DubCon cover our bases), Were-Ritual, Splash of Cock-Warming, Power Imbalance, Somnophilia, Marshall wants what he wants. Some Soft!Marshall. I'm rusty with warnings.

Inspiration-> Halloween and the song, I Know I'm a Wolf

Author’s Note-> I hope you enjoy it! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

-> If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST as well as my @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’

Marshall’s nostrils flared as he smelled the air; a plum of misty breath surrounded him as he let out a huff. A smug smirk curled the corner of his lip as the Scent reached him, sweet and sharp with adrenaline, making every fiber of his body beneath the knitted jumper he wore, tingle.

“My little Rabbit.” He rumbled, biting hard into his bottom lip, a shiver rippling down his spine.

Shrugging out of his puff vest and carelessly dropping it to the fresh dusting of snow, followed by his beanie, Marshall shook his head, stirring his wild mop of curls that had been pressed down by the cap. Clearing all thoughts from his mind, to zero his focus into the thrill of the hunt he was about to set himself on. With a final shrug of his vast shoulders, Marshall turned towards the Scent trail, blue eyes glowing in the moon light, giving away his true nature and intent.

The wind shifted out of Marshall’s face and against his back, taking the scent of his Rabbit with it; and drawing a growl from between his clenched teeth.

“She can’t be far.” He huffed, turning his head into the breeze and taking deep lungfuls of it. “The little thing is likely to freeze before long. So, she has to try and take cover somewhere…” He reasoned, his detective skills moving in beside his natural instincts, as he scanned the landscape.

“If she’s got any smarts.”

Marshall’s eyes landed on a circle of trees several meters ahead of him. The slim, but sturdy, trunks huddled close together against the thick snowflakes and hard wind. They were the few places of coverage for at least three kilometers, in the opposite direction of the gust, but a small pit in Marshall’s stomach told him to take a look. He closed the distance between him and the cluster of trees, boots crunching in the powdery snow. The naked branches creaked as they reached, as if looking for warmth against the tundra chill, in each other. Marshall crouched low, scanning the snow and tree bark for any signs of disturbances; footprints or sheltering against a tree, in an attempt to block the wind’s current for a single moment’s rest in the icy climate. Just maybe, to achieve an iota of warmth. A smirk touched his lips, finding exactly what he was looking for. Footprints near a tree, whose bark and damp moss had been rubbed off by something…or someone…huddling against it and a small indentation of a body kneeling in the pristine white snow.

“So, you are a smart, little Rabbit.” He rumbled, touching the disturbed bark, leaning close to sniff at it, catching the scent that had carried on the wind and filled his senses for more than an hour now. “Strong too.” He added, tracing their movement away from the small grove of trees. “You’re not willing to stay put and die.” He stood and started after the new trail.

“You were chosen well.”

Hassled out of the vehicle you were stuffed into by your captors, you couldn’t recall how long ago, with a black silk blindfold secured over your eyes and a strip of tape over your mouth. You felt the frigid wind whip around your body, forcing a shiver out of you. The cold seeped into your thin leggings and oversized jumper. Your feet had been jammed, sockless, into your jogging shoes, before you’d been spirited away from your flat, sandwiched between two hard bodies, who were immovable towards your struggles to get free. They simply put you into their car and drove to whatever hellish destination you stopped in, listening to the crunch of snow beneath their boots and the harsh howl of wind.

I’m going to die. You thought as they dropped you onto your feet, finally, but maintained a grip on your arms. They’re going to kill me.

The blindfold was tugged free and you blinked into the night, before your eyes focused on the tall, muscular man standing before you, a deep scowl on his face as he glared down at you, causing you to gulp thickly. He looked up at the two still holding you and nodded.

“She’ll be perfect for him.” He commented, dropping his eyes back to you, his face somewhat softer this time, but it had no effect on you. “Marshall will find everything he wants in her.” He said, catching your chin roughly in his hand and tilting your head. “You’ll be a fine addition.”

Your brow pinched together in a confused question, making him laugh and let you go, but didn’t answer the burning questions in your eyes. Why have you taken me? Who are you talking about? Addition to what?

One of the men held out a clear plastic bag containing an article of your clothing.

“Right, you know where to take her.” He continued, ignoring you. “I’ll go and give this,” He said, taking the bag, and returning the blindfold. “to Marshall, so he can use it to scent her. When the time comes.” He waved you off and turned away, heading towards a small log cabin.

Blindfolding and lifting you up once more, the two hauled you away. You felt your fear and helplessness grow as they dragged you deeper into the snowy hell. The cabin disappeared behind the crest of a hill and line of trees. Behind your blindfold, it didn’t take long for you to become disoriented to your position, until it was ripped off again and you were shoved to the ground.

“Best of luck, wee human.” One of the men rasped, laughing as he and his companion turned away, vanishing into the night.

You laid panting on the ground, your body heat melting the snow around you, soaking into your clothing. Reaching, you pulled at the tape on your mouth, whimpering as it tugged at your skin. Groaning, you grabbed a handful of snow and held it against your mouth, letting it melt against the fabric of the tape; hoping it would help come off easier. But it didn’t. Making you scream with frustration and terror behind it. Giving up on the tape, you turned to something vastly more important.

Survival and getting to safety.

So, you got to your feet, hugging your arms around your body, and searched the area, trying to orient yourself. Trying to find the tracks that were made as you were brought out to your current point, but it had started to snow heavily again, leaving you in a virtual snowglobe and hiding them.

Fuck.

Turning in a circle, you picked a direction, muttered a small prayer, and started off. You stumbled several times, but picked yourself back up, determined not to freeze to death or let whoever Marshall was find you. It didn’t keep your mind from wandering, though. Why had these people taken you? They had seemingly picked you for this Marshall person. But what was this strange pretense of making you an addition to something?

If they want me to be this addition, then clearly they don’t intend to kill me. But what in the world is the point of making me wander around in the middle of the night, in a blasted snow storm? Why not just hand me over to this Marshall guy? What the hell does he need my bra for?

You paused, trembling, seeing a thicket of trees. It was like a small gift. Scrambling towards them, you hunkered down as close to the center of the coppice as possible, hoping it would give you the best shield. Resting with a tree between you and the wind, you rubbed your stiff hands together and pressed them between your thighs, trying to get warmth and life back into your fingers.

I have to get somewhere warmer.

You stood and continued your trek through the snow, not going sixty meters, before noticing something in the next crop of trees that made your heart race with hope. Scrambling carelessly towards it, you discovered an opening in the earth beneath two large trees, a den of sorts, partially covered by snow. Digging at it, it was deep and dark. You had no clue if there was anything inside also trying to shelter away from the snow storm, but you didn’t care. You flattened yourself onto your stomach and dove inside.

Thankfully, it was empty, and surprisingly big, giving you the startling thought of finding a bear den.

Please, don’t let a bear be renting this out.

You gulped, resting your back against the back wall, eyes locked on the entrance, expecting a massive Black or Grizzly bear to come squeezing angrily through. But as time passed, you slowly relaxed and returned to picking at the tape on your mouth.

Silly, if there was a Bear, it would be snoozing here already.

You rationalized, wincing as the tape came off bit by bit. “Jesus.” You snapped, once your mouth was completely free, tossing the wadded up tape aside. “What a mess this is! In an old bear den, in the middle of a snow storm, while some creep is hunting me.” You sighed, picking a bit of root out from above your head. “If I can make it till daybreak, I might be able to see a way to a town or road better. Maybe see a power pole. I can’t be that far in this flurry and dark. Those two guys must have known where we were and how to get back.”

Talking to yourself helped you keep calm over your situation. You tucked your legs inside your jumper, along with your arms, trying to create a bubble of body heat. The den was several degrees warmer than the world outside, but it was still bone cold. Exhaustion was also catching up with you, eyes growing heavy, forcing you to actively focus on keeping them open.

It didn’t take Marshall long to trace your scent and vanishing tracks out of the cluster of trees and into the direction of the den you were now dozing in.

“Oh, my little Rabbit in her den.” He chuckled, squatting at the entrance, your scent overwhelming his nose.

Marshall took a deep breath, eyes rolling in the back of his head, before he started easing himself inside and discovered you asleep at the very back of the rough den. A smirk tugged at his lips as he squatted in the entrance of the den, taking you in. You were as beautiful as good as you smelled. Not disappointing him in the slightest in the mental image he formed over the last two and a half hours. However, you were pale and your body trembled with cold, your poor body ill-equipped to survive in harsh weather, unlike Marshall’s. He needed to get you warm again.

Closing the small, remaining distance between you, Marshall cupped your face in his warm palms. “Hey there, little Rabbit.” He cooed at you, caressing your chilled cheeks with his thumbs, watching your eyes move beneath your eyelids, before slowly cracking open.

You glared at Marshall, your sleep fogged mind taking in Marshall’s grinning face. For a moment, you thought you’d succumbed and Marshall was the one taking you over; he was too warm to be real. But reality quickly caught up with you, and you started, shaking and jerking your head against his hands.

“Easy now.” Marshall hummed, clicking his tongue, gently. “I’m not going to hurt you, love.” He purred, his English accent thick.

“Marshall.” You blurted out, eyes the size of plates.

His smile broadened. “Flattered, you know my name.” He answered, moving his hands from your face, curling his fingers around the bottom hem of his jumper. “Suppose Paz mentioned it, when James and Theo brought you to him.”

“What do you want from me?” You mewled at him, watching his every move, back pressed to the earthen wall behind you.

“From you?” Marshall echoed, pulling his jumper off, revealing a torso chiseled with hard muscle. “I don’t want anything from you, specifically. What I do want is you.”

You shook your head, speechless for a long time, eyes burning with unshed tears, as Marshall spread his jumper out on the floor of the den. “I-I don’t un-understand.” You choked out, finally.

“That’s all right, Rabbit.” He smiled, hooking his index finger beneath your chin, tilting your head back to look at him. “You’ll learn. All Mates learn. That’s why we do this little ritual of ours. Tracking you through the Pack’s Compound. It allows us to satisfy the primal need to find our Mate the natural way, through Scent Marking, it tells us all about our potential Mate and if we’re compatible. As well as allows us to spend alone time together, with no outside interference from other Packs or Humans.”

“Packs? Humans?” Your brow wrinkled and your eyes narrowed at him, struggling to process the words coming out of his mouth.

Marshall chuckled, the sound filling the den around you. “My sweet Rabbit,” He purred, leaning close to rub noses with you, taking a deep breath and meeting your eyes. “I’m a Werewolf.”

“Bullshit.” You blurted out, your brain screamed to tilt out of his touch, but your body craved the warmth pouring off of him.

“Not in the slightest.” His eyes flared, like a Sapphire flame, startling you. “You have nothing to fear, Rabbit. I won’t hurt you.” He cooed, spreading his knees as you continued to wiggle closer to his heat.

“I have a name.” You hissed at him.

Marshall’s brows raised, surprised. “Oh? Why don’t you tell me then.” He rumbled, cocking his head at you.

“No.”

Sighing softly, Marshall gave you a soft smile. “That’s fine, Rabbit. I’ll learn by the end of the night.” He assured you, brushing your cheek with the back of his fingers. “My concern now is getting that chill out of you.”

A shiver ran down your back, apprehensive of his intent on getting the chill out of you. He was already too comfortable with you for your own. You stiffened, while Marshall’s hands moved over your shoulders, his palms feeling the wet material of your filthy jumper, and squeaking when his fingers curled into the fabric at your sides; tugging it gently.

“No.” You tried to hiss at him again, but your voice broke, hands flying to his chest and attempting to push him back. It was like connecting to a rock wall. “Please, just leave me be.”

“If I leave you be, in these wet clothes, you’ll get hypothermia, if you don’t have it already.” Marshall reasoned, the muscles under your palms twitched. “It’s -16°c out there, love, or it was when I left.”

“Then take me somewhere warm!” You protested, digging your nails into his skin to emphasize.

“No.” Marshall growled, his eyes brightening. “You’re mine, and we’re not going until I’ve properly claimed you.”

You blinked at him, scared and surprised. “I don’t want you…”

Marshall let out a huff of hot breath, before bringing one hand to his throat, rubbing at the thundering pulse beneath his bearded jaw. You watched him, confused and on edge with this clear madman. Content in his action, Marshall grabbed your face, stopping you from yanking your head free of his fingers, before swiping his thumb across your lips and nose.

“What are you--” You frowned, brow pinched at his behavior, unconsciously licking at your lips to rid yourself of the feeling of him touching you. Instead, you encountered a strong taste that froze you with bewilderment.

The saliva balanced on your tongue, permeating the flavor across your senses and overriding everything else. What had he done? There was a bitter taste, like coffee that was too strong, with something sharp you couldn’t quite put your finger on. It smelled clean and musky, as if you were standing on the beach. The knot of anxious fear in your stomach slowly untwisted as you finally swallowed, making Marshall grin.

“That’s it, sweetheart.” He murmured, bringing his face to yours. “All mine.” He purred, brushing his lips against yours for a second, before capturing your mouth for a long moment, chuckling at your small whimper, when he broke it. “You want me now, don’t you? Get a little whiff and taste of my Scent and…helpless.” He teased you, his fingers back to tugging at the sides of your jumper.

Is that what that was?

“Your Scent?” You mumbled back, unconsciously lifting your arms and letting out a gasp, as a gust of cold whipped around you, tucking yourself closer to Marshall.

“Mmhm.” He nodded, dropping your jumper to the side and closed an arm around you. “Weres produce a unique Scent of their own. We use it to mark things and identify each other.”

“Like regular wolves.”

“Yes, and no.” Marshall answered, tracing his hot fingertips down your goose-fleshed spine. “Is this all you’re wearing?” He asked, looking you over, critically.

“Your friends kidnapped me from my warm flat.” You snapped, cocking your head back to glare at him angrily. “There wasn’t a need for anything more.”

A strong rumble vibrated from Marshall’s chest. “At least the idiots gave you shoes.” He said, tugging them off.

“Are you looking to give me frostbite?” You inquired curling your toes.

“You’ll be warm soon enough, my love.” He promised, reaching for the band of your leggings.

“Absolutely not!” You barked, jamming your foot against his stomach, stopping him from getting any closer to you. “I don’t know you like that! I don’t care what you think about me being yours.”

“They’re wet.”

“Your clothes are wet as well!” You countered, feeling the wet material of his cargo pants beneath your heel. “But I’m the one being undressed!”

He blinked at you, then pressed his lips together and nodded. “That’s fair.” He sighed, shifting, his head just clearing the top of the den, so he could untie the laces of his snowboots, tossing them aside, then wiggled out of his pants; adding them to his boots. “Better?” He asked, cocking an amused brow at you.

You cast your eyes to the open of the den, barely visible in the dark, but alive with soft drifts of snow and the low howl of wind passing over it. “I’m not getting out of this.” You muttered to yourself.

“No, you’re not, Rabbit.” Marshall answered, regardless.

“The Rabbit cornered by the Wolf.” Your eyes flickered away from the entrance to Marshall’s, an expression of resolution on your face, despite the fear still sparkling at the end of your nerves.

“Only cornered as long as you keep being stubborn with me.”

Sighing, You hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your leggings and started wiggling out of them, resigning yourself to your fate. Tossing your leggings in with Marshall’s clothing, you hugged your arms around your legs, resting your chin on your knees. It made Marshall’s thundering heart skip, seeing you fold into yourself.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” He assured you again, reaching out to take your hand in his, gently pulling you to him. “I just wish to share my warmth with you.” He whispered into your hair as your shoulder connected to his chest. He maneuvered his arm. so you hugged yours across your upper body, hooking a leg around your hips to cushion your bum against the hard and cold ground, and bending the other at the knee, encompassing you.

“There.” Marshall whispered, nosing the top of your head, his free arm encircling your shoulders as your temple rested against his shoulder; catching a stronger whiff of his Scent from his neck. “Such a good, little Rabbit.” He murmured to you, hugging and resting his head atop yours, smiling as he felt your shivers slowly subside.

“You’re like a space heater.” You commented, melting into his body.

“It’s a wolf thing.” He smiled, fingers soothing the last of the goosebumps.

“Can I ask why this happened?” You inquired, tracing the edge of Marshall’s ab, making his skin jump. “Why your kind decided to take me for you?”

“I was turned, when I was fifteen.” Marshall answered, cocking his head to look into your face. “Twenty years ago now. That’s when most of us are turned, at fifteen, in our Pack.”

You jerked your head back, looking at him startled. “Fifteen!”

“Yes.” He nodded, lifting his hand to brush a stray hair out of your face. “We’re a Society, with Communities. My family is part of a Community, and have been werewolves in that Community tracing back centuries. When a boy turns fifteen, he’s considered a man, and he’s turned.” Marshall explained to you, evenly. “However, he’s not an Alpha, just a pup with a little more responsibility.”

“I fit in this Community, how?”

“Six years ago, I was recognized as an Alpha by both my Communities. Meaning, I have much more responsibility now to them and to my Elder Alphas. My father, back home and Paz here. Now, though, there is one thing left for me. A Mate.”

Your stomach flipped at his words. “A Mate.”

“Yes.” He nodded, lips brushing your hairline. “Sometimes Alphas pick their Mates. But most times, they are chosen for us. You were chosen for me.”

“You choose your Mates by kidnapping them in the middle of the night and tossing them, ill prepared into a snow-storm?” You huffed, shaking your head at him.

“Well, no.” Marshall sighed, shoulders slumping. “Those two mistreated you, and they’ll hear about it. They shouldn’t have put you out here dressed as you were, knowing the conditions. You could have died or become severely injured before I found you. I’m surprised your fingers and toes aren’t an awful shade.” He hissed, taking your hand and rubbing your fingers between his. “But, I have you know, and I’ll care for you.”

“That doesn’t answer kidnapping people.”

“It’s hard to explain to people that Werewolves exist and our ways of life, without them bolting.” Marshall answered, pressing your fingers to his lips. “Werewolves also like to be exclusively alone with their potential Mate during the Bonding process, to keep outside Scents from disturbing and distracting them. It’s a delicate and intimate process.” He explained, taking in the scent of your skin. “All I want is for you to smell my Scent, no one else’s. I want your attention and focus on me, no one else. You learn that even through the harshest conditions and weather, I’ll come for you, and protect you. I’ll take care of you, even with my own body.” He said, pressing your hand to his chest, letting you feel the thump of his heart against your palm.

A lump formed in your throat, you felt his sincerity and growing love.

“It’s late, my love.” He cooed at you, petting your head gently and shifting so he could rest his back against the den wall. “You should sleep, the night is still early and the weather isn’t likely to get any nicer.” He said, cradling your body into his.

“And you?” You muttered, finding it hard to keep your eyes open.

Marshall smirked, chuckling. “I’ll be fine, Rabbit. I’ve got to keep watch over you.” He said, his blue eyes trained on the den door, sure nothing would come to bother the two of you, but wasn’t about to let his guard down.

Finally letting your eyes close, you give in, mumbling your name to Marshall. His heart skipped a beat at the sound, a smirk spreading across his face.

“Sleep well then.” He said, uttering your name back.

You shivered in Marshall’s arms, teeth chattering and your breathing was slow, an alarming sign of hypothermia. The growl that left his clenched teeth was like an animal’s, the muscles of his jaw twitching. He’d beat Theo and Ronan within a millimeter of their lives for setting you loose so ill dressed in the storm. Marshall considered calling for help for a moment, but leaving you drowned his heart in such anxiety, that he put the idea aside. Besides, the storm had gotten worse. The snapping of a tree not far from the den’s entrance filled the night, its descent to the ground silenced in the heavy blanket of fresh powder. It had become too dangerous, even for the Pack.

“I need to warm you more.” He whispered to your sleeping form, still huddled in his arms.

Biting his lip, Marshall adjusted you against him, pressing you chest to chest. Your face nuzzled in the nook of his neck, the groomed hairs of his short beard tickling the skin of your temple; while your nose filled with the Scent emanating from sensitive skin beneath his jaw and ear. Marshall grabbed for the last remaining scrap of clothing you wore, your panties, and tore the fabric from between your legs, the ripping filling the space.

“Apologies, my sweet Rabbit.” He cooed, pressing his lips to your forehead, slipping his hand between your legs, his hot fingers finding your womanhood and drawing out a low mewl out of your slightly parted mouth. “How beautifully you respond to me.” He hummed, feeling your hips make small movements and you grow wet against his fingers. “Perfect Mate bond.” He sighed, feeling his cock throb with the scent of you, lifting his hand to his nose and drawing it in with a deep breath.

Pleased, Marshall freed himself from the confines of his boxers, stroking his torrid cock several times, before carefully aligning himself with you. You let a low sigh as Marshall slowly began slipping inside of you, shifting against him and the feeling of him opening you. Shaking your head and digging your nails into the skin of his ribs, drawing a hiss out of Marshall.

“Claws.” He growled, prying your hand free.

“What are you doing?” Your weak voice asked, wiggling against him.

“You’ve got hypothermia.” He answered, hugging his arms around you, holding you in place. “It’s making you sick. There’s no other way to raise and maintain your body temperature.”

“Anything to stick your dick in me.” You panted, tired and breathless, your head dropping back to look up at him.

“Perhaps.” Marshall quipped back, reaching to cup the back of your head. “But I’d rather you’d be alive and willing.” He said, his cock fully resting inside of you.

“Are you going to turn me?” You mumbled up at him, squinting in the darkness.

“Into what, my love?” He frowned back, shaking his head.

“A werewolf.” You answered, like it was obvious.

Marshall chuckled at you, gently kissing the tip of your nose. “No, Rabbit. I’m not.” He assured you, pressing his forehead to yours. “That’s not how that works. You have to be born from a Werewolf. So, one or both of your parents have to be Weres.”

“Was one or both of your parents Werewolves?” You asked, gulping at the feeling of Marshall inside of you, like a swollen, searing-hot water bottle.

“Both of them are.” He answered, stroking the side of your face. “My parents’ families have known each other for some time. So, they were betrothed to each other.”

“Is it normal for one partner to not be Were?”

“Mmhm.” He nodded, shifting his hips every-so-slightly. “Most of the time, it’s the father that’s the Werewolf. The gene is more successful in producing Weres that way.”

“Interesting.” You moaning and brow wrinkling, as you closed your eyes again.

Marshall caught your chin in his fingers, a smile on his lips. “I look forward to having pups with you.” He whispered, softly.

“Pups?” You murmured back.

“Just a silly name we have for our children.” He answered, feeling his heart grow smitten with you.

“Hm.” You hummed, turning your face into Marshall’s collarbone.

Marshall studied your face, watching the color slowly seep back into your cheeks and a light sheen of sweat break out over your skin. A bubble of heat formed between your bodies, finally blocking out the cold of the night. Much to Marshall’s relief, for your well-being. You drifted to sleep, exhaustion over your adventure finally taking the last of your energy and Marshall continued his guard over you, holding you and familiarizing himself with each inch of your body. He was sure you’d come around to him even more, once the two of you were in a better place.

For now, in your little den, it was perfect.

[viking-raider]

The Frosting Captain

Summary-> Sy tackles a surprise for your daughter, Ada. Taking himself out of him comfort zone and elbows deep into frosting.

Pairing-> Austin "Sy" Syverson/Reader

Word Count-> 1.5k

Warnings-> PG: FLUFF, Cotton Candy Fluff, Light Teasing, Soft!Sy, SAHD!Sy, Nurse!Reader,

Inspiration-> This Instagram Video (This gent makes me think of Sy every time I see him, and his confections look so darn tasty!)

Author’s Note-> This is a work of Fiction! Part of my Syverson Family Chronicles! (You can't tell me Sy probably won't turn into Marshall, when he retires and becomes a stay at home dad!)

Ao3 Link-> HERE

Divider by->  @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

-> If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST as well as my @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’ Ao3-> DRAGON_DWELLER

You entered the kitchen, returning home from a long day of work, to discover the last thing you expected of your husband of fifteen years. The tall and muscular, retired Army Captain, turned stay-at-home-dad, was bent over your chaotic center island, sporting nothing underneath your sunflower-print apron, beside his flour dusted, dark-wash jeans. The island and kitchen was littered with nearly every mixing bowl, baking sheet and pan you owned, along with rubber spatulas, wooden spoons, measuring spoons, and all the ingredients you needed to bake a cake.

Your face twisted in a stupefied expression of confusion. Sy wasn’t a baker. The man could cook, yes. He could grill a mean piece of meat. But the delicate nature of making cake to Syverson was like pulling the pin on a grenade. Something he’d rather not do, under any situation. So, finding him meticulously layering and filling a cake made you want to make sure you hadn’t walked into the wrong home.

“Austin?” You croaked, blinking at him.

Sy started, a glob of Peanut Butter buttercream dripping over the side as his hand slipped with the icing knife. “Hey, Sugar!” He replied, giving you a sheepish grin, scraping the buttercream off the side and back into the bowl. “How was your day?” He asked, stepping over to kiss you.

“It was all right.” You replied, nodding and kissing him back. “What have you been doing all day?” You inquired, cocking a brow around the kitchen.

“Oh.” Sy chuckled, a soft pink appearing over his bearded cheeks. “Well, um…” He cleared his throat, wiping his palms on the apron. “I overheard Ada on the way to school this morning, that she wanted a butterfly cake for her birthday. So,...” He twisted his upper body towards his hard work.

Your heart melted, grinning at your Bear. “So, you’re making her a butterfly cake.”

“Yeah.” He nodded, looking back to you, a little abashed. “Not sure how it’s going.”

“Well, let’s have a look.” You said, moving around him.

“I’m going for this.” Sy explained, picking up his flour-y, buttercream covered phone, to show you the vision he had. “I have her favorite flavors. Peanut Butter buttercream, with a chocolate drizzle between.”

“Mmm, sounds tasty.” You hummed, looking at the beautiful and simple enough looking cake, he was attempting. “How far are you?”

“I have one wing done, it’s in the fridge.” He answered, jerking his head in the appliance’s direction. “I just have the last wing and the body to do, then decorating.”

You took a cheeky taste of the buttercream. “Oh god.” You moaned, licking your lips.

“It’s awful, isn’t it?” Sy asked, looking at you, worried. “I knew my ratios were off.” He growled at himself, snapping up the bowl.

“Austin.” You gasped, grabbing for the bowl before he could harm the buttercream inside. “Your ratios are perfect.” You assured him, wedging yourself between him and the counter, stopping him completely. “You made it yourself, from scratch?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, looking down at it.

You cupped his face in your hands. “It’s really good, babe. Don’t you dare toss it. I will not forgive you.” You giggled, kissing him softly.

Sy sighed into the kiss, pressing his forehead against yours. “Thanks, Sugar.”

“Ma!” Ada’s voice called out.

“Christ, she can’t--”

You understood, flying out of the kitchen, stopping your youngest from getting anywhere near the kitchen and her surprise. “Hey, munchkin!” You greeted her, whisking her up into a big hug and twirling her away from the kitchen. “I missed your sweet face today!” You told her, smiling as you heard her giggle.

“I missed you today, Mama.” Ada chuckled, locking her arms around your waist and gazed up at you. “Can you help me with my math? Daddy is being a sneaky bean in the kitchen.”

“He is being a sneaky bean in there. He won’t even tell me what he’s doing. But I’m sure he’ll tell us soon enough, Cricket.” You hummed, stroking her soft curls out of her face. “Til then, let’s go do your homework.” You said, before guiding her towards her room, looking over your shoulder towards the kitchen, seeing Sy pop around the corner, holding up his phone and nodded; understanding.

Finishing Ada’s homework, you checked on your sons, Myles and Colt, finding Myles absorbed in playing Call of Duty and Colt with his nose buried in his latest book. You spent time with them, ensuring their homework was finished and they all stayed out of the kitchen, leaving their father’s secret mission undiscovered.

“Mama, I’m hungry.” Colt whined, coming to stand in Myles’s bedroom door, leveling a look at you as you sat beside Myles, playing Plate Up with him.

“All right, bud.” You replied, eyes still glued to your oldest’s tv as you rushed to serve customers as Myles ran the kitchen. “I’ll order some pizza. How’s that sound? You just come and help your brother keep our Cafe, Sip and Dip, running, while I do that.”

“Can I get extra sausage!” Myles asked, his blue eyes big with hopeful persuasion.

“Yeah, I’ll put it on your half. What do you want on your half, Colt?” You nodded, handing your controller over to him. 

“Just pepperoni, Mama.” He shrugged, sliding into your vacated slot on Myles’s bed.

Nodding, you slipped out into the hall, heading to ask what Ada wanted on her half of a pizza, when your phone chimed with ‘Simple Man’ by Lynyrd Skynyrd, informing you of a text notification.

Sy: I’m finished.

You: Not a moment too soon either! I’ll come down and look in a moment.

You pocketed your phone and popped your head into Ada’s room. “Hey, Cricket. I’m ordering pizza for dinner tonight. What do you want on your half of the pizza?”

“Extra pepperoni!” She declared, looking up from her tablet.

“On the order.” You smiled, then headed to see how Sy’s cake turned out for her. “All right, Bear, let's see!” You called, entering the kitchen and discovering him in the act of cleaning things up.

“Now, before you see it.” Sy warned, loading the dishwasher. “Just remember I did almost all of this by hand, from scratch.”

“I will.” You nodded, grinning at your husband, knowing, no matter how it turned out, Sy had put his heart and soul into this cake for your daughter. And that was the most important ingredient of all. “I’m sure it looks beautiful, Sy. And having had some of the buttercream you made, from scratch,” You said, seeing how covered in flour, batter and frosting his poor phone was, from looking at recipes and photo references. “It’ll taste amazing.”

Sy nodded, his unruly curls falling against his forehead as he moved towards the refrigerator, where he had it stored. “She’s going to hate it.” He gulped, his hand grasping the handle.

“Good lord, man.” You giggled, shaking your head with a smirk, putting your hand over his. “How many deployments? Three kids, that are your spitting image, in every way possible! And you’re frightened by a piece of cake.” You teased him, almost cackling with amusement. “The pin has been pulled on the grenade, Captain Frosting.” You said, pulling open the refrigerator door for him. “The only thing left to do is eat it!”

Inside was a cute and pastel butterfly cake.

An eight-inch round for the body, with the peanut butter buttercream and a chocolate ganache between three layers, for Ada’s obsession with Reese's cups. The wings were made from a twelve-inch round cake that Sy had divided and used each half for one of the wings on either side. All three pieces were carefully, but roughly, covered in pink, white and blue fondant. A valiant effort from a pair of hands hardened with callouses. Sy had done a little piping bag work with a green frosting, creating wobbling little lines along the tops of the cakes, down their sides and bottoms. He had even attempted to make a couple fondant flowers with the fondant he had left, dotting them in a couple places, before deciding he wasn’t very good at them and didn’t make anymore. Finally, for the butterfly’s antennae, he used two strawberry Pocky sticks.

“Well?” Sy rasped behind you, his eyes on the side of your face, studying it for every hint of reaction.

A smile crossed your face and you turned to face him, slipping your arms inside the apron he still had on, feeling the warm, but tense, skin of his sides as you did. “It’s gorgeous, Sy.” You assured him, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of his neck. “She’ll absolutely love it.” You hummed, nuzzling the side of his face.

“You know how I know?”

“How?” He cooed, closing his arms around you.

“Her Daddy made it all for her.” You murmured, kissing the corner of his mouth. “And it is lovely, Austin.” You reaffirmed, brushing your fingers through the back of his hair.

Sy bent his head, his lips brushing your ear. “I left some of the buttercream and ganache, for later.” He purred hotly.

“You naughty baker.” You moaned, licking your lips and letting your mind wander, as Sy’s hands found the slope of your bum.

“Mama! When’s the pizza gonna be here!” Myles shouted from the top of the stairs.

“Right, I’m supposed to be ordering pizza for dinner.”

“What a terrible way to ruin dessert.” Sy laughed, kissing you deeply.

[viking-raider]

ALWAYS US | PART NINE *FIN*

Summary-> Henry cleans you up, before the two of you, with Kal, begin repairing the sanctity of home.

Pairing-> Henry Cavill/Reader

Word Count-> 3.3k

Parts-> I II III IV V VI VII VIII

Warnings-> PG-13 - Post Apocalyptic!AU, Fluff, DDLG, Daddy!Henry, Little!Reader, Daddy Kink, Semi-Non-Verbal Communication, Language, Anxiety, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Paranoia, Blood, Description of Death, Questionable Medical Care

Inspiration-> An old story.

Author’s Note-> This is it! I know it took a while for me to finish this fic, and apologies, but here we are! Thanks to everyone who supported it. Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

-> If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST as well as my @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’

Setting you down on a small bench, Henry turned to the tub, twisting the taps for a tepid bath. Not enough to cover your leg, but enough to keep you warm and get you clean again. He helped you out of your filthy and ruined clothing, before lowering you into the water.

“How will you know how much medicine to give me?” You asked, watching the grit collect around the drain.

“I don't.” He admitted, pressing his lips together, ignoring the washcloth he delicately used to bathe you with grow dingy. “I'm just going to give you a low dose, and pray.”

“Well,” You sighed, looking at your leg, how angry it was. “Not like I probably won't die from the infection, if it doesn't work.”

Henry caught your chin in his dripping fingers and jerked your head to look at him. “Don't you say that!” He scolded you sharply, but his eyes said so much more. “You're going to get better and our life will go back to the way it was.”

The way it was. You thought, side eyeing your leg, before looking over Henry's head to the disaster in the bedroom. Can we go back to normal? You wondered, with the sanctity of your home being shredded.

“Da-” You started, pausing to lick your lips and drew in a deep breath. “Henry.” You mumbled softly.

The sound of his name rang foreign to his ears, especially from you. So he sat back on his heels and rested his forearms on the edge of the tub, looking at you with an expression of gentle concern and surprise on his tired face. The two of you held a gaze, a million little things being shared and expressed through it, before you finally broke away, staring into the water.

“Did...I kill him?” You choked out, trying to piece the last several hours back together.

“Oh..” Henry cooed, brow creasing with devastated concern. “Baby.” He set the washcloth aside and cupped the back of your wet head in his palm, leaning over the wall of the tub to kiss your cheek. “No.” He whispered against your skin, nose brushing your temple.

“But-but..” You protested, stuttering and bringing your faces together. “Ho—I don't understand. I remember him coming into the backyard with me. Going to the greenhouse, grabbing the snips--”

Henry pressed his lips to the corner of your mouth and silenced you, his heart unable to hear it. “You didn't.” He repeated, pulling away. “The wound you made with the shears wasn't enough to kill him. It was just enough to incapacitate him. But that's all, sweetheart.” He fibbed, stroking your wet hair. “I found him when I got home.”

“So, he bled to death?” You asked, feeling worse that it wasn't as quick as you remembered it being.

“Honey, it doesn't matter.” He sighed, grabbing your shampoo and set about washing your hair. “He can't hurt you anymore.” He whispered, chewing the inside of his lip.

“But-” You tried to protest, face twisting confusion and conflict.

You could have sworn.

Limping across the muddy backyard, tears, rain and pain obscuring your vision, but you willed yourself on.

“You cunt!” Mark roared, bursting out of the kitchen door, tripping over his feet and stumbling down the steps. “I'm going to kill you! I'm going to leave something special for Daddy to find!” He threatened, stomping towards you.

Every inch of your skin crawled and shivered at his words, eyes darting around for shelter when they landed on the greenhouse. Hobbling as fast as you could towards it, you fumbled with the latch, feeling more frantic with each passing moment. Only making it inside, moments before Mark's fingers brushed the back of your hair and caught the wet fabric of your shirt, causing you to flail to keep your balance.

“I've got you now.” He snickered, his fingers clasping your collar firmly, as he yanked you back.

Gasping, you cast your eyes around, struggling to find something, anything, to defend yourself with. In a structure blossoming with sprouting tomatoes, radishes and snap-peas, to name but a few, it was the handles of the plant snippers, amongst the potted cucumbers Henry wanted to try and pickle, that caught your eye. Taking a deep breath and swallowing down your urge to crumble, you lashed out. Driving your elbow back into his gut as hard as you could, while twisting away from him, in an attempt to break free. The sound of ripping of fabric filled the air, as you fell back against the table with a grunt of pain, and reached behind you to grasp the hard, black and yellow plastic handles.

All too familiar to the ones Henry had once scolded you for handling.

“You'll pay for that.” Mark wheezed, almost doubled over, spitting at your bare and muddy feet as he slowly straightened up. “Pretty little face.” He smirked, an evil light in his eyes, just as he took a step into your reach.

You struck out with the scissors blindly and caught Mark just under the corner of his jaw. He jerked, a surprised and filthy hand flying to his throat as he staggered, eyes bulging and blood flowing between his fingers. Everything going black…

“I killed him.” Henry cut off your train of thought, before you could go much further. “Not you.” He told you firmly. “He was still twitching, when I came home, and I finished him off.”

You looked back at him, a look of muted shock in your eyes. “He said, someone told him about us.” You confessed, licking your lips. “There was more than one?”

He sighed, picking up the cup to rinse the shampoo out. “The one that paid us a visit a few weeks ago.” He admitted, rolling his jaw. “He followed me around to all the hospitals and confronted me. Told me about the one that was here with you.”

“What happened to him?” You asked, but the tingle in your belly already told you.

“We came to an agreement that he'd never bother us again.” Henry told you plainly, pulling the drain and standing, grabbing a towel and tossed it over his shoulder, before helping you up out of the tub.

He gingerly dried you off, mindful of your swollen and tender wound. “You really tore those stitches out.” Henry commented, lifting you into his arms.

“I may have sprinted from the bottom of the stairs to the kitchen.” You stated, nuzzling into Henry's chest.

“Well, I'll have to stitch it closed again.” He sighed, pausing in the bathroom door, eyeing the disaster area that Mark had caused. “Let's go downstairs. I think the living room is in one piece.” He commented, more to himself.

“Is Kal okay!” You gasped suddenly, tightening your arms around Henry's neck.

“The Bear is just fine, sweetheart.” Henry assured you, rounding the corner into the living area. “His shoulder is hurt a little bit, but nothing he won't survive and heal from.”

“My poor Bear.” You pouted, searching over Henry's shoulder for the Akita.

“It's all right, honey.” He cooed at you, pushing aside the coffee table with his foot and resting you gingerly on the couch. “You stay here and stay still. Your wound doesn't need to be agitated anymore than it has.” He ordered, situating a couple pillows behind your back, head and leg, before going to grab the medical supplies.

“Hopefully the twat didn't destroy them.”

Letting out a relieved sigh, Henry found the supplies bin only knocked over in the cabinet he stored it in. Saying a silent thank you, he collected everything, making sure nothing was contaminated as he did. Retrieving his pack, which held the saving grace of everything, Henry paused to look in the pantry, finding Kal still laying there, but thankfully had moved positions.

“Hey, Bear.” He whispered, stroking his head. “How are you feeling, huh?” He muttered, moving his hand to gingerly touch Kal's injured shoulder, getting a soft whine from him, but was glad to see him move that leg and joint. “I'll be back in a moment. If you wanna lay in here for a bit, I'll grab your bed and blanket. I just need to take this stuff to our little one.” He promised and patted him, before standing again.

Full time job. He sighed, returning to you. “All right, sweetheart! Daddy has everything we need to get you feeling better. I just need another moment-”

“Kal!” You called out, seeing the Bear come limping into the living room, glad to see he was all right. You sniffled, hugging his thick neck as he stopped beside you. “Thank you.” You whispered into his fur, knowing without him, you'd be in a worse position.

“All right, baby, let Kal rest.” Henry said, carefully guiding the Akita to his bed, making sure he was comfortable with his blanket and favorite toy.

“Sparkles?” You asked, looking at Henry as he arranged everything, pulling the antibiotic out of his pack.

“Right.” He nodded, hurrying upstairs and searching for the stuffie amongst the bedroom's wreck, before bringing it down, with a shirt of his that he helped you into. “I'm going to give you the shot first.” He explained, cleaning his hands with an alcohol towelette and pulling on a pair of gloves, before picking up the teeny vial and sanitizing it with a fresh alcohol swab. “I want to get this into your system as quickly as possible.” He muttered, opening a blister-pack syringe.

“It'll be all right.” Henry told your frightened expression, knowing his tone wasn't as convincing as he wanted, and needed, it to be. Taking a deep breath, he drew a third of the solution into the syringe and set the vial aside, pushing a little bit out to ensure there were no air bubbles, and turned his attention to you.

“You trust Daddy?”

You met Henry’s eye, skeptical as you were about the whole process. Yet, something about it felt deeply familiar. Hearkening back to a strange man and his dog finding you hiding in an alleyway, crying over a nasty boo-boo on your knee. How he had decided to take care of you and your cut, when he had no obligation in doing so. Something then had told you that you could trust him, and time had only strengthened that resolve.

“More than anyone.” You replied, softly. “Ever.”

“Well, that's a relief.” Henry chuckled, grinning at you.

“Other than Kal, maybe.” You added, impishly.

Henry snorted, nodding his head. “Of course, I wouldn't expect it any other way.” He looked back up at you, his expression growing serious again. “Shift onto your side, towards the back of the couch.” He instructed you, scooting towards the edge of the coffee table. “It'll probably be easier on the bum.”

Sighing, you did as you were asked, biting your lip in anticipation of the stick; only wincing slightly as it pricked your skin and the burn of the antibiotic entered your system. Henry gave the site a gentle pat, secured the needle and antibiotic, then went about cleaning your wound and numbing it, so he could restitch it.

“With any luck, you'll be feeling better by the end of the week.” He commented, eyeing the sutures, as he finished cleaning the cuts on the bottoms of your feet. “But, for now, I want you to rest.” He said softly, tearing a couple strips of 3M tape to secure a pad of gauze over your stitches. “Why don't you take a nap?” He cooed, reaching for the blanket on the back of the couch and situated it over you.

“But-”

“No buts, little girl.” Henry tutted, shaking his head. “Nap time.”

Huffing, you conceded, snuggling down and tucking Sparkles underneath your chin. Henry smiled, staying with you until you fell asleep. He leaned forward, kissing your temple gently as he stood. Taking the kit back into the kitchen, Henry rubbed his face as he looked at the wreckage, trying to process where to start first in cleaning it up. Settling, he grabbed a broom and started sweeping up the broken glass and spilled goods.

I need to deal with Mark. He thought, dumping the dust-pan into a garbage bag, glancing up at the door to the backyard.

Tying the bag closed, Henry went upstairs, retrieving two flat sheets from the linen closet and headed outside to the greenhouse, where Mark’s body still lay in the doorway. His jaw tensed, standing at his feet, a rush of anger going through him like a bottle rocket. Henry hated this man with such a passion, even now that he was dead and could no longer harm you.

“You lucky bastard.” Henry hissed, spreading the sheets out on the muddy grass. “I do hope you bled out painfully slow. God knows, that sweet baby girl gave you a much easier death than I would have, if you were still alive, when I got back. I would have used those damn garden snips to remove some important bits and pieces, before bleeding you like a pig you are.” He growled, grabbing Mark’s stiff ankles and yanked, pulling him onto the sheets.

Wrapping the sheet around him, Henry used a spool of twine to secure the sheet closed, then tossed it onto the greenhouse’s work table. Straightening up, groaning at his stiff back muscles, he looked about the yard, trying to gauge a good place for a grave; when his eyes settled on the gate connecting his yard to Lewis’s.

“Perfect.” He sighed, heaving the body over his shoulder and tramping through the gate, dropping him a couple yards in, before going back for a shovel.

Henry paused in his grave digging, his shirt stripped off, exposing his chest to the cold and drizzle of rain; mixing with the droplets of sweat of exertion. The squarish hole was about level to Henry’s waist as he stood in it, clearing out the cakey mud, before tossing the shovel to the grass and pulling himself out. He bent and dragged the shrouded body to the grave, unceremoniously rolling it in, with a muffled thud. Taking the shovel up once more, he stared down into the grave with disgust.

“Rest well, in hell.” Henry growled, spitting into it and began returning the Earth, dumping a layer of rock roughly halfway to prevent scavenging animals.

His work done, Henry returned to your backyard and set the shovel back in the shed, stopping at the water spout. Twisting it to full blast and splashing water in his tired and muddy face, scrubbing it away with his soiled shirt, and taking a deep drink of it. He sighed heavily, shaking the water from his face. Night had fallen and Henry hadn’t noticed it, so absorbed in his task. He needed to wake you and make dinner. He looked to his watch, judging the hours from the shot of vancomycin he’d given you and the time for the next.

“Before bed, most likely.” He mumbled to himself, turning off the water and heading back inside.

You were still out cold, much to Henry’s relief; knowing you needed all the rest you could get, and the less movement of your injured leg, the faster it would heal. He checked on Kal, finding the Akita more or less in his same position on his bed. Henry squatted down before the Bear, scratching Kal between his erect ears gently.

“How are you feeling, bud?” He whispered, lightly resting his hand on Kal’s shoulder, feeling a small amount of swelling. “How about some ice? Think you can take that?” He asked, standing and heading back into the kitchen, tossing a few ice cubes into a pack. “Here.” Henry cooed, slowly and gently resting the ice pack on the Bear’s hurt leg.

Kal whined at the cold weight, jerking suddenly to snap back at Henry’s hand, out of pain, but didn’t move to get up. It wrenched Henry’s heart, seeing the two he loved most in such agony, while all he could do was nurse you the best he could.

“I’m so sorry, Kal.” He sighed, dropping to sit on the floor beside him, cautiously shifting the ice back into place. “It’s such a hard and double edged sword. I have to protect and take care of you and her.” He said, looking over his shoulder to you for a moment. “But, how can I do that all the time? I couldn’t take her with me. I couldn’t just leave her totally alone here, if I had brought you. Hell, if I had, one of you could have been…” He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. “The two of you are whole and alive, that’s what matters. But what if there’s a next time? Even if I'm here.”

“Such nonsense.” You mumbled, waking.

Henry blinked and turned towards you. “Are you snooping?”

You laughed, smirking. “Hard to snoop when you’re five feet from me.” You answered, opening your eyes to look at him. “Still nonsense. There won’t be a next time. You promised everything would go back to how it was.”

He hummed, moving to sit beside you, on the coffee table. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Mmhm.” You nodded up at him, pressing your lips together. “Did you fib?”

Henry’s heart clenched. He hated for you to think he was a liar, despite having lied to you about Mark. But, for you to think he lied about your lives returning to the normal you had before you were wounded on that old playset and Billy and Mark stomping all over the sanctity of the property you called home? That wasn’t a lie he was willing to have you believe.

“No, my love.” He responded quietly. “Daddy wasn’t fibbing about that. Promise.” He reassured you, with a sweet smile. “Everything will go back to how it was. We have nothing to worry about. You’ve got your antibiotic in you, your boo-boo is all patched up. Again. So, you’ll heal and get better in no time.” He said, leaning forward to kiss you gently. “You and Kal both.” He added against your mouth, feeling your lips move to form another question.

You smiled against his mouth, bashful at Henry for guessing you so easily, but also relieved. It allowed you to slip back under the safe feeling of Little Space. Knowing that Daddy had everything under control inside the protected bubble of the world inside the property fence against the scarred world outside of it.

“Are you hungry?” Henry asked, pulling away slightly.

“I think I could eat something.” You nodded, considering the growling hole in your stomach.

“Great, I’ll go and start something for dinner.” He grinned, excited to hear you were hungry.

It took nearly two weeks, but your infection went away. Three months later, your wound was healed enough for Henry to stop fussing over it every morning and bath time; paranoid over another infection or something else would happen to it. The scar pulled occasionally, if you ran around the house and yard too hard, but beyond that you forgot it was there. Kal had also healed, only getting a teeny limp when the weather was especially cold.

As for Henry, he was his usual protective and loving Daddy self. Minding you and Kal, when the two of you got into mischief. While he also kept up the greenhouse. But, you had noticed an increase in paranoia in him, after the events. Keeping a harder eye on the fence, when you were outside and jumping up at night at the slightest noise; when he had not previously. You kept the observation to yourself, knowing it wouldn’t soothe the protectiveness in Henry’s nature.

The three of you were happy, healthy and safe. That’s all that mattered in his soul. In a place, you could always be yourselves, at the end of the world.

FIN

[viking-raider-taglist]

And here, my loves, the last Tag for Always Us. Thank you so much for the support for a story that took me so many years to finish.

@pascal-rascal424 / @evansabove1981 / @koressecretidentity / @inlovewithhisblueeyes / @a-skov / @xhoneyxbeex / @magicaltimemachinegiver / @kneelforloki / @missemrose / @mis-lil-red

[viking-raider]

Bumps in the Night (ao3)

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[viking-raider-taglist]

For my Ao3 readers! 💜

[viking-raider]

🎃 Bumps in the Night 🎃

Summary-> You're home alone on Halloween Night and things are acting up around the house.

Pairing-> (You'll find out in the fic)/Reader

Word Count-> 2.7k

Warnings-> PG: Cotton Candy Fluff, Language, Suspense, Scares

Inspiration-> Halloween and Muse agreeing with one another.

Author’s Note-> This is a work of Fiction!

Divider by->  @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

-> If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST as well as my @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’ Ao3-> DRAGON_DWELLER

You were all curled up on the couch, in a darkened home, a pillow clutched in your arms and your eyes glued to horror on the flickering tv screen.

It was Halloween night and you were binging through your favorite horror movies. Usually, you’d have a few friends or your boyfriend over to join the scarefest with you. Watching the Saw movies, followed by the Silent Hills with loads of popcorn and a glass of wine or two. Only taking breaks to refill the candy bowl outside the door, so the neighborhood kids wouldn’t get into mischief against you for not supplying their sugar addiction. But your friends had other plans for the night and your boyfriend was held up with work.

So, it was just you this year.

That was okay, you’d make them all RSVP for Christmas.

You were forty-five minutes deep into Silent Hill 2, when something struck your front door, sending your heart out of your body, like a NASA Rocket, and under the covers in your bedroom upstairs. Swallowing it back down into your chest, you blindly reach for the remote to pause the movie and unfold yourself from the sofa; heading for the entryway.

“Christ, I hope they didn’t egg or toilet paper the front porch.” You mumbled under your breath, pushing up on your toes to peek out the peep-hole; but saw nothing out of sorts. “Hmm.” You grabbed the stash of candy you had by the door and stepped out onto the pouch. “Those heathens.” You growled, finding the remnants of an egg; the clear albumen and runny yoke with bits of broken shell slowly seeping down the mocha-colored wood.

“I should just confiscate the candy bowl!” You barked out into the dark, meeting the eye of every trick-or-treater that walked by on the sidewalk; but filled the bowl nonetheless, feeling bad for punishing the innocent ones.

Going back inside and securing the door, you headed into the kitchen, tucking the empty candy bag into the recycling and pulling another chilled cooler out of the fridge. You stood there for a moment, sipping it and considering if you wanted to order takeaway or pop something in the oven for dinner, as the loudest bang came from the dining room. Drawing a startled scream from your lips. Stumbling towards the entry connecting the living room to the kitchen, your cooler nearly slipping from between your trembling fingers, your eyes were locked on the opposite side of the kitchen, to the entry leading into the dining room. It was just a portal of darkness, like most of the house. The only light was from your paused horror movie, casting light against your back, and only helped your brain find trick shadows in the blackness.

Your throat was tight with fear, you set your wine on the edge of the first counter you could find and continued to back out of the kitchen and into the living room. Dashing around the couch to grab your phone, the moment you were close enough, and dialing your go-to number.

“Hey, babes.” Your boyfriend’s excited voice picked up on the other end.

“Oh my god! Oh christ!!” You blurted out, bouncing on your toes.

“What’s wrong? Are you all right?”

“I think someone’s in the house.” You whined, biting your lip with your eyes panning in every direction.

“Are you sure?” He asked, concerned and agitated.

“There was a loud noise in the dining room.” You told him, antsy.

“Did you go look?”

“GO LOOK!” You snapped out at him, outraged, but quickly gasped and slapped a hand over your mouth, collecting yourself. “Are you crazy? That’s how people get murdered!” You told him, whispering loudly.

His side of the line filled with chest rumbling, amused laughter.

“Why are you laughing!” You scolded him, moving from scared to angry. “Someone could be in the house, trying to rob and/or kill me!”

“Baby, how many horror movies have you watched tonight?” He asked, through his fit of giggles.

“I don’t know.” You sighed, pressing a hand to your forehead, starting to feel silly. “All the Hills Have Eyes, the IT movies, Don’t Breathe, and now, I’m on the second Silent Hill.” You confessed.

“All alone in the dark.” He said, matter-of-factly. “Maybe I should have taken this work thing off and stayed home with you.” He mumbled to himself.

“No, I’m fine.” You said, shaking your head and steeling yourself. “You’re right, I’m just over hyping myself. I’m sure it’s something stupid and explainable.”

“I’m sure it is, love.” He agreed, his voice soft and loving.

“I’ll let you off.” You sighed, glancing back at your unfinished movie. “I’ll see you when you get back tomorrow?”

“Obviously.” He chuckled. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Hanging up, you clutched your phone in your hand before deciding to brave the dining room to find out what had almost sent you to an early grave. Turning on your phone’s light and hugging it against your chest, you tiptoed through the kitchen and pressed yourself against the wall beside the doorway, taking a moment to maximize your courage, before flashing your phone into the space. You had hoped to blind whoever could be hiding in there, gaining an upper hand, before jumping out of your hiding place and into the dining room. But there was no one there, shielding their poor blinded eyes. You couldn’t spot anything out of place either. All the chairs were pushed neatly into the table, the book shelves against the walls were right and their contents in their rightful places.

“What the fuck.” You cursed, rounding the table twice, looking for any explanation, even underneath it.

Nothing.

You pressed a hand to the side of your face, at a loss. “I’m losing my mind.” You decided, shrugging and going back into the living room. “Out of my damn mind, Pyramid Head.” You told the eerie figure on the screen, popping down on the couch, appetite completely forgotten about. “Whatever.” You sighed, pressing play on the movie and tried settling back in.

Silent Hill was almost over and you had finally relaxed again, when yet another bump sounded through the house. This time from upstairs. You flew off the couch and all but ran out of the house, toes barely touching the floor as you went.

“Crap, crap, crap!” You panicked, pacing the foyer, heart thudding against your chest like some cartoon character. You yelped at the sudden sound of your phone going off, but didn’t go for it, where it still sat on the couch cushion. The upstairs between you and it. “Christ alive!” You growled, skittering sideways through the dining room, bolted through the kitchen and all but dived for your phone.

“Yes?” You hissed, kneeling between the couch and coffee table.

“Hey baby.” Your boyfriend’s voice replied cheerfully, but faded. “Did I scare you?” He asked, hearing the panicked terror in your voice.

“No.” You snapped at him, testily.

“Honey, why don’t you call the Horror-thon short for the night? You’re clearly spooking the life out of yourself. I’d hate to come home to you all sleep deprived and paranoid, cause you were too stubborn to call it.”

“It’s a tradition.” You argued with him.

“I know it is. But this is the second call we’ve had that you’re terrified over something; be it something in the house or just the sound of the phone ringing.”

Or something else in the house! You thought, glancing up at the ceiling.

“How about this, when I get home, we’ll do the Horror-thon together. I’ll get us our favorite takeaway and everything for it.”

You wanted to argue with him. You didn’t need him to be there as a safety buddy, so you wouldn’t be afraid of the dark. There wasn’t anything to be afraid of. They were just horror movies, actors acting things out. But something was making noises in the house with you. You were sure of it. But you did like the idea of having a horror date night with your boyfriend.

“All right.” You sighed, conceding. “I’ll turn it off.” You felt around for where the remote disappeared to, pressing your hand between the couch cushions for it, brow creasing in frustration. “I swear, I’m going to super glue an AirTag to this damn remote.” You growled under your breath, turning towards the coffee table.

Your boyfriend chuckled in your ear. “That would make finding it easier.”

Pushing aside empty candy wrappers and empty wine coolers, you came up empty for the remote. “Where did I put this dam-” The TV flickered off, plunging the living room, and you, into darkness. “Jesus Christ!” You squeaked, frozen in place, eyes locked on the deactivated screen.

“Babe?”

“The tv turned off…on its own.” You told him, voice thick.

“Did you accidentally hit the remote?” He asked, his voice trying to guard his concern.

“Pretty sure I didn’t.”

“Go, look out the patio window, see if the neighborhood lost power or something.”

Nodding, you pulled yourself up onto your feet and crossed to the sliding glass window leading out to the backyard. Peeking out to the houses on either side of you, you could see lights on in their windows and back yards and a couple street lamps in the neighborhood over. A cold chill ran down your spine, everyone around you had power.

“Well?” Your boyfriend asked expectantly.

“They have power.” You whispered softly, slightly trembling.

“All right, love. Why don’t you go to my place?” He suggested, his voice calm.

“I think I like that idea.” You agreed, turning sharply on your heels and heading towards the door, forgetting everything else in the house, except your keys, which weren’t on the hanger by the door. “They’re not there.” You whimpered, every bit of resolve and bravery you had seeping out of your body.

“What’s not there?”

“My keys.” You answered, your voice high-pitched.

“Did you leave them in your purse?” He asked, hoping to instill some of his soothing tone into you.

You turned around and looked up the stairs, gulping thickly. “It’s very possible.”

“Okay, grab it.”

Easy for you to say!

“Yeah, grab it.” You echoed back, taking a deep breath and mounting the stairs. “I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.” He answered, chuckling softly.

You teetered at the top of the stairs, glancing at the hallway bathroom and the guest room, then down the great length of the hallway to your master bedroom. It never seemed so far away since you lived there. Digging deep, you grasped the last bit of courage you found and hurried down the hall for it, diving inside and closing the door for extra measure.

“Give me a second, I need my flashlight.” You told him, too scared to turn the bedroom light on. You used your phone light to guide yourself around the room for your purse, finding it on a chair beside the closet. Your hands shook as you rummaged through your purse. “Come on, come on!” You hissed, bouncing on your toes, impatient.

I’ve gotta clean this thing out!

“Ah-ha!” You laughed, hand closing around your car’s fob, feeling a rush of victory go through you, only for loud steps to fill the hallway outside, like someone running towards the door. But they stopped short and you froze in place, waiting for the door to open and your tormentor to show themselves.

“Babe?” Your boyfriend called through the phone still clutched in your shaking hand, but you were too deer in the headlights to answer him calling your name.

Your door didn’t open, but one of the other doors upstairs slammed with such force the floor rattled. Whoever this was, was having a crack at your expense before they finally stopped tormenting you.

“Get out of the house!” Your boyfriend’s voice yelled through your paralyzed fog, having heard the door slam through your connection and activating your fight or flight mode.

“I’m going!” You snapped, rushing out the door and into the hall, knowing they were between you and the stairs, but you were ready to throw hands if you needed to, to get by. “Ha!” You giggled manically, making it to the stairs, feeling triumphant, until you reached the second step and felt an arm snake around your waist, picking you clear off your feet.

You let out a squealing scream, arms and legs flailing, a huge hand clamping over your mouth; cutting off any more screams or noises you could make to alert the neighbors or people coming up to the house for candy of your danger. You felt your intruder’s chest vibrate as they held you against their body, a laugh bubbling past their lips at your terror.

“You’re so easy to scare.” They teased into your ear.

Eyes flaring, your fright was replaced with shocked anger and you bit down on their palm, forcing them to let go with a surprised hiss. “HENRY!!” You yelled, turning around to shove your boyfriend in the chest and stomping your foot, outraged. “It’s been you all night!”

Henry grinned at you, apologetic mischief on his face. “Yeah.” He nodded, feeling bad about tormenting you the whole time.

“Work thing?”

“Mmm…” He shrugged, bashfully. “I fibbed. It was just an excuse for you to think I was gone and wasn’t probably in on pranking you.”

“Do you know how many heart attacks you gave me tonight!” You demanded, poking him in the chest. “You egged my front door!”

“Oh no, that egg wasn’t me.” He admitted, biting the corner of his lip. “That was Trevor, next door. I may have paid him a week ago to toss it tonight, at a specific time, to get things rolling.”

“I’m going to kill both of you.” You declared, nodding, then punched him in the chest again. “You’re such an ass!”

Henry laughed, folding you into his arms and kissing the top of your head. “I’m sorry, love.” He chuckled, swaying gently. “I couldn’t help it, just this once. It was so perfect, with you all alone and stuff. Or at least you thought you were.”

“How did you turn the tv off?” You asked, cocking your head back to look at him.

Henry pulled his phone out from his back pocket and showed you the remote control app he had for your smart tv. “I debated changing the channels on you and stuff, but I didn’t want to muck with you too much.”

“The noise in the dining room?”

“I dropped your leather bound copy of War and Peace, then returned it to the shelf, before going back upstairs.” He explained, with no small amount of pride.

“Footsteps?”

He laughed, cupping your face in his hands. “I was just going to sneak up on you, when you were looking for your keys. Which I moved from the hook by the door to your purse, while you were checking to see if the neighborhood lost power. But you closed the bedroom door, so I just ran up to the door and quietly went back to the half bath, where I’ve been hiding. Then you know what happened after that.”

“How did you even get into the house, while I wasn’t looking?”

“That was what the egg was for. While you were dealing with that, I slipped into the house through the slider, and just tip-toed around you.”

“That’s pretty impressive for a man your size.” You complimented him, impressed with how thought out Henry had made this. “I really hate you though. That was so mean, Hen.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” He chuckled, kissing you sweetly. “I’ll make up for it. How about some takeaway and Saw?”

“Takeaway, yes. But I think I’m done with all things horror and scary for now.” You informed him, pressing your forehead to his chest.

“Fair.” Henry smiled, kissing you once more.

Calmed down and torment over, the two of you went downstairs, ordering food and turning on a Rom-Com to finish the rest of your Halloween night, curled up together on the sofa; without another bump or thump in the night.

[viking-raider-taglist]

Okay, so I did end up writing a Halloween fic after all. (It's shotty) but hey. I blurted this out in two hours xD Enjoy!!

[viking-raider]

LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT > PART FOUR

Summary-> Alexa and Henry return to the villa after their hike, hot and tired, but Riah has a surprise for them.

Pairing-> Henry Cavill/OFC (Alexa)

Word Count-> 1.7k

Parts-> I II III

Warnings-> PG: Arranged Marriage, Fluff, Anxiety, Confession

Inspiration-> Nick and Vanessa Lachey’s Love is Blind on Netflix.

Author’s Note-> I hope you enjoy! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

-> If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST as well as my @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’ Ao3->DRAGON_DWELLER

“So, lovebirds, how was your hike?” Riah asked as she met them in the driveway of the Villa.

“It was great.” Alexa answered, smiling over at Henry as they got out of the car. “Got to see a lot of the sights and enjoyed the hot springs.”

“Yeah, we had a lot of fun.” He agreed, his expression a soft gaze as he stared at her over the roof of their rental. “Could use a sound nap now, though.” He chuckled, heading to go inside. 

“Well, there's a few changes inside.” Riah announced, clapping her hands together.

Henry stopped and frowned at her over his shoulder. “What kind of changes?” He asked, suspicious.

“We added cameras in several of the rooms, and set up a private confessional in the hall bathroom, since it was the only room it could go in.” Riah explained to them, slipping inside before Henry could, waving for him and Alexa to follow.

Henry looked back at Alexa, his mouth slightly agape, seeing she had lost a little bit of the lighthearted happiness she had been filled with throughout the day. A look of slight unease at the thought of cameras now filming their every move, even when Mark left them for the night, made both of them anxious.

“Hey.” He called out to her in a gentle whisper, turning back to give her his sole attention. “It's all right. Just because they're there, doesn't mean someone is actually watching them.”

“Yet.” Alexa squeaked, swallowing. "But, I need to get used to it. I signed up for it. For this.” She said, taking a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. “For us.” She added softer, meeting Henry's concerned, but supportive, blue eyes.

“We did.” Henry nodded, offering her his hand.

Alexa moved forward and took his hand, finding comfort in its strength and warmth, as well as Henry's smile. They entered their villa and found Riah waiting for them in the living room, her hands planted on her curvy hips.

“So, you have two cameras here, in the living room.” She started to explain without wasting a second. “One that captures a large portion of the room and one that covers the entry hallway.” She crossed the living room and entered the kitchen. “There are three in here, covering it and shooting into the backyard with a couple in the backyard. Then, there is one in your bedroom.” She said, making her way down the hall into the master.

“There's no camera in the bathroom, for obvious privacy reasons, or the closet, but you can sorta see into it from your bedroom camera.”

“And how exactly do you manage the camera in our bedroom?” Henry asked, folding his arms, a deep crease between his brows.

“There's three options.” Riah replied coolly. “There's a button on the side of it, where you can turn it off yourself, we can turn it off remotely ourselves or we can edit what footage we feel inappropriate or irrelevant out ahead of each episode.”

“And the confessional?” Alexa asked, biting her lip.

“Right this way!” Riah answered, motioning them out of the master and led them down the hall to the spare bathroom, where she and another crew member had set up the private confessional.

Sound-proofing the bathroom as much as possible, they removed the glass shower doors, adding a nice backdrop inside the spacious shower stall with a comfortable chair, while setting up the camera on its tripod over the toilet seat. The light from the long, narrow window above it was blacked out with a thick plastic and heavy gaffer's tape.

“Mark will take whatever footage you did or didn't record with him at the end of the day and we'll store it to be added into the show later on.”

“That's fine.” Henry nodded, looking between Riah and Mark with a tired expression. “Is there anything else you need from us?” He asked, glancing back at Alexa to see if she had anything she wanted to ask, but she shook her head.

“No, that's all I had for the two of you.” Riah nodded, her shaped brows lifted. “For now, at least. So, I'll leave you for the rest of the day.” She smiled, touching Mark on the arm, before letting herself out.

“I'm going to take a nap.” Henry said, looking at Alexa. “You want to join me?” He asked, a slight smirk tugging up one side of his mouth with a sparkle in his eye.

Alexa chuckled, biting her lip. “Yeah, I think I'd like that.” She nodded, feeling the throb in her feet from all their walking, but felt the stronger rumble in the pit of her stomach. “I think I’m going to get something on my stomach first. So, I'm going to order a snack, then I'll join you, when I'm done.” She told him, lightly touching his side and kissing his cheek, before padding out to the kitchen; Mark on her heels, to order something from room service.

Humming, Henry plopped down on his side of the bed and pulled off his sneakers, rubbing his arches for a moment, before reaching back to remove his tank top and tossed it aside. But he paused at his shorts, so used to sleeping in the nude, but didn't want to make Alexa uncomfortable. So he left them on. Getting up, pulling the curtains to balcony windows closed and plunging the room into a semi-darkness, he slipped into bed, intending to wait for Alexa.

Only to end up dozing off.

Checking her levels, Alexa ordered a light snack off the menu, side-eyeing Mark as she did, until she hung up.

“Don't you want a break or something?” She asked, cocking her head at him. “I mean, we're in a fully CC'd villa, you could honestly go on a break without missing anything.”

Mark lowered his camera. “Yeah, I could, until the pair of you decide to go out and do something.” He nodded, studying the piece of equipment. “You know what?” He suddenly decided, setting the camera on the island and took up the notepad that was beside the phone, scribbling on it. “This is my mobile number.” He said, tearing it off and holding it out. “Ring me, if the two of you decide to leave the house to do something. I'm just in a room at the main hotel of the resort.”

“We'll do that.” Alexa nodded, taking the paper and reading the line of numbers. “I doubt we'll be going anywhere else today, though.” She added, glancing towards the bedroom, while Mark gathered up his stuff.

Her food arrived a few minutes after Mark left and she nibbled on it for a moment, before breaking and tip-toeing into the confessional, locking the door behind her. Fumbling with the camera for a second, she sat down on the chair and stared blankly at it, struggling to grasp how to put her thoughts and emotions into words.

“I have no idea what to say, but I feel this absolute bubble of things inside of me.” She blurted out. “We had an amazing day today. Our hike, it was a load of fun. Henry is so...thoughtful and attentive.” She said, everything she had bottled up throughout the day was finally gushing forth. “He bought glucose tablets! He bought them, even though I have a pump that manages it, because he was worried something might happen to my sugars.”

Alexa paused, licking her lips and casting her glassy eyes to the ceiling for a moment, before taking a deep breath.

“It's our first, full day as a married couple, of just knowing each other.” She continued, focusing her eyes back on the red dot at the front of the camera. “However, at moments with him, I feel like we've known each other for years. I feel so safe with him, and comfortable. And that was one of the things I was really worried about, when I agreed to do this whole thing. That I wouldn't only not get along with the person they paired me up with, but I wouldn't have a connection with them, emotionally, physically or intellectually.”

“However, with Henry, it's all there.” She nervously twisted the ends of her hair, not caring that she made a mess of it. “I'm not used to feeling this way, so soon with a guy. I'm terrified that it's a false start." She admitted, the reality of it written all over her face, her eyes getting a lost in the distance gaze. “I guess I'll find out in the coming weeks.” She sighed, pressing her lips together and finally shrugging.

Sitting there for another long pause, Alexa stood and shut the camera off, before splashing some cold water into her face and staring at herself in the mirror for a moment. Sighing, she exited the bathroom-confessional and headed down to the master, finding Henry crashed out. He was flat on his stomach, arms folded under his head and tucked beneath his pillow, the blankets and duvet riding low on his waist, showing off the relaxed muscles of his broad back and shoulders. She smiled at him, moving into the walk-in and changing into a fresh tank top and pair of underwear, before joining him.

She eased in, careful not to jostle the bed too much, so she didn't disturb her resting husband. Sitting beside him, Alexa studied his slumbering face, a gentle smile pulling on her lips, seeing the small traces of silver at his temples. She slipped down onto her side, propping her head up on her fist and reached out to ghost her fingertips over the short hair of his temple. Several strands just in the start of its first turn into a curl, following suit with the curls not far above. Alexa dared to twist one of them around the tip of her index finger, admiring its silkiness with the pad of her thumb.

A sudden flash of children running loose about a house, their hair a wild mop of brown curls, a spitting image of their father's, falling in their eyes as they giggled and played, came rushing into Alexa's mind. She pulled away, heart pounding as she rolled onto her back, staring blankly at the vaulted ceiling above the bed. The image burned itself into her brain. Squeezing her eyes shut, in her best attempt to suppress the image, Alexa turned onto her side, towards Henry once again. She reached out, tugging the blanket up and a little bit over him, before letting her eyes fall shut, palm resting in the middle of his back, as she drifted off.

[viking-raider]

SALT IN OUR WOUNDS - CHAPTER VI

Summary-> Gus gets help finding his men.

Pairing-> Gus March-Phillipps/Reader

Word Count-> 4.2k

Chapters-> I II III IV V

Warnings-> PG-13: WWII!AU, Language, Deception, References to WWII, Fluff, Use of the word Nazi, Angst

Inspiration-> The one and only Chaos Major, Gus March-Phillipps.

Author’s Note-> This is a work of Fiction, pulled from my imagination.

Divider by->  @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

-> If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST as well as my @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’ Ao3-> DRAGON_DWELLER

“So, what mission is it that you’re interested in?” Mael asked Gus as the two men sat together in the living room.

“I’m not quite sure what it’s called.” Gus replied, leaning over the maps Mael had laid out on the table in front of them. “I know it was near here; Sainte-Honorine-des-Pertes.” He said, tapping Normandy’s bold name, the future site of Omaha Beach and D-Day.

“Hmm.” The elder Major hummed, squinting at the name. “I don’t recall any mention of activity there on the radio.” He said, shaking his head as he tried to recall the last several broadcasts he’d listened to. “I don’t have any markers on it either, beyond occupation. But, there might be something in the papers.” He looked about his recliner, grumbling under his breath. “In that roll-top desk over there,” Mael flapped his hand towards it. “I have several stacks of newspapers, bring them over and we can look through them.”

Nodding, Gus stood and opened the desk, finding an armload of newspapers, neatly folded, as well as several other maps. He bundled up the papers and brought them over to his and Mael’s table, carefully laying them out. The old man split the stack in half, sliding half over to Gus and keeping half to himself, before plucking one out and unfolding it. Taking his example, Gus took one out and started to skim through the stiff pages, finding several pencil notations in Mael’s hand on the margins.

“You’ve been quite diligent about keeping up with the War’s workings.” He commented, pausing to read through a small story, British Thrust in Desert, says Berlin, announced the headline, speaking of the Battle of Gazala.

“Have to keep my wits sharp somehow!” Mael laughed back, slapping his newspaper down and picking up another. “Not like I can go out there and fight these damned Nazis myself. Might as well keep track of the boys that are. Why’s this so important to you?” He asked, looking at Gus over the rim of his glasses.

“I have friends in this war,” Gus answered, his brow creasing for a moment, before fixing Mael with a cheeky grin. “Fighting these same damned Nazis. They were supposed to be fighting them by the coast. I’d like to know what happened.”

“And what happened to you?”

“I was a naughty boy.” Gus chuckled, setting his paper aside for another. “I was shot and lost my way from my men.”

Mael studied Gus long and hard. His gut; the one that had once carried him safely through the trenches of Germany in the Great War, tingled. He knew the friends Gus was looking for and the men he’d been separated from were one and the same. What he wasn’t sure of, was just how dangerous Gus was. He seemed easy natured enough, and his dislike of Nazis seemed quite clear by how he’d protected you. So, he likely wasn’t one himself or working for them, but then again, Mael wasn’t sure of anything. He’d been deceived before.

“Well, let’s see if we can find some clues about them.” Mael said, turning his eyes back to his task.

“I’m all for the help, old boy.” Gus grinned, patting him on the shoulder.

You watched Gus and your father pour over the newspapers, while you prepped the modest piece of meat you intended for a pot roast dinner. You found their mutual endeavor in finding Gus’s men sweet. Gus stimulating your father’s need and love for everything about the on-going war, for anything military. While Gus got the help he needed. But you couldn’t help the dull ping in the pit of your stomach, knowing that once Gus found what he needed and was strong enough again, he’d leave and you would likely never see him again.

It’s for the best. You thought, casting your eyes back to your own task. It would never work out anyway. You sighed, side eyeing him.

Gus felt your glances, but he kept his eyes on the newspaper in his hand, his knee slowly bouncing as he skimmed articles. He was discouraged a little more by each line that didn’t hint to any whereabouts of his men or their possible mission. He wasn't completely surprised. It wasn’t publicly sanctioned by the powers to be at the War Office. Gus had been privately asked to bring his men in on the mission, with the express warning that if they were caught, they’d be sent to prison by their own people or would become a prisoner of war by the Nazis, and it was the latter Gus feared his men had ended up as.

“Do we need refills here?” You asked, coming over with the coffee pot.

“Uh, yes, please.” Gus answered, looking up at you.

“Not just now, Peanut.” Your father answered, standing stiffly from his seat. “The last cup raced through me faster than a shot through no-man’s-land.” He commented with a chuckle, excusing himself upstairs to the restroom.

“How’s the search going?” You asked, filling Gus’s cup and glancing over the maps and newspapers. “Any luck?”

Gus let out a heavy sigh. “So far--no.” He pressed his lips together and raked a hand through his mess of curls.

“I’m sorry.” You frowned, setting the coffee pot down and resting a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll find something about them.” You tried to assure him, squeezing his shoulder. “I have faith.”

“Means a lot to me.” He cooed at you, giving you a gentle smile.

Giving him a sweet wink, you took up the coffee pot and headed back to the kitchen. “I have to pop out for a bit. Mrs. DuBois came down with pneumonia and I told Remi I’d go take her groceries, and spend a little time with her.”

“That’s kind of you.” Gus replied, squinting at the imperfect black newsprint.

“Yeah, her husband passed away just before the war, so it’s just her; since they never had kids.” You explained, bustling around. “The community helps take care of her.”

Gus looked over at you, a soft look on his tired face. He could see why you and your family had moved to Saint-Thurney. The little village seemed so tight-knit and willing to help their neighbors through the good times and the bad, along with everything in-between. It was evident that they had welcomed you, Edmund and Mael with open arms and hearts, despite being from across the pond. They had even taken him in, without too many questions to his sudden appearance in their sleepy village.

Your kindness was such an embodiment to Saint-Thurney’s soul, and it made his heart swell. Even after the tragedies and hardships in your life, your mother cheating and running out, Mael’s PTSD, your sister-in-law’s coldness and the War’s ugly mark on the world. You were still a kind and vibrant woman, who would go out of your way to help others, even to the danger of your person. An ordinary person would have developed at least one sharp edge of resentment, or to just be defensive against the world; much like Willa, Gus suspected.

But your edges were still soft and around. In all the right places, to the pleasure of Gus’s eye.

All the more reason to find Lassen and the boys, before the Nazis discover my true purpose here. I’ll be damned if I’ll let those filthy bastards put another mark on that beautiful skin. He thought, his blue eyes shifting from your back to your arm, his stomach hardening at the bruised fingerprints there. Would like to give that bastard a real taste of my mind.

“Papa, I’ll be back by the time the roast is done, so there’s no need to fuss over it.” You informed your father as he returned downstairs. “I’m going to go visit Mrs. DuBois.”

“All right, my love.” He nodded, pausing to kiss your cheek. “You mind those filthy Nazis on your way, and give Esmeralda my good wishes on her health.”

“I will.” You smiled, kissing his cheek back. “You boys behave yourselves, I put on a fresh pot of coffee, in case you want more, while I’m gone.” You told them, slipping on your coat.

“So attentive.” Gus complimented with a smile.

You gave him a silly expression, before heading out the door.

“You have an amazing daughter.” He praised Mael as he sat back down with him.

“That I do.” Mael agreed, nodding his head as he balanced his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “It’s beyond me how Edmund and I managed to raise such a lovely young lady. But I am glad of it.” He commented, sifting through his stack of remaining papers.

The two fell into a reasonably comfortable silence, sipping their coffees and skimming articles, the crackle of the glowing logs in the room’s wood stove filling the silence periodically. Their bubble was infiltrated by Edmund letting himself into the cottage, knocking his sandy boots against the door jam, before stepping further into the dwelling.

“What are the two of you doing?” He asked, stopping before Gus and his father’s table.

“I’m looking for information on some friends of mine.” Gus answered, neatly folding the paper in his hands, just as Mael had it, and adding it to the pile of read papers. “Your father here has kindly allowed me to read through all the newspapers he has on the war and look at his maps, so I might try and find them.”

“Your friends?” Edmund echoed Gus’s words, his eyes narrowing at the other man.

“Yes.” Gus nodded, his expression not cracking.

“Where’s my sister?”

“She went to go visit Mrs. DuBois, she’s taken ill.” Mael answered, looking at his son over the rim of his glasses. “Do you need something, Edmund?” He inquired, cocking a brow at his offspring.

“No, I just came over to check on everyone.” Edmund replied, plucking up a newspaper from a pile. “And to see what she was cooking for dinner.” He added, unfolding it and looking over the fuzzy print, unable to quite read them without his own glasses.

“Pot roast.” Gus said, looking up at him, but his brow pinched. “Might I see that?” He asked, holding his hand out.

Edmund shrugged, nodding and handing the paper over. Gus pushed the mountain of newspapers in front of him away and spread the paper out onto the table, leaning over it. The bold headlining print of an article, half stained by a ring of coffee, had caught his attention. Nazi outpost in France sabotaged, twelve German soldiers killed and one suspected saboteur killed as well.

A chill rushed down Gus’s spine, he sat back in his seat, a shaky sigh leaving his lips.

“Did you find your friends?” Mael asked, giving Gus a concerned expression.

“Yes.” He huffed, nodding his head and scrubbing his hands over the rough fabric of his pants.

“Are they all right?” Edmund asked, cocking his head in an attempt to read the article.

Mael took up the paper. “Says here, that one of them was killed during an attempt to sabotage a Nazi outpost; along with twelve Germans.” He leveled his eyes at Gus. “I’m sorry, Gus.”

“Thanks.” Gus rasped, before standing and excusing himself, stepping outside to the back garden for a moment.

A thick lump of relief flooded him as the cool, salty air enveloped him, pressing his hands to his face as the weight of worry if Lassen and his men had made it to safety lifted off his shoulders. It seemed they only thought Gus was dead, under understandable conditions. Now, he had to figure out a way to communicate with them, without bringing any more suspicion down on your family and the village.

“You all right?” Edmund asked, appearing in the doorway of the garden.

“I’m fine.” Gus replied, dropping his hands. “Just feeling grateful that they’re all alive.”

“So, what’s your next move?”

“I have to find a way to contact them.” He replied, casting his eyes to the sky. “They think I’m dead. Which may or may not work in my favor.” He said, squinting at the passing clouds.

“How are you going to find them? It’s been two weeks since my sister found you on the beach, plus whatever time it took you to wash up.” Edmund pointed out to him, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

Gus nodded, scratching his chin. “I’d gamble that it was a good three hours or so. Hypothermia would have killed me in six or seven.” He sighed, figuring the math in his head, surprised by how he’d managed to survive the freezing water and injury before you found him, like an angel from Heaven. “There could be two plans taken, if Lassen had the final word. They boarded the Maid of Honor, our fishing trawler, to return to either our rendezvous point in Getxo, Spain or they sailed across the Channel, back to London.” He laid out the possible paths in front of him. “Either option, they’ve long arrived at. So, I need a message of some sort to contact both posts, informing them of my survival, location and situation.”

“I might have a way to help you with that.” Edmund replied, chewing on his bottom lip and looking down at the tips of his scuffed work boots.

“Oh,” Gus hummed, cocking a sideways glance at him. “How so?”

“We’re going to need my sister.” He said, looking up at him, an impish look in his eyes.

“We’re doing what now?” You croaked at the two men standing in the middle of your bedroom.

“You and Gus are going to go plan your wedding.” Edmund repeated for the third time.

Your jaw worked as you looked between Gus and your brother. “Have the two of you nipped some of Papa’s whiskey?” You asked, brow creasing deeply. “You,” You pointed an accusing finger at Edmund. “don’t even like him.” You said, moving your finger towards Gus, whose eyes hadn’t left your face since coming into the room. “And that whole bit about being engaged was a lie, so they wouldn’t put another hole into you.”

“I don’t not like him--now.” Your brother stammered, gulping thickly and shifting uneasily. “Besides,” He said, clearing his throat. “This is still an act, so Gus can get a letter to Pastor Zane, who will get it to the right people. Gus’s people.”

“Gus’s people.” You echoed, slowly nodding your head, feeling the pieces fall into place.

You understood what was happening now. Gus was going to compose a letter to inform the right people of where he was, likely asking them to find a way to extract him from Saint-Thurney and back to wherever he was meant to be. He had kept a level gaze on your face, gauging your expression and body language for reactions to this developing news, and despite your best attempts, it felt like a tank had run you down.

“Do you know where your letter needs to be sent?” You inquired, not quite meeting Gus’s blue stare.

“Yes.” He answered softly. “I’ve written two letters. One is to be sent to London and the other to Getxo; places my men are to use as rendezvous points. I’m unsure, obviously, given the heated scramble back to the boat and my not making it back with them, which route they decided to take for safety sake.”

“Safer and faster to cover your bases.” You nodded, agreeing with the tactic.

“Pastor Zane will take the letters from Gus at your meeting with him, under the guise of wishing to discuss marrying.” Edmund explained to you. “We figured this would be the easiest and least suspicious option. Once Pastor Zane has the letters, he’ll pass them along to our contacts, chaining them out of the village and across to England and Spain. When we get a response, Pastor Zane will get in touch with us through another safe means and we can go from there, based on whatever the answer to your letters are.”

“Perfect.” Gus nodded, licking his lips. “I just hope your contacts can be trusted.”

Edmund looked both annoyed and hurt at Gus’s words. Your brother hadn’t been allowed to join the military, due to the deterioration of his eyesight. But in compensation, he’d started a spy and smuggling ring in the modest village of Saint-Thurney. Many, if not all, of the community loathed the Nazis and their allies, especially since they occupied your peaceful village, throwing it even more off sync in the War. So, members of Saint-Thurney band together to thwart them at every possible turn, with Edmund at the top of the spy ring.

“Okay, when are we going?” You asked, always willing to help thwart a Nazi or two, despite the throbbing pain wrapping around your heart.

“Tomorrow morning. I already contacted Pastor Zane about it, an hour ago.”

“Oh, how polite of you to schedule our potential marriage so quickly.” You quipped at the two of them.

“I just couldn’t wait any longer.” Gus teased back, blue eyes sparking and the corners of his lips curling up, impishly.

You felt your cheeks heat and butterflies swarm your stomach at his words. “Well,” You took a deep breath, trying to settle your nerves. “He’s going to need church clothes.” You said, motioning a hand over Gus’s attire.

In the two weeks Gus had resided with you, he had worn the clothing Edmund had provided him when he first awoke, and a couple articles since. But he would need something much more presentable, if he was going to see Pastor Zane with you in the morning. It would look strange, and disrespectful, to see the Pastor in just a pair of worn, black slacks and a simple and a short sleeve, dark-blue, four-button ringer t-shirt.

“Right.” Edmund nodded, pressing his lips together.

“We’re going shopping, Gus.” You grinned at him.

Edmund rested his hand on Gus’s shoulder. “God be with you.” He chuckled, shaking his head and excusing himself from the room.

“When?” Gus asked, after the door shut.

“Now.” You replied, turning to pluck up your cardigan. “We don’t have much time, since you need to see Pastor Zane in the morning.” You explained, pulling it on and moving towards the door.

“A family of action.” Gus chuckled, following after you.

“Papa, Gus and I-”

“Yes, Ed told me.” Your father nodded, his ear to the radio.

You paused at the bottom of the stairs, blinking over at your father, then cast your eyes to your brother, who stood at the counter, pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee. “Told him?” You repeated, cocking a brow in surprise.

Edmund finished fixing his coffee and moved over to you. “The man already thinks you’re engaged, it’s the easiest line to keep him thinking.” He told you, in a low voice. “It also keeps the fucking Nazis from doing anything to him, should they come back trying to ask questions. All he knows is that Gus is your discharged, betrothed.”

“It is the best for him.” Gus agreed, not wishing to put the Senior Major into any sort of danger on his account. “Keep the gritter details between us.”

“True.” You nodded, a lump of anxiety in your throat. “Well, we’ll be back, Papa!”

“You best not get married without me!” Mael yelled after you.

You laughed, biting your lip. “Of course not, Papa. I wouldn’t dream of marrying without you there to walk me down the aisle.” You assured him, hurrying over to press a sweet kiss to his cheek. “It would put a damper on the day.”

Getting out the door, You and Gus made your way to the town center, passing Remi’s shop and rounding a corner, only to promptly run right into a Nazi patrolman.

“Scheisse.” He barked, attempting to shove the larger Gus away from him, his hand pressing on his wound in the process. “Watch yourself!” He hissed, crudely.

Gus grunted deep in his throat, the corner of his eye twitched with pain, but he straightened his shoulders, regarding the Nazi with pure distaste. “Apologies.” He replied, his voice tight as he glanced sideways, assuring himself that you were unbothered.

“Business?” The officer barked, looking at you both.

“What-” Gus started, but you cut him off.

“We’re going to the shops.” You answered, voice strained, but neutral, before intertwining your arm around Gus’s and coaxing him out of the German’s way, not wishing for any more interaction or agitation between them. “We hope you have a great day.” You told him, forcing a kind smile as he went by, eying Gus as he went.

“Please, don’t anger them, Gus.” You said, once he was gone. “You’re here, while you have to be. But we live here, under them.”

“He was the one being rude.” Gus replied, resting a hand against his wound. “But, I’m sorry.” He said, lightly touching your arm.

You offered him a soft smile, before motioning to a clothing shop up ahead. “We can get you something suitable from there.”

“All right.” He nodded, but his attention was elsewhere, his blue eyes were cast across the street and beyond, where a small barracks and tall watchtower, with a red, white and black flag flew high on top, was situated into a hill, populated by German jeeps, a couple trucks and a few Germans themselves loitering about. “Is that where the village’s occupiers stay?” He asked, with a jerk of his brow.

You glanced in its direction for a fleeting moment. “Yes.” You replied, stopping outside the clothing shop and looking him over. “I honestly can’t wait to see you in a suit.” You admitted, a bright smile pulling across your lips and meeting your eyes with a spark of impishness.

Gus chuckled and lowered his head a tad. “You should see me in uniform.” He winked, teasingly, before opening the door for you.

“Tisk tisk.” You chuckled, then ducked inside. “Good morning!” You chimed to the owner behind the counter of the shop.

“Good morning, mademoiselle.” The tailor replied, bowing his head politely to you, then regarded Gus. “And you, monsieur.”

“Morning.” Gus greeted him, politely. “I need a suit by tomorrow morning, to meet with your village Pastor.” He began to explain to the tailor. “So, I may have a chance to marry this lovely lady.” He said, raising his eyebrows at you, amused to see you try and hide your shyness as you browsed the selection of suit jackets.

“That is short notice.” The tailor said, frowning over the counter at Gus.

“I know of its inconvenience.” He replied, nodding, sympathizing as he rested his hands on the counter between them. “You see, I simply can not wait to have this lovely jewel as my wife, any longer. I have waited so many years already. Not to mention, the worries I put her through, while I was away fighting the Nazis and becoming seriously injured.” He leaned over the counter slightly, as if to confess something to him and not allow you to hear it. “If it wasn’t for thoughts of her, I would have died in a fox-hole in Dunkirk, and again, when I came home with my injury.” He lightly touched his side. “She nursed me back to the living.”

“Would you wish to wait any longer to marry such a woman?” Gus asked him, with such genuine sincerity.

Both the tailor and you were stunned at Gus’s words, they were so compelling and seemed to ring with such truthfulness. Well, in part they were true, you had saved Gus’s life. The tailor cast his eyes over to you, he must've read the emotions in your face, seen the surprise of Gus’s words and interpreted them.

“Let’s see what we can do, oui?” He said, moving from behind the counter. “Let’s start with the pants! My dear father always said, ‘if a man does not have a good pair of pants to go through life! Then he will always look like an ass!’, and I agree with him!”

Gus laughed, grinning. “A wise man.”

The two of them spent the next several minutes discussing pants, before Gus decided on a pair of blue, wool trousers. When the tailor stepped away for a moment, Gus turned towards where you were sitting with a cup of tea the tailor had kindly made you.

“What do you think?” He asked, motioning to the pants.

“You look good in blue.” You replied around the rim of your cup.

“Thank you.” He smiled, smoothing a hand over his thigh. “It feels nice to wear high quality wool again, after a military issue.” He chuckled, rubbing it between his thumb and index finger

“Even for an officer?” You asked, cocking your head at him.

“It’s by far better than the quality of the non-commissioned men, but not as good as this.” He explained,  looking in a full length mirror, his eye catching a jacket in the reflection. “I must get myself that jacket.” He hummed to himself, as the tailor returned, holding up a crisp, white and button down shirt with a smile.

[viking-raider-taglist]

Tag Team: @littlefreya / @omgkatinka / @beck07990 / @luxeydior / @alexakeyloveloki / @juliaorpll78 / @thereisa8ella / @summersong69 / @rielee / @happydistraction / @lola2004sworld / @bbcoraline / @winter2112rose / @mandyhanford / @identity2212 / @needmorereading

Ao3 Chapter

[viking-raider]

Cake & Minis - Cotton Candy Fluff

Summary-> It's just you and Henry for his birthday. But that's all right, the two of you have cake and Warhammer Minis.

Pairing-> Henry Cavill/Reader

Word Count-> 1.1k

Warnings-> PG: FLUFF, Cotton Candy Fluff, Nerdy Banter

Inspiration-> It's Henry's 41st Birthday! Happy Birthday, Puppy!

Author’s Note-> This is a work of Fiction!

Divider by->  @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

-> If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST as well as my @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’ Ao3-> DRAGON_DWELLER

“So, Birthday Boy, what do you want to do for your birthday?” You asked, as you sat at the kitchen table with Henry, sipping your cup of tea, while he sat across from you, browsing the Highlander Script.

“I don’t know, babe.” He frowned, brow creasing at the page he was on. “Most of my family won’t be able to come in for any sort of celebration until next week. So, it’s just you and me.” He said, setting the script aside. “We could go out somewhere, have dinner.”

You studied him, holding his gaze. “You don’t want to though, do you?” You asked, voicing the glint you saw in his blue eyes.

“Not really.” He confessed, chewing on his lip.

Something came to you. “I might have an idea.” You said, excusing yourself and went upstairs, retrieving the gift you’d gotten Henry for his forty-first trip around the sun. “Why don’t you go ahead and open that.” You suggested, handing over the wrapped box and taking up your seat again.

Henry carefully removed the wrapping paper and a grin instantly touched his lips. “The new Blood Angels Minis.” He chuckled, opening the box to examine the little gray pieces.

“I could start your birthday cake and we could assemble those bad boys.” You suggested, pressing your lips together, while cocking your head at him.

“You want to spend my birthday painting Warhammer Minis with me?” He asked, quite skeptical.

“Yeah, if you want to, that is?” You replied, wide eyed. “I could leave you to your own devices with them. It was just a suggestion, I’ll do anything you want for your day, Puppy.”

A soft smile touched his face. “I’d love to spend my birthday assembling and painting minis with you. Especially if there’s cake eating involved.” He laughed, touched that you would express an interest in one of his hobbies, even for a day or few hours.

“It’s a deal then!” You beamed, excited. “I’ll get everything for your cake going, why don’t you get everything for the Mini building set up, then I’ll join you!”

“Sounds like a plan.” Henry nodded, taking up the Minis and headed for his man cave, where he had a whole station for building and painting his Minis.

Henry hummed happily to himself, bustling about the room, pulling out plastic containers, zip-lock bags and cases of items that contained glue, tools, paints and brushes of all kinds to cut out the pieces, assemble and paint them. He meticulously laid everything out, ready for the two of you to start the long process of building the six Blood Angel figures. Once that was done, he joined you in the kitchen.

“All ready.” He smiled, finding you in the process of mixing the red velvet batter; his favorite cake. “Do you want any help?” He asked, moving around the island to stand behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Nope.” You replied, shaking your head, slightly resting back against him. “You just mind yourself and I’ll bake this.” You told him, rocking side to side with him.

“Do I get to lick the spoon?” He smirked, nuzzling the side of your face.

“Mmm, I suppose so.” You answered, filling the cake pan with the batter, before holding the spoon up for him.

“Mmm.” Henry hummed, flicking his tongue out over the back of the utensil, collecting the rich-red batter. “Tasty, can’t wait to have a slice.”

“I’m sure.” You smiled, wiggling out of his arms to slide the dish into the pre-heated oven. “Mini building time!” You beamed, setting the timer and placing it on the island. “Let’s go, my God Emperor.”

“As you wish, my little Primarch.” Henry laughed, heading for his man cave with you. “I’m sure you’ll end up painting one of them to look like Chaplain Rafael.”

“Burn the Heretic! Kill the Mutant! Purge the Unclean!” You declared, quoting your beloved Chaplain from the Blood Angels Space Marines chapter. “I still mourn your death, Rafael! Baal will remember you forever!”

Henry snorted, shaking his head at you. “What a nerd.” He teased, sitting down at the table.

“And unashamed of it!” You replied proudly. “Right, where are we starting, Puppy?” You asked, looking over the laid out items.

“We need to free the little buggers.” He told you, picking up a pair of, what looked like, well used nail clippers. “These are sprue cutters.” He explained to you, picking up one of the templates of Blood Angels. “All you have to do is snip this little bit here and set the piece aside, once it’s free.” He smiled over at you, brows lifted to make sure you understood.

“Super easy.” You smiled back at him.

Henry laughed, shaking his head and held the cutters out to you with a template. “It’s the only easy part in building these things. Other than buying them.” He quipped, grabbing a second pair.

The two of you took your time freeing the Space Marines from their confines, enjoying being close to each other and the sunny day that trickled through the tall windows around the room. When the cake timer went off in the kitchen, you shuttled off to check on it, pulling it out and setting it up to cool, before returning.

“So, are we going for authentic original Blood Angel look for their paint or are we going freestyle?” You asked, the tip of your tongue pressed to the corner of your upper lip as you used the sharp edge of an exacto knife to smooth out the edges of where the piece had been attached to the template.

“Hmm.” Henry hummed, sitting back in his seat, doing the same task. “I do normally prefer the traditional look for them.” He said, studying the arm he had between his fingers. “How about this? You paint three of the six your way and I’ll paint the other six my way?” He suggested, a little smirk tugging up the corner of his mouth.

“Oooh.” You cooed, liking that idea. “You sure your perfectionism isn’t going to drive you nuts?”

“I’m sure.” He assured you. “I looked forward to it. Our little army.”

It was long and tedious work, but neither of you cared, especially not Henry. It filled him with a bubbly happiness to look across his Warhammer table to see you zoned in on gluing together a model, shifting its little body until you finally got it in the pose that satisfied you. You paused long enough at one point, to put the icing on his cake, slicing you both a piece and bringing it back to your work station, singing happy birthday to him.

“I hope your new trip around the sun is as memorable, healthy and successful as your previous.” You toasted him, placing a tender kiss to his curls as he blew out the candle you lit.

“As long as I have you and Kal on the journey with me,” Henry replied, pulling you into his lap. “I know it will be.” He smiled, kissing you on the lips.

[viking-raider]

Syverson Family War

Summary-> You've just gotten off a 12-hour shift at the hospital, only to return home and get swept up into a Syverson Family War, between your husband and three children.

Pairing-> Austin "Sy" Syverson/Reader

Word Count-> 3.2k

Warnings-> PG: FLUFF, Cotton Candy Fluff, Light Teasing, Soft!Sy, SAHD!Sy, Nurse!Reader

Inspiration-> This Instagram Video (If this isn't Sy vibes, idk who Sy is!)

Author’s Note-> This is a work of Fiction!

Divider by->  @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

-> If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST as well as my @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’ Ao3-> DRAGON_DWELLER

You were more than excited to be home after a nearly twelve hour shift at the hospital. Your back throbbed and your feet were screaming at the top of their arches from running up and down the ER department. You didn’t not even bother gathering up your tote of stuff, as you got out of your car, since you had the next two days off. So, they would wait until a two hour long bubble bath and a nap with eternity.

But upon entering your modest, two story Ranch house, you were bombarded by silence. Your eyes narrowed as they scanned the dining room to your left and living room to your right, ears pricking up for the slightest movement from the bedrooms upstairs.

Something was clearly off. It was almost never this quiet in the Syverson household.

There was always some sort of ruckus or chaos in motion. Your husband blasting music in the garage, where he had set up a small work-out area or telling off whatever game was playing on the enormous tv in the living room. If it wasn’t Sy, it was a combination of your three kids. Your two boys wrestling each other over a toy or giggles, or your daughter discovering a new, little critter from the backyard and bringing it in, before promptly losing it. Or all three kids getting into mischief with each other somehow.

But when it was silent, you knew there were real shenanigans afoot.

You drew in a deep breath, mustering what energy you had left inside yourself, for Syverson Madness. “Guys! I’m home!” You called out, swinging the front door shut with a little more strength than usual, as you moved a step deeper into the powderkeg. “What are you nuts up to?” You mumbled to yourself, moving towards the living room, still trying to keep yourself alert for any kind of trap or scare.

Little good it did, as a strong hand suddenly grabbed your elbow and yanked you backwards into the dark portal of the laundry room door, with a yelp. The hand shifted to your mouth and the door closed with a soft click.

“Ssshh.” Sy cooed at you, moving his hand away. “Gotta keep quiet, Sugar Butt.” He chuckled at you.

You could hear the smirk on his bearded face, before he clicked on the tactical flashlight he was carrying. You looked him over in the dim light, discovering him in his full Army tactical gear, minus his bare feet. He even sported his night vision goggles clipped to his helmet.

“What in the he-” You were about to demand, scanning him again, but spotted one of your son’s Nerf Rifles strapped to his back. “Give me that!” You huffed, gobsmacked, as you took the light and started checking him and the laundry room out. “Good Lord, Almighty!” You laughed, shaking your head.

He had a Nerf pistol in his thigh holster, a pump gun on the dryer, a blaster beside that, and copious amounts of ammo on the washer, with pop grenades. Which you knew were filled with either baby powder or flour from the last time a Syverson War had been declared on the house.

You looked up at your husband, bottom lip trapped between your teeth for a moment. “How long has World War Syverson Seven been going?” You asked, completely amused by how lost Sy got into playing with your kids, and how much they loved it when he did.

Sy looked at his watch. “Since just after breakfast. Myles chose violence and shot Ada in the back, while she was trying to color a picture. Tears ensued, which caused Colt to declare revenge on Myles, in Ada’s name.”

“You got roped into this, how?”

“Ada got in on it, insisting she didn’t need a man to defend her honor…”

“That’s my girl.” You chuckled, smirking.

“It is.” Sy laughed back. “But, in defending her own honor, she shot me in the leg, while I was trying to get them to chill out.”

You nodded your head, seeing all the pieces fall into place. “Which, obviously, by the Syverson Code, requires you to defend your own honor.”

“Obviously, Angel!” Sy answered, faking outrage. “You should know that, after fifteen years!”

“Fifteen years, and I’m still jotting things down in the Syverson Code of Conduct booklet!” You laughed, shaking your head, there were a lot of things Sy lived and would die by.

They were many of the things that made your heart swell with love for the burly, ex-Army vet.

“So, how do I configure into this madness?”

“You just got home from a super long shift, Sugar.” He answered, brow pinching. “You’re an innocent bystander. I just had to save you before one of those hellions out there shot you.”

“My savior.” You cooed, pushing up on your toes and kissing him. “My back and arches appreciate you.”

“The Lair is off limits, per usual.” He informed you. “We just have to make it out of here and upstairs.”

“Quite the way.” You commented, mentally mapping your and Sy’s route out of the laundry room, through the living room and entryway, then finally up the stairs and home free to the master bedroom, which was referred to as the Lair, where you could rest without having to worry about the family war.

“All right, Captain, what’s the plan?”

He gave you the Syverson wink and reached over your head, there was a sharp click and from outside the laundry room, you heard the kids’ screech. Sy had thrown the power switch to the house, plunging it into the darkness. You chuckled, smirking, understanding his tactic now.

“Stay close.” He whispered to you, clicking his ammo to his vest on, before moving to the door. “The enemy is sneaky and uncivilized.” He said, pressing his body against it, listening carefully to the other side.

“Like their father.” You mumbled under your breath with a snort, huddling yourself against his back.

“I’d say more like their mama.” Sy commented back, reaching back to pop you on the bum, then slowly cracked open the door.

You shuffled out after him, casting glances over your shoulder every few seconds. It was easy going, getting through the living room. Sy had defended it mightily throughout the day, so the kids had become shy about entering their father’s domain. You trusted Sy to protect you, from everything, your kids included. Silly as that was to think.

“We have movement at 12!” Sy called out, catching your nine year old, Myles, through his night vision in his fort, consisting of the dining table and chairs that he was hunkered down underneath, belly crawling from one end towards the other, closing the gap between himself and the entryway. “He’s under the table. A sneaky little sniper boy.” He snickered, shouldering the Nerf-AR resting against his side.

You scrunched yourself up behind Sy’s wide and muscular back as Nerf Darts started whizzing by, striking the scuffed wood floor or sticking to the walls. Both Sy and Myles laughed maniacally as they shot at each other; tossing weak insults on top of it.

“Milk drinker!” Myles shouted, hustling to reload.

“Lizard eater!” Sy shot back, smirking.

“Now, boys!” You scolded weakly, snorting.

They continued their assault, Sy guiding you towards a pocket the bottom stairs provided coming down into the foyer, allowing you to take cover and him to shoot through the bars of the steps.

“Are you hit?” You asked, playing along with the game.

“Nothing I’ll die from.” He answered, reloading his weapons. “But, you can be a good nurse and kiss them all better.” He said, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

“That’s cheating!” Myles yelled out.

“Well, If I was over there, I’d do the same thing to you, Bud!” You called back, planting a kiss on Sy’s cheek, his well-groomed beard tickling your skin.

“An aid relief truce then?” Myles suggested, poking his head out from under the table.

“Certainly not!” Sy barked back, popping a Nerf dart off over his son’s head, sending him scurrying back into his fort. “She’s my nurse! I found her out wandering the battlefield, unprotected. If you wanted her to be your nurse, you should have found her first, yourself!”

“I almost did! Before you kidnapped her!” Myles huffed, hotly. “You’re holding her hostage!” He suddenly insisted. “Don’t worry, Mama. I’ll rescue you!”

“Oh my, a hostage situation.” You sighed, licking your lips. “I appreciate your devotion, son.”

“Ha.” Sy scoffed, shaking his head. “I don’t think so, boy. I’m escorting this lovely lady to the Lair.”

As Sy and Myles argued over who was going to have the pleasure of accompanying you upstairs, you caught a slight movement behind you and Sy, lurking in the darkness of the living room; moving slowly. It vanished behind the couch, and for a moment you thought it was just Aika, but when something popped up over the back of the couch, then quickly ducked down again, you were then positive it wasn’t the old girl. But your Daddy’s girl, Ada. Of all the children, six year old Ada was the most like her father. She’d been attached to Sy’s hip from the moment she left your womb. Hanging on Sy’s every word, movement and action, that sometimes it spooked you.

So, watching her stealth around in the dark of the living room was both impressive, amusing and a tad terrifying. Especially since you knew the little hellion was coming for revenge on her father and brother. There were no alliances between them during a Syverson war. You were the only ally allowed to go between the four of them. Mending wounds, mostly pretend ones, but sometimes there were real ones. Sometimes, you’d team up with one of them, to take on the other three.

“On your six! In the living room, babe!” You warned, snagging the Nerf pistol from Sy’s thigh holster as he reacted, purely by instinct, removing one of his baby powder pop grenades, tossing it behind him without looking, trusting your instruction.

Ada startled, surprised that you had noticed her, followed by a cloud of baby powder obscuring her view. She came to a halt, upon hurdling the back of the couch, in an attempt to overtake you and Sy. You took aim and fired, the Nerf dart hitting her square in the chest.

“Nice shot, hon.” Sy nodded, patting your leg, then called out to his daughter. “Sorry, Cricket, but that’s a kill shot.” He told her, his voice soft, but uncompromising.

Ada huffed, pressing her lips together. “Not fair, Mama isn’t supposed to shoot us! She doesn’t have anything to avenge!” She protested, crossing her arms.

Sy chuckled, cocking his head at her. “Mama has her own special rules in our Wars, you know that, Cricket.”

“I’ll come kiss it better, but you know Daddy’s five minute rule.” You chimed in, feeling bad about it, you honestly hadn’t meant to hit her, it was just a lucky shot.

But rules were rules. You could go and kiss her boo-boo better, allowing her to enter the War game again. However, Sy had made a rule that anyone hit with a Kill Shot had to be dead for at least five minutes, before you could render aid to them.

“All right.” Ada sighed, before flopping to the floor with a dramatic sound.

“Where were we?” Sy asked, then nodded. “Right, Myles, kindly allow me to escort my Nurse upstairs.”

“No deal, Pops.” Myles replied, shaking his head.

“Can I just go upstairs on my own?” You asked, peeking at your son through the spindles of the stairs.

Myles was quiet for a moment, considering. “Only if I get to keep you to myself for an hour!” He finally answered.

“Oh, he drives a hard bargain, that son of yours.” You teased Sy, tickling the back of his neck.

“That he does.” Sy agreed, shivering, as he brewed over Myles' offer. “You can have her for thirty minutes!” He negotiated with him.

“Thirty minutes!” Myles barked in outrage.

“You have to go to bed in two hours, boy!” Sy reminded him.

“So, give her to me for an hour!”

You smirked and pressed your palm to the base of Sy’s neck, leaning in close, your lips brushing against his ear, so only he could hear you. “Let him have me for the hour, Austin. I’ve been gone for twelve hours, and they have to go to bed in two. It’ll give me a little bit of time with them.” You reasoned with your husband. “We’ll have all night together after they're asleep, and the next two days, when they're at school.”

Sy nodded, rubbing his lips together. “You’re right.” He whispered back to you. “All right, you can have her for an hour, after you let her go upstairs and do what she pleases.”

A muffled yes came from the dining room. “Deal! You’re free to come out, Mama!”

“Thank God! I have to pee really bad.” You chuckled, kissing Sy, before scurrying out of your hiding place with him and started up the stairs, as you reached the top, you wondered where your middle child, Colt, was.

The seven year old was oddly missing in action the whole time the rest of you were battling and negotiating downstairs. As you reached the top, a cry filled the air, startling the life out of you, before a fury of Nerf darts peppered you all over.

“COLT!” You howled at the boy, dashing for your bedroom door and taking cover behind it.

“Colt Nero Syverson!” Sy’s voice called up the stairs. “You know the rules about firing upon your mother!”

“I’m sorry, Mama.” Colt’s soft voice whimpered in the dark to you. “I didn’t know it was you.”

“It’s fine, little man.” You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. “Just mind yourself.”

“Okay, Ma.” He smiled, ducking back into his hiding place; his room.

“Oh, this family.” You sighed again, closing the door and rushing for the en suite, tugging off your shoes as you went. “Ooo.” You cooed, enjoying the feeling of the icy tile on your bare, throbbing feet.

Bladder empty, you splashed some cool water in your face, then got out of your nursing scrubs, replacing them with a comfortable pair of shorts and a tank top. You laid down on your and Sy’s enormous bed, dozing off for a couple minutes before getting back up to fulfill the promises you made to Ada and Myles.

“Colt, I’m coming out, please don’t shoot me.” You called through the crack you opened in the bedroom door.

“Okay, Mama!” He called back.

Coming out of the room, you stood at the top of the stairs, but frowned and turned, heading down to Colt’s room. “What are you doing, buddy?” You asked, peeking around the doorframe, seeing he had made a little barricade and was hunkered down behind his bed. “Why haven’t you come down to challenge your dad, brother and sister?”

“Oh, I have, Ma!” He answered, his smile showing off the two front teeth he lost a month before. “I’m just waiting for the most opportune time to go back downstairs to finish off whoever is left.” He sat up on his bed a little more, eyeing you. “How many of them are left?”

You smirked at him, slyly. “You know I’m not allowed to give away information to someone, especially if I’m not teamed up with them, little man.”

“Poop.” He huffed, slapping his mattress and sitting back. “Do you wanna be on my team?” He asked, hopeful.

“Sadly, your Papa had to bargain me off to your brother for an hour, so I could go to the Lair and change.” You informed him, giving him a sympathetic smile. “But, how about this? When it’s bedtime, I’ll come and read to you, whatever you want.”

“Eragon!” He gasped, enthralled again.

“Deal.”

“Deal!”

“All right, wee man, if I don’t see you before then, I’ll see you at bed time.” You cooed at him.

You headed back downstairs, pausing on the middle landing. “I’m coming downstairs, don’t shoot!” You announced to Sy and Myles.

“All clear!” They both called back.

You joined them downstairs, finding them just as you left them.

“Mommy, can I be alive again?” Ada called to you from her spot behind the couch.

“Yes, love, I’m coming right now to fix your boo-boo.” You replied, crossing the entryway and leaned over her, placing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “There, sweet girl. All healed and alive again. Off you trot. Why don’t you watch a movie on your tablet, until bedtime?”

“Thanks, Mama!” She giggled, hugging your waist, then ran off.

With your daughter resurrected, you joined Myles in the dining room, and despite the soreness in your body, got under the table with him. “Just you, Colt and your Papa now, big man.” You told him, propping your head up on your hand. “Tough crowd.”

“But I got you, Mama.” Myles countered. “You can heal all my wounds.”

“Mm, that I can.” You nodded, casting your eyes past the table legs and made out Sy’s outline. “But, that’s about all the energy I’ve got for you. Bringing your sister back to life took a lot out of me. So, I can’t help you fight either of them.”

“That’s fine. I can finish them.”

You reached out and brushed your fingers through his tamed, black curls. “I have all the faith in the world in you, my sweet boy.” You cooed at him, lovingly.

“Moooom!” He groaned, rolling his eyes.

“Time’s wastin’, kid!” Sy called out.

“You stay here, mom. I’m gonna sneak around.” Myles said, wiggling back up the table towards the back entry of the kitchen.

“I’ll be here.” You replied, propping your head up on your hand, eyes drooping for a moment.

At least, you thought it was for a moment, until you felt a pair of strong hands grab your ankles and yanked you out from underneath the table, startling you awake from the nap you dozed into.

“Jesus.”

“Naw, just me, Angel.” Sy grinned, helping you up.

“Where’s Myles?” You asked, rubbing at the sleep in your eyes and noticing he wasn’t in his tactical gear anymore, but just a pair of shorts.

“Out cold in bed.” He answered, steadying you with his hands on your hips.

“But…” You frowned, glancing at the stairs over your shoulder.

“Colt came down not long after Myles tried sneaking around me through the kitchen.” Sy explained to you, a proud little glint in his blue eyes. “Took out both of us, the little rascal.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “We found you asleep and they understood you had a long day, and would spend time with them tomorrow, after they came home from school.”

You pressed your forehead against his chest. “What in the world would I do without you?” You cooed, sighing heavily.

“I don’t know what we would do without you.” He replied, encasing you in his muscular arms and resting his chin on top of your head, rocking gently. “Let’s go to bed, love.” He whispered, scooping you up off your sore feet and carried you upstairs, to bed.

You moaned softly, sinking into the mattress as Sy tossed the blankets over you and kissed your temple, before joining.

[viking-raider]

SALT IN OUR WOUNDS - CHAPTER V

Summary-> After being found out by the Patrol, you try to act the part, to lower the suspension on Gus's presence.

Pairing-> Gus March-Phillipps/Reader

Word Count-> 3.3k

Chapters-> I II III IV

Warnings-> PG-13: AU, Language, Deception, References to WWII, Use of the word Nazi.

Inspiration-> The one and only Chaos Major, Gus March-Phillipps.

Author’s Note-> This is a work of Fiction, pulled from my imagination.

Divider by->  @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

-> If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST as well as my @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’ Ao3-> DRAGON_DWELLER

With the officers gone, Gus helped you to your feet, gently cradling your arm in his hands to look at the steadily bruising print on your bicep. His brows creased, as anger at the officer's roughness with you filled him again and guilt for getting you into this mess consumed him. Laying a hand on his chest, you offered him a soft, reassuring smile, nodding your head slightly.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, tracing the edge of the bruise with his thumb.

"It's not your fault, Gus." You cooed, brows pinching slightly. "It's not like you walked up here and asked us to take you in, We-" You looked at Edmund, who nodded at him. "took you in because we knew it was the right thing to do."

"So, he's not a worker from another village?" Your father's skeptical tone asked, as he regarded the three of you from his chair.

Edmund sighed heavily, rubbing the side of his face. "No, Pops. He's not." He answered, having not liked lying to your father to start with, despite it being needed at the time. Now he was going to have to ask something just as difficult. "She found Gus injured on the beach the other day, and we brought him in, so Dr. Tremblay could treat his wound. I know we told you he was working for me." He explained, moving across to sit beside him. "Now, however, the Patrol, and Trottier, think that Gus is her fiancé. We need to keep that story going. At least, until he's well again and, either they leave the area, or Gus can get back to where he needs to be."

"Can you do that, Papa?" You asked, frowning down at him, concerned for his well-being in the matter, knowing it was a lot asking your father to make merry with a random man who was pretending to be your future husband.

"Well, I have no choice in the matter, do I?" Mael answered, rubbing his shaky hands over his knees. "The mission has already been set up for me by the three of you. I'm just here as support."

"I'll make it as short a mission as possible." Gus replied, giving him a serious, but respectful, expression. "One Major, to another." He added, with a knowing glint in his blue eyes.

"I'll hold you to it." Mael stated, giving him a hard look.

"I guess there's no reason to finish the project downstairs." Edmund commented, sitting at the kitchen table with you and Gus, hands cupped around a fresh mug of coffee.

"Oh, I don't know." You chimed in, setting your tea down. "I really could use some shelves down there." You smirked, giving him a teasing expression.

Edmund gave you a squinty eyed look. "Use some shelves." He parroted, tapping the rim of his cup with his index finger. "Down-stairs."

"Mmhm." You nodded, brows going up, and giggling as Edmund's eyes flickered to Gus. "What are you looking at him for?"

"Wondering if he can get his fiancé under control." Edmund quipped, finally raising the coffee to his mouth.

"Well, I always heard, 'happy wife, happy life'." Gus answered, shifting in his seat, and glancing over at you. "So, if more shelves make her happy." He shrugged his shoulders, a gentle smile on his lips.

"Just because you give her everything she wants, doesn't mean she'll be happy." Edmund replied, an almost sour edge in his voice.

"Are you trying to compare me to Willamena?" You asked, cocking an offended brow at him.

Edmund finished off his coffee and pushed his chair back. "No." He said curtly, standing and striding over to the door, jerking his coat off the hook on the wall beside it. "I'll be back later." He huffed, going out.

"Is he all right?" Gus asked, look to you.

"Edmund will be fine." You sighed, shaking your head. "He and Willa, his wife, haven't been happy together in a very long time. So, it's a sore subject for him." You explained, getting up to take your and Edmund's cups to the sink, but glanced up at the clock. "I have to go down to the shop. We don't have anything for dinner in the refrigerator and I have to see when Remi wants me to work another shift."

"Is it far?" He inquired, coming up behind you and setting his own mug in the sink.

"No." You shook your head, biting your lip as you felt his intense warmth against your back. "Maybe a two minute walk."

"Why don't I go with you?" Gus suggested, cocking his head and smiling at you.

"Do you think you can manage with your wound?" You asked, a bit apprehensive. "I don't want you to over-extend yourself."

Gus's smile brightened and he reached out to squeeze your hand. "I'll be fine, I promise." He assured you, his thumb rubbing your wrist. "I could use the fresh air and sunshine. Plus, it'll help deter any of the Patrol, instead of making them more paranoid, if I stay inside a hundred percent of the time."

"You're right." You nodded, biting your lip, having not thought of what the Patrol would think of Gus staying hidden. "I'll get my shoes and something to wrap up in." You told him, before giving his hand a gentle pressure back.

"I'll wait for you here."

He let go of your hand and moved out of the way. Your cheeks felt warm as you hurried upstairs to grab your cardigan off the back of a chair in your room, pausing to fix your hair in the mirrored back of your vanity and spritz a bit of Soir de Paris. But you stopped, feeling silly.

"Acting like this is a date." You sighed, flustered, plopping down on your chair. fishing your shoes out from under the vanity and securing the buckles. "All right, I'm ready to go." You declared, coming back downstairs, finding Gus patiently waiting for you by the door.

"As am I." He answered, tipping his head politely, while pulling open the door.

"You mind her, Major." Mael called out to Gus, leaning forward in his chair to catch his eye.

"I would think of nothing less." Gus assured him, meeting your father's eye confidently. "I am her fiancé, after all." He quipped, with a wink, then followed you out. "Do we hold hands?" He asked, looking at you, but felt his heart kick at your startled reaction. "I'm only teasing you." He said softly, biting his lip.

"I know." You squeaked, flustered, before catching sight of your sister-in-law coming out of her home across the way. "Oh, that's Willa." You mumbled to Gus, before lifting your arm and waving to her.

"Morning, Willa!" You greeted her, grinning pleasantly.

Willa stared over at you and Gus, pulling a Rose-Tip out of her engraved case and her sky-blue enamel guilloche, sterling silver lighter from the front pocket of her knitted jumper. She didn't return your pleasant acknowledgement, instead lit her cigarette in a smooth and indifferent motion, eyes never moving off the two of you. Gus frowned, cocking a brow at her as he studied her standoffish demeanor; puzzled. She was just anti-social or if she was being rude.

"What’s her issue?" He asked you, his own eyes never leaving Willa.

"She's fine." You answered, sighing at your sister-in-law, your heart yearning to have a connection with her.

You had been excited upon hearing about Edmund courting someone; finally having another woman in the house to talk to, to share in the chores and just confide things to. Things you couldn't do with your father and brother.

However, from the moment you met, Willamena Badeaux had been distant from you.

She wasn't cold, per se, but she hadn't opened up with you either. Willa had been the first female in your close and personal circle, outside of the couple of elderly church ladies that would come over during the day. They would cook meals, clean the house, wash the laundry and just make sure you, Edmund and your father were well taken care of. After your mother had run off with her lover, the assistant shop clerk of the grocery store she frequented on her shopping trips. Which several of you figured were excuses to go and meet up with him; so she could cheat on your poor father.

But, the church women never went out of their way to be motherly or be a true confidant for you. Their love and friendship was out of pity. You were the little girl of a harlot and a mentally broken man, who could barely manage a job, dropping that weight onto his teenage son. So, when Willa came into the picture, you thought you would have a sister, not only to do sisterly things with, but to also learn how to be a woman. That's obviously not how it turned out.

She only came over to the house, if Edmund urged her to. She only held a conversation with you, if you were the one to start it and spurred it to keep going, otherwise she only spoke to Edmund or sat quietly. It only got worse, when the two of them married and moved into the cottage across the street from you and your father. Willa rarely came over for family dinners, meals you were still solely cooking for the four of you. Only occasionally getting a home cooked meal from her, after she and Edmund quarreled over her not performing her wifely duties and dropping the chores of two houses on you. As if you were their maid.

Part of you was sure, Willa detached from you, because she had been under the assumption Edmund only married her to be a mother figure to you. Not because he had been, once upon a time, madly in love with her.

"Do you need anything from the shop, Willa?" You asked, pulling yourself from sinking deeper into that emotional hole. "Gus and I are popping down there now." You explained, raising a hand and motioning to him, casually.

She stared at you for a long minute, before holding up her case, the sunlight glinting off the engraved bronze and mother of pearl. Nodding that you got the hint, you turned and started towards the center of town, with Gus following beside you. The sun was warm, heating the both of you, as well as the modest homes and buildings that lined the street, all converging on the limestone fountain round-a-bout in the middle of Saint-Thurney, spraying an arch of water from the top; a rainbow sparkling in the mist.

"This is really quite a quaint town." Gus commented, glancing about, following you across the sleepy street.

"It is." You replied, smiling up at him, proud of your little adoptive home. "It's almost like we're somewhere else entirely, instead of such a bustling and chaotic world." You told him, always feeling a sense of peace while in Saint-Thurney, even with a World War being waged around you and the town being occupied.

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be." You added softly, stopping beside Remi's General Store. "This is the place!" You declared, waving your hand at the store's front windows, plastered with advertisements for goods he sold inside, several crate displays lined the bottom of one window. "You'll like Remi, he's super sweet." You smiled, reaching out for the door handle, only to have Gus beat you to it.

"Allow me." He purred, pulling it open and standing aside, for you to go in first. "Only proper for your fiancé to open it for you."

You gulped, biting the inside of your lip. "Right." You nodded, clearing your throat. "You're right."

Composing yourself, you went inside, finding Remi at the only register with one of the residents, Mrs. Moulin, the Mayor's wife. They looked up at you and smiled, before their expressions twisted into apprehensive confusion, spotting Gus coming in behind you.

"Morning, Remi. Mrs. Moulin." You greeted them cheerily, while trying to keep casual, like there was nothing out of the ordinary for Gus to be there with you.

"Good morning." Mrs. Moulin addressed you, her eyes still on Gus, as if she expected him to lash out at everyone.

"Who is this?" Remi asked, ignoring his manners, unlike her.

"This is Gus." You grinned brightly, looking back at him and your breath catching in your throat at the feeling of him taking your hand. "He's my fiancé." You declared, heart racing in your chest.

Both Remi and Mrs. Moulin looked floored at the announcement, particularly Remi, who you had worked for for several years and knew you'd never mentioned having a male suitor. Let alone a fiancé! So, selling Remi on Gus being your betrothed was going to be one of the other hurdles you faced, on top of the Patrol and Director General.

"When did this happen?" Remi snapped, dumbfounded and looking almost outraged. "You never mentioned anything!"

Gus rested his free hand on the small of your back, his eyes taking the other man in, sizing him up. "Keeping me your own little secret, Peanut?" He asked, a sparkle coming into his eyes as he looked at you, bashfully.

A zing shot through you, hearing him call by your nickname, your skin breaking out in goosebumps. "I have been." You smirked, bashfully turning your face into his bicep.

"How did the two of you meet?" Remi asked, continuing his interrogation.

"We knew each other from before she moved here." Gus answered, surprising you on how casually he came up with the fabricated detail. "I reached out to her just after I enlisted, and well, I proposed to her a year ago." He stated, smiling at you and caressing your back with his thumb. "Thankfully, she said, yes."

"Would you have gotten yourself shot sooner, if I said no?" You teased him back, getting lost in the moment.

Gus grinned at you, amused, but he felt something deeper. "Definitely." He nodded slowly, his blue eyes soft.

Mrs. Moulin gasped, crossing herself. "You were shot?"

"Yes, madam. I was." Gus replied, tipping his head politely to her. "That's the reason I'm here, and not back in Belgium; fighting." He stated, lightly touching his wound. "This lovely gem is taking care of me." He cooed, touching his thumb to your chin with a wink, making your knees a little weak.

"I thank you, sir." Mrs. Moulin said, straighten her petite body, then glanced around the group. "Fighting those damn Nazis."

Your mouth fell open, surprised to hear the ordinarily prim and proper lady, curse. "Mrs. Moulin." You mumbled, in a state of shock.

"Well, it's true!" She huffed at you, gathering up her grocery bags. "I'm sick of them being in my town, marching about, like they own it."

"I'd be careful with what you say, Mrs. Moulin." Remi warned, as she moved for the door. "You never know who you can trust." He said, eyeing Gus.

"Luckily, everyone here is trustworthy." You chimed, with confused surprise. "Have a good day, Mrs. Moulin. Say hello to the Mayor for me."

"Oh, I will, my dear." She answered, reaching out to rest her hand on your arm, looking between you and Gus. "You make a beautiful couple. You must let my brother, Zane, marry you when the time comes." She said, with a sweet smile.

Your cheeks blazed at her words. "We'll put him at the top of consideration." You promised her, offering her your own soft smile.

"Good." She nodded, patting your arm and gave Gus a cheeky wink, before scuttling out the door.

"Do I have a shift this week, Rem?" You asked, turning your attention back to your boss, who hadn't taken his judging eyes off of you.

"I haven't gone over the schedule yet this week." He answered, gruffly. "So, I'll have to let you know."

"All right." You nodded, feeling the cold coming off of him in waves. "Well, I have a bit of shopping to do for the house." You said, trying to shrug it off as Remi's reluctance to trust with the uncertainty of war, having lost both his brothers.

Gus stepped away from you, to grab a small hand basket from the stack by the door, holding it for you as you puttered around the modest aisles and freezers, grabbing a few items and placing them in the basket.

"Everything is so bare." He commented, watching you grab a box of oatmeal, only one of four on the scarce shelf.

"We're being rationed." You replied, sighing as you tucked a box of dry pasta in with the rest of your groceries. "Remi only gets a shipment of things once a week to stock the shelves. If you want something and don't get here early enough for it..." You trailed off, shrugging your shoulders dismissively.

“Suppose, being enlisted for so long, I’ve been a bit blind to the tribulations of civilians.” Gus frowned, his brow creasing heavily. “Not that I didn’t know about rationing. I just didn’t…” He shook his head, a hardness coming into his blue eyes. “Damned Nazis.” He growled, rolling his jaw.

You rested your hand on his elbow, looking up at him with a soft expression. “It is what it is, Gus.” You told him, quietly. “But it will change. We’ll beat them and everything will go back to how it should.”

“As it should.” He echoed, meeting your eye for a long moment.

What will happen after the War ends? No matter who wins. I’ll have to go back to the Army. I’ll have to leave her. Could I come back after my service? Would you want me to come back? Could I…

He shook his head hard, trying to shove the thoughts away. It was delusional to think such things, he was getting too involved and attached. He needed to keep a barrier between the two of you, to protect you against the danger he presented as an officer of the British Army.

“Well, what’s for dinner?” He asked, forcing that wall back up and peeking into the basket he carried for you.

“Um..” You cocked a brow at the basket’s contents taking stock of it and what you knew was at home. “I could make a simple stew. Wouldn’t be too much, but it would be something in our bellies.”

“I have faith in your cooking abilities.” Gus smiled, the sparkle coming back into his eyes.

“Kind of you.” You giggled shyly. “I think that's about all we need.” You said, biting your lip and glancing about the modest shop. “We can get rung up.” You smiled, heading towards Remi at the register. “How’s your Mum, Rem?” You asked, as he slowly added up everything in your basket.

Remi’s mother had suffered great shock at the loss of her two older sons, Duncan and Andre, who had enlisted and been shipped off to the thick of the war. Duncan had died in the Battle of Crete, taking shrapnel that nicked a serious artery and bled to death before anyone could do anything for him. The most tragic though, was Andre. His squad was ambushed by a German one and overtaken. It had been a hard time for many in the town, when they received the telegraph informing them of Andre officially being MIA. Every time Remi’s mother was seen, she was balling her eyes out and lamenting, prophesying that he too would die as her oldest did.

Two months later though, another telegraph arrived informing them that Andre had been found alive, but being held in a German Prisoner of War camp. His mother was relieved to hear he was alive, however she was still devastated to hear of his situation. Andre survived for a while in the camp. Two whole years, to be exact. But the fated telegraph ultimately arrived, one blustery day, and practically the entire town heard her screaming.

So, in that sense, you and Remi had developed a friendship based on an understanding of parents with mental health issues, inflicted by wars in some way.

“She’s doing all right.” Remi answered, not looking up from his task.

You blinked at him, ordinarily he would elaborate on how his mother was doing when you asked, even if nothing had changed about her. But you realized quickly where his reluctance came from, feeling Gus shift beside you.

Men. You rolled your eyes.

“Can I have Willa’s usual as well?” You asked, ignoring the thick air between Gus and Remi.

“Sure.” Remi nodded, half turning on his heels to grab the red and white, Rose Tip box and tucked it into the bag. “I’ll put this on your tab.” He said, setting it in your reach.

“Thanks.” You smiled uneasily at him, as Gus scooped the bag up and tucked it carefully against his good side. “I’ll check in with you tomorrow.” You told him, before leaving the shop and tracing your steps back home.

“What’s wrong?” Gus inquired, glancing down at you.

“Nothing.” You informed him, licking your lips and shaking your head. “Guess he’s just having a rough day.” You brushed it off.

Gus moved out of the cellar and into the cramped guest room upstairs, nothing separating the two of you now, but the wall of your closet. The two of you agreed it was much more agreeable to have him there than the cellar in the event the Patrol and the Inspector returned. They know doubt would, their suspension of Gus was all too obvious. It would also be more comfortable for him in the guestroom, giving him a softer bed, the luxury of sunlight and fresh air from the window that overlooked the back garden. As well as the beach, beyond the garden wall.

But as Gus healed and regained his strength again, he knew he had to find a way back to his men, and the war. He had to find out what happened to his men, if they were still alive. How he was to do that, was another matter altogether.

The last thing he recalled of the group was infiltrating a Nazi Intelligence Camp to rescue one of their own, Geoffrey Appleyard. They had gotten into the camp and things had gone well. He and his second hand man, Anders Lassen, moved smoothly together before nodding at each other and Gus looked back to Henry Hayes, jerking his head for the younger man to follow him. They moved swiftly through the camp, taking Nazis out left and right and making the camp practically useless for any that tried to use it again; with Freddy Alvarez setting up a plethora of explosives as a finishing touch.

Gus was proud of his men. No one had been seriously injured, beyond a handful of scratches. It had been one of their best in and out missions in the two years the unofficial, rag-tag group had been put together. That alone should have given Gus a measure of paranoia.

Missions should never go so easily.

The shot rang out and everyone in the group tensed, the jolly celebration that filled them instantly vanished as they dropped their looted goods and scrambled for their weapons, pulling out guns and bows. Gus hated being caught by surprise, especially by damned Nazis. He gritted his teeth, returning fire, while trying to assess the situation. They were a mile and a half from shore, where their boat was waiting to take them back to the safety of Allied Lines. There was a sparse covering of forest between them and their extraction point, that could give them some shelter. As much as Gus March-Phillippss hated being surprised, he hated running. But hearing Anders call out that there were too many and ammo was running low, Gus gave the signal to retreat to the boat, taking up the rear to ensure none of his men lagged behind.

It was him that lagged behind.

He felt the hot burn of lead piercing his side, faltering only momentarily, his eyes focused on the back of Lassen’s head, breath from his lungs starting to wheeze in his throat and his vision spot. Gus’s memory skipped in and out from there, like a scratched record. Spotting the boat ahead of the group and urging them forward, the heat of blood soaking into his clothing and his knees feeling like jelly. He couldn’t recall if he made it to or onto the boat with the others, then somehow fell overboard, or something more happened.

There were dark bits lurking in his mind of freezing cold enveloping him, no doubt of him in the Channel.

“Your father’s very into following the movements of the War.” Gus said one morning, sipping a cup of coffee as the two of you finished breakfast.

“He is.” You nodded.

“Does he only follow the major events or…” He trailed off, meeting your eye.

“No, he follows whatever is reported on or gossiped about in newspapers and the radio.” You replied, sensing his intent and sudden interest in your father’s hobby. “Why?” You asked, cautiously.

“I need to know what happened to my men.” Gus told you, bluntly and honestly. “I have to know if they’re still alive, dead or in prisoner of war camps. Perhaps your father has some information that could be useful to me, on that front.”

“How?” You shook your head, confused.

“I was injured during a mission.” He divulged to you, in a low voice. “It wasn’t an official or authorized mission, but there might be a possibility of it being reported on.” He cast an eye over his shoulder to the sitting room, where your father lounged in his usual spot. “Do you think he’d discuss it with me?”

You snorted at him and lifted your tea cup to your lips. “Do I think so? It’s more a matter of getting him to quit, once you get him going.” You said, taking a deep gulp of the rich, brown liquid. “But, yes.” You nodded, assuring him. “I’m sure my father would likely share any information he has on the War with you. Just wait until later in the morning. He likes to nap after breakfast, and he’ll be more receptive and energetic about the subject.”

“Excellent.” Gus smiled, patting your arm. “Would you like to go on a walk with me, to pass the time?”

“I think that would be quite agreeable.” You cooed, finishing off your tea.

[viking-raider-taglist]

Tag Team: @littlefreya / @omgkatinka / @beck07990 / @luxeydior / @alexakeyloveloki / @juliaorpll78 / @thereisa8ella / @summersong69 / @rielee / @happydistraction / @lola2004sworld / @bbcoraline / @winter2112rose / @mandyhanford / @identity2212 / @needmorereading

I'll be posting it up on Ao3 later today <3

[viking-raider]

Salt in Our Wounds - CHAPTER IV

Summary-> Gus is healing and moving about. However, nothing is sunshine around the house.

Pairing-> Gus March-Phillipps/Reader

Word Count-> 3.3k

Chapters-> I II III

Warnings-> PG-13: Language, Deception, References to WWII

Inspiration-> The one and only Chaos Major, Gus March-Phillipps.

Author’s Note-> I hope you enjoy! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

-> If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST as well as my @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’ Ao3-> DRAGON_DWELLER

“You told our father what?” Edmund barked, as you met him outside the cottage, the next morning.

You had peeked out the window for him, ever since you woke.

“Well,” You sighed, closing your eyes for a moment. “It was Gus that thought on his feet and told Papa that he was working with you on things around the house.” You repeat yourself, licking your lips. “We had to tell him something, when he found Gus coming out of the bathroom, after his shower.”

Edmund carded a hand through his hair and paced on the small porch. “So, you told him that Gus was a carpenter from another village, who's come over to help me put up shelves in the basement and do repairs around the cottage?”

“Yes.” You nodded, fidgeting. “What else were we to tell him, Eddie? I just opened the front door and grabbed some random man off the street, who looked as if he needed a shower?” You huffed, a tad frustrated.

“No.” He sighed, waving his hand, a tired expression coming over his face. “No, the two of you did the right thing. I suppose it's just as good an excuse to explain him to Pops than any other.” He exhaled again and stopped pacing. “Right well, is the man handy with a hammer or saw?”

“I haven't the slightest clue.”

“I'll find out.” Edmund replied, motioning you both inside and found Gus sitting at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of coffee and reading his book.

Edmund looked at you with a lifted brow and you gave him a look that said, why not, since your father knew he was there, making your brother roll his eyes.

“Good morning, Edmund.” Gus greeted him, setting his book down.

“Morning.” He answered, narrowing his eyes at the other man, sitting nonchalantly at the table. “Are you ready to work today?” He asked, squaring his shoulders.

“I am.” Gus answered, taking a gulp of his coffee, unphased.

“Not before the two of you eat breakfast.” You spoke up, pulling your apron on. “So, park yourself at the table.” You ordered Edmund, pointing to the chair across from Gus, defusing the brewing cloud of male bravado.

Sighing, Edmund pulled the chair out and plopped into it, giving you a short nod as you set a steaming cup of coffee down in front of him. Blowing gently on it, he stared across at Gus, who had returned to his book, but felt the other man's eyes on him and lifted a brow over the top of his page. Edmund cocked a brow back at him.

“So, Gus.” Your father called out from the sitting room, having kept his own eye on him since Gus appeared upstairs.

“Yes, sir?” Gus answered, respectfully setting his book down again and tilting slightly to the side to give Mael his attention.

“Why aren't you fighting in the War?”

“Papa!” You gasped, head jerking in his direction, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. “That's rude.” You whined at him, frowning.

“It's all right.” Gus replied, smiling sweetly at you. “I don't mind.” He assured you, then looked back at Mael. “I'm a Conscientious Objector, being Evangelical.” He explained to him, causally.

Mael stared at Gus for a long while, fluttering and tapping the pencil between his fingers against his map. The sizzle of hotcake batter on the red-hot griddle and the bubble of the percolator on the counter filling the quiet space, as no one spoke. Finally, Edmund grunted, shrugging his shoulders and taking another sip of his coffee, putting the atmosphere back into some reasonable balance.

“At least, he's not a deserter or a Nazi.” Edmund commented, putting his coffee cup down and picking up the newspaper you'd set on the table.

“Exactly.” You trumpeted, nodding your head, a tingle of relief running through you, turning back to the griddle to flip the hotcakes. “How many cakes do you want, Papa?” You asked, shoveling the steaming rounds onto a serving plate.

“Three, Peanut.” He answered, still tapping his pencil, but his eyes had shifted to the uneven hardwood floor.

Nodding, you shifted three over onto his plate, before taking up a knife and cutting another in half, adding one half with his three, knowing sometimes three weren't enough, but four could be too much for him.

“Boys?” You called over your shoulder, cracking an egg onto the griddle, beside the two fresh pools of batter.

“Four, please.” Gus chimed, turning a page.

“Same.” Edmund replied, squinting at the small print of the article he was trying to read.

Humming to yourself, you finished cooking up the batter and made everyone an egg, before doling out plates. Everyone had just dug in, when a knock sounded on the door. You and Edmund tensed, eyeing each other, a silent conversation going between you.

“Don't be rude!” Mael huffed around a mouthful of food.

Sighing, you stood up and answered it, finding Dr. Tremblay on your doorstep, black bag in hand, a flood of relief washing over you.

“Oh! Good morning, Dr. Tremblay.” You greeted him, glancing behind you to Gus and Edmund.

“Good morning, mon chéri.” Tremblay smiled at you, kissing your cheek and glancing into the house and spotting Gus at the table, enjoying his breakfast. “I see my patient is feeling better.” He commented, lifting a bushy white brow.

“He is.” You nodded, stepping to the side. “Please, come in. Would you like some coffee or tea?” You asked, biting your lip nervously.

“Tea would be nice, oui.” Dr. Tremblay answered, setting his bag on the table.

Edmund looked at the respected senior and cocked a brow over his shoulder to his father, hoping to indicate not speaking of Gus's injury and real purpose in the house. Tremblay returned a squinty eyed glare, just as you set down his cup of tea, making you chuckle at the two of them.

“What's brought you over so early, Sacha?” Mael asked, forking a hotcake into his mouth, but his eyes were cast over the table.

“Oh,” Tremblay waved his hand dismissively, before reaching out for the sugar pot in the center of the table, dropping two granular, ivory cubes into his teacup. “I came to check up on Edmund.” He replied, looking at your brother with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Heard from Thom that he might need a new pair of glasses. So, I've come to take some measurements.” He said, patting his bag, still sitting on the table.

“You didn't mention anything about that, Ed.” Your father croaked, looking a bit alarmed.

“I didn't want to burden you with it, Pops.” Edmund answered, squeezing the handle of his fork. “No worries though. Doc has it under control.” He grunted, eyes shifting over to Gus.

Everyone finished their breakfast and Edmund showed Tremblay upstairs, under the guise of looking at his eyes in privacy, while Gus excused himself to the bathroom, following the two of them upstairs. You fret a little bit, picking up the dishes from the table and putting them in the sink, the feeling anxious of not knowing if Gus's wound was healing right or if he needed the antibiotics anymore. You wanted to go upstairs and join them. But knew if you did, your father would likely get more suspicious.

“Are we going to take our usual Sunday afternoon stroll around the garden today, Papa?” You asked, putting a plate on the drying rack.

“I'll see how I feel come time, Peanut.” Mael replied, leaning against the arm of his chair to catch every word the radio presenter was saying.

Nodding, you pulled out the mop bucket and carried it out to the garden, using the garden hose to fill it. Leaning against the wall beside the door, you looked up at the morning sky, steely with angry looking, iron-gray clouds drifting by overhead. You drew in a deep breath, filling your nostrils with the cool and salty scent of the sea, but it also had the faint snap of the ozone, the possible threat of chubby raindrops.

“Well, it looks like my nurse took excellent care of me.” Gus's voice chimed in your ear, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Your wound is all right?” You asked, casting your eyes up to his.

“Yes, ma'am.” He smiled, filling the doorway. “Healing nicely and should have the stitches out in no time.” He assured you, lifting his jumper a little to show you. “I also don't need any more shots! Which I am thankful for!” He chuckled, but looked at you quickly. “Not that you weren't good at administering them!”

“Oh no!” You giggled, cheeks warm with embarrassment and relief. “I'm just as glad as you are! I would have much preferred Dr. Tremblay make you take the antibiotic by mouth! The idea of sticking you, or anyone, with a needle is frightening. I'm surprised I didn't wound you further in the process.”

Gus smirked, glancing down at his boots. “I doubt you could have. I have thighs the size of tree trunks.” He remarked, biting his lip for a moment. “Your bucket!” He gasped, catching sight of the water spilling over the side.

“Oh shoot!” You snapped, twisting the nozzle off and letting out a sigh.

“I'm sorry, I distracted you.” Gus apologized, watching you tip the bucket slightly to let out the excess water.

“It's all right. I should have been paying attention.” You shrugged, grabbing the handle.

“Here, I'll carry it in for you.” He offered, replacing your hand with his at the handle.

You brushed a loose lock of hair behind your ear and watched him take it inside, before shaking your head, as if to snap yourself out of something, and followed him back inside. “You can put it right there.” You instructed him, going under the sink to grab the bottle of fairy liquid. “Are you going to help my brother?” You asked in a hushed voice, pouring some of the washing up solution in the water, while glancing over at your father, who had dozed off.

“I don't know.” Gus replied, a crease forming between his brows. “I'm not sure your brother is too fond of me.”

“Edmund is...” You sighed, resting your hands on your hips. “Edmund tends to be guarded. Many relationships in his life haven't panned out. With our mother leaving us and his wife—well, Willa has big dreams. She feels have been held back and blames him for that, by keeping them here in Saint-Thurney. So, sometimes, even when he does like someone, he gives them the cold shoulder.”

“He's waiting for the boot to drop.” He nodded, understanding.

“Exactly.” You hummed, grabbing the mop and dripping it into the soapy bucket. “Now, you need to skitter off my kitchen floor, so I can wash it.” You ordered, shooing him.

“Yes, ma'am.” Gus laughed, swiping his book off the kitchen table, gave you a grinning salute and made for the basement, casting one more look back at you, smirking as you started scrubbing the floor. “Do you want any help?” He asked, finding Edmund framing up the shelves against the cellar wall.

Edmund paused, a nail clamped between his lips, bracing his elbow against the board he was nailing, he took the one out of his mouth, answering. “Are you any good at building things?”

“I find my way around a saw, hammer and a nail.” Gus replied, looking around at Edmund's spread-out supplies. “Just tell me what you want done with them.”

“All right.” Edmund nodded, cocking a brow at him. “I need a few more boards cut. I already have them marked to length. You can do that for me.”

“Sure thing, Captain.” Gus replied, going into his makeshift room to set his book down. “What?” He asked the other man's look, lifting one of the pre-marked boards onto the sawhorses, finding the pencil measurements and grabbing the saw that rested against the leg beside him.

“Don't call me that.” Edmund growled, an angry glare in his eyes.

Gus held his gaze for a moment, a faint smirk on his lips. “My apologies.”

The two of them nodded at each other, then turned back to their work.

There was no afternoon walk to be had, the dark clouds from that morning broke open and saturated everything outside, shutting in the residents of Saint-Thurney. Your father continued to doze in his chair, unbothered by the weather pattering the roof like a percussion symphony. Gus and Edmund were still down in the basement, hard at work, coming up periodically for bathroom breaks and refreshments, and you sat at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of tea and getting lost in the world of Oliver Twist.

You paused, bringing your teacup to your lips and cast your eyes to the window by the door, sure you had heard something outside, above the rain and carpentry. But saw nothing and shrugged, taking your sip and set the cup down, returning to your sentence. However, a few moments later, you swore you heard it again; putting you on edge.

“Edmund!” You called out, slowly setting your book down, the hairs at the back of your neck began to stand up. You gasped, seeing three men flash by the window. “Edmund!” You shouted, startling your father awake, his eyes wide with panicked alarm.

A thunder of furious pounding sounded on the front door accompanied Edmund and Gus's boots stomping up the basement stairs, frantic and confused. You had rushed over to your father, in an attempt to calm him before he slipped into an episode of shock.

“It's the Patrol!” You cried, rubbing your father's back, eyes trained on the vibrating door, a stream of German demands now being shouted with their banging, mixed with accented French and English.

“Damn my eyes.” Edmund growled, gritting his teeth. “They must be doing random searches, thinking they can catch everyone inside with the weather.” He huffed, wiping at his sweaty brow and glancing at Gus, who seemed startling calm, but tense.

“We have to let them in!” You urged your brother, not liking how angry the Patrol sounded and knowing the longer you waited, the worse it would be.

“I know!” Edmund barked sharply, the gears in his brain spinning for a split second longer, before he took a long step forward and yanked the door open. “What's the meaning of this!? Are you trying to wake the dead?” He demanded, looking the three German Patrol officers over, the Sturmführer was red faced, and all of them were dripping from being forced to wait so long in the rain, for an answer.

“Inspections!” He snapped in Edmund's face, a small bit of spit hanging from his bottom lip.

“Yes, fine!” Edmund replied, rolling his eyes and shoving the door open.

No one moved as the three officers entered the cozy cottage. Your hand shook as it rested on your father's shoulder, periodically massaging it when you felt him tremble, still on the edge of a possible attack from his Shell Shock. Edmund eyed them from his place by the door, sweaty hands clenched into fists as he watched them conduct their inspections. More like a path of intrusive destruction. They yanked books off shelves, opened cabinets and tossed out their contents, pushed over furniture for amusement.

Even nicked things, when they thought the owners weren't looking.

Mael leaned forward slightly, mumbling to himself, causing you to frown. You tried to kneel down to bring your ear close to his mouth and listen to what he was saying, worried for him, but were stopped by one of the officers. He grabbed you roughly by the arm and yanked you up, barking something at you in German that you didn't understand.

“Please, he's not well!” You protested, tugging against him, desperate to care for your father before he slipped too far.

“Nein, bleib, Hexe!” He barked at you, making you cry out, his grasp tightening.

Before Edmund could blink, Gus was halfway across the kitchen, trained on the German holding you, like a bull seeing red. Snarling, with nostrils flaring, Gus twisted his fist in the officer's uniform and yanked them together. Forcing the other man up onto the tip-toes of his black polished boots in the process.

“Let her go!” He barked, giving him a good shake, for effect.

Startled, he let go, you tumbled to the floor at their feet, and rubbed at the burning handprint that was left behind. The air in the cottage thickened dramatically. One of the officer's comrades came rushing in from the garden, hearing the commotion, and fumbled for his sidearm. While their leader came flying downstairs.

“What is this!” The commanding officer demanded, glaring at Gus as he continued to hold his subordinate. “Put my officer down! At once!” He ordered, when Gus didn't move, showing no fear or reluctance towards the three of them, unlike you, Edmund or your father. “Who is this man?” He barked, looking between your brother and father.

“Answer me, at once!” He screamed, face turning red again. “Or I'll have him shot!”

“No!” You cried out, frightened. “Gus, let him go!” You begged him, pulling on his pant leg, desperately. “I'm fine, please!”

“Answer!” The officer growled at the lot of you, his limited patience wearing thin. “Oswin!” He hissed at his officer, who was now pointing his Walther p38 at Gus. “Shoot him!” He ordered, with a hard jerk of his head.

“He's my sister's fiancé!” Edmund blurted out, as Oswin pulled the pistol's slide back, his eyes wild in the heat of the moment, before collecting himself and saying more calmly. “He's just my sister's fiancé.” He gulped, meeting your eye as you looked up at him, stunned, and caught off guard by the omission.

“What man wouldn't protect his betrothed?” He asked the Storm Leader, moving his eyes to Gus.

“A lesser man.” Gus replied, taking the cue, then looked at the commanding officer. “And I'm not a lesser man, to have your filthy runt put his hands on my girl.” He growled, shoving the man away.

“Why have we not seen you before?” He demanded, looking Gus over.

“He was serving, but just returned home, after being wounded.” You explained to him, looking up at Gus. It was the easiest bit of information to give, for them to believe, Gus could show them his wound.

“Is that so?” The officer asked, cocking a brow.

“It is.” Gus answered, pulling up his jumper to show them his bullet wound. “I was wounded in Belgium and discharged. So, I came here to be with her and recover.”

“Can anyone other than those here confirm your story?” He asked, narrowing his eyes at the lot of you.

“Yes.” Edmund chimed in, feeling like the situation was on decent grounds. “Dr. Sacha Tremblay. He's been doctoring his wound since he's been back.”

“I will be checking and informing the Director General.” The Storm Leader warned the three of you, and the look in his eyes hinted at his misgiving, waiting for one of you to crack.

“Very well.” Edmund answered, his tone bland, shrugging one shoulder.

The senior officer stared the three of you down for a second longer, before looking to his men, inquiring in German if they had found anything. But the two replied in the negative. There was no contraband or anything that could get any of you in trouble as collaborators to the French Resistance or Allied Powers. Despite Gus standing right there in front of them, plain as day.

Whether they knew that or thought they had enough evidence to take you in, was another story entirely.

[viking-raider]

Two Hearts - Cotton Candy Goodness

Summary-> It's a special Valentine's Day for you and Henry.

Pairing-> Henry Cavill/Reader

Word Count-> 1.4k

Warnings-> G: Fluff, Language, just two nerds in love

Inspiration-> V-Day!

Author’s Note-> It's stupid late!

-> Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS! -> If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST as well as my @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’ Ao3-> DRAGON_DWELLER

“Perfect!”

Henry smiled as he sprinkled a few more white rose petals amongst the red that dusted the grass of the backyard of the Dorking mini-mansion he shared with you and Kal.

“Kal, quit trying to eat them!” He scolded the Bear. “You have to leave some for the surprise.” He sighed, brushing a hand through his curls and looking at all the work he put in with the trail of red and white petals, outlined with twinkling LED tealights, that led from the open back doors of the house into a heart shape underneath the gazebo, where you usually relaxed during the cool or warm, English days to grill, practice lines or Henry keep his sword skills sharp.

However, the sound of an engine coming up the driveway startled Henry back into action, a nervous panic filling his stomach as he dashed back into the house. Hiding the leftover petals, he took a deep breath, settling himself, before greeting you in the foyer as you came through the door.

“Hey, babe.” He beamed, taking your purse and coat. “How was your spa appointment?” He asked, putting them away, antsy and hoping you didn't suspect anything.

“It was positively lovely!” You answered, toeing your shoes off. “The full body, exfoliating massage with hot stones was pure bliss, and we may need to invest in getting our own vitality pool.” You smiled up at him, your whole body still feeling tingly, limp noodle, in all the right ways and places.

“I'm glad I booked you the correct treatment, then.” Henry purred, hooking an arm around your waist to pull you into a sweet kiss. “But, I have one more surprise for you.” He confessed against your lips.

“Really?” You frowned up at him. “I haven't given you any of yours yet.” You commented, hugging your arms around his waist.

“What could you possibly give me that I don't already have and need?” He asked, blue eyes soft and soulful.

“Oh, there's many things to come in our future, Henry Cavill.” You giggled, pushing up on your toes to kiss his stubbly jaw, then broke free from him, scurrying away upstairs to your office, a sacred place Henry never tread unless you were there.

Making it the perfect hiding spot for anything you wanted to keep Henry's paws off of.

Plucking up a cute Valentine's day gift bag, you returned downstairs to find your boyfriend patiently waiting for you. “Happy Valentine's Day, Puppy.” You smiled, handing it over with a giddy excitement.

“Thank you, Dove.” He winked, crossing the foyer for the den, plopping down into his gaming chair and removing the red tissue paper. “Holy!” He gasped, eyes flaring as his blue orbs were greeted with the bag's contents. “Babe!” He snapped, pulling out the latest GeForce RTX graphics card. “I've been trying to get this for weeks, but it's been sold out!” He looked up at you, mouth hanging open.

“How?”

“I sold what was left of my soul.” You chuckled, grinning, having listened to Henry's laments every time he checked for the card to be in stock. “I had my dad watch the site virtually around the clock, with my bank info, and the instructions to buy it the moment it came into stock.” You bit your lip and looked so guilty. “I confess, the card has been in the house for like two weeks.”

“You've had the holy grail of graphics cards in the house for two weeks?” Henry whispered, stunned. “I've been sleeping in the same space as it.” He grunted, shaking his head, gently setting it on his computer desk. “I'm canceling your gifts.”

You laughed, slapping him on the shoulder. “No, you're not! There's one more.”

“I'll think about it.” He replied, narrowing his eyes as he dived a hand back into the bag, feeling around, until he caught the edge of an envelope. “What's this?” He frowned, opening the flap to discover a single swath of fabric.

“You know, how we started your family tree, and you wanted to know more about your Scottish side?” You reminded him. “To get; in touch with your Highlander side.” You quoted him.

“Yeah.” He nodded, rubbing his thumb over the soft stitching.

“Well, I've been fiddling around with it, and I found the Tartan for that side of your family tree.” You explained, pressing your lips together. “There's this company I found online that replicates it. I just had them do the pocket square, cause I wasn't sure how into it you'd be, for something more full blown, like a whole kilt or--”

Henry stood up and practically crushed you against his body, leaving just enough room to breathe. “Thank you.” He whispered into your hair, nuzzling your strands softly. “It means a lot more than the graphics card.”

You smiled and snuggled against him, inhaling his scent and warmth. “I'm glad.”

The two of you stayed in your embrace for a long moment, enjoying the quiet closeness. Until Henry spotted Kal charging in, petals in his mouth.

“Fuck.” He hissed under his breath.

“What's wrong?” You frowned, shifting in his arms.

“Nothing, nothing's wrong, my love.” He grinned, turning slightly so you didn't see Kal. “But, it is my turn to give you your last gift.” He cooed, removing a red blindfold he had tucked in his back pocket.

“Oh, I didn't, it was kinky Sunday.” You teased, allowing Henry to blindfold you.

Henry chuckled, pressing a gentle kiss to the bridge of your nose, resting his hands on your shoulder and helping you turn around. Disoriented as you were, you trusted Henry to guide you wherever he was taking you. Back through the foyer and to the back patio, where the start of his rose petal trail began, thankfully still intact. Despite Kal's seeming intent to eat them like the strange goat that he was. He stepped around you, taking your hands to help you down the single step out of the house and navigate the patio furniture.

“Where are we going, Strider? Mordor?” You quipped, the scent and feeling of freshly mowed grass and the cool, fresh air greeting your nose, telling you where you were.

“It's closed this time of year, little Hobbit.” Henry chuckled back at you, bringing you to a stop under the gazebo and the center of the rose petal heart. “I thought we'd visit Rivendell instead.” He cooed, removing the blindfold.

Blinking a few times, you looked about you and admired the gazebo. Everything that normally adorned it cleared away, so it could be decorated with the rose petals and twinkling fairy lights. The four corner supports of the structure had photos of you and Henry throughout your relationship adorning them. To which Henry had made a sweet note on each.

“You went all out, while I was at the Spa.” You said, looking up at him, a wave of suspicious nerves hitting you.

“It was a double motive.” Henry smirked with boyish guilt.

“So, what was the other part of your motive?” You asked, a slight squeak in your voice.

Henry took your hands in his, massaging his thumbs over your knuckles, while trying to build the courage and words to speak what he was feeling. He took a deep breath, nervously kissing one of your hands, with a soft chuckle.

“I love you.” He blurted out, meeting your eyes. “I didn't think I could love anyone as much as I love you. When we're not together, even if it's a different room, I miss you, and I feel like I'm missing a part of myself. Then, when we are together,” He drew in a breath and sighed softly, the ghost of a fond smile on his lips. “I could care less about anything else.” He confessed to you, releasing one of your hands to access his front pocket, kneeling on one knee at the same time.

“Oh, cheese and crackers.” You sighed, eyes wide.

“Or maybe, Cavill and Cavill, if you say yes?” Henry replied, holding out one of the most beautiful rings you'd ever seen in your life. “To marry me?” He cocked a hopeful brow.

“Yeah.” You nodded, stunned, excitement building in you like carbonation. “Yes!” You giggled, bouncing on your toes. “God, Henry, YES!”

A beaming smile lit up Henry's face as he stood back up, taking a moment to get the ring on your finger, his hands shaking so bad. “Now, you can eat them, Kal!” He shouted towards the house, making you laugh, before he pulled you into a breathless kiss.

[viking-raider]

LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT > PART THREE

Summary-> Alexa and Henry leave their villa to explore the beauty of Costa Rica, with an unblinking eye trailing behind them.

Pairing-> Henry Cavill/OFC (Alexa)

Word Count-> 5.7k

Parts-> I II

Warnings-> PG: Arranged Marriage, Language, Banter, Anxiety

Inspiration-> Nick and Vanessa Lachey’s Love is Blind on Netflix.

Author’s Note-> I hope you enjoy! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

-> If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST as well as my @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’ Ao3-> Dragon_Dweller

– The Hike –

Alexa pulled her loose cotton, deep arm-hole tank top over her bikini, while Henry packed a day bag for them to take on their hike.

“Right, we're all packed.” He smiled, coming to stand in the bathroom doorway. “Figured we could stop in town for some lunch items, and if we need anything else before we head to the start of the trail.” He informed her, watching her tug on a pair of short, board shorts with a print pattern on each hip, over her bikini bottoms.

“I love the sound of that. We can also browse the local life.” Alexa smiled, a tingle in her stomach knowing Henry was distracted by seeing so much of her body.

“That sounds like a great idea.”

“Great.” She nodded, patting him on the chest as she breezed by him, into the bedroom; mentally reminding herself not to look at the camera that was there filming the whole thing.

With their little hiking bag packed and a rental car for them waiting in the drive, Henry and Alexa loaded up. Jesse followed them from a car in the back, having mounted a couple cameras in ideal places on the rental car to film them.

“Wow, this place is so gorgeous.” Henry commented, looking out the window as he drove them into town.

“Just wait until we hit the trails.” Alexa smiled, lounging back in the passenger seat. “It's a whole other world. It feels like you've been lost in some 18th Century adventure book; deep in the forest as you look for the coveted and cured gold of an ancient God, that the natives warn you not to go near.”

Henry looked over at her, smirking. “Bookworm?” He chuckled, teasingly.

“The word is, Bibliophile.” She corrected him, with feigned offense. “Thank you very much.”

“Oh, my apologies, Bibliophile.” He laughed, amused. “But, I can see it, this place does give you an enchanted feeling.” He sighed, as the town of Tamarindo came into view.

Tamarindo bustled with life, an assortment of shops, brightly colored and close together, showed their wares in windows, balconies and sidewalks. Signs announcing what each shop and pop-up cart was selling to whomever stopped by to look, from fellow tourists to locals.

Henry found a place to park and got out with Alexa, the both of them casting their eyes around, taking everything in and trying to pinpoint the place, or places, that would help them achieve their goal for a picnic on their hike.

“Something smells amazing.” Alexa commented, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes.

“Could be anything.” Henry chuckled, noting the several street vendors and restaurants.

“I need it.” Alexa said softly, her blue eyes slightly out of focus.

Henry looked down at her, cocking a brow at the almost manic look she had on her face. “Do you?” He asked, a soft smirk tugging up one corner of his lip.

“Yes.” She nodded, looking up at him with an eye twitch.

“You little gremlin.” Henry laughed, his whole body vibrating with its mirth.

“You best get used to it, Bowser.” She giggled back, before skipping forward in search of what she smelled.

Henry watched her skip off, his head cocked to the side as she paused at a stall with trinkets displayed on it, giving the woman running it a sweet smile as she did. He felt the embers of passion for her heat up even more, forming a teeny flame that Henry couldn't deny was the start of him really falling for her. Recalling himself, as Alexa looked back to see where he was, Henry moved to join her, nodding to the vendor.

“Hola, cómo estás?” She greeted him with a sweet smile.

“Hola, estoy bien.” Henry echoed with the limited amount of the language he knew, making her chuckle at his accented Spanish.

“These are so beautiful.” Alexa cooed, examining a black skirt with bright and colorful, intricate patterns along the bottom hem and inside. She looked up at the woman, holding up the hem for her to see. “You?” She asked, hoping the other woman understood what she was implying with her minimal knowledge of Spanish.

The woman smiled wide, understanding, and nodded with clear pride. “Sí.”

“How much?” She asked, brows raised.

“Treinta colón.” She answered, signing three and zero with her fingers in emphasis.

Nodding, Alexa dug into the little bag she had resting on her hip, retrieving the colónes that Riah had supplied her and Henry before leaving the house, supplying the woman the right amount of money for the skirt she had handmade herself. Taking the curled notes from Alexa's hand, she stashed them away in a locked box somewhere behind her stall, before motioning to Alexa to pick one of the skirts. Alexa peeked through them, admiring her craft and amazing needlework with the fabric. None of it lacked color and all of the patterns were unique in their own right, fascinating and awing her.

“What do you think?” Alexa asked, looking up at Henry for his opinion between the two skirts she was conflicted on.

“Hm.” He hummed, looking between them with a cocked brow. “They're both very beautiful.” He commented, reaching out to touch the cotton fabric. “Personally,” He said, finally. “I like this one. It's super colorful and seems like it would be...light and free. It makes me think of you.”

Alexa blushed, biting the inside of her lip at his comment, as she looked up at him, before looking down at the skirt he was referencing. It was red with a kaleidoscope of circular patterns, and blue top and bottom hems. Smiling, she picked that one out of the bunch, motioning to the woman that she had made her choice, and she nodded her understanding. Alexa and Henry moved on, observing the other stalls that lined the street and peeked in the windows of the shops, before they finally found the local grocery store and popped inside.

Grabbing one of little metal baskets, Henry and Alexa browsed the modest aisles, plucking up a couple things that caught their eye for their picnic. Something else grabbed Henry's attention as they reached the back of the store.

“Hey, I'll just be one second.” He said, resting his hand on the small of her back. “I'll meet you at the register.”

“Okay.” Alexa nodded, holding his gaze for a moment, before continuing on, grabbing a couple more things off the shelf, before she headed to pay for everything, tossing a glance over her shoulder to look for Henry, but only found Jesse following her instead.

But Henry appeared as she bagged their items, offering her an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I just wanted to check something out.” He told her, grabbing a few items and helping her put them in the plastic bag. “I'm looking forward to this hike with you.” He admitted, taking the bag and heading out with her. “Part of me wishes this was happening around the time the Durrell Challenge occurs.”

“When does that happen?” Alexa asked, curiously.

“It happened in May.” He told her, holding an arm out to stop her from crossing, as a car appeared up the street. “So, we missed it.”

“There's always next time.” She replied, watching the car go by. “Not like we won't be together.”

Henry looked down at her, struck. “That's more than true.” He answered softly, crossing and following her along the street, observing the shops as they made their way back to their vehicle. “So, wife, where is our trail?” He asked, reaching into the back, for the pack he had their stuff in and tucked their lunch inside.

“Right here.” Alexa answered, leaning over the center console to show Henry the map of the trail head. “It's part of the Rincon de la Vieja Volcano National Park.”

“Looks beautiful.” He commented, getting the address for the trail head and situating his phone on the dash mount. “So, our first day as husband and wife!” He grinned, navigating the road that ran parallel to the coast on one side.

“Yeah.” Alexa giggled, taking a photo of the gorgeous white sand and glittering, azure water. “How's it feeling?” She asked, shifting her camera's view to snap a shot of Henry, catching him off guard.

“It feels good.” Henry replied, giving her a shy and boy-ish expression. “It was a bit strange waking up to another person, and not either alone or to Kal snoring in my face.”

A laugh bubbled out of Alexa, her body scrunching up. “No, you just had me snoring in your face this morning.”

“Well worth the morning breath!” Henry chuckled back, teasing, watching the coast fall away the more inland they got.

“I don't have morning breath!” Alexa gasped, shoving him in the shoulder.

“Are you sure about that?” He smirked impishly, cocking a side brow over at her.

Alexa gasped again in outrage, mouth ajar. “Uh! How dare you accuse me of such things! I'll glue the toilet lid down from now on!”

“That's fine.” Henry replied, his smirking shifting into something even more devilish. “I have great aim.”

Alexa's cheeks colored, understanding his suggestion. “Naughty!” She cooed, batting her eyes at him, before glancing quickly over at the recording camera on the dash.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot!” Alexa nodded, twisting sideways to look at him.

“Do you have any nicknames you do or don't like going by?” Henry inquired, rubbing his palms over the steering wheel. “I don't mind being called Hen, Henners or Hank, but I loathe being called Harry.”

“Who calls you that!” She asked, outraged at the notion of someone calling him by that name, eyes twitching.

“I had a teacher at boarding school that did and sometimes, one of my uncles would.” He explained, shaking his head. “No matter how many times I told them I hated it and asked them not to.”

“I don't blame you! You don't have a Harry aura about you. Hen, yes. Hank yeah. But-” She took a deep breath and let it out in a huff. “Good grief. As for me, most of the people in my social circle call me, Alex or Lexi, which I'm totally cool with. There are people that call me, Lex, which I'm not really here nor there about. However, I don't like being called, Allie, it makes me think of alleyways, or one of my roadies desperately tried to make a thing of calling me, Lexus.”

She met Henry's eye. “I'm not a car.”

Henry snorted, laughing softly. “A car, you are not.” He agreed, smiling. “So, Alex, Lex or Lexi are cool to call you.”

“Yep.” Alexa nodded, liking the sound of her name rolling off his tongue, as she noticed the sign announcing the turn off for the National park just around the bend. “Almost there!” She declared, rather excited to go exploring and hiking on the trails with Henry. “This place is so beautiful.” She commented, as they got out of the car, the warmth of the beach was replaced by the cool, but humid, air of the forest around them.

“Yeah, it is.” Henry agreed, clipping their bag secure across his chest.

But not as beautiful as you. He thought, fleetingly.

“Are you going to be able to hike this, carrying that camera?” Henry asked Jesse, who was getting his own gear set up. “According to that park sign, the trail is seven kilometers in length. One way.” He informed the cameraman, concerned for his well-being as much as he was Alexa and his own.

“I'll be fine, bud.” Jesse replied, shouldering a bag that rattled with various filming equipment and a couple of things he brought for the hike, water bottle, food, bug spray and so on. “I've done wildlife documentaries in Antarctica. I'm sure a four mile hike around the volcano will be cake.”

“Making sure.” Henry said, before turning to Alexa, who was patiently waiting at the trailhead. “You ready, short-stuff?” He asked with a smile.

Alexa snorted and rolled her eyes. “More ready than you are, Bones.” She answered, then held up a trail guide pamphlet. “I scanned the QR code they have on the back, but just in case our mobile service goes nutty, I thought we'd bring the booklet with us too.”

“Sound idea, love.” He nodded, gave the trail ahead a look over.

She leaned in close to Henry, before whispering loudly. “If there's any spiders, I'm leaving Jesse to get eaten first.”

“I heard that!” Jesse barked behind them.

Alexa flashed him a sweet smile, then took the first step onto the trail. One small step on our hike, one giant step into the rest of our life. She thought, continuing with the assurance that Henry was right behind her.

“A bridge!” Henry announced as he rounded a bend in the trail, coming upon a rope bridge, just wide enough for one person to cross at a time, single file. “You think it's sturdy?”

“It looks like it.” Alexa answered, looking around Henry's arm. “I'm sure they wouldn't have it accessible if it was dangerous. Unless they have a thing for making their visitors feel like they're having an Indiana Jones experience.” She commented, half-jokingly.

“Fair enough, you go ahead first.” He said, stepping sideways on the trail.

“Oh, how gentlemanly of you, to let me plummet to the river below first.” Alexa quipped, moving by him, only to have Henry catch her wrist, his expression stony.

“Don't say that.” He snapped, his eyes glassy with horror.

Alexa's stomach churned at his expression, leaving her speechless for a moment, before she caught Jesse moving closer to them out of the corner of her eye and she scrambled to pull herself together again. “I was just kidding, Henry. I'm sorry.” She squeaked, gulping thickly as she pried his fingers from around her wrist and stepped onto the bridge.

That was so stupid! Why did I say that to him! She berated herself. Riah's going to juice her panties when she finds out. With how good it'll look, when the show airs. Stupid me creating an angst-y fuss, like some teenage drama.

The bridge wobbled a little bit as the three of them moved across the weathered slates at a steady pace, Alexa gripping the rope sides and daring to take a glance over the side, before quietly squeaking at the steep distance to the valley bottom and shooting her eyes forward, not looking down again. Henry's own eyes were on the back of Alexa's head, the whole time they crossed, taking slow, deep breaths and pretending the bridge wasn't as high off the ground as it actually was. In an attempt to control his fear of heights.

“Right, so!” Alexa sighed, after their feet touched solid ground again. “According to the app, the hot spring is this way and it's just before the waterfall.” She said, tracing the red line on the screen of her phone with her fingertip. “Do you want to see the waterfall first or do you want to hit the spring?” She asked, looking up at Henry, who craned his head over her shoulder to see the map, his hand gently resting on her side.

“Hm.” He hummed, eyeing the outlined trail, before looking up ahead of them. “Why don't we hit the waterfall first and have lunch there, so we can have a nice dip in the spring before we leave?” He suggested, looking back to Alexa. “That way we can have a nice rest period.”

“Sounds like a good plan.” Alexa nodded, pocketing the device and hooking her arm with his. “It's so gorgeous here.” She said, looking at the tall canopies above their heads, her ears picking up the sounds of the forest surrounding them. The call of birds, frogs croaking deep in their throats and insects buzzing in the humid air, with the occasional howl of a monkey deep and far off the beaten trail.

“It really is.” Henry agreed, drawing in a deep breath of the fresh, fragrant and cool air.

They pointed out sights to each other, plants and animals. Alexa became excited at one point, thinking she saw a little squirrel monkey, before it vanished in the trees. They snapped a couple of photos over the hour and a half it took them to go from the head of the trail to the rushing waterfall at the end.

“Oh my—Odin.” Alexa gasped softly, standing on a large, flat river rock as she gazed up at the fifty foot waterfall, the spraying mist at the top glittering in the sunlight, casting a rainbow-like halo at its drop off point. “I've never seen anything quite so magical.” She mumbled to herself, following the water into a basin of crystal clear water, surrounded by rough cliff walls covered in creeping vines and moss, slick algae and small trees that somehow managed to take root and grow out of cracks.

There were a couple of people around the edge of the pool, resting on rocks or clear, flat spots of the ground, with several others swimming in the water itself. Both Alexa and Henry looked at each other, then tossed at glance at Jesse, who hadn't stopped filming once, knowing they would attract attention the moment they got close. So, they moved around to the far side of the waterfall, where there were no people and found a decent spot to sit down and relax.

Henry set his pack down in front of him, unhooking his water bottle from the loop on the strap, while Alexa sipped at her own water, staring out over the pool with a whimsical and thoughtful expression.

“What are you thinking about?” He asked, before taking a big gulp of his icy water.

“Hm?” Alexa hummed back, blinking and turning her attention to him.

Henry chuckled at her. “What are you thinking about?” He repeated himself, unzipping the main compartment of the bag.

“I'm wondering how cool that water must be.” She confessed, her face giving away her interest in going for a dip.

“Hmm.” He purred back, narrowing his eyes at the water and considering the sweat running down his back, causing his tank top to stick to his skin as well as his curls to his forehead. “That's a good question.” He replied, closing the backpack and reaching for the back of his tank, pulling it off over his head and dropping it on the bag, before standing.

“Let's go find out.”

Alexa grinned, taking off her top and stood to wiggle out of her shorts, kicking them over to their bag as Henry's arm hooked around her waist. “Henry!” She cried out with laughter, breaking out into a massive grin as he carried her over to the water.

“You can go in with your insulin stuff, right?” He asked, as the water reached his calves.

“Yeah.” She assured him, squirming and wrapping her arms around his neck. “All water-proof.”

“Perfect.” Henry smirked devilishly, shifting his hands to Alexa's hips, hoisted her up and launched her into the deep end of the water.

Alexa gasped as she splashed into the water, disappearing under for a moment, before she pushed off the bottom and broke the surface again. “That's unfair!” She huffed, splashing Henry in the face as he moved towards her.

“Absolutely.” He nodded, carding his fingers through his dripping hair, pushing his curls off his forehead.

The two of them looked up at a cry that echoed down to them, finding a group of guys that had climbed to the top of the cliff by the waterfall, screaming their heads off and throwing their arms up, showing off to their group that had stayed down below, and who were returning their rowdiness. Alexa chuckled and looked at Henry, hooking an arm around his neck to support herself in the water and be close to him.

“Those guys are wild.” Henry commented, watching one of them take a running jump off the edge, feeling his stomach lurch as the guy plummeted and splashed into the water, heart clenching for a moment, waiting for him to resurface safely.

“And probably drunk.” Alexa giggled, gently pressing her lips to Henry's collarbone, as she held herself against his chiseled torso, feeling his palms squeeze and massage her hips. “If you try tossing me again, I will bite you.” She whispered against his skin.

Henry glanced down at her, cocking a brow with interest. “Is that a promise or a threat?” He asked, his own lips brushing the top of her head. “Cause, I'll gladly find out.” He said, a chuckle rumbling deep in his chest.

Fuck, I hope I'm not being too forward with her.

“Oh, you like that kind of thing?” Alexa teased him, smirking. “Superman likes getting nibbled on?”

His body reacted to her flirting, his throat bobbing as he swallowed thickly, and his blue eyes laser focused on her face. “I just might.” He purred, voice deepening as he leaned his head in close.

“Mmm.” Alexa hummed back at him, a sparkle in her eye while meeting him, feeling her heart skip a beat, knowing he was going to kiss her again. But she caught sight of Jesse wading into the shallows of the pool, camera poised on his shoulder and a soft smirk on his face, clearly understanding the moment. “You know what?” Alexa gasped, pulling away from Henry and treading in the water to keep herself up.

“I want to jump off too.” She told him, an impish smirk crossing her lips.

“Oh?” Henry frowned, confused by the mood change and sudden disconnect from her. “Is that safe?”

Alexa chuckled, splashing him. “They did it!” She called over her shoulder, swimming away to get out of the water and head up the small trail that led up to the top of the cliff.

She's crazy. Henry thought, debating if he should follow her up, to make sure she didn't get hurt on the way to the top and perhaps try and stop her or to just watch her jump from his spot in the water. She'll be fine. He tried to reassure himself, keeping his eyes fixed on the spot the group of men had been, when they jumped.

His heart calmed down slightly, seeing her pale head pop up among the lush greenery at the top of the waterfall, gazing down into the water below and waving at him with a huge smile. Henry smiled and waved back, hoping he didn't look too horrified for her well-being. Alexa surveyed the landscape from her vantage point and wished she had brought her phone up to snap a couple of photos, before jumping.

Taking a deep breath and taking a couple steps back, before taking a running leap off the edge, plummeting feet first into the water. Henry swam over, meeting her halfway back to where they had been.

“That was wild!” She giggled at him. “You should try it.”

“I don't know.” Henry chuckled, looking up at the spot. “It's pretty high.”

“I'll go with you!” Alexa said, trying to embolden him. “We could jump together!”

Henry bit his lip, then shook his head, flicking droplets of water from the ends of his curls. “Nope.” He declined, pressing his lips together. “No can do, darling.”

“Aww.” She cooed, before clicking her tongue at him. “All right. Fair enough, Sötnos.” She smiled, her eyes gentle and understanding.

“Sötnos?” Henry echoed, causing Alexa to giggle at his pronunciation of the word.

“Swat-noss.” She pronounced the word for him, slowly. “Sötnos.”

“What does it mean?” He asked, shaking his head as he tried to wrap his mind around it.

Alexa giggled, resting her hands on his shoulders. “It means a couple things.” She smirked, amused at the pet name, as she pressed herself against him, making him feel their size difference as they floated in the water. “Sweetheart. Sweet cheeks.” She explained to him, chuckling. “But the direct translation is, sweet nose.”

“You think I got a sweet nose?” Henry teased, leaning in to rub noses with her, making Alexa giggle even more. “I like it.” He told her, pulling back to look her in the eyes. “Would you teach me more?”

“Ja, of course.” She nodded, touched and excited that he wanted to learn more of her language and background. “You're going to need it, min mannen.”

“Great.” He smiled, before noticing the slight shake in her hands. “Are you all right?” He asked, taking one of them in his, pressing it between his palm and chest to seep some warmth into it. “Are you cold?” He inquired, the water was cool, but not chilly.

“No.” Alexa replied, shaking her head. “I'm just getting the shakes from my sugar starting to dip a little bit. I need to get out and eat.” She explained to him, her brow pinching as it hit her all at once.

“Let's go then.” Henry urged, wrapping an arm around her waist and guided them out of the water, back to where their pack and clothing was. “Here's water, I'll get our lunch out.” He said, opening her water bottle for her, before opening their backpack and started pulling out all the food.

Sipping her water, Alexa caught sight of something, as it fell out of the pack in Henry's rush to get their lunch ready, and reached for it. Picking up a short, plastic wrapped tube, the words printed on it were all in Spanish, but she had seen this type of container enough times in her life to know what it was.

“Did you buy glucose tablets?” She asked, looking up at Henry with a crease between her brows, holding them up for him to see.

Henry paused and looked at the tablets, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Ye-ah.” He answered, slowly gulping. “I-” He floundered to vocalize why his brain had told him it was a good idea to head towards the chemist aisle he'd seen at the store in town, to buy the capsule of ten, Raspberry flavored, glucose tablets.

What if you needed them, while we're on our hike or on the drive back to our Villa? He thought, still struggling to voice his fear that her blood sugar would drop to an unsafe level. What if they were the only thing that kept you from-- Henry forcefully shook the last thought out of his head, refusing to manifest it.

“I just—I just thought-” He took a deep, hard breath and looked back down at his task. “I don't know what I thought.” He mumbled under his breath. “It was stupid.”

Alexa's face fell at his words, closing her fist around the tablets, wanting to say something to him about how thoughtful it really was, but couldn't find the words. “What do we have for lunch!” She said instead, changing the subject for both of them.

Henry set out their wrapped sandwiches, along with the little containers of fresh fruit, slices of mango, watermelon and oranges, as well as a small cluster of grapes. They sipped their water and nibbled on their food, Alexa gazing around the forest that surrounded them, fascinated by the towering and knotted trees among the lush green plants, the sound of the waterfall behind them was so soothing and peaceful. She sighed softly, reaching out for another piece of fruit, her hand coming into contact with Henry's, as he did the same.

Their eyes met and Alexa felt Henry's fingers caress and trace her hand, like the touch from a ghost. It made her skin tingle and the breath in her throat caught. She didn't understand. They'd known each other for less than forty-eight hours and when Henry touched her, it was like nothing she'd felt before. Not with the boyfriend she'd been with for five years or a couple of attempted dates she'd been on since breaking up with said ex-boyfriend.

What is it about him? She thought, turning her palm up to his touch, her shoulders shuddering faintly as he stroked his fingertips over the heel of her palm to her fingertips. Why does his touch light my nerve-endings on fire and send sparks into my mind? What magic is he casting over me? Alexa reflected, swimming in the azure ocean of his eyes and trying to reach the tawny island at the top.

Henry in-turn was lost in her gaze, a gentle smile twitching and curling up one corner of his lip as he drove ever deeper into the arctic landscape he found there, mapping out the small flakes of minty-green that was close to her pupils. He was besotted with her, and it only dragged him down deeper as the seconds ticked past them. Henry had no answer to it either. Though, he was sometimes prone to falling in love quickly, and that sudden realization stabbed him in the stomach, like a red-hot knife.

Am I falling too quickly? Is this just a sudden flame, that'll burn out in a week or by the time our honeymoon is over?

His fingers faltered against her skin and Alexa noticed, a wrinkle forming between her brows as she watched the bright light in Henry's eyes fade and his expression panic, pulling his hand away from her.

“I'm sorry.” He whispered, waving to the food they'd intersected at. “Go ahead.” He said, patiently waiting for her to take what she was reaching for, before grabbing his.

“Henry--” Alexa started, wanting to know if she'd done something wrong.

“Do you still want to go to the hot spring?” He asked over her, clearing his throat, knowing how rude of him it was, but couldn't bear her asking him what she intended to. “I know we went swimming here.” He said, waving to the waterfall behind them.

Alexa licked her lips and glanced at the rushing water for a second. “I would still at least like to see it.” She replied, biting her lip. “If that's all right with you?” She added, looking at him with a conflicted expression.

“That's more than all right.” He answered, popping a grape into his mouth. “I'd like to see it as well.” He confessed, offering her a half-hearted smile, hoping to bring some peace back into their outing.

“Cool.” She rasped, picking up her shorts and stood up, pulling them over her damp bikini bottoms, not bothering with her tank top, and instead stuffed it into their bag. “I'm ready, when you are.” She told him, looking at her Dexcom app, making sure her levels were in an appropriate range.

“I'm ready.” Henry replied, packing what was left of their food away and stood with her, shouldering the bag and glancing at her phone. “Is that a good level?” He asked, looking at her.

“It's a hundred and fifty, now that I've eaten.” Alexa explained, turning the screen towards him. “So, that's a pretty decent range. Especially for me.” She said, before pointing to a number beside it. “It was a hundred and ten, before I ate, which is middle to low-ish side, before a meal. But, I'm perfectly fine now. So we can head to the hot spring and likely make it back to the Villa, before I need to eat again.” She told him, closing the app and pulling up the map to the hot spring from where they were.

“So, we need to get back on the trail we arrived here on, for a short while, until we reach that fork and turn left.” She showed him their route and Henry nodded, motioning for her to lead the way.

Alexa glanced behind her to Jesse, who frowned at her, clearly annoyed she kept staring into the camera lens, before moving forward. Henry took a deep breath, glancing above them as he reached out to hook his arm around Alexa's shoulders, pulling her a little into his side as they retraced their steps over the trail.

They reached the turn, branching out in the three different directions and headed towards the hot spring, and the closer they came to it, the more they could hear the rush of the thermal waters.

Coming through a thicket of trees and brush into the clearing, they discovered the steaming, volcanic-formed pool. Not quite so populated as the pool at the foot of the waterfall, but was still dotted with people. Some stood waist deep in the warm waters, while others sat on the rocks that surrounded it, their feet dipped in, admiring the multiple, little volcanic rock waterfalls that supplied the water for the spring.

“This place is so gorgeous.” Alexa commented, as she and Henry found a spot to sit and slip their feet into the heavenly warm water, with a soft moan.

“It truly is.” Henry agreed, slowly gliding his feet through the water and watching it gurgle down one of the falls.

Alexa gasped suddenly, grasping Henry by the arm and grew animated. “Henry!” She insisted, blue eyes round with wonder and surprise as she pointed into the tree tops across the spring, just as a sound filled the steamy air, like a high-pitched, song-bird-like call. “It's a Toucan.” She grinned at him, giddy for spotting the yellow-throated toucan.

“Oh wow, it is!” Henry nodded, narrowing his eyes at the small, long billed bird of paradise.

“When I was little, I wanted one as a pet, after seeing George of the Jungle with Brendan Fraser, cause Tookie-Tookie was my favorite.” She confessed, taking her phone out to snap a photo of it. “Other than Shep the elephant.”

Henry smirked at her, touched that she shared that teeny bit of information and memory with him, and was amused by it. “Is that so?” He asked, his eyes going back to the little black and yellow bird as it took flight off its branch.

“Yeah, I love animals.” Alexa nodded, a little deflated that the toucan flew off, before looking at the photos she'd taken of it. “I had considered becoming a Zoologist before becoming a musician.” She confessed, pressing her shoulder against his and lifting her phone again, its front camera open and showing her and Henry. “We haven't taken a single photo together.” She answered the startled and confused expression she saw on Henry's face through her phone.

“I'd like at least one photo with my husband, during our honeymoon.” She smirked at him. “If he'd indulge me?”

“Why would I not?” He cooed, his expression softening and posed with her to take the photo.

[viking-raider]

Salt in Our Wounds - Chapter III

Summary-> Things continue to grow more complicated for you with your charge. In more than one way. But there are some bright spots.

Pairing-> Gus March-Phillipps/Reader

Word Count-> 6.5k

Chapters-> I II

Warnings-> PG: Language, Deception, References to WWII

Inspiration-> Since my favorite demon, @littlefreya, asked so nicely. The one and only Chaos Major, Gus March-Phillipps.

Author’s Note-> I hope you enjoy! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

-> If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST as well as my @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’ Ao3-> Dragon_Dweller

With Edmund back at his own home, your father asleep in his chair and the dinner dishes washed, then put away, you rubbed at your face, finally feeling the exhaustion of the day bear down on you. Your muscles were sore and you had a throbbing headache behind your eyes.

But your day wasn't quite over yet.

You filled a glass with water and brought it downstairs, in the off chance your guest woke up in the night, thirsty. The lanterns had been turned down low and the electric light had been turned off, in the cellar room, you thought nothing of it as you entered. Until you noticed the camp bed was empty.

“Oh-” You gasped, eyes wide with surprise, when you felt a warm and strong palm close around your mouth, muffling the startled scream you let out, the glass of water slipping from your fingers and shattering on the hard packed, dirt floor, splashing over your slippers.

“Calm yourself.” A deep, British accent rumbled low in your ear, whiskers tickling your skin. “I'm not going to hurt you. But you are going to answer my questions.” He said, pulling you backwards with him as he moved towards the cellar door, listening for any noise from the house upstairs, before pulling the door closed. “I'm going to remove my hand.”

“Don't make me regret it, love.”

Gulping thickly, stomach twisted in sick knots, you nodded in reply. He slowly removed his hand, in preparation of you crying out for help, but you were too frightened to make a peep. Nodding his head, he moved around you, gingerly holding a hand to his wound.

“Where am I?” He asked, piercing you with his stunning blue eyes. “Come now.” He cooed, when you continued to gawk at him, reaching up with his free hand to gently pinch your chin between his thumb and fingers, the corner of his mouth twitching with a smile.

“You're in the village of Saint-Thurney.” You blurted out, biting the inside of your cheek. “Just off the coast of the English Channel.”

“We're still in France?” He asked, his brows drawing together.

“Ye-yes.” You stuttered, blinking at him.

“You don't sound French.” He said, a light of deep suspicion filling his eyes as he regarded you more closely.

“Well, that's because I'm not.” You replied, frowning back at him. “My family and I moved here for a quieter life, before all this war nonsense broke out.” You explained, watching the beads of sweat on his forehead begin to drip down the edge of his nose. “You need to sit down, before you pass out.” You told him, reaching up to close your hand around the wrist of the hand he still held your chin with.

“I'm fine.” He dismissed you, despite becoming a bit pale.

“No, you're not.” You snapped at him, concerned. “You've been shot and washed ashore, with a fever.” You scolded him, pulling his hand away from your face and attempted to tug him over to the bed, but couldn't budge his large frame.

“Why are you helping me?” He asked, narrowing his eyes at you. “I could be the enemy, a collaborator, or at the least a sympathizer. For all you know, that's why I was shot.”

You looked him over, studying him. “You could be.” You nodded, though your gut still felt he wasn't. “But what I do know is you're injured and sick. I can't let you go untended for it.”

“You're a strange woman.” He chuckled, smirking at you.

“And you're a strange man that washed up on my beach.” You countered, cocking a brow at him.

“I'm Gus.” He offered his name, feeling a small measure of trust in you.

“It's been eventful, Gus.” You replied, then offered your own name to him. “Please, you're pale and sweating quite profusely. I don't want you to pass out.” You begged him, motioning to the bed.

Gus lifted an amused eyebrow at you for a second, before humoring you and sitting down in the chair. “How far is your little town from Dieppe?” He asked, grimacing at the discomfort.

“I'm not all that sure. All I know is we're north of it.” You replied, shaking your head. “Um, give me a moment.” You said, turning to go back upstairs, but Gus's hand shot out to grab your wrist, halting you. “I'm just going upstairs to grab one of the maps my father has in the sitting room. He's been tracking some of the German's movements.”

“Has he now?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “My father was a soldier in the Great War, for the British Empire. It cost him dearly, so I would kindly ask you to wipe that assumption off your face.” You hissed at him, not liking the glint in Gus's orbs.

“My apologies, my lady.” He replied, tipping his head forward. “I meant no offense.” He tried to assure you, letting go of your wrist.

Silently going out, you crept up the stairs, wincing as the ancient wood steps creaked beneath your tiptoes. The flames in the fireplace were just high enough to keep the sitting room warm, while only casting a strong enough glow you could just see the outline of everything to navigate by. Your father sat slumped in his armchair, stocking feet propped up on an ottoman and his blanket tucked around his softly pudgy middle.

You couldn't stop the sweet smile that pulled on your lips as you stopped a short distance from him, listening to his rough snores, the flickering flames catching on the glass of his glasses. Reaching out, you slowly and gently removed them from his face, folding and tucking them into the front pocket of his pajamas; where he could find them in the morning. Turning your attention back to your task, you made your way over to the roll top desk your father kept his maps in, rifling through them for one that wasn't marked up with the battle fronts and supply lines. You knew your father would inquire as to where it was, if you took one of those.

Finding a new map, rolled up and held closed with an elastic band, you slowly pulled it out of the stack, shooting a look over your shoulder as your father snorted in his sleep suddenly, but didn't stir. Letting out a sigh and closing the desk, you scurried out of the sitting room, pausing momentarily to grab your broom and dustpan to sweep up the shards of the glass you had dropped.

“Here.” You held out the rolled up map to Gus, returning to the cellar and finding him still sitting where you left him.

“Thank you.” He nodded, taking it.

Nodding back, you set the dust pan down on the floor and set about sweeping up your mess, while Gus removed the elastic band and spread the map out on the table, turning up the oil lamp that was beside it. Squinting at the small print names of towns, villages and cities along the coast, in search of the seaport of Dieppe in the Normandy region of Northern France. Tapping his index finger against it, he traced his other pointer finger up until he found Saint-Thurney, in the region of Hauts-de-France, letting out a growling hum as he did.

“Did you find it?” You asked, bent as you corralled the broken glass pieces into the metal dust pan.

“Aye, I did.” Gus replied, pushing his jaw forward, lips pursed in agitation. “We're eighty-four kilometers north of it.”

“Is that where you were injured?” You asked, standing back up, clapping your hands together to dust them off. “Off the coast of Dieppe?”

Gus's eyes shot up to you, guarded and suspicious.

“I found you washed ashore. So, unless you were shot, then driven eighty some kilometers from Dieppe and dumped on our beach, which is awfully out of the way to get rid of someone. Wartime or no. You had to either be near the Channel when it happened or already in the Channel.”

The suspicion in his eyes slowly melted into a look of impressed understanding. “You're very smart and forward, for a young lady.” He chuckled, smirking at you, but his gaze was still guarded as he twisted the end of his mustache.

“I was primarily raised by my father and brother, mostly my brother. So, my lady-like manners aren't as refined as they should be.” You confessed, though there was no apology in your voice or expression. “And I'm not quite a young lady, either.”

“I surely doubt you're not an old maid.” Gus remarked, cocking a brow as his eyes moved over you. “You can't be more than-” He pressed his lips together. “Twenty-six.”

“Flattery.” You giggled, a warmth blooming in your cheeks. “And you are trying to change the subject.”

Gus's smirk turned smug and devilish. “Quite.” He nodded, his brow twitching slightly. “I was injured in Dieppe. The circumstances are--” He paused, rubbing sweaty temples for a moment. “Fuzzy.”

“Are you in pain?” You asked, frowning at him, concerned by the pale flush to his face and the sweat still dripping down his face.

“I am.”

You grabbed the cloth from where it laid on the camp bed and used it to gently dab at his forehead and the sides of his neck. “You should lay back down, Gus.” You cooed at him, brushing a damp curl off his forehead. “I can get one of the morphine tablets Dr. Tremblay left for you.” You said, motioning to the tawny-colored bottle on the table.

Sitting quietly for a long time, Gus finally nodded and moved over to the bed, groaning and hissing as the movement pulled on his wound and stitches. You half covered him, before heading back upstairs for a fresh glass of water.

“Here.” You said quietly, handing over the water and took one of the round, white tablets out of the medicine bottle.

“Thank you.” He nodded at you, popping it in his mouth and chugging down most of the water.

“Are you hungry at all?” You inquired, biting your lip. “I have some food left over from dinner.” You told him, turning your upper body towards the door. “It's not much, but it's something on your stomach.”

“No, thanks.” Gus answered, letting his eyes fall shut. “I don't have an appetite just now.”

“All right.” You nodded, biting your lip. “I'll let you rest then. I'll come and see you in the morning.” You assured him, moving towards the door.

“Thank you.” Gus called out to you. “For what you're doing.” He elaborated, as you paused. “Most people during these times would have just left me to die or alerted the authorities. Let alone take me into their home, called a doctor and tended to me.”

You smiled, chuckling softly, before quipping. “Well, I believe we've established I'm no ordinary woman.”

“True enough.” He snorted back, feeling the drowsiness of the morphine start to seep into his body.

“Good night.” You bid him.

“Night.” Gus mumbled back, dozing off.

Upon waking the next morning, you laid in bed for a long while, listening to the distant rush of waves crashing on the shore and excited calls of birds. The day before felt surreal and part of you wondered if the events had actually happened. Had you truly found a wounded man washed up on your favorite beach, during wartime? Did you and your brother honestly sneak him into your home, so you could try and save him?

“Did we?” You asked the streaks of sunlight coming through the window beside your bed.

There was a knock on your door, breaking you free of your thoughts.

“Yes?” You called out, rubbing at your face and sitting up.

“Are you decent?” Edmund's voice called back.

Sighing, reality crashing back around you. “One moment!” You scurried out of bed and grabbed your robe off the back of the chair, securing it on, before you opened the door for your brother. “Good morning.” You greeted him.

“He is awake.” He replied under his breath.

“Oh yes, he is awake.” You nodded, biting your lip, remembering your interaction with Gus the night before. “He woke up a couple of hours after dinner.” You explained to Edmund.

“Why didn't you come and get me!” He hissed, glancing over his shoulder, towards the stairs, worried your father would hear.

“I—it honestly hadn't occurred to me at the moment, Edmund.” You told him, biting your lip.

“Didn't occur to you! He could have harmed you and Pops!” He scolded you, eye twitching with pent up anger. “I could have come over this morning to your dead-”

“Edmund, calm yourself.” You cut him off, watching the vein in his temple start to bulge. “He didn't harm me. He didn't even leave the cellar. What he did was startle me, when I found him out of the cot. Beyond that, he was quite courteous. Secretive and strange, but nothing but a gentleman.” You assured your brother. “I'm guessing you went down to look at him?” You asked, looking up at him.

“Yeah, I did. Found him sitting up, staring at a map.”

“Oh, the stubbornness of men!” You huffed, shoving Edmund away from your door and closing it, rushing to get dressed. “I'll get breakfast going, if you want any. I'm sure Willa hasn't bothered, since it's not noon yet and she's not graced the living.” You said, coming back out in a whirlwind, Edmund still standing in the hallway.

“Just wait for me in the kitchen.”

“I'm not leaving you alone with that man.” Edmund huffed at you, close on your heels as you went downstairs.

“Good morning, Papa!” You sang out, the sound of the radio reaching you from the sitting room, your father listening intently to it.

“Morning, Peanut!” He replied, not looking up at you.

Smiling, you turned and went downstairs, into the cellar. “Good morning, Gus.” You smirked at his hunched back, a hint of sarcasm in your eyes.

“Morning.” Gus replied, leaning back in his chair to regard you. “Has my nurse come to pester me?” He asked, chuckling, amused at the glint of your glare.

“I have.” You nodded, reaching out and brushing the stray curl aside to rest your hand on his forehead, feeling the heat in his skin. “You're not as warm as you were last night.” You commented, letting your hand drop. “So, your fever is dropping. But I still need to give you the shot Dr. Tremblay ordered yesterday.”

“Right.” Gus nodded, curling his fingers around the hem of his shirt, to pull it off.

“Mm-mm.” You hummed at him, shaking your head.

“What?” He frowned at you.

“Thigh.” You smirked at him, grabbing the antibiotic vial and syringe that Tremblay left behind for you.

“Explains why I don't have any trousers on.” Gus snorted, his blue eyes catching Edmund's, which were ablaze with protective suspicion. “Your bodyguard.” He asked, a sharp edge of wit in his voice.

“Brothers are like that.” You smiled, moving in front of Gus.

“So, not your husband then.” He inquired, meeting your eye.

“Ew.” You giggled, shaking your head, tugging up one side of his boxers. “No offense, Edmund.” You added, biting your lip as you gently pinched the thick muscle at the top of his thigh.

“None taken, Peanut.” Edmund replied, scowling at Gus.

“Why don't you go upstairs, Captain?” You suggested to Edmund, carefully injecting the needle. “We're all right down here.” You said, biting your lip in concentration as you pushed the plunger down.

Edmund lingered for a minute, before turning on his boot heels and storming back upstairs, making a ruckus as he did.

“I'm sorry about him.” You said to Gus, removing the needle and setting it aside. “It's just that he's very protective.”

“And I'm just some strange man, that washed ashore on your beach, that's now holed up in your basement.” Gus chuckled, nodding his head in understanding, but frowned at you. “You called him, Captain. But he's not in the military, is he?”

You drew a deep breath, held it for a second with a thoughtful look on your face, before sighing. “No, Edmund isn't. He tried to join the military when the war broke out, but they turned him away.” You explained to him, your heart sore for your brother.

Edmund was loyal, steadfast and capable. He was quite patriotic as well, for the home you had come from and the home you had made in France. Even when he couldn't serve for them on the front lines, or even behind the lines. You wished with all your heart Edmund could march in those neat lines, in a snappy uniform, to officially hold the rank of Captain. Knowing the void it filled in him. But due to an unfortunate medical condition, no branch of the military would have him, in even a desk job.

“Why wouldn't they take him?” Gus asked, frowning with confusion. “He looks more than able.” He commented, having seen Edmund's lean and muscular body.

“Oh yes, bodily he is. Mentally as well.” You agreed, fussing with the fabric of your skirt. “But it's his eyes that are the issue.” You licked your lips and looked up at Gus. “He has an eye condition, Retinitis Pigmentosa. It causes you to lose your vision over time. It starts with your night vision, then your peripheral vision, before you go blind completely.”

“Currently, Eddie has no night vision to speak of and his side vision is becoming blurry. So, he's kept his trade as a carpenter.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.” Gus said, his eyes soft on you. “Can I ask why you call him Captain?”

You giggled quietly, a fond memory coming to mind. “Our father was a Major, in the Great War, and had a good many metals for it.” You explained to him, a distant look in your eye. “Among other things.” You mumbled, quietly. “Edmund loved his memorabilia as a child and would wear them all the time, showing them off to anybody and everybody that would look and listen to how our father got them.” You laughed, smiling. “Our father had given Edmund one of his patches, the one that had once identified him as a Captain.” You paused, biting your lip and furrowing your brow.

“Mother left when I was five and Edmund was fifteen. I don't remember much of that day, other than my father being in one of his fits and Edmund sending me next door for a while. When he came back to get me, he told me it was just going to be us now. But not to worry, he was the Captain of the house and he'd make sure everything would be all right.”

“You took to calling him Captain, as a nickname.” Gus grinned, understanding and touched.

“Mmhm.” You nodded, somber. “We refer to our father as Major, from time to time as well.”

“Well, that'll make things awkward, while I'm your guest.” Gus laughed, smirking at you.

“Why's that?” You frowned at him.

Gus sighed, his face turning to an expression of seriousness. “I'm a Major in the British Army.” He confessed to you, flexing his fingers.

“So, you are on our side.” You replied, the corners of your lips twitching with relief to know you were right about him.

“What side would that be?” He asked, his eyes squinting slightly.

“Well, we're not holding you hostage, Major. We're hiding you from the German patrol in our village, that has already almost caught us with you once, to start with.” You told him, bluntly. “While tending to your wound.” You said, pointing to the hole in his shirt. “So, we're on your side. Which is just unfortunately occupied.”

“There's a German patrol post here?” Gus asked, tensing.

“Yes. An annoying one at that.”

“Annoying how?”

“It was a very small patrol, when they first gained control of France. Perhaps fifteen of them.” You explained, shrugging your shoulders. “But three months ago, half of the main German Patrol moved from Rue to here. You can fit Saint-Thurney in part of Rue. We don't know why they've moved. It's been kept hushed and with that hush an increase in their patrols around town. It was a miracle I found you on the beach before they did.”

“It would seem so.” Gus nodded, troubled.

“Do you recall anything of your ordeal?” You asked, frowning at him. “How you got injured? Or into the water?”

Gus carded a hand through his nest of curls, shaking his head. “The last thing I recall was being with my men in Dieppe. Everything after that is still fuzzy and dark.”

“Perhaps you were ambushed?” You bit your lip, knowing you were reaching.

“It's possible.” He sighed, before shrugging his shoulders. “I'm sure it'll come back to me.”

“I'm sure it will.” You answered, offering him a soft smile. “Until then, I should head back upstairs and start breakfast.” You sighed, moving towards the door. “Would you like some coffee or tea?” You offered, politely.

“Coffee would be nice, thank you.” Gus replied, with a kind tilt of his head.

“Coming right down.” You smirked, scurrying back upstairs.

“Are you all right?” Edmund asked as you entered the kitchen.

“I'm fine, Eddie.” You sighed, shaking your head at him. “You don't have anything to worry about with him. He's ever the gentleman you are.” You told him, opening the pantry door and removing your apron off the hook, tying it around you. “Did you go down to the store and get the supplies, like I asked last night?”

“Yes.” Edmund grunted, fetching the small crate from by the door. “Remi added a bit more tea leaves. Said, he knows how much you love your cuppas.” He informed you, setting the crate on the kitchen counter.

“What a sweetheart.” You giggled, plucking the brown paper bag of loose tea leaves out of the supplies and dropped it beside the stove, before digging through for the coffee grounds. “We need--” You tilted your head back, cocking a brow at your father for a second, before looking at Edmund. “To get our guest, some clothing.”

“Clothes.” Edmund snapped at you, brows creasing so deeply, they almost touched.

“Well, his shirt has a hole in it.” You scolded your brother, eyes rolling. “And you can tell by looking at them, that they're not clothing anyone from around here would wear.”

“Who's going to see him?” He argued further.

“What if the Patrol does one of their searches?” You countered, giving him a smug look.

“That's what the hidden door and the damn shelves are for, Peanut!” He huffed at you. “To hide him, so if the Patrol comes searching the houses, they won't find him.”

“Still, it's rude, Edmund.” You huffed, filling your tea pot and putting it on the stove to boil. “He can't stay down there in filthy clothing.”

Edmund rubbed his face. “Fine.” He sighed, giving in. “I'll find him something to wear. If it'll make you so happy.”

“It will.” You answered, smirking at him. “It's only the polite thing to do, and you know it.”

“Of course, my dear sister.” He huffed, playfully rolling his eyes at you, before kissing your cheek. “I'll be back for breakfast. I made a call to Duprée for some lumber, to start building our guest's paradise downstairs.”

“All right, it should be done by then.” You nodded, patting him gently on the chest.

Gus sipped at the coffee you had kindly brewed for him. You had even brought him a few books from the bookcases in the sitting room, so he had something to occupy his time, other than staring at the map. He looked at the covers of Gulliver's Travels, the Great Gatsby, the Pickwick Papers and Of Mice and Men, before picking up the latter. Thumbing it open to the first page, he rested back in his seat, finding it more comfortable than the camp bed to recline in.

He hadn't gotten far into the chapter, before hearing footsteps coming back down the basement stairs and cast a glance through the half open cellar door, catching sight of Edmund coming down, with several boards on his shoulder. Gus folded the corner of his page and set the book aside, pushing himself up with a muffled groan.

“Do you want some help with that?” He asked, stopping short of the stairs.

“Nope.” Edmund replied, reaching the bottom. “I'm more than positive, if you look at these boards sideways, my sister will come down here and beat the both of us.” He said, his voice humorless, but Gus laughed anyway.

“I'm sure you're right.” He smirked, glancing up the stairs, hearing the bumps and clinks coming from the kitchen. “She's a gentle, but firm, nurse.”

“That she is.” Your brother agreed, setting the boards down to one side of the room and shrugging his shoulders. “My father and I made sure she had her manners, but she never let anyone boss or bully her around.” He said, glancing at Gus for a moment.

“That's good.” Gus replied, catching Edmund's eye. “People can be quite harsh in this world. Especially to young ladies.”

Edmund nodded, then went back upstairs for the rest of the wood and his tools. He also brought down a bag. “My sister insisted on me bringing you these.” He said, setting the bag beside Gus, who was seated back in his chair, having returned to his book and cooling cup of coffee.

Frowning and resting the book on his knee, Gus reached into the bag, grabbing the first thing inside. He pulled out a teal colored cable knit jumper. “Oh.” He cooed, brows going up as he nodded.

“That's very kind. Thank you.”

“Mmhm.” Edmund grunted, leaving him to change and get back to his work.

Gus stood, closing the cellar door the rest of the way, and shed his tattered shirt, replacing it for the jumper, the wool rough on his skin. He rummaged through the bag, finding fresh underwear, pants, socks and shoes. Even a pair of pajamas! He stripped and put on the clean clothes and felt a sight better for it. His old shirt and boxers still smelled of the sea and made his skin itch.

A knock sounded on the door, as he was pulling on the socks and boots.

“Come!”

“Oh!” You started, but smiled at him. “I see my brother managed to do what I asked of him.” You said, a plate of food balanced in one hand.

“He did.” Gus nodded, smirking up at you. “Thank you. It was kind of you to think of it.”

“Of course.” You replied shyly, eyes darting away for a second. “I brought you breakfast.” You quickly recovered, holding the plate out to him, then removed utensils from the pocket of your apron. “Do you need a refill on your coffee?”

“It could use a warming up.” He picked his cup up and turned it over to your awaiting hand.

“Back in a snap.” You chirped. “Are you ready for your breakfast, Edmund?” You asked, on the way to the kitchen, pausing to watch him pull a pencil from behind his ear and strike a mark on a board he was measuring, on two saw-horses.

“Just bring me down a plate.” Edmund answered, too distracted to look up at you as he adjusted his measuring tape. “I have a lot of work to do.”

“All right.” You nodded, knowing that set in his shoulders.

Going back to the kitchen, you pour Gus's cold coffee down the sink, pull a cup down for Edmund, then turn towards the percolator that rested on the counter. Removing the lid, you pulled out the metal coffee basket and carried it out to the small garden you had, just like Edmund and Willa, where you tapped the damp, used coffee grounds into your compost bin.

The percolator set up for a fresh pot of coffee, you grabbed one of the plates sitting on the kitchen table to portion out the eggs, toast and sausage on it. You missed having a fruit with your breakfast, but with supplies what they were and being rationed, fresh produce were spares. But, the marmalades you were able to get periodically helped dull the longing.

For a little while, at least.

“Papa, do you want marmalade or butter on your toast?” You called out, plucking his piece of blackened toast out of the toaster oven, just how he liked it.

It was the same with his meat as well. Mael would have his steak, pork chops and every other type of meat blacker than shoe polish. You hadn't understood why, when you began cooking for your family. But Edmund had explained it to you one night, after your father complained three times his lamp chop wasn't done enough, though you were beginning to worry there would be nothing left of it, by the time you did get it where he liked it. Apparently, growing up his mother could never properly cook meat, either under-cooking it or burning it to a crisp.

“Do we have any marmalade left?” He called back.

“We do!” You replied, opening the refrigerator, to pull out the two small, glass jars of Rose's marmalade. “We have a tiny bit of the Strawberry left and Remi sent over some Ginger this morning.” You informed him, reading the label.

“I'll have Ginger then, Peanut.”

Nodding, you put the Strawberry back and muscled open the Ginger, spreading it over his toast and getting some on your fingers as you worked it to the edges. Giving a couple of your fingers a cheeky lick, humming at the sweet, but warm and spicy stickiness on them, you brought your father's food over to him, kissing the top of his balding head.

“Any movement on the Eastern Front, Major?” You inquired, cocking your head at the map he had spread out on a folding table he set up in front of his chair.

He had been listening to the radio about current movements, or mostly lack thereof, on the bloody fighting between the Axis powers and Soviet Union. His map was marked with different colored pencils and he had some sort of symbol system set up for himself to follow, that you hadn't fully figured out. What you did know was the Red and Black lines were the Russians and their Allies. Blue and Green were the Axis. The Skulls, you learned very early on, were the dead zones, where neither side gained or lost any ground, no matter what they did. Crosses were some of the heaviest casualties, and Arrows were meant to show any movement either side managed to make. But there were several others you and Edmund just couldn't make heads or tails out of.

Neither of you wished to ask either, in fear it might cause him to go into a tirade. So, simple questions were always the best.

“None, Peanut.” Mael replied, as he leaned forward with a red pencil and added a new Cross somewhere on the Northern edge of the Front, making your stomach sink.

You swallowed the hard lump in your throat. “I'm glad to hear it.” You rasped, squeezing his shoulder, before numbly returning to the kitchen, putting your plate back into the cabinet, appetite ruined.

“Dinner was delicious.” Gus commented, wiping up the remnants of the stew you had simmered throughout the day with his last bite of bread, popping it into his mouth with a complimentary moan.

“I'm glad you think so.” You smiled, holding your hand out for his bowl. “Um...” You floundered for a moment, pivoting on your hips as you glanced around. “I put clean towels in the bathroom upstairs, if you'd like to go up and take a shower. Edmund is back home with his wife. My father is asleep and it's almost curfew for the village.”

“I would greatly appreciate some time under the hot spray of a showerhead.” He replied, looking up at you, his eyes soft.

“It's all yours then.” You nodded, moving towards the door. “When you're ready for it.”

“I'll be up presently.” He cooed, standing gingerly, grabbing the pajamas that you and Edmund had supplied him.

Tossing the garments over his shoulder, Gus headed upstairs, mindful not to make boards creak as little as possible. Popping his head out the basement door, he saw your father dozing in his armchair, chin resting on his chest with his glasses balanced perilously on the tip of his nose. He heard a clink and moved forward a step, discovering you at the sink, washing his bowl and spoon.

“Is that a mouse, I hear?” You teased, glancing at him with a smirk.

“More the size of a rat.” Gus jested back, standing beside the kitchen table.

You giggled aloud for a second, before you covered it and looked over at your father. “I'll show you upstairs to the bathroom.” You said, drying your hands and motioned to the stairs. “How's your wound feeling?” You asked, following him up, glancing at the spot of his back where you knew his stitches were.

“Sore.” He sighed, pausing at the top to look at you. “That doctor makes a tight stitch.” He quipped, turning to follow you down the hallway.

“Better a tight stitch than a gaping wound.” You joked back, pushing open one of the doors and stepping aside for him.

“True enough, my darling.” Gus smirked, meeting your eye for a long moment, seeing the shy, sheepishness creep into your eyes and your bottom lip get caught between your teeth.”Thank you for the use of your restroom.”

“Of course.” You nodded, glancing away from him, then scurried back downstairs.

You pulled a clean fitted sheet and pillowcase out of a cabinet, the aroma of the laundry soap on the fabric greeting your nose as you hugged them to your chest. Edmund had managed to complete a more suitable and sturdy bed for Gus on his day of work, bringing over the mattress from his and Willa's guest room to top it. So, while Gus allowed himself the comforting luxury of washing up and getting ready for bed, you went down and dressed it for him. Sure the feeling of clean clothes on clean skin would help him get an extra good night's sleep.

“There, all ready for him.” You grinned, fluffing his pillowcase, then went back up to finish your other chores, before it was time for you to go off to bed. “Shoot.” You snapped, finding your father's chair empty and darted upstairs, to find him.

You reached the top of the stairs as your father came out of his room and Gus was exiting the bathroom in the gray striped pajamas, a towel draped around his neck. Your father caught sight of you first, seeing the wild and startled look in your eyes, his grayed brows wrinkling with confusion for a half-second, until he finally noticed Gus, who stood frozen in the bathroom doorway.

“Who in God's name is this man!” Mael snapped, his coffee-colored eyes hardening with alert outrage.

“He's-!” You floundered, head whipping between the two men. “He's—um..”

“I work for your son.” Gus answered calmly, his eyes giving you a quick look of knowing, instilling you with a burst of encouragement.

“Yes, Papa.” You nodded at Gus, your head slowly turning to your father, still bobbing. “He's helping Edmund build the shelves downstairs and with the repairs around the house.” You elaborated to him, smirking. “He's from the next village over though, and the curfew was set before he could head back home. So, Eddie and I suggested he stay here. He was just showering before heading off to bed.”

Mael squinted at Gus, his jaw moving gently side to side as he chewed on his lip.

“Papa, you should be off to bed.” You cooed at him, softly, resting your hand on his arm. “It's late.” You hoped to guide him back downstairs to his chair and get Gus out of his sight, at least until you talked to Edmund in the morning. “How do hotcakes sound for breakfast tomorrow?” You hummed, glancing back at Gus, who winked at you.

“Good, I suppose, Peanut.” Your father answered, only semi-distracted away from the stranger he found in his home.

“All right.” You smiled, tucking his blanket around him and lifting his legs to slide the ottoman under his feet. “I'll have some toasty and buttery, hot cakes for you, in the morning.” You whispered, kissing his forehead and watching him fall asleep, then rushed back upstairs. “I am so sorry, Gus! I didn't expect him to get up. He usually calls for me, if he wants something from his room.” You apologized, wringing your hands.

“No, no!” Gus shook his head, reaching out and grasping your hands. “This is your home and you have nothing to be sorry for. I'm sorry, I've thrown you and your family into such disarray.”

“It's all right.” You gulped, feeling the heavy warmth of his rough hands against your skin. “These are chaotic times, we're in.” You told him, heart fluttering. “We should get to bed, by the way. Tomorrow comes early.”

“Indeed it does.” He agreed, his skin tingling. “Especially, for the help.” He joked, lightly.

You chuckled back, dropping your eyes to the hallway runner. “I'll have to let Edmund in on that bit of information, when he comes over and before our father gets a hold of him.” You said, imagining how that conversation was going to go.

“Well, I'll wish you a good night.” Gus said, dropping his hands from yours, but inclined his head forward. “Peanut.” He added, with a playful wink, then excused himself.

Your cheeks blazed as you stood in the hallway, the heat of Gus's touch still lingering on your skin and the ring of him calling you by your nickname in your ears. It took a long moment for you to recover enough to resume your tasks and go to bed.

[viking-raider-taglist]

(If you click the link below the image, it'll take you to the story's Ao3!)

[viking-raider]

LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT > PART TWO

Summary-> It's a lovely first morning for Alexa and Henry, as they continue to learn about one another, and filming their new marriage gets serious.

Pairing-> Henry Cavill/OFC (Alexa)

Word Count-> 3k

Warnings-> PG: Arranged Marriage, Language, Banter

Inspiration-> Nick and Vanessa Lachey’s Love is Blind on Netflix.

Author’s Note-> My apologies if any of the information on Alexa's T1 is incorrect. I'm willing to take advice. But there’s not many to do. I hope you enjoy! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

-> If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST as well as my @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’

– The Honeymoon –

Stirring, Alexa no longer felt the engulfing warmth of Henry's body against her back and rolled onto hers. Looking to his side of the bed, she found it empty. Casting her eyes out of the mountain of blankets, she discovered her husband's silhouette against the sparkling sun, standing on the veranda and enjoying a cup of coffee. A sleepy smirk pulled across her lips, sitting up and brushing the loose strands of snow-white hair out of her face.

“Morning.” Henry said with a low rumble, coming to stand in the open door.

“Good morning.” Alexa greeted him back, stretching and sighing, feeling a bit jet-lagged from their flight, but nothing that would affect their day. “How long have you been up?” She asked, glancing at the clock on her nightstand, reading it was almost noon.

“An hour or two.” He answered, taking a deep swallow of his coffee. “I've just been enjoying the nice weather, until you woke up, so we could have breakfast.”

“You've been waiting for my lazy tush to get out of bed, to eat breakfast?” Alexa gasped, looking at him with surprise.

“I have.” Henry smirked, amused. “I don't mind. Besides, Riah called not long after I woke up, to tell me they'll be here at two, to start filming us.”

“Lovely.” She gulped, looking down at the blankets pooled around her waist, chewing on her lip for a moment. “Well, I'll get up and dress, while you order us breakfast!” She said, sliding to the edge of the bed.

“Do you want anything specific?” He asked, cocking his head at her, sensing an odd energy from her.

“Um, if they have oatmeal and whole-grain toast, definitely bananas, and a fruit smoothie, soy-milk.” She rambled off, heading into the closet for her clothing.

Henry smiled, amused at her appetite. “Will do, love.”

“Oh!” Alexa gasped, popping back out of the closet, stopping Henry on his way out of the bedroom. “No strawberries! I'm super allergic to them. Like, we'll spend our honeymoon in the hospital with anaphylactic shock.”

“Definitely no strawberries.” Henry shook his head, blue eyes big with concern.

Alexa nodded at him, then disappeared back into the closet. Henry came back a short time later, to find her sitting cross legged on the closet floor, a kit unfolded before her.

“What are you doing?” He asked, frowning down at her.

“I'm reapplying my insulin pump and glucose sensor.” She replied, frowning up at him, before recalling Henry hadn't been in the room nor awake, when she checked her levels. “I have Type One diabetes. I was diagnosed when I was eight years old, after getting sick. I'm sorry, I didn't tell you. I should have, but it's such a part of my life, wearing my pump and sensor, or pricking my finger and using my insulin pens, that sometimes I don't think to tell new people in my life I have it.” She explained to him, gulping.

“Unless it's someone that needs to know.” Alexa added, quietly.

“And your new husband isn't one of those people?” Henry asked, moving to squat in front of her, looking over everything she had laid out. “What if your sugars dropped and you got sick or something? I'd have no idea what was wrong with you. I'd have no clue how to take care of you. What dose to give you. What to tell the emergency doctors, when I rushed you to the hospital.”

The look of terrified worry on Henry's face formed a small, nauseous lump in Alexa's throat.

“Well, I can show you, if you want?” She said, smiling softly at him. “I just started this.” She told him, motioning to the equipment.

“I'd like that.” He replied, nodding and sitting down with her.

“All right.” Alexa grinned, wiggling in her spot. “So, I use this-” She held up an applicator between her fingers. “This is my Dexcom G-Six, glucose sensor and applicator, it pairs to my phone via Bluetooth.” She picked up her phone with her other hand, showing Henry the screen. “And an app I have on it. Through that, it checks my levels every five minutes. It tells me what my levels are, where they were and are heading.”

Henry nodded his head, listening intently. “All right. Where does it go?”

“It goes right here on my arm.” Alexa answered, using the corner of her phone to tap the back of her arm, before setting it down to pick up a single-use alcohol swab. “I need to clean the spot I'm going to put the sensor in, obviously.” She explained, ripping open the swab and cleaning the meaty area at the back of her arm. “While I do that, you want to do something for me?” She asked, cocking a brow at him.

“Of course, what do you need?” Henry asked, perking up.

“In that little pocket of my kit, there are over-patches—they'll help keep my sensor on my arm, they're different patterns.” She told him, with an amused smirk. “Why don't you pick one for me to put on it.”

Henry smirked back at her. “I can do that.” He nodded, pulling the five or six sealed patches out and filed through them, looking at the designs. “This one seems appropriate.” He decided, holding up a patch with cartoon-ish, blue, gray and black whales.

“Excellent choice!” Alexa agreed, picking up the applicator and pressing it to the sterilized area of her arm, hissing softly. “It's as simple as that really.” She said, setting the applicator aside, rubbing her finger around the edge of the initial adhesive. “Other than holding down on the button for a few seconds, to make sure the sensor and my phone pair.” She added, pressing down on it for a moment, then held her hand out for the over-patch, taking it from Henry and removing the clear film, to carefully seal it around the sensor.

“That one is done!” She giggled, wiggling her brows at him.

“I'm guessing you also have dietary needs.” Henry said, watching her fiddle with another device.

“I do have several things on my do not eat list, yes.” Alexa nodded, eyes on her task.

“Strawberries being one of them.”

“That's one of them, on the longer list.” She chuckled, looking up at him. “I'm generally on a low-carbs diet. A lot of sugary items and fried foods. Fruits, veggies, whole-grain, etc are great for me.” She listed off for him, watching the wheels of his brain turn through the blue of his eyes. “So, this is my insulin pump, Omnipod. It's a tubeless insulin pump that gives me three days worth of insulin, before I have to change it. My Dexcom and Omnipod talk to each other, so it knows how much insulin I need, without me having to do much of anything, besides making sure I'm eating and drinking right, and staying active.”

“That's great.” Henry nodded, sucking his bottom lip in between his teeth as he watched her.

“So, this is a bit of a process.” She told him, opening a fresh Omnipod package. “I need to fill this syringe with about a hundred and thirty units of my insulin for the next three days.” She instructed him, opening the box with her Humalog insulin vial.

“You need to draw it straight out of the bottle?” He frowned, watching her use a alcohol swab and clean the top of the vial, before taking a syringe that was provided with her Omnipod out.

“Yes, unfortunately things like this aren't customizable.” Alexa answered, carefully twisting on the needle part of the syringe, drawing the plunger back, inserting the needle into the vial, then proceeding to draw the amount of insulin she needed into it. “Maybe, someday in the future.” She said, looking up at him, a small glitter of hope in her eyes. “Now that I have the insulin in the syringe, I just insert it here, into this little hole, and push it in, filling the pod for the next seventy-three hours and we wait for it to prime.”

“Where do you put this one?”

“I can put it on my arms, like my Dexcom, but on the opposite arm it's on. My thighs or my stomach. I usually prefer to have them both on the backs of my arms. But since we're on our honeymoon, I'm just going to pop it on my stomach.” She told him, tapping the screen of the Omnipod's control screen, recording where she was placing it, then stood up.

“It's easy standing.” She told Henry's expression, cleaning the spot on her stomach and securing the pod over it.

“Is that it?” Henry asked, as she sat down again, but leaning back slightly.

“No, now I need to let the Pod know it's in place, so it can insert the little tub that'll deliver my insulin.” She answered, tapping the control screen again, causing a couple soft clicks to fill the space between them, before a sharper one and her small jolt. “Now, it's done.” She smiled at him, taking an over-patch and securing it around the pump.

“That is quite the process.” He commented, shaking his head. “And you've been doing this since you were eight.”

“Mmhm.” She nodded, sighing softly. “Just second nature now. It's gotten easier over the years. Especially, with the new medications that have come out and the technology. So, who knows what science will come up with next!”

“A cure, hopefully.”

“That would be lovely.” Alexa nodded, a dreamy look on her face. “But I don't see that in my lifetime.”

“You never know.” Henry cooed, winking at her.

“True, I never thought I'd get married, and here I am.” She giggled, tucking away her equipment and zipping up her kit, before picking up the rubbish.

“What about your pens?” Henry asked, looking up at her.

“Oh, I don't need those, unless I'm not using my pump or my levels drop too low for it.” She answered, moving around him to exit the closet.

“But,” Henry climbed to his feet, following after her. “Why didn't you wear them yesterday, when we married?”

Alexa sighed, her shoulders slumping. “I didn't want them to be seen through my dress.” She confessed, biting her lip and looking at him over her shoulder. “So, I took them off and just monitored my levels though finger pricks and my pens.”

“And our flight home?”

“I was too tired to go through the process of putting them on.”

Henry sighed, cocking his head at her, a tender expression on his face. “I wish you had said something. I would have helped.”

“I know.” Alexa whispered, smiling at him. “I'm learning you're quite the attentive person, Henry Cavill.”

“I love taking care of those around me.” He replied, reaching out to touch her cheek with his index finger. “Especially my wife.”

“Mmm.” She blushed, nose wrinkling cutely.

The doorbell sounded, reminding them that breakfast had arrived for them. Henry opened the door for the room service butler, while Alexa headed out onto the veranda off the kitchen, making herself comfortable at the table there. Facing towards the glittering strip of beach and ocean, the call of seabirds as they swooped down for their own breakfasts.

“Isn't it lovely out?” Henry asked, coming out to join her.

“It really is.” She nodded, reclining in her seat and casting an eye over the trolley the butler was bringing out. “You picked quite the spread.” She commented, feeling her stomach rumble, looking over the plates of food.

Henry blushed slightly, taking a seat across from her. “Yeah, I get a bit of an appetite after jet-lag.” He admitted, nodding appreciatively at the butler, who stopped the trolley beside the table and excused himself. “That's a Mango and Banana smoothie from their menu, that I ordered for you, with your request of soy-milk.” Henry explained, motioning to the glass on the cart.

“I hope that's all right?”

“That's more than fine.” She assured him, grabbing her toast and oatmeal with a couple of banana slices in it. “They're both good for me.” She commented, picking up the cool and sweaty glass, taking a sip of the soy-milk smoothie and hummed with approval. “I don't remember the last time I had a mango, but that is delicious!” She smiled, setting the glass beside her bowl, then fixed her arctic-blue eyes on Henry.

“So, Husband, what do you want to do today?” She asked, picking up her spoon to dig into her oatmeal.

“I'm not sure.” Henry hummed, pausing in eating his fork full of his ham and cheese omelet. “We could just go about and check out the island.” He suggested, taking the bite and chewing, before sitting back for a moment. “You mentioned yesterday there's a lot of good walking trails and sites to see. Like, waterfalls.”

“Yeah.” Alexa nodded, mulling it over, nursing her smoothie. “We will have the film crew following us around, like lost puppies as well.” She reminded him, biting the corner of her lip. “Give us the moment to get used to them practically stalking us.”

Henry heaved a sigh, picking up the coffee pot and poured himself a fresh cup. “That's also true.” He replied, dumping a single sugar into it. “I'm used to a camera only following me around in a studio or a specific location. Not all day, every day. For every moment of my life.”

“For any entire year of our life.” She added, cocking a brow at him.

“Mmhm.” He nodded, sipping his steaming coffee. “Let's find a trail.” He said, digging his phone out of his pocket and pulling up Google.

Alexa slid her chair over closer to Henry and cocked her head over his shoulder to see his screen, watching him scroll through, best hiking trails in Tamarindo. “Oh, that one has a waterfall and a hot spring we could swim in.” She commented, pointing one of them out. “Be a good place to relax for a short bit, before we head back.” She suggested, looking up at Henry.

“I mean, I have to make sure my husband's old bones can make it back.” She teased, an impish smirk curling up the corners of her mouth as her blue eyes sparkled.

Looking at her, Henry pressed his lips together, his eyes both roguish and cool. “Ha-ha.” He replied, carefully knocking her with his shoulder, but grinned as Alexa giggled at him, resting her chin on his shoulder and hugging her arms around his torso.

Henry stared into her eyes, feeling his throat tighten with her body pressed against his, her smiling face close to his. Licking his lips, he leaned in and pressed his lips against hers, cutting off her giggle with soft and surprised gasp. Alexa's eyes flared, staring into Henry's, that were still open and looking at her, measuring her reaction to him kissing her. But she had done the same thing as she did on the altar the day before. Alexa returned his kiss, her hand twisting up the fabric at the back of his tank top and tugging him closer to her; her eyes fluttering shut.

Sighing softly, Henry's hand lifted to grip the back of Alexa's neck, pulling her against his body and holding her there as they deepened the kiss, lips moving slow and gentle. But it didn't last, as Henry got a creeping feeling of being watched and cracked an eye open, finding Riah stepping out onto the veranda with them, a broad grin on her face.

“The doorbell broken?” He asked, moving away from Alexa, feeling a protective bubble form in the pit of his stomach, resting a hand on her back, seeing Alexa's face flush bright red, hiding away from them, until she got control of herself.

“No.” Riah answered, unperturbed. “I used it. I just guess the two of you were too distracted to hear it, so I let myself in.” She explained, holding up a spare key to their villa. “Nice to see the two of you are getting comfortable with one another.”

“You can say that.” Alexa rasped, turning back towards the conversation, licking her lips. “So,” She looked down at her watch, then cocked her brow at the other woman. “You're early.”

“Yeah, we figured we'd come over and start setting up. Go over a few things.” Riah told her, unbothered as the cameraman from yesterday appeared from behind her. “This is Jesse, he'll be the cameraman following you around for a majority of your year together, unless something should come up.” She explained to Alexa and Henry, motioning to Jesse, who gave them a small wave and nod. “A large portion of the time, it'll just be Jesse filming you. Wherever you go, he'll be with you. Until you get home, that is.”

“Then, we get privacy, I hope.” Alexa commented, under her breath, picking up her smoothie to finish off what was left.

“Not completely.” Riah retorted, arching a brow at her. “We'll have at least one camera in all the rooms, but the bathroom, for obvious reasons. They'll roll until a certain point, then will be shut off and the footage will be edited for your privacy and the show's content.”

Henry glanced over at Alexa, hearing her quiet groan. “I suppose, it's what we signed up for.” He said, trying to sound confident.

“It's exactly what you both signed up for.” Riah reminded them, looking between him and Alexa. “So, what are the two of you doing today?” She asked, folding her arms. “Other than sucking face.” She added with a quip.

“We decided,” Henry replied, clearing his throat. “to go on a hike. There's a nice trail with a waterfall and hot spring we want to check out and enjoy.”

“Marvelous.” Riah grinned, excited to film the two of them on an outing. “Jesse will get set up and the two of you can just go about as if he's not even here.”

“Right.” Alexa nodded, staring into the bottom of her glass, before looking up at Henry, finding him gazing at her.

[viking-raider]

Salt in Our Wounds - Chapter II

Summary-> You've brought the unconscious and injured man into your home. Now, you and Edmund attempt to get him medical attention, while figuring out who he is, and what side he's on.

Pairing-> Gus March-Phillipps/Reader

Word Count-> 4.8k

Chapters-> I

Warnings-> PG: Blood, Language, Infidelity, Fluff, Medical Treatment

Inspiration-> Since my favorite demon, @littlefreya, asked so nicely. The one and only Chaos Major, Gus March-Phillipps.

Author’s Note-> I hope you enjoy! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

-> If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST as well as my @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’

“What are we going to tell Papa, Edmund?” You whispered, looking at him suddenly.

Edmund pushed his jaw forward and rubbed his palms over the steering wheel. “You just leave that to me, Peanut.” He replied, hitting the village round-a-bout. “I'll talk to him. What we need to worry about is how we're going to get his bullet wound treated.”

“Oh, no!” You gasped, feeling ridiculous for forgetting that.

“Relax.” Edmund cooed, turning onto your street. “I might have someone in mind, who could help us and keep their mouth shut.” He said, parking against your curb, instead of his.

“Who?” You frowned, blinking at him.

“Old man Tremblay.” He said, killing the engine. “He used to be the village's doctor, before his son-in-law, Thomas, took over for him. They both hate the Germans. So, I might be able to talk to Dr. Tremblay about coming over to the house. I'll say we need him to look at Pops. No offense to Thomas, but he's more comfortable with the old man, which is true. Once he's here, I'll explain the situation to him.”

“If he doesn't help us?” You asked, chewing on your lip, worried.

“Then, we'll wing it.” He huffed, shoving his door open and getting out.

“Wing it.” You sighed, your hands trembling. “Right. Wing it.” You gulped, getting out and meeting your brother at the tailgate. “What end are we picking up first?” You asked, quietly.

“I'll grab his top end.” Edmund replied, casually. “No need for you to drop the poor bastard on his head. He's got enough issues.” He sighed, climbing into the truck. “We all do.” He mumbled under his breath. “Go, open the front door.” He said, jerking his head towards your modest cottage.

“Fair.” You replied, scurrying over and pushing the door open. “Papa, me and Edmund are bringing something in! Don't close the door, please!” You called inside, before rushing back to the truck, helping Edmund with your load.

You slide him half off the truck, enabling you to wrap your arms around his knees and calves, before Edmund managed the rest. Shuffling across the sidewalk and turning, so Edmund went in first, you stepped over the threshold into the cottage, feeling the heat of the fire your father had roaring in the grate.

“What in God's sake are you two bringing in!” Your father griped from the sitting room, where he occupied his favorite armchair.

“I'll explain in a minute, Pops!” Edmund wheezed back, kicking open the door to the cellar. “You go down first.” He bid you with a jerk of his chin. “Your side vision is better than mine, so you hopefully won't stubble down the stairs, while looking over your shoulder.”

“That's fine.” You nodded, turning so you could carefully go down the narrow steps into the dark basement below.

It was slow and cumbersome, but you and Edmund made it to the bottom. You sat your package down and unwrapped him. There were no windows into the basement, so there wasn't a need to hide or conceal him anymore.

“We can't lay him on the floor, Edmund.” You hissed at him, quietly.

“We're not, silly!” He growled back, shaking his head. “Pops has a camp bed up in the attic. Go, get it and bring it down here. We'll set it up in the cellar, he can lay on it.”

Nodding, you went back upstairs, peeking at your father as you came up, but found, to your relief, he had dozed off. Going upstairs and down the hallway, you reached up for a cord hanging from the ceiling and pulled it, revealing a hidden, folded ladder, leading up to the half attic. It took a few minutes for you to finally find the folded up, military green and canvas, camp bed. Once you were back in the basement with it, Edmund had the cellar door open and was waiting for you. He put the bed together like an expert, having gone on countless camping trips with it over his life.

“That should do it.” He sighed, wiping his face. “Let's get him in it, then I'll go talk to Dr. Tremblay.”

“All right.” You sighed back. “He doesn't seem to be bleeding as much.” You commented, once he was resting in the bed.

“Seems so.” Edmund agreed, narrowing his eyes at the wound in the dim lighting. “Whether or not it's a good or bad sign is yet to be determined.”

“Then, you should hurry and get the doctor.” You urged him, brow creasing gently as you looked up at him.

“I'm going. I'm going.” He defended, holding his hands up. “Can't a man take a breather?” He asked, wide eyed.

You reached out and took Edmund's hand. “I'm sorry. I'm just-”

“I know, Peanut.” Edmund interrupted, shaking his head at you. “You have a heart worth more than gold, itself.” He said softly, bending to kiss the top of your head. “With luck, I'll be back soon with Dr. Tremblay.” He called, heading out.

“You hear that?” You said, looking at the man. “We're going to get you looked after. You'll be right as rain again soon.” You smiled at him, though you weren't sure why. “How about I grab you a blanket?” You continued to babble at him. “You might get blood on it though.” You frowned, biting the corner of your lip, but scurried upstairs for a blanket and pillow anyway.

“What's that for, Peanut?” Your father asked, still half dozing.

“Oh, I just thought the basement spirit would like something comfortable to nap with.” You answered, pausing at the basement door, smirking over at him, knowing he wasn't listening.

“That's nice of you, love.” He slurred, head lolling forward.

You chuckled, continuing on. “Well, my father now thinks the basement is haunted.” You quipped, lightly spreading the blanket over your new housemate, then gently tucked the pillow under his head, noticing how sweaty his unruly, but short, curls were. “You've caught a fever.” You cooed, turning your hand to delicately rest it on his damp forehead. “Thankfully, it's cool down here.” You said, using the cuff of your blouse to dab at his sweaty brow.

“I'll be right back.” You hurried back upstairs, to the kitchen.

You grabbed a bowl from the cabinet and a dish towel from its hanger. Tossing the towel over your shoulder, you filled the bowl halfway with water and turned to the ice box and chipped ice from it, dropping some into the bowl. You made two trips between the upstairs and the cellar, taking a chair down there, before taking down the chilled water, so you had something to sit on as you gingerly dabbed his flushed forehead and face.

“Well, whoever you are.” You said, balancing the bowl in your lap. “It's a right mess this is.” You chuckled, before introducing yourself, feeling silly just sitting there in the silence. “I hope you're on our side or Edmund is going to have us both shot.”

Some of the heat in his skin cooled as you lightly draped the folded dish towel over his forehead, making you relieved to see him not so flushed.

You heard the door upstairs creak open and the floorboards overhead groan as heavy feet strode and shuffled over them. “That must be Edmund with Dr. Tremblay.” You commented, looking up at the dusty ceiling. “I should go up and check on them.” You said, standing up, setting the now warm bowl of water in your place on the chair.

“Edmund?” You called softly, appearing in the kitchen, where he was standing with a short, gray haired man, dressed in a wrinkled, brown three piece suit.

“Sshh.” He hushed you, casting an eye towards the sitting room and waved you closer. “As I was saying, Dr. Tremblay, I've brought you here not for my father, but for another matter entirely.” He continued, his voice low so as not to disturb your father.

Dr. Tremblay's bushy brows drew closer together, reminding you of a caterpillar. “Is that so?” He hummed, bringing his arthritic hand up to his chin. “Then, what was it you summoned me here for?”

Edmund's eyes twitched to yours for a moment, you nodded at him and he looked back to the good doctor. “I know you have no love for our occupiers, Dr. Tremblay, like I, myself, don't.”

“Ha!” He laughed, his head tipping back as he grinned. “Fripouilles!” He spat, with no small amount of venom.

“I agree, sir.” Edmund chuckled, smirking. “But, to the heart of the matter. My dear sister here, on her daily morning walk along the beach found something—someone, washed ashore.” He explained, his voice calm and steady, revealing no emotion or opinion. “We're sure he's of our morals. But he's been injured.”

“Injured?” Dr. Tremblay frowned, narrowing his ordinarily kind, but currently and understandably suspicious, brown eyes at him. “Injured how? Show me.”

“I would rather tell you.” Edmund answered, biting his lip. “In case, you wish not to have any further dealings in this matter.”

“Nonsense!” Tremblay huffed, waving his hand dismissively at the two of you. “Let me see this man.”

Edmund didn't move for a moment, before nodding and leading him down the basement stairs. “He was shot in the side.” He explained, entering the cellar, where your guest laid.

“I discovered he'd developed a fever.” You spoke up from the door. “So, I applied a cool compress to his skin.”

“That was a good thing.” Dr. Tremblay answered, distractedly, folding back the blanket and resting his hands on the man's injured side. “Has he regained consciousness at any time?”

“No.” Edmund replied, shaking his head and looking at you.

“He hasn't.” You confirmed, nervously.

Dr. Tremblay pulled a pair of wired spectacles out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket, before untucking the shirt from the unconscious man's trousers, for a clearer view, and began fussing around the wound. “Help me turn him on his side, Edmund.” He bid, waving your brother over. “Yes, good. Very good.” He nodded, examining his back. “The bullet went clean through to the other side.” He said, indicating the exit area, just above his hip.

“Then, why is he still comatose?” You asked, concerned.

“He may have struck his head on something, while in the water.” He answered, allowing Edmund to rest him on his back, before moving up to his head and gently working his fingers through his curls, feeling for any bumps or soft spots on his scalp. “Ah, just here.” He smiled, finding a faint knot at the back, just behind his left ear.

“Well, get my bag from upstairs. I'll treat him.” Tremblay sighed at Edmund. “Are you squeamish, young lady?” He asked, while he pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat down.

You thought of the Patrol Officer for a split second, before answering him. “No, sir. I am not.”

“Very good.” He said, crooking a finger at you. “You'll be taking care of this, when I'm not here to check on him.” He informed you, bluntly.

“That's fine.” You gulped, biting your lip and moving to stand beside him. “What will I need to do?”

“The dressing on both the entry and exit wounds will need to be changed.” He explained to you, calmly. “You'll make sure there's no sign of infection or the stitches I need to put in place have not come untied. As well as keep them clean.”

You nodded your head, somewhat apprehensive at the thought of doing all of this, but knew there was no other option, if you wanted to keep this man alive.

“You were correct in assuming he has a fever.” Dr. Tremblay said, lifting the damp towel and laying his hand on the man's forehead, feeling the heat there. “It's possible there's an infection in his wound from his time in the water.” He replaced the towel and looked up at Edmund as he rejoined the two of you, holding Tremblay's black, large and leather doctor's bag.

“I will show you how to give him penicillin shots.” He told you, taking his bag and setting it down between his feet.

“You mean with a needle?” You squeaked, startled, looking over at Edmund.

“Certainly not with a glass, mon chéri.” Tremblay chuckled, grinning at the contents of his bag.

The seasoned doctor removed an emerald, glass bottle of liquid antiseptic, a small package of silk sutures with a wickedly sharp needle, a tiny vial of a clear substance and a glass syringe. He laid them out on a small space on the bed, turning his attention back to the angry looking entry wound.

“Do you have any hand towels you could part with?” He asked, looking up at you. “It will help me clean these wounds.”

“Yes, of course.” You nodded, darting back upstairs and grabbing a couple of the dish towels you had that were in sad condition, bringing them back down as Edmund was wrestling an old nightstand into the room.

“Give him something to put his instruments on.” He explained to your expression.

“Ah.” You nodded, understanding.

Everything set up, you watched closely as Dr. Tremblay drew the milky antibiotic through into the syringe, pushing up the plunger slightly to remove any air, then set it aside and studied his patient for a moment, before letting out a sigh that sounded as if he was inconvenienced.

“We must remove his trousers.” He said, tapping his foot.

“Why?” Edmund blurted out, brows going up with surprised shock.

“So I may administer the shot to him.” Tremblay replied, with an air of impatience.

“Well!” Edmund started to protest.

“Men!” You huffed, shaking your head.

“Don't you dare!” He snapped at you, watching as you moved around the good doctor and removed the blanket you had laid over the injured man, but you ignored him.

First, untying his boots and dropping them at the foot of the bed, then reached up and unbuttoned his suspenders, followed by the button of his trousers.

“What if he's not wearing an undergarment?” Your brother protested further.

“Then, we will be finding out presently, brother.” You replied, shooting him a look as you tugged the zipper down, much to your relief finding the hint of white and blue striped shorts. “See, you're fretting for nothing.” You said, tugging the rough wool pants down off his surprisingly thick thighs.

“Possibly of questionable allegiance, but properly dressed.” You quipped, folding them.

“Watch closely, mon chéri.” Tremblay hummed and picked the syringe back up, with a practiced hand, squeezed the muscle at the top of his thigh and injected him, slowly pushing down the plunger. “That is how it is done.” He said, looking up at you.

“It seems simple enough.” You answered, attempting to appear confident in your ability to replicate it.

“Very good.” He nodded, turning his bespeckled eyes to the bullet wound on the man's abdomen.

Grabbing one of the hand towels you set on the table, he poured antiseptic on it and pressed it to the wound, eliciting one of the first major reactions out of your beached stranger with the stinging liquid to the open and bleeding puncture. He whined, brows drawing together as he shook his head, sluggishly lifting his hand. You moved back around to the head of the bed, hushing him gently and picking up the now wilted towel as it slipped from his forehead. You caressed his damp curls off his forehead and temple, attempting to offer some semblance of comfort as Dr. Tremblay continued to disinfect his wound and the area around it.

“You're all right.” You whispered to him, quietly. “We're just trying to help you.” You tried to explain to him, not sure if he could hear you or not. “You're safe here with us.” You mumbled, watching Tremblay set the cloth aside to pick up the needle and thread, you unconsciously took the man's limp hand in yours and hugged it to your chest.

“Is there no more light to be had in this room, Edmund!” Tremblay asked, leaning forward to stare at the wound in the dusky light of the single, naked bulb overhead.

“I may be able to find you a lantern.” Edmund replied, turning back into the basement and rummaged around the items, until he found an oil lamp. He shook it gently, hearing what oil that was left inside slosh about. “I found it!” He called out, before going upstairs, setting that lamp on the kitchen counter and crossing into the sitting room, where the once roaring fire was, but now only flickered.

He took one of the fire sticks from the holder bolted to the brick that made up the fireplace and lit it with one of the remaining flames. Carefully carrying it back to the lamp, Edmund lit its soaked wick and blew the fire stick out, before tossing it into the sink.

“Here.” Edmund sighed, setting the lamp down on the table. “I hope it's enough.”

“Yes, yes.” The doctor nodded, satisfied.

With all he needed, Tremblay squinted and made the first pick of the needle. The patient huffed, his stomach muscles flexing in response, but it didn't deter Dr. Tremblay in the slightest as he continued. You stroked his forearm and squeezed his hand, watching with an uneasy stomach as the old doctor made smooth sutures. Those sutures placed, Edmund helped roll him onto his side, so the wound on his lower back could be likewise treated with antiseptic and stitched closed.

“I will come back in a day or two, to check on his wound and ensure the fever has broken. Give him the next shot in the morning.” Tremblay said, arranging his bag and closing it. “Should he grow worse in that time, send for me.”

“We will.” You answered, staring down at him, concerned with the flush to his face.

Edmund showed the kind doctor back upstairs, while you gently tended to your sick house guest. Carefully pulling down his shirt and covering him back up, as not to leave him only laying in the camp bed in a long sleeved shirt and his boxers. Picking up the basin of water, you carried it back upstairs and dumped it out in the sink, refilling it with fresh water and a little ice, before taking it back to the cellar, resting it on the table. Dipping the folded cloth in the chilled water and ringing it out, then gently pressing it to his flushed and bearded cheeks wiping away the droplets of blossoming sweat at his brow.

“He's going to need some nursing.” You said, hearing your brother coming back.

“I can see that.” Edmund replied, folding his arms and leaning against the door frame.

“Is there any prospect of finding him a more comfortable bed?” You asked Edmund, looking the camp bed over, how it dipped under his weight, the only support were the ties that kept the canvas middle secure to the frame.

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Between both houses, while Willa and I have a guest bed, that he's not welcome to, for obvious reasons. We don't have a bed to spare.” He told you, but saw the glint in your eye. “I could piece something for him.” He continued, stopping you from asking the question that was on the tip of your tongue. “Topping it with the mattress from my spare bed.”

“That would be better for him, I think.” You said, worried about the safety of the sutures on his back.

“Well, for now, it'll have to wait until tomorrow.” Edmund sighed, scratching the underside of his jaw. “It's your turn to make dinner tonight, by the way.” He reminded you, watching you fuss with the stranger as if he was someone you knew.

“I remember, brother.” You replied, catching the edge in his voice. “I got a good bit of minced beef from Remi last afternoon, with some Swedes.” You told him, dipping the cloth in the cool basin, then lightly laid it over the resting man's forehead. “Juliette told me a recipe yesterday as well. It's called Beef Loaf.” You stood, planting your hands on your hips and massaging the small of your back, sore from so much bending.

“I thought we would try it tonight.” You said, turning towards him, with a lifted brow.

“Sounds interesting.” He answered, cocking a brow back at you. “You should get to it.” He added, looking at his watch. “Supper starts in two hours. You know how the Major is, when dinner isn't prompt.”

You chuckled softly, nodding. “Yes, I do.” You replied, casting your eyes down to your soiled skirt. “But, I should change first. If he sees me like this, he'll likely ask questions.”

“Very true.” Edmund nodded, squinting at your skirt and just making out the stains. “Off you trot, then. I'll stay with our friend for a little while, in case he wakes.” He sighed, pushing off the door frame towards the chair. “You mind popping over to my place and grabbing my sketch pad, after you're finished freshening up? I need to make some figures on the shelves I'm putting down here.”

“Of course.” You nodded, picking the basin. “Do you have another lantern or oil? So you have more light to work by?”

“I believe so.” He frowned, slouching in the chair. “Willa can find them.”

Nodding again, you left back upstairs, setting the bowl in the sink and headed up to your bedroom. Sighing, you unbuttoned your skirt and let it slip in a puddle around your ankles, before stepping out of it and opened your little closet. Reaching blindly in for a fresh skirt, pulling out a wool, black and green, plaid skirt and slipped it on. Smoothing your hands over the garment, you hurried outside and to Edmund and Willa's home across the street, knocking lightly as you pushed the door open.

“Willa!” You called out for your sister-in-law, looking about for the slight brunette. “Lila!” You shouted, crossing to the back of the house, where they had a small garden, finding your sister-in-law there. She sat at a small table, slightly sideways in her chair, as she held one of her Debs Rose-Tips between her slender fingers, her eyes staring off over the garden wall.

“Willa.” You hailed, stepping out onto the patio.

Head jerking as she startled and taking a deep breath, Willa blinked several times and looked around at you. “Oh, it's you.” She sighed, rolling her hazel eyes. “What do you want?”

“I came for Edmund's sketch book. I also wanted to know if you had a lantern or lantern oil?” You explained to her, ignoring her look of annoyance at being bothered in whatever she was doing.

“Fine.” Willa huffed, standing up and heading inside, you following after her.

Willa opened a closet in the living room, removing a lantern and a bottle of oil, handing them over to you, before finding Edmund's sketch pad and his graphite pencil in the kitchen, motioning to them. “Will my husband need anything else?” She asked, with an air of almost callousness.

“I should think not.” You answered, taking the book and pencil up. “I'll have dinner ready soon.” You informed her, juggling all of your items. “If you're going to grace us with your presence.” You added, with an edge of your own.

“I'll think about it.” She answered, lifting an arched brow at you.

“Right, I'll have Edmund get you, when it's finished.” You said, turning for the door. “If not, I'll make you a plate.”

You were gently turning out the mixture of mince meat, dry breadcrumbs, fine onion, an egg, a pinch of salt and a can of cream of mushroom into your four by eight loaf pan, when your brother came tromping up the basement stairs.

“You'll wake the dead with all that noise, Captain.” You quipped, lightly patting the meat concoction into shape in the pan.

“That I will.” Edmund chuckled, moving to stand beside you, peeking over your shoulder to see in the baking pan. “Is that the beef loaf?” He asked, giving it a questionable brow lift.

“It is.” You nodded, sighing at it, praying you had mixed it all properly. “Now, it's supposed to cook for an hour.”

“Well, hopefully it'll look prettier by then.” Edmund chuckled, smirking at you, then brought up his sketch pad. “I finished up the drawing for the shelves down there. What do you think?” He asked, cocking his head at the dark lines.

Opening the blazing oven and grabbing the pan in a thick towel, you paused for a moment to give your brother's picture a look. “They look good, Eddie.” You told him, smiling encouragingly, bending to slide the pan onto the middle rack and shut the door. “How are we to open and close the secret door you've made there?” You asked, pointing it out, careful not to touch it so you didn't smudge the graphite.

“The lock is magnetic.” He replied, pointing it out in the sketch. “We'll put something on the shelf that'll connect to it, so when it's moved, the mechanism is tripped and the door swings up.”

“That's pretty incredible.” You grinned, enchanted by the whole thing.

“It shouldn't take me more than two days to build.” Edmund said, sounding as confident as he could as he examined the drawing a bit more, slowly turning away to head over to the kitchen table, seating himself to refine it a bit more.

“What are we building?” Your father's voice asked as he made careful steps coming down stairs.

You and Edmund exchanged a quick glance at each other and you turned away to mind the violet and dusky yellow Swedes that sat boiling in a pot of salted water top of the stove. There was a lump in your throat, waiting to hear what excuse Edmund was going to give your father for the changes downstairs in the basement. Neither of you really worried about him going down there, he struggled with stairs because of his advancing arthritis, choosing to sleep in his armchair in the sitting room most nights and only making the arduous journey upstairs to his bedroom when he needed to change his clothes or shower.

However any change to the house, seen or unseen, would draw his attention.

“I'm going to build some shelves against the cellar wall, in the basement, for her.” Edmund replied, calmly, making an adjustment to his plans. “So she can tidy things up a bit down there.”

“And what of the cellar?” Mael asked, shuffling over to his chair.

“We haven't used it once for anything since we lived here, Pops.” He chuckled, smirking at the old man's back. “Might as well close it up.”

Mael made a sound as he lowered himself into his chair, something between a dismissive grunt and a stiff groan. “Very well.” He sighed, settling himself and tossing his knitted blanket over his lap. “If it makes Peanut happy.”

You chucked, smiling. “It does, Papa.” You assured him, draining the water out of the Swedes pot and looking over your shoulder at Edmund, who winked at you.

Mashing the Swedes and getting them nice and creamy, you set them aside and checked the Beef Loaf. Opening the oven door and filling the space with a rather mouthwatering aroma, but the dish still needed a few more minutes to cook, so you shut door and started pulling down plates, setting them on the stove to warm up.

“Dinner will be ready soon.” You announced to Edmund and your father. “Do you want to see if Willa is joining us?” You asked Edmund, biting the corner of your lip.

Edmund took a deep breath, setting his pencil down and rubbed at the smudged graphite dust on his fingers for a moment. “I think we both know the answer to that, sister.” He mumbled, a hardness coming to his eyes.

“I suppose.” You whispered back, heart sore for him. “I'll make a plate for her.”

“Best bet.” He sighed, pushing his chair back and standing, moving over to the sink to wash his hands.

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Been a while since I did two chapters in a day.