𝐌𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐢𝐚 ┅ 𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗀! 𝖭𝗈𝗅𝖺𝗇 𝖦𝗋𝖺𝗒𝗌𝗈𝗇 & 𝖵𝗂𝗅𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗆𝗂𝗍𝖾! 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋
𝘈𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘢𝘭 ‘𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘥𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘥’ 𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘕𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘣𝘢𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘫𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘥. 𝘓𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘥𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺.
﹙𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭﹚
NOTE: fan art by @xiaoye12589 on x. This man is so fyneeee, if you ignore all the weird emotional parental and Viltrumite issues then he’s like perfect. I’ve lowky been sucked into the Invincible black hole. Also very ooc Nolan lol.
"Please, lie down."
You gently nudge Nolan, but he doesn't budge. He can't budge. Every bone in his body feels like it's been shattered and glued back together. You can see it, too. His face is a canvas of purple bruises and the scarlet red of his blood, along with an equally bloody gash across his nose.
Nolan always puts up a strong front, such is common with all Viltrumites. He always acts like nothing can touch him. But right now, he looks like a lost puppy, trying to keep his footing and failing miserably. He’s gritting his teeth, a low groan escaping his lips every time he tries to shift.
“Nolan, you are badly injured. You must rest,” you say, your voice cracking.
He winces, looking at you with eyes that seem a bit less intense than usual. He manages a small smile, but it’s twisted with pain.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he mumbles, trying to wave off your concern.
But you know he’s lying. The way he’s leaning against the wall of your room, clutching his stomach, says it all. You can almost feel the aches and pains radiating from him. It breaks your heart to see him like this. Despite being a Viltrumite yourself, and going through the normal initiations of adulthood, you never did have the taste for bloodshed. You wish you could just take away his pain, carry it yourself.
"You are not fine, and you know it. Now lie down." Your voice is firmer this time, and you can see a hint of annoyance in his eyes.
"No, I don't want to. This is just proof that I am ready for adulthood."
"Your mother shouldn’t have been so… so aggressive." You can’t help the bit of temperament that creeps into your voice. You hate that his parents put him through this, hate that they force him to prove himself again and again.
“You are our batch’s finest fighter.” You praise him.
He sighs, a sound that seems to carry all the weight of the world. "You should understand. It is the Viltrumite way."
“I understand that you’re in pain. And I’m going to help you. Most partners wouldn’t even dare do what I am doing, so just do as I say.”
Finally, he gives in, slumping against you as you guide him to the bed. He lets out a loud groan as he lies down, and you can see the blood on his Viltrum uniform seep into your bedsheets.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice barely audible. It is very uncommon for a Viltrumite of his stature to speak such words, but ever since you’ve been together Nolan has started to open up his emotional barriers.
"For what? For being able to feel pain?" You're sitting on the edge of the bed now, running a hand through his hair.
He looks at you with wide, puppy-dog eyes. "For making you worry."
Your heart melts at his vulnerability. You lean down and kiss his forehead, then his nose, then his cheek. You can feel him relax under your touch, the tension slowly leaving his body.
You grab a cloth and a bowl of water, then get to work. You start with his face, gently wiping away the blood and dirt. He flinches at first, but then relaxes, letting you take care of him. You carefully clean the gash on his nose, then apply some ointment.
He will heal fast, you can already see the outer tissues of some smaller wounds stitch themselves back together.
You move to his chest, carefully removing the stained white clothes to reveal a massive bruise, and multiple open wounds that span the entire width of his chest. You run your hand over the bruise, wishing you could just smooth it away.
Nolan catches your eye, a small smile playing on his lips. "It looks worse than it feels."
You roll your eyes. "I highly doubt that." You start applying a soothing ointment to his chest, the cool gel providing a welcome relief.
“Not everyone has strange parents that refuse to initiate their child.” He spoke in a hissed tone from the ointments.
“My parents are different, yes, but I was still initiated. Left me with broken ribs.”
“I couldn’t tell.”
“Again, they aren’t as ruthless as yours, but as Viltrumites, strength is our goal.” You mumble.
“I’m glad they are not like mine. I for one could not bear to see you hurt.”
You spend the next hour cleaning and tending to his wounds. By the time you’re finished, he’s covered in bandages and looking like a mummy. But he looks better, less strained, more like the Nolan you know and love.
You climb into bed beside him, wrapping your arms around his uninjured side. He rests his head on your shoulder, letting out a long sigh of relief.
“Thank you,” he says, his voice thick with sleep.
"For what?”
"For everything. For not leaving."
You squeeze him tight, burying your face in his hair. "I’m not going anywhere, Nolan. Never."
He lets out a small laugh, a sound that warms your entire being. "Good. Because I don’t think I could survive another day without you."
You smile into his hair, the worry of the day fading away. You may not be able to stop his parents from putting him through hell, but you can be there to pick up the pieces, to dote on his wounds, and to remind him that he is loved, imperfections and all.