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“Ow ow ow!”
“If you didn’t squirm so much then that wouldn’t hurt half as bad.”
Isidro pouts over at Serpico, who's stirring a delicious smelling pot of stew, but stills with his arm outstretched across the kitchen table. You toss a thankful smile at the blond before continuing to lace stitches through the now disinfected gash on Isidro's arm.
“He’s right,” you say.
You had thought Isidro’s frown couldn’t get any deeper, but he proves you wrong.
“...Healers are supposed to be nice, ya’ know.”
Puck snorts from his seat on your medicine bag. “Don’t antagonize the person with a needle in your arm, Dropey!” He wags a tiny finger in the boy's direction.
You laugh at them, "I can’t be too nice if I’m gonna try to keep up with you lot.” Playful smile turns serious as you think back to the fight earlier. “Besides, if you hadn't gone rushing off ahead of us earlier I wouldn't have to stab you. I know you’re capable, but there’s a reason that we’re a part of a team.”
A huff is your only answer as you continue your work. Despite your scolding, you've never minded having to stitch your friends back together. In fact, you were very good at it, especially with all the practice you’ve gotten over your time with the ragtag group. You just wish that they would put a little more effort into avoiding unnecessary injuries.
Deft fingers nimbly pulled the stitch through the last few centimeters of torn skin before knotting the ends. You pat his uninjured hand with a bright smile. “There! All done and almost good as new."
Silence.
Your smile melts at the unusually pensive look on Isidro.
“Do you think it will scar?”
You release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “There’s a good chance it will. And I bet it will be a super cool one too.”
His face lights up as his gaze flickers to a point past your shoulder.
“You hear that, Guts? I’m gonna have kick ass scars. Better than yours!”
Your head whips around, neck straining as you look up to see Guts shaking his head, slouching in the doorway. It always amazes you how quiet the swordsman can be at his size.
"You shouldn't encourage him." The quirk of his lips tells you he isn't really scolding.
You smile at your leader before turning to begin sterilizing your equipment. Isidro’s excited chattering is pleasant background noise as you clean up.
A small spoon of stew is suddenly in your field of view. Calloused but elegant fingers grip the handle as the other cups underneath to prevent any of the stew dripping onto your instruments.
“Does this need anything else?”
You take the spoon from Serpico, blowing at the steaming liquid before slurping it up. Savory broth coats your tongue, warming you from the inside out.
“Fantastic as always," you hum.
“Perfect! Time to eat, then. Would you mind grabbing Lady Farnese and the others?”
You stand, gathering your things. “On it!”
From the doorway, the swordsman's eye follows you.
—---
“Casca, lean your head back.”
She obliges, nuzzling back on your shoulder to let you rinse the suds from her hair.
You only smile at the affectionate contact, not minding the water sloshing onto your shirt and on the floor as you kneel beside the tub. Normally this would be Farnese’s job, but after training all afternoon with Schierke the poor girl had looked dead on her feet. She didn’t have the strength to argue with you when you assured her you could handle Casca for the rest of the evening. She only yawned cutely before allowing you to shoo her to bed.
“Alright darlin’, let’s get you outta here and dried off, hm?”
Casca stands, sending more water sloshing, and allows you to help her out of the tub. You enjoy the days where you got to spend time with her. She could be mischievous on occasion, but her spirit always seems good natured. And, luckily for you, she also seemed to enjoy your company.
Once she was sufficiently dried and you had combed through her hair, you dress her and lead her to Farnese’s room to put her to bed. You try your best to be as quiet as possible, but couldn’t help a giggle at the soft snores that came from Farnese’s side of the room.
Mission successful, you closed the door softly behind you and began to wander towards your room. A fresh, dry set of clothes and a good nights sleep was in order.
—--
You couldn't sleep.
Which is why you find yourself in a large receiving room, wrestling with logs in the hearth as you attempt to light a fire. It’s a shame really, the bed of your room has been the most comfortable thing you’ve laid on in what seems like ages.
Once lit you tend to the fire in the hearth, shoving another log in and watching the flames begin to consume it. Light brightens the previously dark room, dancing across the walls. The fire is entrancing and the heat envelopes you like a warm blanket. You kneel and soak in the warmth, breathing in the smell of firewood and out the tension from a long day.
You're letting your mind wander as you watch shadows from the fire swim across the floor, when suddenly there is movement in your peripheral. You tip backwards as you scramble to stand and face the threat, ass hitting the floor hard enough you know it will bruise tomorrow.
Guts raises an eyebrow at you, readjusting his position where he leans against the chaise lounge.
"You scared me!!" Your voice comes out sounding shrill and you cringe.
The swordsman just looks at you, unreadable. The silence is unnerving. Did you offend him? Maybe you shouldn't have yelled.
“Guts?”
He motions to the floor beside him, and you take the chance to scoot closer to him. The warmth radiating from him feels just as nice as the warmth from the fire. He's silent for a few beats as you get comfortable, anxiety lessening, and then he speaks
“Thank you.”
You quirk your head to the side, sending him a confused look. “What?”
“I said ‘thank you.’ For sticking with us through all…this.” He waves a massive hand in an arc, as if to sum up the entirety of the last year in one motion.
"O-oh."
You shift.
"I enjoy it, you know." You wave your hand, mimicking his gesture. "All of this, I mean. I like taking care of everyone.”
"What about you?"
"What about me?"
"Who's taking care of you?"
“You don't need to worry about me.” You wave your hands in dismissal as you speak. It's your job to take care of them, not the other way around.
You must be hallucinating, because it almost looks like he's blushing.
"You're our healer. We need you to be at your best, and you can't do that if you don't take time for yourself."
You open your mouth to protest, but he continues.
"You didn't even realize I was here. You're not usually so unobservant." A frown splits his face. Your traitorous, tired brain thinks that you would love to kiss that frown away. "You need rest."
You close your mouth. Can't argue with that. "I don't think I've ever heard you speak so much, fearless leader."
"Don't deflect, healer"
A giggle slips past your lips. "Fine, fine. You got me." You pause. "I just can't sleep."
"Then let me help you." He holds a hand out to you from his position on the floor.
Your gaze goes from his hand to his eye and back. It's not a hard choice to make. You take his hand and suck in a breath when he pulls you into his lap, your hands resting on his massive chest. His heart beats a steady rhythm that you can feel through his soft shirt. It doesn’t go unnoticed that your ass fits neatly into one of his hands. The hand not kneading your ass grabs your face, squeezing your cheeks and forcing a thumb into your mouth.
“If you want me to stop, hit me three times.” His thumb strokes your tongue, pushing it down and coating the digit with your spit. “Do it now so that you remember.”
You barely hear him, too entranced by the rough pad of his thumb and how good the salt tastes on his skin. You suck hard, circling the pad with the tip of your tongue.
There's a pause, and he clicks his tongue at the lack of response. A sharp smack to your rear pulls a pained moan from your throat.
“Show me what you do if you want me to stop.”
Another stinging swat has tears clouding your vision, and you give three panicky hits to his bicep. The thumb leaves your mouth, smearing your spit across your lips and leaving them glistening.
“Atta’ girl.” He gives a pleased quirk of his lips at the burn that spreads across your cheeks. “Undo my breeches.”
You struggle to do as he commands with so little space between the two of you and with his hand holding your head in place. Fingers fumbling with the laces of his breeches, you stare at his impassive face.
“Go on.”
You reach in and encircle his hardened length. You feel it twitch in your hand, and hiss when your fingers don’t meet. Guts’ face remains neutral, but you see his nostrils flare when you give the length a timid pump. His cock pulses with his heartbeat. He pulls your skirts up and over your head and briefly you thank the gods that you didn’t put underwear on after Casca’s bath. There is no foreplay and no prep as his massive hands circle your waist, lifting you like a doll as he lines you up over his lap and holds you there. You can feel his cockhead nudging your folds apart. Your gazes are locked together. His pupil is blown so wide that there's no hint of his iris left. Your pussy drips.
After what feels like an eternity, you whine.
“Guts, plea-”
He drops you bodily. The air is punched from your lungs in a moan of pain and pleasure as his cock stretches you, sinking into you. He mercifully allows you time to recover as he grabs another handful of your ass, kneading it. His head is buried in the crook of your neck, body hunched to accommodate your size difference.
You realize, horror creeping up from your chest to your throat, that your hips are not touching. Only three-fourths of his cock is inside of you. As if sensing your distress, Guts’ lips ghost over your jugular, and you finally wheeze in a breath.
“You’re almost there.” His lips travel from your neck to the shell of your ear, nipping. His voice slurs, pussy drunk “Feels so good.” Suddenly, you’re lifted again and the head of his cock is the only thing catching on the tight ring of your cunt. You thank the gods you were already wet, because the sting shooting through you makes your eyes water. The muscles of his biceps roil underneath your fingers. A bit of drool leaks from your mouth.
“I think you can take all of it though.”
Suddenly, you're forced down again. Your brain shuts off as your head falls back, mouth open in a soundless scream. The feeling in your body is reduced to the feeling of your cunt being speared fully open by Guts' cock.
He fucks you like this; holding your hips and rutting into you from below. There's nothing but the feeling of him in and around you. Slowly, the pain of the stretch ebbs away to pleasure. You can feel your pussy drooling, making a mess of both your thighs. It smells like sex, and the only sounds are your mewls and his grunts of pleasure mixed with the squelching of your cunt sucking greedily on his cock.
His hands snake between the two of you, and an electric jolt shivers up your spine when his thumb finds your clit. He sets his teeth to the skin of your neck and his name spills from your lips.
"Harder," you pant as your muscles begin to clench and your brain begins to fog with pleasure. "I'm gon-gonna cum."
His mouth finds yours, all teeth and tongue as he brings you down on his cock one last time. His cockhead seats itself fully against your cervix, pain clawing your orgasm from your body. Lights erupt in your vision as Guts paints your insides white. You wail into his mouth and he swallows the sound greedily. One large hand cupping your face, the other wrapped around you to grind you down onto his cock as your walls convulse.
As your spasming muscles quieten, Guts breaks the kiss. A gossamer thread of saliva connects you both for a moment before breaking. Arms embrace you, holding you to his chest as he pets your hair and lets you breathe through the aftershocks of your orgasm.
You feel boneless in the wake of the orgasm that was ripped from you, and the warmth of Guts' body surrounding you inside and out makes your eyelids heavy. "I'm sleepy."
He presses his lips featherlight to your forehead. "Good."