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accidentalmistress · 1 year ago

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Accidental Mistress - This Feeling

Apologies for being a day late, but the fic is finally here. This one follows directly after the events of Broken, so it might be a good idea to read that first if you haven't.

(For more Accidental Mistress content, check out the Master Post.)

Title: This Feeling

Word Count: 8,531

Content and Warnings: snz (F, N-B, mention of male snz), illness, caretaking

In which Oraion must learn to adapt to a situation he's never experienced in his long life - being responsible for a sick human.

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Even without looking, he could feel those golden eyes boring into him. He always hated that unnerving, probing gaze that seemed to strip him bare despite the layers of his robes, so he kept his gaze ahead as they walked and he tried to process the words being spoken to him.

"I am sorry. It brings me no pleasure to bear this news. I know how much you care for her."

He took a breath and attempted, with great effort, to keep his voice calm.

"There has to be another way."

"Oraion." The man placed a firm hand on his arm, stopping him, but his tone softened a moment later. "There is not. Believe me, I have done everything within my power to find another path, but… there is none. The process has already begun; her fate cannot be changed. Not even by me. One way or another, she will die—"

He shut his own eyes. "No—!"

"Nothing can change that now. The only thing we can do is to ensure that it happens while she is still herself." He sighed and his touch vanished from Oraion’s arm. “I… would like to offer you the opportunity. I understand if you cannot do it, but it seemed wrong not to ask you first.”

At last Oraion turned to the man beside him, the absurdity of those words drawing him to seek some hint of alternate meaning in the other’s face. He shuddered when those eyes met his, unable to suppress the motion. One look told him everything he needed to know.

"You want me to…? Are you seriously asking me to kill her?!"

"I am not going to force you. We will find another to—"

"No! I do not wish for her to die!"

The other man lifted his chin, those horrible eyes growing narrow and cold.

"I believe I made it clear that you do not have a say in the matter. The only reason you and I are even having this conversation is out of respect for your aeons of faithful service. Her sacrifice will forestall disaster and spare countless lives. Surely you understand that. I do not make this decision lightly, but the needs of the many must outweigh the needs of the few. Or do you intend to oppose the will of the gods?"

Oraion awoke.

Morning. He reached a hand up to his face and traced a lingering trail of wetness with his fingers.

"... a memory?"

It had been quite some time since he had dreamed of that day, and longer still back to the time it had occurred. Ages ago, literally.

As he sat up in bed and cast about with bleary eyes, the demon realized he was not in his own room, but Noelle’s. A moment later the events of the previous evening came rushing back to him in a fresh torrent of emotion and flashes of memory. Noelle coming home bloody and bruised, her breakdown in the front hall, the bath he had given her, tucking her into bed, brewing her the tea that lulled her to sleep, and then…

He couldn’t tell her what he’d done. She didn’t want him to seek retribution for her. Yet old habits died hard, it seemed. Besides, he hadn’t killed the young men who had beaten her—he only visited upon them the same level of pain they had inflicted upon his Mistress. An eye for an eye, as they say.

His gaze fell upon her next to him in the bed, still fast asleep. She moaned a little and turned over, her expression tense. Oraion knew well that her sleep was often plagued by nightmares, but this morning her face was unusually flush. A lock of hair was plastered to her forehead with sweat, and as Oraion went to gently brush the hair out of her face he was surprised at how warm her skin felt. Her eyelids fluttered open and she blinked up at him.

“Mmh… Oraion?”

“Ah, sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. Are you all right? You feel oddly warm.”

“Do I?” As she sat up, her chest spasmed with several harsh coughs. “Ugh, I hope I don't have a cold.”

“What? Are you… cold?”

Her brown eyes flicked to the side, hesitant. “Oh… Um, i-it’s nothing. I’ll be fine.”

She tried to get up out of the bed, wincing, and Oraion was on his feet and by her side in an instant. She gave him a sheepish smile.

“I guess I am a bit sore in a few places.”

“Your ankle—are you certain you should be walking on it?”

“It actually feels much better today, thanks to that bath. As long as I’m careful it’ll be all right.”

“Mistress, perhaps you should stay in bed and rest…”

Noelle grimaced and shook her head. “I can’t just lie around all day; I’ll only feel like a bother, and I’ve had quite enough of that. Really, I’m fine, Oraion…”

A sort of distracted look came over her face before she suddenly put her hands over her nose and mouth as her eyes squeezed shut.

“Ishoo! Ishoo! Oh gosh…”

Despite his concern, Oraion couldn’t help but think how cute she was when she sneezed. Gods, she really was rubbing off on him, wasn’t she? Well, his only real experience with sneezing had thus far been in an almost entirely sexual context, so could anyone really blame him for the association?

“Bless you, dear. You were sneezing last night, too.”

She sniffled as her cheeks turned a bit pink. “I-I know. I, uh… It- It was so chilly out last night, y-you know? I, um, guess it got me a bit sniffly.”

Oraion pursed his lips. He had the distinct feeling that Noelle was hiding something, but what it could possibly be, he had no idea. After her ordeal last night, however, he was reluctant to press the issue. Surely she would open up to him when she was ready.

“Is there anything I can do for you, then?”

“Um… Would you make me some more tea? If you don’t mind. I think I’ll just go wash up a bit—I’m so sweaty.”

Oraion nodded, glad to have a clear task to focus on. He made his way down to the kitchen and set about preparing the tea. He was embarrassed to admit it, but it occurred that he should probably learn to make proper food. He’d never needed to, not before he was a Demon Lord, and certainly not since. It always felt beneath him, but whenever he watched Noelle do it there seemed to be a sort of simple joy in it that he’d never bothered to take notice of before. More memories of the previous night came back to him.

“You could always, um, stay here with me. We can just… live like this.”

Could he actually stay here with her? Live like a mortal with her until…

Until she died.

Death. It was what made mortals mortal. It would happen to her one day, hopefully many years from now, but it would happen all the same. So many years had already passed Oraion by; the span of a mortal life was but a fraction of his own. Was he really going to put himself through the pain of staying with her, only to lose her when her time ran out? What was he thinking? He wasn’t thinking, he was letting his emotions rule him, just as he had back then.

Oraion closed his eyes and sighed. How had he gotten in so deep in a single year? Was it this contract that bound him to her? Was it influencing his mind? Making him care for her? Or were these feelings real? Did he… love her? Gods, it had certainly felt like it the night before.

He could still feel the heat of rage that seethed just below the surface, even after giving those thugs the thrashing they deserved. He knew, though, that much of the rage that remained was self-directed. He had failed to protect her, ostensibly his most important duty as her Servant, a role he had come to accept, even enjoy. At first he only felt distaste towards the very idea of being anyone’s “servant”, but Noelle never treated him like an inferior, never enforced a typical Master/Servant relationship. She had always treated him as an equal, a partner…

How did she feel about him? Did she harbor similar feelings as he did?

The demon took both hands and rubbed them up and down his face with a groan.

“Ugh… fuck. I really need to get a grip on myself and make this damned tea instead of having an existential crisis in the kitchen.”

Once the drink was ready, he carried it carefully upstairs. Noelle wasn’t back in her room yet, so he set the tea down next to the bed. Should he check on her? Or was he being overprotective? Caring for her had felt so natural last night, but now he couldn’t help but second-guess his every move. He’d certainly done an excellent job of confusing himself, that was the only thing he was certain about at this point.

He approached the bathroom door and stood outside it for a moment, hesitating, before he steeled himself and rapped on the door.

“Mistress? Are you all right?”

No answer, only the sound of running water. He knocked again.

“… Mistress?”

When silence remained the only answer he grabbed the handle and opened the door, anxiety snaking through his stomach before it dropped as though it fell through the entire tower.

Noelle was lying on the floor, unmoving.

Oraion didn’t even remember crossing the distance before he was at her side, cradling her in his arms.

“Noelle?!”

He lifted her off the floor and carried her to the bedroom, placing her gently on the bed before checking her over. She was breathing and he could sense her heartbeat, but she remained senseless no matter how many times he called her name. Her body felt even hotter than it had before, like she was burning up.

Wait, was this what humans called a “fever”? Her odd behavior, the sneezing and coughing, it all clicked into place.

Noelle was sick.

Oraion racked his brain, trying to remember anything he knew about human illnesses. It had been so long since he’d needed to concern himself with such things, though—at least a thousand years, if not more. Sickness had not even occurred to him as a possibility. What was a simple fact of life for humans was a foreign concept to demons, who were no more familiar with getting sick than they were with growing old: it simply did not happen.

He vaguely recalled something about humans becoming ill if you left them cold and wet for too long. Noelle had been awfully cold when she’d arrived home, and her clothes were soaked through. Was that what she meant when she said she might “have a cold”? Another reason those hooligans deserved what they’d gotten. It was their fault his Mistress was now ill.

Let’s see, what do I know about fevers…? There was that one village back in Shinchuro Province, about three thousand years ago, I think. A fever swept through and they begged for a cure because so many were dying.

He looked back to Noelle with renewed alarm. Were fevers really so deadly to humans? He began to pace, his tail lashing. Had he his full power, he could cure her in an instant with but a touch, but now… His hands balled into fists, enraged at his own impotence. He was only just beginning to untangle his own feelings for her—would the gods really take her from him now? Hadn’t he suffered enough for them?

No, there had to be something he could do. She’d only just fallen ill, so perhaps there was a way to stop the disease from progressing before it was too late. How was he supposed to figure out what that was, though? Most of Oraion’s knowledge of healing herbs was related to their properties on wounds and other physical injuries, not illnesses. Was there anyone he could turn to for help?

His pacing came to an abrupt stop. There was one person he could think of…

* * *

“Hyah!”

Metal bit into wood with a thunk as sword struck training dummy, shaving a chunk off of what would have been an actual person’s shoulder. Quinns wiped a sleeve across their brow: even in the crisp air of an autumn morning they were working up quite a sweat. A number of other members of the Knights honed their skills on other wooden or straw opponents and sparred against each other. Quinns stepped back and shook their shoulders loose, lining up for another go. A shoulder shot wouldn’t take down a truly dangerous opponent. They needed to do better.

They tightened their grip on their sword, assumed a fighting stance, pushed off with their back foot, and—

“Quinns!”

“Hhhgk?!”

Their strike went wide, missing the training dummy altogether. They stumbled as their sword met nothing but empty air, their shoulder protesting as they bounced off the training dummy and fell backwards, landing on their backside.

“Whoa! You okay there, Shaw?”

They heard several snickers and felt everyone’s eyes on them as they climbed back to their feet. The guy who’d called out to them wore a grin they dearly wished they could wipe off his smug face. Instead they took a deep breath and kept their voice even as they wiped the dirt off their uniform.

“I’m fine. Just lost my footing. I’m taking a break.”

Without another word Quinns sheathed their sword and went off to the side of the training grounds before sitting on a low wall.

“What the hell was that? It almost sounded like—”

“Like Oraion? Yes, hello, it is me.”

Quinns blinked as their mouth dropped open, barely stopping themself from swearing aloud.

“What. The. Fuck. Are you seriously inside my fucking head?!”

“Mm, yes and no. I’m not in your head to the point where I can read your thoughts or anything, but I am speaking directly into your mind.”

“What?! Why? HOW?”

“With great effort, and it’s only working because you’re relatively close by. Now, I don’t have time for a lesson in psionics: I need your help.”

“... What did you do now?”

“Nothing! Why do you always—? Ugh, never mind. Listen: Noelle is sick, and… I don’t know what to do.”

“Sick? Sick how?”

“I, uh, I think she has a fever? Her body is very warm. She said it wasn’t anything serious, but then she fainted. That’s- That’s not normal, right? I mean, is she going to wake up? What if she doesn’t? I-I don’t know anything about caring for sick humans. What if I do something wrong and make things worse? Gods, I can't even cook! I—”

“Whoa, slow down. Does she have any other symptoms?”

“Er, she was sneezing and coughing a bit last night and this morning.”

“Okay. Yes, it is a little concerning that she fainted, but it might just be a cold.”

“Yes, yes, she said that as well, but I don’t know what that is!”

“Oh… Uh, a cold is a pretty minor disease that humans get. It usually affects the nose and throat—coughing, sneezing, runny nose, sore throat, that kind of thing. It’s kind of like if you had an allergy attack for a week straight, and you were also tired and achy. It’s not fun, but it usually resolves itself on its own, and it’s rarely serious.”

“Then… she’s not dying?”

Quinns did not exactly trust Noelle’s pet demon, but there was no mistaking the note of hope and relief that colored his pseudo-voice in Quinns’s head. Maybe he wasn’t all bad…

“I doubt it. If she’s got a fever and she’s sweating a lot, then she might be dehydrated on top of feeling sick, so that may be why she passed out. Make sure she gets some water when she wakes up. If she doesn’t wake up after a few minutes, though…” They chewed on their bottom lip as several trains of thought fought for dominance in their mind. “Give me some time to get ready, and then I’ll come over to help. I’ll bring some medicine and food.”

They heard Oraion sigh in their mind, which was thoroughly weird.

“Thank you, Quinns. I don’t—”

“I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it for Noelle.”

“I know, but still… Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just get out of my head already, would you? I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Very well.”

Quinns waited for a few seconds but didn’t hear anything else in their head. Had the demon actually gone?

“... You still there?”

When no response came, there was a moment where Quinns wondered if they had just hallucinated the entire conversation. Noelle’s tower was several miles away—was Oraion actually able to find where Quinns was and speak to them over that distance?

They shook their head in an effort to clear it. If they dismissed Oraion’s message as a trick or hallucination, and Noelle really was in trouble, then they’d be abandoning their friend when she needed them most. If they showed up at her tower and nothing was amiss, then they could figure out what was actually going on after they knew Noelle was safe. They had to assume it was real, and that Noelle needed their help.

They made a stop at their personal quarters for the medicine—a trip to the infirmary could raise too many questions about what they needed the medicine for. Unlike the Order, the Knights of the Midnight Falcon recruited on a volunteer basis, which meant that the number of healers in their ranks was never consistent. Add to that the fact that most Knights were, like Quinns, knights errant, and the chances of a healer who could prepare medicines being at headquarters were middling at best. As such, medical supplies were carefully rationed and kept track of.

Food they could procure more easily and with fewer questions, so they went to the kitchen and started loading a basket with supplies for making soup. They may not be the best cook, but they could make some simple dishes. That was leagues better than Oraion, who even went so far as to admit he couldn't cook. Besides, how hard could soup be? You just threw a bunch of stuff into boiling water and let it sit for a while, right? Quinns grabbed some fresh meat and a bunch of different vegetables. Spices they could get from Noelle’s pantry—she always kept that well-stocked since she used the herbs for both cooking and magic.

“Oh, hey Quinns! What’re you up to?”

Quinns swore internally. There could not be a worse time for this. They blew out a breath and spoke without turning around as they tucked the last of the ingredients into the basket and covered it.

“Hey Ollie. Just grabbing a few things. I’ll be out of your way in a minute.”

“Oh, don’t worry, you’re not in my way. I was just gonna get something to eat.” He let out a warm chuckle. “I kinda overslept and, uh, missed breakfast with everyone.”

“I see. Well, I’ll leave you to it then. I have some things to take care of—”

Quinns picked up the basket and turned around to find Oliver standing right behind them. For being such a big klutz he sure moved as quietly as a cat sometimes. Quinns took a step back with a start.

“Oh, right, sorry.” Oliver rubbed the back of his neck with an apologetic smile and took a step back of his own. Oliver Dietrich had a fluffy, orange cat tail that swayed behind him, while the orange-furred ears that poked out of his light blonde hair flicked. “I forget you’re allergic to me sometimes.”

“N-no, it’s, uh, it’s fine… Well, I gotta go, so, uh…”

Even having taken a step back, Oliver was still blocking Quinns from leaving the kitchen. The younger Knight showed no indication of moving out of the way, either, and instead tilted his head to one side.

“What’s the basket for? Are you having a picnic?”

“What? No, I’m just… getting some ingredients for something.”

“For what?”

“Look, it’s nothing, okay? Can I please leave?”

Oliver crossed his arms and didn’t budge. “Well, is it something or nothing?”

“Nothing! It’s nothing. I don’t have time for this, Ollie!”

“If it’s nothing, then it shouldn’t be a problem for me to see, right? So show me what’s in the basket.”

“No.”

“Show me or I’ll hug you.”

Quinns physically recoiled. They were already starting to feel itchy just being this close to him.

“What?!”

“Kidding! I’m kidding! Sorry, it’s just- agh, I’m so curious! Can’t I see what you have? Or at least tell me what you’re making! Pleeease?”

With his pleading eyes and the way his tail lashed, Oliver gave Quinns the impression of an excitable golden retriever rather than a cat.

“Oh my gods, will you go away if I do?”

“Yes! On my honor as a Knight!”

Quinns sighed and opened the basket, showing Oliver the contents. “Fine. I’m making soup, okay?”

The time Oliver spent staring silently into the basket with his brow furrowed started to border on uncomfortable.

“Uh… Can I go now?”

“You said you’re making soup?”

“Yeah. You got a problem with that?”

“No, no, it’s just that…” He looked like he was struggling with some sort of internal dilemma. Or maybe he had indigestion. “Well, um, you’re not gonna be able to make a very good soup with this stuff.”

Quinns blinked. “Huh?”

“You’ve only got chicken breast meat: you should really have a whole carcass if you want to get a flavorful broth. You need the bones and stuff. And these beans should really be soaked overnight before you cook them. You’d do better with rice or pasta as a starch if you’re planning to make and serve the soup right away. You’ve got some good veggies, but if you put them all in at the same time you’re either gonna end up with half of them undercooked or half of them cooked into oblivion.”

For a few moments Quinns just stood there, stunned, but then they froze up for a different reason.

“Uh… Quinns?”

Damn it, this always happened. They couldn’t move or speak, they just had to wait until—

“Etchoo!”

“Oh no! I’m sorry! I got too close!” Oliver finally backed off to the other side of the kitchen with a guilty look. His tanned skin gained an embarrassed flush.

“Whatever. -snf- It’s fine… I, uh, I didn’t know you knew how to cook.”

“Oh, yeah. I have a bunch of younger brothers and sisters, and both my parents work a lot, so I often cooked for everybody. Soup is a great way to feed a crowd: it’s warm and comforting, and you can really stretch it with the right ingredients. And whenever somebody got sick, I always made ‘em chicken soup.”

Quinns frowned. Oliver was a little naive, impulsive, clumsy, dense, and irresponsible… but he wasn’t a bad guy. In fact, Oliver was quite possibly the kindest person Quinns knew in the Knights. For all of his faults, he was also loyal and surprisingly discreet, a fact that Quinns had recently discovered after Oliver had walked in on them in the shower.

“Hey, Ollie… Can I tell you something?”

* * *

It wasn’t long after Oraion finished speaking with Quinns that Noelle stirred. In all she'd been unconscious for perhaps a couple of minutes, but to the demon it felt like centuries may well have passed.

“Oh no… I fainted didn’t I?”

Oraion sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand in his as he softly brushed a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Yes. I came upstairs and found you lying on the floor of the bath.”

She grimaced. “I’m sorry. I must have worried you.”

“It did give me a bit of a fright, yes.”

“I-I’m not sure what happened. I was just running some hot water to wash up, but then I, um, started to feel dizzy. Maybe- Maybe it was the steam?”

Trying to hide it, even now? Oraion shook his head with a little sigh before looking Noelle in the eye. “Why didn’t you tell me you were ill?”

She gave a guilty start and looked away, her voice going quiet.

“I… I didn’t want you to worry even more than you already have… but I suppose it’s too late for that. I’m sorry.”

“Mistress…” Oraion leaned forward to kiss her forehead. “Taking care of you is never a bother for me, all right?”

“A-all right…”

When he leaned back, it was difficult to tell if the red in her face was from blushing or fever. A slight smirk graced his lips, then he lifted a hand and snapped his fingers. A cup with water appeared on the bedside table.

“Here. Quinns said you might be dehydrated, so you should drink some water now that you’re awake.”

She took the cup from his hand and propped herself up enough to take a few sips. “Oh, thank you… Wait, Quinns is here?”

“Ah, no, not yet. But they’ll be on their way soon.”

“Then… how did you talk to them already?”

“Oh, I spoke to them telepathically. When you collapsed, I…” He looked away and swallowed something harsh in his throat. “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t understand what was happening. I don’t know how to care for a sick human. I-I didn’t even realize you were sick until that point. I’m sorry, I should have asked you to explain what was wrong, but after last night… I thought it best not to press you.” He took another shaky breath and cleared his throat. “Anyway, I knew that I needed help, and Quinns was the only person I could think of, so I reached out to them through their mind. Fortunately they were close enough for me to reach.”

“Telepathy… You can do that?”

He looked back at his Mistress—even in her sickbed, her eyes were sparkling with interest at the prospect of learning something new. Another smile tugged his lips, one that held more warmth than he’d felt all day.

“Not easily and not for long. Not as I am now, anyway. It takes a lot of energy to maintain, especially in the Mortal Realm.”

“Why is that?”

“Mm, because there’s less ambient mana around, I think. In the Demon Realm, damn near everything is magic to one degree or another. So if you need power, you simply snatch it out of the air or the ground or what have you and shape it to your will. Here, there is far less of that energy around, so I need to rely mostly on my own reserves and whatever I can find to supplement that. Of course, my power is not insignificant, so it is sufficient for most workings, but truthfully the lack of mana within the Mortal Realm puts me at a fraction of my power, even without this damned collar.”

“Can you teach me how to use telepathy?”

“Heh. Maybe.” He took the cup of water from her and picked up the tea he had brought up earlier. “How about this: if you’re a good girl and drink your tea, I’ll start teaching you about it.”

“Ooh, I like this bargain.” She sat up further, wincing, and put a hand to her forehead. “Ugh…”

He leaned in, as though a magnet drew him to her. “What is it? Does it hurt anywhere?”

“No, no. I’m only a bit dizzy. Just, um, give me a moment.”

Oraion reached out with his free hand and touched her arm to steady her.

“Take as much time as you need. I’m right here.”

“Thanks, Oraion. I—”

She was cut off by a series of hacking coughs, crackly and phlegmy things that made him wince to hear.

“Oh, I-I’m sorry- I- uh-oh… eh-hishoo! ehshoo! Ugh, oh gosh, I’m so sorry Oraion. -sniff- I-I don’t want to get you sick. Maybe- maybe you, um, shouldn’t stay in here.”

“Oh, nonsense. Demons don’t get sick.”

She looked doubtful. “Are you sure?”

He smiled and handed her the tea. “Mistress, I am very, very old, and I have never once in my life come down with an illness. I don’t think I’m going to start now.”

Noelle looked down into the teacup, concern still writ on her face. “But… you’d never had allergies before either. How do we know for certain that you can’t, um, can’t get s-sick now too? eh-hishiih!”

Her sneezes made her hair fall forward again, so Oraion reached out and tucked it behind her ear once more. “I think you’re worrying too much, my dear Mistress, though I appreciate your concern. I will be fine, I promise.”

“Okay…” Noelle sighed and took a sip of the tea, then made a face. “Oh, it’s so bitter!”

“Right, sorry,” Oraion chuckled, “I ought to have warned you first. This blend is a little more medicinal, I’m afraid. I may not know much about human illnesses, but I do know some herbs that fight inflammation and have astringent properties, so I thought that might help. The only thing is that they are rather bitter.”

“Blech, what is in it?”

“Well, the base is black tea, then I added witch hazel, turmeric, yarrow, and, uh, lavender.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I must have sneezed a dozen times while making it, I’ll have you know.”

Noelle’s cheeks reddened considerably as she lifted the cup to her lips like she was hiding behind it. “Oh, I, um… thank you.”

Gods, she was adorable when she blushed. Oraion leaned in towards her with a smirk.

“Bet you’re sad you missed that, eh?”

Her cheeks grew even redder. “Um, m-maybe.”

“Heh. Well, next time you’ll just have to come watch me.” He gave her another quick kiss on the forehead before sitting back up. “The black tea already has a bit of bitterness, and the witch hazel and yarrow are both bitter herbs as well. Don’t force yourself to finish it if you don’t want to.”

“But I have to! I want you to teach me about telepathy!”

Oraion barked a laugh. “I only said you had to drink it, I never said you had to finish it.”

“Oh… um, I still want to, though. You made it for me, so…” Suddenly she waved a hand in front of her face. “Uh, s-sorry, I need to- nx’kishiu! Ugh, ow…”

Concern drew his brows together. “That sounded like it hurt.”

Noelle nodded with a hand on her throat. “My throat is getting sore. Ugh, that’s always the thing I hate most about being sick.”

“Hmm. I’ll see if I can figure out a remedy that might help.”

“Thank you.” Noelle pulled the blankets closer around herself with a shiver. “My, it’s chilly, isn’t it?”

“Er, I honestly find it quite pleasant. Is this why you call it a ‘cold’? Because it makes you feel cold?”

Noelle laughed. “Ah, no, you don’t always feel cold when you have a cold. Sometimes it’s unbearably hot. Right now, though, I’m freezing…” She looked down shyly as her cheeks got red again. “Um… do you think… you could hold me?”

With a gentle smile Oraion took the teacup from her shaking hands and placed it on the bedside table, then he climbed into the bed behind her and pulled her in close. Her body still felt so warm, poor thing. She snuggled into him, her back spasming against his chest with more wet coughs followed by another painful-sounding sneeze. He rubbed her shoulder as she whimpered from the abuse to her raw throat.

Even so, before long she had fallen asleep. Being ill must be awfully tiring, Oraion surmised. Her slumber seemed more restful now, at least. The demon carefully slipped out of the bed and headed back down to the ground level to wait for Quinns.

He was not surprised that they did not knock when they arrived. Quinns was never in the habit of doing so when they visited. What did surprise Oraion, however, was that the Knight had brought a new face with them. Behind Noelle’s slim, androgynous friend came a taller, broader fellow with tanned skin and an innocent bearing, as well as the orange-furred ears and tail of a cat. Quinns knew that Noelle wanted to keep the location of her tower a secret, so why was this unknown person, who also wore the uniform of a Knight, here in the first place?

Wary indignation smoldered in Oraion’s chest as he crossed his arms and straightened to his full height. “Who is this?”

The cat boy looked at him with wide eyes, which Oraion noted were of different colors: one gold, one greenish-blue.

“Whoa. Is that the guy?”

“Yeah. Oraion, this is a friend of mine, Oliver. Oliver, this is Oraion, the demon I told you about.”

“Wow, he is really hot…”

Oraion raised an eyebrow as Quinns’s cheeks colored.

“I didn’t say—! Ugh, whatever. Look, he’s trustworthy, okay?”

“Are you saying that to me or to him?” Oraion asked, making no attempt to hide his sarcasm.

“Both. We’re all going to have to get along right now. I know it was risky to bring someone else here, but Oliver is a good guy and he knows how to keep a secret. Most importantly, he can cook.”

Oliver’s face lit up in an excited grin. “Quinns said their witch friend is sick, so I’m gonna make soup!” He strolled up to Oraion as though they were already fast friends and held out his hand. The cat boy was only shorter than he was by a few inches. “They already told me you’re not bad guys, so it’s nice to meet you! I’m Oliver Dietrich, First-Rank Knight of the Midnight Falcon.”

Oraion looked down at the young man’s hand for several seconds before slowly reaching out to take it in his own. “You do know it’s usually your job to hunt creatures like myself, right?”

“Well, yeah, but it’s not always so black and white, y’know? It’s one thing when a Devourer is terrorizing a trade route, but you’re just here trying to live your life, right? You’re not hurting anybody. Far as I’m concerned, no one back at headquarters needs to know about you guys.”

“How do you know we haven’t hurt anyone? You’ve only just met me, and you haven’t even met my Mistress.”

He beamed. “Because you’re Quinns’s friends, of course! I trust them, so I know I can trust you.”

“I see. How… refreshingly forthright.”

Despite his mistrust of the newcomer, Oraion felt a twinge of guilt. Would the young Knight still think the same if he knew what Oraion had done to those men from the village only the previous night? Even if they deserved it…

“Oh hey, you have a tail too! All right, welcome to the Tail Club! Man, yours is way bigger than mine.”

Quinns pinched the bridge of their nose, and Oraion heard them mutter. “Oh my gods…” They then raised their voice to full volume. “Okay, I think that’s enough with the pleasantries. Where’s Noelle? Did she wake up?”

“She did, fortunately. Now she's resting in her room.”

They nodded and lifted a basket they carried. “I brought some medicine, so I’ll go ahead and take that up to her.”

Oraion stepped in front of them and held out a hand. “Allow me. You can show our new friend here to the kitchen.”

“Uh, why don’t you show him the kitchen? You live here, you know where everything is.”

Oraion’s eyebrow twitched. “Oh, it’s not very difficult to figure out. Besides, I hardly touch the cooking equipment, so I can’t say I really know my way around.”

A scowl crossed Quinns’s face. “Yeah, well, I know more about administering medicine than you, since you outright admitted that you don’t know how to care for sick people, so I should be the one to take it to her.”

Oraion took a step closer to them. “You know, it occurs to me that Noelle had only just fallen asleep when I left the room. We should probably let her rest. So, why don’t you just tell me how to use the medicine and leave it with me, and I’ll make sure she gets it when she wakes up.”

Quinns stepped closer in turn. “Now listen: Oliver and I came all this way to—” They cut off suddenly mid-sentence and looked around the room with an expression of mild but increasing alarm. “Uh… Where’s Oliver?”

* * *

Elegant music swept through a pillared hall lit by glimmering crystal chandeliers. Dancers in splendid finery spun and twirled in time with the tune. Usually Noelle would feel out of place at such a lavish event, but now she was dressed in an exquisite gown of blush pink, the full skirt trailing behind her in a train embroidered with hundreds of flowers. The trailing sleeves hung off her bare shoulders, and, with the plunging neckline, created the perfect canvas for showing off her beautiful necklace of sparkling diamonds. Her hair was done up in perfect ringlets instead of her usual messy curls, set with a glittering hairpiece. She felt just like a princess, and lo: there, on the balcony that overlooked the dance floor, stood the Prince.

He gazed out over the hall of dancers with crimson eyes, his blood red hair pulled back in a high ponytail that trailed past his shoulders. He was just as she imagined him, dressed in a fine coat of burgundy and gold over a lovely silk shirt and vest in ivory. As though drawn by some unknown force, his alluring eyes turned to her, locking with her own, and widened in amazement at her beauty. His full lips turned up in a radiant smile, and he extended his hand, beckoning her to come to him.

Elation filled her breast as she lifted her skirt and crossed the hall of dancers, still spinning and twirling like so many clockwork dolls. She began to ascend the stairs to the balcony where the Prince awaited her, when her path was abruptly blocked by a large, orange cat. It regarded her with strange eyes of different colors, one a sort of teal and the other yellow, as it lashed its fluffy tail at her. The motion snared her attention. That tail looked awfully soft and fluffy…

She reached out and touched the cat’s tail, running her fingers through its fur, which to her delight was just as soft as she’d hoped. There was something she was supposed to be doing, wasn’t there? The cat was so soft and warm, though.

“Um, it’s nice to meet you and all, but could you let go of my tail?”

“Huh?”

Did the cat just talk to her?

“I-it’s just that it’s kind of, uh, sensitive…?”

Noelle blinked her sleep-gummed eyes as the vision of the ballroom faded away, to be replaced by the far more ordinary sight of her bedroom, bathed in the sunlight of early afternoon. What was not ordinary, however, was the strange young man in Knight attire standing next to her bed with a bright red blush on his cheeks. Indeed, he did have cat ears and a fluffy, orange tail attached to him as well, the latter of which was currently clutched in her hand.

She shrieked and dropped the man’s tail before crawling as far back as she could in the bed without falling on the floor.

“Wh-who are you?! Wh-what– What are you doing in my bedroom?!”

“Oliver!”

Quinns came bursting into the room with Oraion fast at their heels. The demon grabbed the cat-eared man by the shoulder and wrenched him away from the side of Noelle’s bed with a snarl before placing himself between them. He even went so far as to spread his wings.

“What the Hell do you think you’re doing, coming in here?”

“I-I’m sorry! I just- I wanted to- to check on her! That’s all, I swear!”

“Damn it, Ollie! Why did you go off on your own?” Quinns stepped in front of him, Oliver apparently, and guided him back another step a bit more gently than Oraion had. Their voice, though quieter, was no less irate, however. “I took a big risk bringing you here, and I vouched for you. Do you know how this makes me look?”

“I said I’m sorry! I-I promise I wasn’t gonna do anything bad! I was just…” He sighed. “I was really, really curious. I’ve never met a witch before, and… Well, then you two started arguing about who was gonna come up with the medicine, and I figured, y’know, somebody should go check on her. Besides, I… I didn’t wanna lose my chance.”

Quinns made an exasperated sound. “Lose your chance? What are you– Wait, do you mean to meet Noelle? Why would that even happen?”

“I-I don’t know… If you didn’t get to bring the medicine up, I guess I thought… maybe I wouldn’t get to come up either.” He looked down at the floor and scuffed it with the toe of his boot, cat ears drooping. “I’m so, so sorry. I know it was a stupid thing to do.”

“You certainly have the right of it there, Cat Boy,” Oraion snapped as his wings folded and vanished once more, “Now get out, before I throw you out.”

Quinns held up a hand. “All right, calm down. He didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Oh, really? And how do you know he isn’t simply playing dumb? How do you know he hasn’t been planning all along to sneak up here for the chance to take out a witch?”

Oliver looked like he wanted to sink into the floor. Noelle recalled his appearance when she had first woken up, with his blushing face and the way he had politely asked her to let go of his tail.

“It’s all right, Oraion. I don’t think he was going to hurt me.”

Her Servant turned to her with an incredulous look.

“You can’t be serious. You’re all right with a man barging into your bedroom like that?”

“Well, n-no, but he apologized, and, um, I believe he’s sincere. I would appreciate it, though, if someone could explain to me what he’s doing here.”

“I brought him, Noelle.” Quinns took a step towards her with an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry—I know you don’t want people to know where you live, but I swear, all of this nonsense aside, Oliver really is a good guy. He’s just… a little naive and impulsive sometimes. I brought him along because, um, I really wanted to bring you some soup, but… I-I don’t know how to make it, and… he does.”

With all of them crowded in her bedroom, and between Quinns looking chagrined, Oraion’s incensed protectiveness, and Oliver’s crestfallen, drooping cat ears and tail, Noelle couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. Of course that just led her to start coughing again.

“Oh, right, the medicine.” Quinns shoved the basket they were holding into Oliver’s arms. “Take this down to the ground floor and into the kitchen, okay? And wait for me there—don’t wander off again, please.”

The other Knight nodded. “Yeah, okay. I’ll see you down there. And, um, I’m sorry again, Miss Noelle. It was nice to meet you.”

“Er, likewise?” She gave him a little wave as Oliver left the room.

Quinns reached into their belt pouch and produced a little bundle wrapped in cloth, which they then handed to Oraion. The demon looked at the bundle in his hands as though he was not expecting to receive it.

“Here: these are the medicines. They were prepared by our own healers in the Knights, so they should be pretty effective. Go ahead and open it, and I’ll explain what each one is.”

“Ah. Right…”

As Oraion unwound the tie that held the wrappings in place, Quinns turned to Noelle.

“Noelle, you’ll probably want to listen to this too…” They squinted. “What happened to your lip?”

“Huh? Oh…” Her hand went to the split on her lip, which had scabbed over but was still rather swollen. “Um, I must have hurt it when I fell earlier.”

“Huh. I see…” They did not seem convinced, but they didn’t press the issue, to Noelle’s relief. They didn't need to know about the men who attacked her.

They instructed Oraion and Noelle on when and how each medicine was to be administered. There was a pill for fever that should be taken twice a day, morning and night; a tincture that would speed the healing process that could only be taken once per day or else it could cause unpleasant side effects as the body tried to heal itself too rapidly (the worst of which, Quinns explained with their usual grim decorum, was coughing up blood because your body produced too much). Lastly, there was an oil that could be applied to the neck and chest, which contained a number of pungent-smelling botanicals that worked to clear a stuffy head. One whiff immediately set Oraion sneezing, of course.

Once they had finished going over the medicines and ensured Noelle got her first doses, Quinns and Oraion both left her room and headed back down towards the first floor to meet up with Oliver.

“So…” Quinns spoke up from behind Oraion as they passed the library. “Do you want to tell me what happened to Noelle’s lip?”

Oraion’s hands briefly formed fists at his sides, the knuckles popping.

“Some loathsome bullies in town happened to her.”

Quinns voice rose in alarm. “What?”

Oraion sighed. “She went to town on her own. I know I should have accompanied her, but… I had something I needed to take care of here. When she returned, it was clear she’d been beaten, and she confirmed as much.”

“Did she say who it was? What they looked like?”

“No, but I…”

A moment of tense silence passed before Quinns spoke, their voice already turning accusatory. “You what?”

“I found them later.”

Quinns grabbed Oraion by the arm, stopping him.

“What do you mean you ‘found them’? What did you do?”

Oraion lifted his chin. “I didn’t kill them, if that’s what you’re asking. But I did ensure they would regret their actions.”

Quinns pressed their lips together and took a deep breath. “Look: I understand, and I don’t necessarily disagree with what you did, but please tell me that you did it in your human form and not looking like, well, a demon.”

Oraion wrenched his arm away. “I felt the message would be more effective if I used my true form. “

“Shit… Oraion, you…” They sighed. “I really, really hope that doesn’t come back to bite you in the ass, man. I truly do, because if the Inquisition gets wind of a demon around here, then there won’t be anything I, or anyone else, can do to stop them from coming looking for you.”

Oraion scoffed. “I think I can handle a few humans coming after us. Besides, you know how well-hidden this place is. They’ll be lucky to even find us here.”

“Yeah… Well. Let’s hope that’s true.”

They shook their head once and pushed past him on the stairs. With great effort, Oraion managed not to roll his eyes as he followed them down. Quinns worried overmuch at the best of times, and this was no exception. No mortal could stand against a Demon Lord. Let anyone try to harm his mistress again; they would be shown the error of their ways with swift and terrible judgment.

Once the soup had been prepared, Quinns had the good sense to escort themself and Oliver out, to the latter’s obvious disappointment. He was calling back to Oraion even as Quinns was pushing him out the door.

“Um, it was really nice to meet you! Thanks for having me over! A-and I really hope Miss Noelle feels better soon!”

The door closed behind them both with a heavy thud, and Oraion shook his head. Something was not right with that boy.

When he arrived back upstairs with a steaming bowl of soup, he found Noelle nodding off while sitting up in bed. Her head popped up with a start when she heard him enter, and Oraion couldn’t help but chuckle. She was too cute, with her flushed cheeks and slow, sleepy blinking.

“Oh, um, is that the soup?”

“It is.” Oraion placed the bowl down on the bedside table and flashed Noelle a smirk. “Shall I feed it to you?”

The deepening of her blush drew his smirk into a grin as she frantically waved her hands in front of her.

“Ah, n-no! No, no, no! That’s- that’s quite all right. I can, um, feed myself. Thank you.”

“Heh. As you wish.”

She must have been hungry, for though she started eating the soup slowly, she soon made short work of the rest. Oraion sat on the edge of the bed and watched her silently, resting his elbow on his knee and his chin on his hand. He must make time to study mortal diseases. Humans were such fragile creatures. This time it was a minor ailment, but what if one day she contracted a more serious affliction?

She finally noticed him looking and gave an awkward laugh.

“What, do I have something on my face?”

“No. I’m simply admiring how lovely you are.”

“Oh, stop it. I’m certain I look awful.”

“Never. You’re always lovely to me.”

She hid her face behind her hands with a sound that was part groan, part giggle.

“Stop! You’re making me blush!”

“I know. It’s delightful.”

“Ugh, you!”

Noelle gave him a little shove with another peal of laughter, which quickly turned into a fit of coughing. Oraion’s smug grin faltered, and he reached out to rub her back with an anxious touch.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Do you need anything? Is there anything I can do for you?”

“No- no, I- hh’kchiuh! htshhiuh! Ooh… I-I think I just need to rest.”

“Then… allow me to keep you company, at least.”

He climbed into bed next to her, enfolding her in his embrace and holding her tight against his chest. He buried his face in her hair and basked in her scent, in her closeness. Noelle Violette. His Mistress. He cared about her. He could admit that much. To himself, anyway. But whether that feeling was a result of their contract or genuine affection… He wasn’t certain, and he didn’t care. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that the woman in his arms made him happy, and he wanted to do everything in his power to do the same for her.

If that was love, well… perhaps that wouldn’t be so terrible, after all.

#accidental mistress #oraion the allergic incubus #noelle the awkward witch #knight errant quinns #cat boy ollie #snzblr #snz #snz kink #snz ocs #sneeze kink #snzfic #sickfic #snzfucker #snezblr

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accidentalmistress · 2 years ago

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Accidental Mistress - Cat's in the Cradle

It's that time again! This post is a little later in the day than I like, but it ended up being a little longer than I thought it would. At any rate, today we have the triumphant return of Quinns and Oliver! And this one has some worldbuilding! Woo!

(For more Accidental Mistress content, check out the Master Post.)

Title: Cat's in the Cradle

Word Count: 3,882

Content and Warnings: snz (nonbinary), fantasy violence, some mild gore (translation: there's monster fighting)

In which Quinns's good intentions earn them a bit more than they bargained for...

----------------------

The most basic utility of a sword is to swing it with a degree of force and try to hit whatever you’re aiming at with the sharp part.

Dark blood dripped from the end of their blade and sank into the dirt, leaving a stain that, in the moonlight, resembled a slick of black oil. Their chest heaved with panting breaths as sweat dripped down their brow and neck. The stench of entrails and ichor hung in the air, and they fought the sudden urge to retch that rose in the back of their throat.

The creature was dead. That much was clear as a rush of mana flowed into them, as with killing any monster. Its furred head lay several feet away from its body, frozen in a snarl that bared its erratic tangle of crowded fangs. The rest of the grotesque corpse still twitched as it cooled on the side of the road. The oversized, hand-like paws had too many fingers, too many joints. The massive barrel chest was completely at odds with the slender, almost emaciated, waist and hips. Its skin was a patchwork of fur, scales, and feathers that made no sense, had no pattern, and was dotted with weeping splits and sores.

This was what happened to Devourers eventually. They became an absurd pastiche of whatever they consumed, until the imbalance in their form started to tear them apart. They were then at their most dangerous, attacking indiscriminately and without provocation as they were driven to frenzy by madness and agony.

A barking laugh cut through the tension that clung to them like a suffocating blanket.

“Ha! Amazing! Knight Shaw, you’re incredible.”

They flicked the blood off their sword before sheathing it with a deep sigh.

“You don’t have to call me Knight Shaw. Just call me Quinns.”

They turned to the person sitting on the ground behind them and offered him a hand up, hauling the much taller and broader young man to his feet with a grunt.

“Oh, right. And you can call me Oliver!”

The green and black uniform he wore was nearly identical to Quinns’s own, save that Oliver’s lapel only bore a single gold stripe instead of the three Quinns possessed, denoting their difference in rank.

“Yeah. I know.”

“Oh. Right. Um, then how about you call me Ollie?”

“Let’s just get this thing off the road, please.”

“Oh, sure thing! I’ll grab the front legs if you get the back legs.”

“All right, fine.”

It was no mean feat to drag the Devourer’s reeking corpse, seeing as it was the size of a horse. Even as the two Knights grunted and strained with the effort, Oliver couldn’t seem to keep from chatting with that goofy grin on his face that drove Quinns up a wall.

“It’s a lucky thing -ngh- you got here when you did. -urgh- Another few minutes -hnng- and I would’ve been Devourer chow.”

Quinns made a noncommittal grunt and kept hauling. They weren’t about to tell Oliver that the only reason they’d been there at all was because they’d been tailing him since he left headquarters that night. They couldn’t shake the feeling that if they didn’t keep an eye on him, the naive younger Knight was going to do something stupid and get himself killed—a feeling that turned out to be correct when Oliver decided to take the Devourer head-on, alone, with nothing but a sword and the skills of a First-Rank Knight.

Once the dead monster was safely away from the road, Quinns cast a spell that would immolate the corpse by morning. They tried not to look at its six asymmetrical eyes, dead and glistening in the light of the arcane fire.

“Funny coincidence running into you out here at this time of night, huh?”

Quinns cast a sideways glance up at Oliver’s open, honest face. The taller Knight had a broad grin on his face, the furry, pointed ears on top of his head twitching. The cat ears and tail he bore marked Oliver as an Anima, a type of demi-human with animal features.

“I was just doing my own patrol. Couldn’t sleep, as usual, so I figured I might as well do something useful.”

A hearty clap on the shoulder made them wince.

“Ha! That’s my senior for ya! Always the overachiever! Save some glory for the rest of us, huh?”

They crossed their arms in front of their chest. “I don’t do this for glory. I do it because someone has to. You know, I don’t recall you being scheduled for a patrol either.”

Oliver rubbed the back of his neck with an abashed chuckle, his mismatched eyes, one gold and one blue-green, cast aside like a child caught sneaking a sweet from the kitchen.

“Ah, yeah, you got me. I was doing my own patrol, too. The higher ups hardly ever put me on official patrols anymore! I don’t know why; I don’t think I did anything wrong. Recently, anyway…”

Quinns kept their mouth shut. They were pretty sure they knew the reason: Oliver had quickly built a reputation around headquarters, and not an entirely favorable one. He’d passed his exams less than a year ago and was generally known to be affable and pleasant, yet already he had caused the Knights several embarrassing incidents. Quinns was away at the time, but they heard that during his first patrol, Oliver decided to attempt spellcasting in the middle of the marketplace, spooking a horse that was attached to a merchant’s cart and causing a messy collision with a fruit stand. Fortunately no one was hurt, but the Knights ended up responsible for the damages.

Not long after Quinns was officially introduced to Oliver during a late night sparring match, the junior Knight set up a series of bonfires throughout the training yard, apparently to simulate “being attacked by evil fire mages”, which quickly grew out of hand into a conflagration that set a stack of hay bales and half the company’s wooden training dummies ablaze. When Quinns arrived on the scene, they managed to contain the fire with a magical barrier until the other Knights got enough water to put it out. Quinns could still clearly picture how Oliver’s orange cat ears had been nearly flat with shame against his bright blonde hair as their Captain had chewed him out.

That incident, paired with this fight with the Devourer and a hundred other minor screw-ups on the part of the bumbling, cat-eared Knight left Quinns with the sinking feeling that they weren’t finished cleaning up Oliver’s messes. How had he even passed his exams?

Oliver’s voice brought Quinns back to the present.

“Well, since we’re both out here, why don’t we go patrolling together? I wouldn’t mind the company!”

Quinns blew out a sigh through their nose.

“Yeah, all right. Might as well.”

“Might as well keep him out of trouble, more like…” they declined to add.

As they set off together, walking side by side down the road that eventually led to Chambelf, Quinns remembered the other reason that Oliver quite literally irritated them: Quinns was allergic to cats. They cleared their throat as it started to prickle slightly and managed to avoid coughing, silently praying to any god that would listen that they could get this impromptu patrol over with quickly.

“What do you think a Devourer was doing this close to a town?” Oliver had his hands clasped behind his head and was walking along with his gaze on the starry night sky like he didn’t have a care in the world. Must be nice.

Quinns shrugged.

“It looked like it was dying. They go crazy right before they die, and they’re not exactly stable to begin with, so there’s no telling what it was thinking.”

“Do you think there could be any more around?”

“I highly doubt it. They don’t travel in groups; they’re solitary creatures.”

It didn’t escape Quinns’s notice that when he’d asked the question Oliver sounded a little… excited.

“You’re not actually hoping to run into another one of those things, are you? The first one almost killed you.”

The other Knight chuckled. “Well, okay, maybe not another Devourer, but it might be cool to fight some other kinda monster.”

A scoff of disbelief passed Quinns’s lips. “Seriously? Do you have a death wish or something? Why the hell would you want to fight another monster?”

To Quinns’s surprise, Oliver dropped his arms to his sides and a slightly awkward look came to his face. Was he embarrassed?

“Uh, y’know, no reason… It’s just… I-It’s what Knights do, right? Yeah, we, uh, we fight monsters and protect people, so… Just really excited to do, uh… Knight stuff.”

Quinns regarded Oliver with narrowed eyes and was just about to accuse him of being a terrible liar when an itch blossomed in their nose, so instead they turned to the side and rubbed it against their sleeve with urgent strokes.

“Agh…”

“Hey, you okay?”

“What? -snf- Oh, y-yeah. -snf- I’m fine.”

They thought for certain that their sniffles would give them away, but Oliver seemed to take them at face value and nodded.

“Oh. Okay, good!”

Quinns bit back a sigh. While they were relieved that he hadn’t caught on, it really illustrated just how overly trusting Oliver was. The guy needed to cultivate some common sense before it got him killed.

“You know, I feel pretty lucky right now,” Oliver said, and Quinns wasn’t sure if he was purposely trying to change the subject or if he just always said whatever came to mind. Probably that second one.

“What do you mean?”

Oliver glanced over at them, putting his hands up behind his head again with another trademark grin.

“Well, not everybody gets to go on a patrol with the Quinns Shaw. Actually, you almost always go out alone. Makes me feel a little special, you know?”

It actually took some effort for Quinns to not openly gape at Oliver. Sure, it was true that Quinns usually worked alone, but was that really so noteworthy? Furthermore, why did Oliver hold them in such high esteem? Did they stand out that much? They wouldn’t deny their own skill—they were the youngest Knight to ever achieve Third Rank—but they didn’t exactly go out and do heroic deeds every day. They mostly performed their regular duties, did any other tasks the higher-ups assigned to them, picked up any slack where necessary, and kept their head down the rest of the time. They were so thrown off by Oliver’s comment, in fact, that they were totally unprepared for when the itching in their sinuses flared back up. They froze up, powerless to stop it, before their head snapped forward.

“Etchoo!”

“Whoa, bless you. You sure you’re okay?”

Another rub with the sleeve. “It’s nothing. Thanks… Oliver, I really don’t think I’m as amazing as you seem to think I am.”

“Well, I think you are that amazing. I’m real grateful that you’re willing to spend time with a loser like me, honestly. Feels like you could be doing… I dunno… better things.”

Quinns opened their mouth to reply, but abruptly shut it again as they realized that they didn’t actually know why they concerned themself so much with Oliver. Getting involved with other people only complicated things. Just look at the whole situation with Noelle: if anyone knew Quinns was aiding a witch, they’d be before the Inquisition in irons in less time than it took for Oliver to make them start itching. Keeping an eye on the younger Knight just gave them more work to do and more stress to deal with, so why did they bother? Was it simply to protect a comrade from getting hurt, or were they somehow a magnet for hard luck cases?

They had to say something into the silence that had already dragged into uncomfortable territory after Oliver’s last statement, but no words came to their rescue. No sarcastic quip, no snappy comeback, not even something truthful came to Quinns’s lips. Instead, Oliver’s cat ears abruptly twitched, then flattened against his head the moment before he flung himself bodily into Quinns, pushing them to the ground.

“Look out!”

An explosive frenzy of sound and motion followed. Before they even knew what had happened Quinns was facedown in the dirt of the road. Something blocked the moonlight above, casting a deep shadow in the night’s gloom. Training, adrenaline, and instinct took over. They pushed off the ground, and by the time they were on their feet their sword was in hand. Quinns spun to face what attacked them and briefly froze at what they saw. There stood Oliver, ears flattened, teeth bared in a snarl that showed sharp canines that Quinns had never noticed before. He was face-to-face with a huge reptilian creature: long and sinewy like a massive snake, its hide protected by thick, leathery scales. It had no legs to speak of, and the frilled head with its long snout would not look out of place on a dragon.

A wyrm.

Not quite full grown, but still big enough to snatch up and drag either of them away. Sharp teeth the size of daggers lined its yawning maw, currently held open by Oliver with one hand each on the upper and lower jaws as the creature struggled to make the young Knight its next meal. Oliver’s heterochromatic eyes flicked over to Quinns for the barest moment.

“I can’t… hold it… forever!”

Snapped from their reverie, Quinns tightened their grip on their sword.

“Right!”

With a cry, they ran at the wyrm with sword raised, held in both hands to put their full weight behind it. The wyrm’s hide was too thick for a simple slash to do much damage, and there was no time to cast a spell or perform some flashy move. So Quinns used their sword for its second most basic utility: aim the pointy bit at something you don’t like and shove as hard as you can.

This punctured the wyrm’s thick hide, causing the creature to shriek bloody murder, which was probably warranted given the circumstances. It darted aside, abandoning its attack on Oliver in favor of swiping its lengthy tail at Quinns instead. They leapt back to dodge the blow, the whiplike appendage missing them by inches. When the wyrm did not hit its intended target, it switched its attention back to Oliver, curving the arc of its strike towards the other Knight. He made no move to dodge, standing there with his arms wide open like he was waiting for it.

“Don’t tell me he’s gonna try to—”

With a resounding thump, Oliver caught the wyrm’s tail in the chest and grabbed on, holding it in place. How was he still standing? That strike had to have been powerful enough to break bone. More importantly, though—

“What the Hell are you doing?!”

The grin Oliver flashed them was more appropriate for someone who had caught a prize fish than a guy currently bear-hugging the tail of a monster.

“I got it!”

Quinns watched as a powerful undulation traveled swiftly down the length of the wyrm’s body, and Oliver’s feet left the ground.

“Wooaah! I-I don’t got it!”

The younger Knight was flung backwards, landing heavily against the trunk of a tree with a worrying crunch.

“Ollie!”

Surprisingly, or perhaps less so at this point, Oliver gave Quinns a thumbs up from where he sat at the base of the tree. “Koff! Don’t worry! Koff-koff! I, uh, I’m good!”

“Damn it, just… Just stay there, okay?!”

A guttural growl cut through the night air as the wyrm redoubled its attack, launching itself towards Oliver, still recovering from being thrown.

“Shit,” Quinns swore as they rushed forward, beginning a chant that would cast a protective barrier spell in front of Oliver. Icy panic gripped their stomach as they realized that the wyrm was far too fast.

They weren’t going to finish the spell in time.

With a fluid motion that was unlike Oliver’s usual bumbling clumsiness, the cat Anima rolled to his feet and leapt forward to meet his monstrous opponent. As the wyrm charged, baring its fangs with a horrid screech, Oliver once more managed to grab the creature by the jaws. One step, two—despite the wyrm’s size and strength, Oliver yielded only two steps to its crushing assault. Straining with the effort, he then began to prize the monster’s jaws slowly apart.

Still rushing to Oliver’s aid, Quinns thought for a moment that the other Knight was trying to break the creature’s jaw. Instead, Oliver wrenched the wyrm’s head to one side with a triumphant shout. Confused at first, Quinns then realized that with its head turned they now had a clear shot at the roof of the creature’s mouth.

They turned their run into a charge, both hands on the hilt of their sword as they raised it to eye level. With a rising cry they closed the distance, then thrust their blade deep into the soft flesh of the wyrm’s mouth, piercing its brain. The beast didn’t make a sound. Its long body spasmed with weaker and weaker movements until at last it went still.

Quinns pulled their sword from the monster’s corpse, and Oliver dropped its head to the ground. Within moments, the wyrm’s spent life force poured out in the form of mana, which Quinns felt flow into them. Beside them they heard Oliver gasp.

“Oh my gods, I think… I think I just got mana.”

Quinns raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, that usually happens when you kill a monster.”

Oliver looked over at them wide-eyed as a grin slowly stole across his face.

“Does that mean…” He suddenly looked down at his arms in front of him. “Do I get my Mark now?!”

“Your… what?”

“The Adventurer’s Mark! How do I know if I got it?”

Quinns blinked.

Plenty of people in the world became Adventurers, but it wasn’t simply a job title. Slaying monsters, practicing magic, training in certain martial arts—these sorts of things granted one mana. Once a person’s mana reached a certain threshold, they would gain a Mark: a symbol somewhere on their body that marked them as an Adventurer. As one then grew in power, so too would the Mark, growing in size and complexity as proof of one’s skill.

“Wait, are you saying… you’re not an Adventurer yet?”

Oliver shook his head.

“No, I’m not. Or, at least, I wasn’t? Maybe I am now!” He actually started to unbutton his uniform shirt. “Would I feel it? What does it feel like? Does it, like, burn or something? How do I know where to look?”

Quinns had to admit that they were a little impressed. An Adventurer’s Mark was not a requirement to become a Knight, but a person was limited in the skills they could use and the magic they could cast without one, which of course made the job more dangerous. Though rare, it wasn't unheard of for someone to join up in the hopes of gaining their Mark, Quinns had just never met one before. Oliver had guts, that was for sure, and he could clearly take a beating. His eagerness to kill a monster now made a lot more sense as well: monsters granted a large amount of mana, so monster-slaying was often the fast-track to Adventurer status.

Quinns placed a placating hand on Oliver's arm before the other Knight got too carried away with stripping in the middle of the road.

"Whoa, slow down there, champ. I… I can't really describe it, but trust me: if you gained your Mark, you would know."

They watched as Oliver’s expression turned crestfallen, his orange ears drooping as he began to slowly button his shirt again.

“Oh… Yeah, that, uh, makes sense.”

Quinns pressed their lips together before sighing, though one corner of their mouth tugged up in a small smile.

“Hey, don’t let it get you down too bad. You’re well on your way. You’ll just have to deal the finishing blow next time.”

The quickness with which Oliver’s ears perked right back up was nearly comical.

“Next time? You mean… you wanna do this again sometime? Like, you’ll go out with me?”

At that Quinns was unable to stop a chuckle from escaping as they nodded.

“Yeah, but you don’t have to make it sound like a date.”

“A date?” Oliver’s cheeks quickly flushed pink and he waved his hands in front of him frantically. “N-no, I didn’t mean it like that! I-I mean, not that I wouldn’t— if you wanted to! But if not that’s totally fine! Wait, no- I mean, I’m not asking you on a date! Right now. I… I really just meant patrolling…”

He placed a hand over his face, thoroughly red. Another laugh bubbled up in Quinns’s throat, but all that came out was a cough. As the adrenaline that surged in their veins during the battle faded, the allergies it had suppressed returned in full force. They tried to forestall any further coughing by swallowing hard, but the ticklish feeling in their throat stubbornly persisted. Quinns put their back to Oliver and cleared their throat a few times, which only seemed to aggravate the irritation. A series of coughs seized them, which they tried, unsuccessfully, to smother with a hand.

“Uh, Quinns? You okay?”

“I’m f- Koff! Koff! I’m f-fi-...” Their body froze, which meant— “Etchoo! Etchoo! Ugh… I’m fine.”

A rare double sneeze. With a groan, Quinns remembered that Oliver had touched them when he pushed them out of the way of the wyrm’s initial ambush strike. He must have gotten cat hair on them.

“You don’t sound fine.” The cat in question came around to face Quinns, prompting them to take a step back. “Can you tell me what’s going on? Please?”

Talk about awkward. How do you tell someone you’re allergic to them?

“Uh… I have… Etchoo! … allergies?”

Oliver’s golden eyebrows rose, his expression a mixture of surprise and concern.

“Oh, no… Well, you shouldn’t be outside, then! Come on: let’s get you back to headquarters.”

Quinns felt a firm hand on their shoulder, and suddenly Oliver was marching them back up the way they’d come.

“W-wait, Ollie- Hang on, what about- koff! What about the wyrm?”

“We can inform one of the other patrols, and they can come clean it up. I don’t think anyone’ll use this road anyway, and—” He paused. “Wait, you just called me Ollie!”

“Oh, uh, -snf- yeah… guess I did.”

Slight relief washed over them that he hadn’t noticed them yell it during the fight, but that was quickly squashed when Oliver’s arms wrapped around them in a bear hug.

“Aw, that means we’re friends now! I’m so happy!”

Quinns made a mental note to visit the temple when they got back, because the only explanation they could conceive for the events of the evening and their current situation was that, at some point, they had caused the gods some great offense. Of course, that was assuming that they made it back to headquarters alive, and, given how things had gone so far, Quinns was increasingly convinced they might regret letting this particular cat cross their path.

#accidental mistress #knight errant quinns #cat boy ollie #snz #snzblr #snzfic #snz fic #snzfucker #sneeze fic #snz kink #snz ocs #sneeze kink

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