cure

Chapter 1. Stranger

Please read the disclaimers in the description, this story has some upsetting content towards the end. Also obviously, minors dni. This book is smutty, pls don't read if that makes you uncomfortable.

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The last thing you expected to see that morning was a body laying in the middle of the forest. A wet afterglow coated the leaves as well as his face. You approached the unconscious man as a chill tightened in the air and you weren't sure if it was the cold weather or the shock of seeing a motionless body.

His pale lips sat slightly open, chapped and bruised. You knelt down to get a better look at the ghostly man. Wet black hair clung to his temples like raven feathers, he must've been freezing. Clothed in nothing but a cream button up and black pants. He had a strange utility harness coiled around his chest. You guessed that he was some type of soldier.

You tapped two fingers against his neck to feel for a pulse. It was faint but present...

"Are you alright...?" You asked, not necessarily expecting a response. His eyes flickered open for a moment, you gasped. Steel blue orbs peaked out from his lids. It was a clean contrast from the mud and bruises on his face. He glanced up at the sky before dozing off again.

"Who is this guy?" You muttered to yourself while getting a good look at him. It would be way too much on your conscience to just leave him out there but it was also pretty unlikely that you could carry a grown man all by yourself across the forest.

"What a pain... " You mumbled, before deciding to head back to the cottage and grab a horse and wagon for him. You hoped that he would stay put, or else this would've all been for nothing. You came back to that little ditch in the forest where the soldier laid. With all your strength, you hoisted him up onto the wagon and rode the horse back home. You'd occasionally glance back at him to make sure he was okay.

There was something a bit startling about bringing a stranger back to your cottage, especially that stranger being a man. But you took the chance anyway. In such tense war times, it wouldn't hurt to help a soldier out, even though you didn't know which side he was on for that matter.

You knew Marley and Paradis had been fighting in a blitz not too far from your neck of the woods. 'Island Devils' is what they called the Paradis soldiers. Even though you were from Marley, you never cared too much about all that age old hatred. Living in a remote area gave you some peace from some of society's nonsense. If the man you carried in the wagon was a Paradis soldier, hopefully he wouldn't hate you.

You approached the cottage as it gleamed in morning light. Built in a modest meadow, you were always able to view the sunrise through the trees. It was the perfect clearing to grow crops and tend to livestock as well. You had everything you needed to live. You set the horse back in the stables and carried the man inside.

He wasn't necessarily the tallest guy around, but his muscles felt like bricks. You set him down on the living room couch and took a moment to catch your breath.

"He's still knocked out huh." You muttered, taking a sip of water. The first thing you had to do was clean and stitch up any deep open wounds he had. You didn't know how long he'd been out there in the forest, it was highly possible his cuts could get infected soon. You weren't exactly ecstatic about this, but you had to strip him down in order to clean him.

You gathered some aid supplies before going ahead and popping open the buttons on his shirt. It was stained in mud, with the grainy smell of the earth after rain. At the top of his chest, near his shoulder blade, sat a gold bullet wedged into his skin. It oozed blood and left behind a purple bruise around the skin.

At the bottom of his stomach was a huge open gash, leaking dark red blood from its center. It almost looked like wet tar. You gritted your teeth and examined the wound. It seemed like the result of some sort of stab.

The man was beaten up even more than you'd thought. By the time his pants were off you thought it would be a better idea to clean his injuries in the bathtub. It started to worry you... would he really survive all of this?

You hauled him off to the tub, adrenaline beginning to pump inside of you. If you took too long, he'd bleed out and perish, but if you were too quick and careless, he'd get an infection. Sweat sprinkled at the corners of your forehead. You flicked on the water and washed him first, purifying him of all the dirt and grime. He remained unconscious, laying there like a log. It was hard to tell if he was still breathing.

You began disinfecting his wounds before drying and stitching him up. You wrapped the gash on his stomach with cloth once it was sewed tight.

His face had a few minor scrapes and bruises but nothing extensive. You gently patted the skin with a warm cloth to help soothe the pain. Although, the more you looked at him you noticed he was quite handsome in a timeless sort of way. He looked like the type of man who'd stand out in an old photograph with his pleasant features. It made you blush... ever so slightly.

You placed the man in a bed instead of the couch and gave him a clean pair of pants. You had brothers who used to live in this cottage and their clothing were still hanging untouched in their closets. Mine as well not let it go to waste. You left him shirtless in order not to irritate any of the large wounds on his torso.

Hopefully he'd wake up soon, you thought. He was still alive after all. You wondered what his voice would sound like, if he was a Marleyian soldier or from Paradis. What was his name? What was his story?

"Who are you?" You whispered to yourself.

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He opened his eyes but assumed it was just a dream, a way to trick himself into remaining unalert. He knew that the moment he accepted the reality of being laid up in some stranger's bed, his mind would sharpen back into its usual state of exhausting hyper-vigilance.

His back clotted the sheets in sweat from the nape of his neck down to his hips. A cool breeze from the window wrapped across his bare skin. He sighed, looking down at the bones in his hands and running a glare across his veins. He clenched a fist, and let go. Watching the movements of his body.

He looked down at himself and examined his bandages. Who did this? He thought. Why? Where am I? All he could remember was the battle. It sat fresh on his mind.

This was no time to dilly-dally, especially not in an enemy territory. For all he knew, this could've been a trap. However, he wasn't prepared for the keen wave of pain which assaulted his body upon attempting to sit up. His stomach felt like it was tearing apart. The man clenched his jaw and pushed through the discomfort while standing to his feet.

His blue eyes surveillanced the room around him and he glanced down at the fresh pair of pants he wore. He assumed he was in a man's home considering the male clothes he'd been given. All the more reason for him to stay alert.

From what he could remember, he was fighting in a battle and knew he had weapons on him. They must've been somewhere in that room.

At the very least, a gun in his hands would soothe the growing unease. He looked around for the very pistol he'd always kept tucked away in his back pocket. There, in the corner of the room by a wooden dresser was his harness, swords, and pistol laying on the floor.

He picked up the gun and examined it for a moment. It appeared that the barrel had been emptied. Either he'd used all of the bullets in battle or the man who took him in must've been cautious. Nonetheless, he brought it with him and made his way to the bedroom door. A steamy broil permeated through the air. It smelt of toasted bread and soup. He gripped the gun and took a deep breath before bursting through.

He'd entered into the main living space, a kitchen and a small sitting area. There, standing over a stove... wasn't a man, but a young woman. He raised his eyebrows for a second before pointing the gun at you.

"Who are you?" He spat.

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