#Healer fics
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Such a Perfect Place To Start
Azriel x Healer!Reader
Description: Something happens that has you questioning the nature of your relationship with the shadowsinger.
Warnings: None
Word Count: 3911
Notes: When I started writing this I didn't think it was going to lead to that. Hope you like it!
part of the healer!reader universe
When you were called to the House of Wind so urgently by the High Lady herself you were expecting a more pressing matter, a life or death situation like you're used to, not exactly a library full of books. You don't know how long you've been sitting in this chair but you couldn't feel your butt anymore, no matter how many different positions you tried to sit in. You were used to doing some research while studying new healing techniques or herbs but these millenia old books on magical symbols were a little different.
There had been some attacks across the Night Court, including in the mountains surrounding Velaris, with some pretty disturbing details. After being killed, the victims' eyes had been removed and a symbol had been carved into their chests. All the symbols were different and, at this time, their meaning was still unknown. Unfortunately, none of the victims had survived either so there weren't any witnesses and, even after Azriel's thorough investigations, there was no evidence left behind by the culprits. It was as if no one had even been there.
You had heard some rumors about this before getting called in. Gossip spread around fast in Velaris and, even with the Inner Circle's efforts to keep panic to a minimum, people had found out about some of the details. The area around Velaris is relatively safe so to have multiple killings in a short time and in such gruesome ways was causing a bit of a fearful atmosphere to fall upon the city of dreamers. The increase in security wasn't easily missed either.
After being summoned to the River House, Feyre and Rhysand had briefed you on everything they knew and asked you for your help, seeing as they could only trust a few select people. Since there were no other clues left behind besides the symbols, the High Lord decided that, for now, everyone should focus on finding their meaning, so he sent his most trusted people to his private library to look through every book that might help.
You had obviously felt incredibly honored and happy that they trusted you this much. You've been getting closer to the inner circle after your talk with Azriel a few months ago, and sometimes still feared your friendships were a bit one sided.
As honored as you felt that they trusted you, though, you had spent days searching through old books just to come up empty. It was more tiring than a week at a war healing tent. Not to mention having to do so by Amren's side. You had no personal problems with the newly turned high fae but she still scared you profusely. Your power gave you a sense of people's aura and hers had always felt unsettling at best, even after getting turned.
At least, you weren't alone with her, everyone in the Inner Circle and some of the Valkyries had shown up at the library to help at some point. There was no way of knowing who could be behind these attacks and, from what you gathered, these fae had been moving across the court too easily, meaning they could be from the night court or even Velaris, so you couldn't involve the priestesses in the library.
The sky was already completely dark outside, making way for the millions of stars to shine in the sky. The atmosphere was a little too quiet for this time of night, usually there would still be fae walking around the city, in and out of bars and theaters. Amren had already left. The ancient one had tucked a book under her arm and walked out without much of a goodbye, leaving you with Feyre and Azriel in the library.
“I think it's time to stop for the day,” your High Lady's voice cut through the silence suddenly, “Rhys just finished at the office too.” Sometimes you envied how convenient the daematis abilities were. As her eyes glaze over and a smirk threatens to play at her lips, you know her mate is giving her a good reason to go home.
“I'll stay a bit longer,” you hold your finger over the passage you were reading, these old books had tiny fonts and you'd already lost yourself in enough of them to know better now, “I have to go to the clinic tomorrow so I wanted to at least finish this book.” There were only about half a dozen pages left of it so, even if your body was screaming at you to go to bed, you wanted to get this done first.
“Alright,” the High Lady adds her last book to the pile and looks at you one more time, “Don't stay too long. We need you to be focused at the clinic.” Her eyes shift to the shadowsinger and narrow slightly, her tone a little sterner, “You too, Az. Get some sleep.”
The spymaster nods dutifully at his friend's warning and she seems content enough with the response or in enough hurry to meet her mate, as she gives you both one last smile and turns to the door, saying one last goodbye over her shoulder.
Azriel stayed with you, even though his book had just started and there was no way he would finish it tonight. You were torn between thinking it was because he didn't trust you in the House by yourself, as the ever protective spymaster, and just writing it off as his willingness to help his court even at the risk of his own health and comfort, you don't even wanna think how many sleepless nights the spymaster has spent working lately.
You shake off your thoughts and keep reading the boring book. The sooner you finish the sooner you can go to sleep. Even your healing abilities can't do much to fight the headache you were feeling after spending the whole day reading symbols and their uses in dark magic, some of the rituals described were also making your stomach queasy.
Just as you're about to finish the last page, you hear a soft groan coming from Azriel and can't help but look up at him. His head was thrown back, showing off the column of his neck. His eyes were closed tight like he was fighting the same headache as you. With his wings stretched as far as they could go, it looked like they were taking up most of the private library, not that it was a small room by any means.
The spymaster looked exhausted. He's been spending his days meeting up with his spies and informants all around Prythian, trying to find any information on the attackers and investigating any strange movement in the court. At night, he comes home and joins you in the library to help with research, sometimes even staying up later than everyone else. You know he will do the same thing tomorrow and the day after, until you find any relevant clues and catch the killers.
Azriel takes these things more personally than maybe even the High Lord and Lady. His job as spymaster is finding any threats to the court after all, preferably before they happen. You know he must feel like he's failing his court and you wish you could show him that he's doing more than enough, that it's not his fault. Under the tough exterior and immense power, Azriel has an extremely kind soul, you've felt it. He'd make the impossible happen if it meant he could protect his court, his family, even if it cost him his own life.
“You should go to sleep,” you can't help but worry for him, “You were out all day before you came here. You must be really tired.”
You wonder how long it's been since he's had a good night of sleep. Even before this situation, it was no secret that the shadowsinger was a bit of an insomniac. You had given him a few sleeping tonics before in hopes of helping him have at least a few moments of peace.
“I'll wait for you,” he tells you, meeting your eyes. You can see the fatigue swirling around in his unguarded gaze, it seems you had been right to assume he hasn't been sleeping. “You're almost done.”
You look back down at your book and wonder how he's been keeping track of what you've been doing while reading his own book. Still, if finishing this means Azriel can go to sleep, you'll do it as fast as you can. Reading through the last page intently to make sure nothing escapes you.
Just as you're about to finish you make a silent request to the House, and two steaming cups of tea appear in front of each of you. Passionflower tea to lessen his stress and help with sleep, you've given it to him before and he told you it helped so you hope it does the trick once again.
Since you're focused on the book, you miss the way his eyes finally stray from your form to look down at the tea now sitting in front of him. You also miss the smile on his face when he reaches for it and the way his shadows let him know you were the one who asked for it, gushing about how you took care of their master.
“Do you still not trust me, Spymaster?” You close the book and put it into the ever growing pile. Stretching a bit before taking your tea into your hands and blowing on it gently.
“I trust you with my life, sweetheart.” The seriousness in his statement makes you pause with the cup halfway to your lips for a moment. You didn't need the Morrigan's gift to know he was telling the truth. The nickname takes a little longer to register but as soon as it does color rushes to your cheeks.
“Then why wait for me?” You hadn't actually thought he didn't trust you in the library but you still weren't sure why he had stayed behind after Feyre left.
“Wanted to keep you company until you finished,” he shrugged. His voice is a little gravely with sleep which is a big problem for the butterflies already fluttering in your stomach. “We've been spending a lot of time together but we've barely talked.”
He wants to talk to you. You can't help the smile or the giddy feeling washing over you. He's tired but he chose to stay up a little longer to do something as trivial as talking to you.
“What did you want to talk about then?” The way he's picking at the painted decorations in his teacup makes you think he might be feeling a little nervous but you're not sure why.
“Anything you want,” he answered a little too fast. Maybe it's the low lights in the room but you swear there's some color dusting his cheeks.
“It's hard to pick a topic like that,” you say before biting your lip slightly. For some reason you suddenly feel a little pressure to come up with a good topic, not wanting to disappoint or bore him. “Lately, all I can think about is this,” you run your finger over one of the books' spines, “It's hard to focus on anything else after spending hours in here.”
“If you feel like this is too much you can tell me. I'll talk to Rhys and he'll send you back to the clinic,” he frowns. His shadows reach a little towards you, as if wanting to comfort you. You didn't mean to worry him.
“That's not what I meant,” you start, “I want to help. I've just never dealt with anything like this. I've been to war but this… killing innocent fae in such a disturbing way is different.”
“I understand,” he nods, “If you need anything you can tell me. Even if you just want to talk.”
“Alright.” Azriel has a way of talking that leaves you not knowing how to respond sometimes. He's so sincere in what he says that you almost feel like any response would fall short. “You too. If you need help with anything I'm always here for you.”
He gives you a single nod before hiding what looked like a bashful smile behind his tea. You finish your teas like this, enjoying each other's company in the quiet of the night.
You can't hold back a yawn when you set your teacup down. As much as you'd love to stay up talking to Azriel all night, your body is about ready to crash on you.
“We should go to sleep,” he says as he stands up, making the teacups disappear. “You have to be at the clinic early.”
“You're right,” you agree with a sigh, standing up to follow him to the door. You've only been going to the clinic twice a week ever since Feyre asked for your help with this case so you know you'll have a long day ahead of you. “Will you fly me down tomorrow?”
“Of course,” he tells you as he opens the door for you, “What kind of male would I be if I let our favorite healer walk down the thousands of steps by herself?”
“Favorite? I'll tell Madja you said that,” you point your finger at him playfully.
“Second favorite then,” he takes it back with a wink, making you laugh. The smile lingers on your face all the way to the guest room you're staying in and it only deepens when you realize he walked you all the way to your door.
You turn and look up at him expectantly. It looks like he wants to tell you something with the way he's searching your face and his shadows pool at both of your feet. If you didn't know any better you'd think they wanted to crawl up your legs. You've found that they can give some of Azriel's emotions away sometimes, when he doesn't have a grip on them at least.
Your body doesn't react when he bends down slowly, pausing for a brief moment before kissing your cheek softly, murmuring a good night against your skin. It doesn't react after either, when he pulls back to watch your reaction. In fact, it's not until he walks over to his door and lets out a small chuckle, that you finally move and almost crash into the room, fumbling with the doorknob and slamming the door behind you.
As you lean your back against the door, you put your hand over your chest and stare wide eyed at the window across the room. You almost thought you were imagining things. He can probably hear your heart beating all the way in his room across the hall, you wouldn't be surprised if everyone in Velaris could hear with how loud it's beating. You let yourself slide against the door until you're crouching.
You hadn't expected him to kiss you. You know Azriel isn't one for a lot of physical touch. You've only gotten a hug out of him once, during the war after an attack on the healer's tent. He had thought you were dead then, after watching so many die he'd just been glad to see someone he knows still breathing. Actually, you might have been the one to hug him first. You had never been so close to death and were scared out of your mind. It was your first war after all.
You and Azriel had been getting closer over the months, closer than you were with the rest of Inner Circle. Even before your talk that night, he's always been friendly to you, but the shadowsinger was kind to all the healers - to everyone that wasn't his enemy really - so you never thought much of it. But this felt different. Tonight felt different.
You hadn't fully admitted it to yourself yet but the more time you spent with the shadowsinger the more your crush evolved. What had once been a silly crush based on appearance and his kind nature had quickly turned into palpable feelings. You liked him. A lot.
However, acknowledging this could destroy the friendship you had built with him for the past few months, maybe with the rest of his family as well. That's what you thought before at least. You assumed Azriel would never have feelings for you. The idea seemed so preposterous it never even crossed your mind, but now you're not so sure.
Maybe it seemed like you were exaggerating to think this after a little kiss, on the cheek no less, but this kiss made you think back on the last months you've spent with Azriel. He's been insisting on flying you up and down the stairs every time he's around, usually this task would be left to Cassian, who loved showing off his wings to you.
He's been going to the clinic more often too, stocking up on anything he can think of when he's never done that in the century you've been working in Velaris. Azriel was always one to not think much of his own health, it bothered you to no end. He also came to you with every injury. Usually when a member of the Inner Circle was hurt, Madja was the one who was called. You'd only accompany her if she needed assistance or go in her place if she wasn't able to go herself. Of course over the years they'd come to use you more and more, which is why you didn't even think of it, but looking back now… You don't know what to think anymore.
Getting up with a sigh, you make your way to your closet to change. Your thoughts consume you while you get ready for bed but your tiring day catches up to you as soon as your head hits the pillow. However, this doesn't spare you from dreaming of a certain shadowsinger.
You take longer to wake up than usual, making you hurry through your morning routine. Your body isn't used to the schedule you've been putting it through lately, and it's starting to show. But because of this, it isn't until you go to open the door to the guest room that you remember Azriel is going to fly you down to the clinic. And the incident that had you spiraling before going to sleep.
Deciding walking down the steps by yourself isn't a viable option, you go to find him and pray to the Mother things aren't too awkward between you. It had just been a little kiss on the cheek and your lack of reaction could totally be blamed on the long day, your brain was just having trouble catching up, that's all. It had been a completely normal exchange between friends, not that you're blushing just thinking about it or anything. You could just pretend it didn't happen.
As you make your way to the front door, the shadows dancing around in the hallway catch your eye instantly. You've seen them do this before, when Azriel doesn't need them and they don't want to brave the light, they just linger around the room in curious little wisps. You can't help the smile as they gravitate slowly towards you.
Right after they notice you, their master appears through the door. One of them must have warned him of your arrival, they're so cute sometimes you forget they're spies. Of course they'd tell on you.
“Good morning,” he greets. Azriel may be a shadowsinger but he looks breathtaking in the morning light. His skin glows beautifully and his eyes look a little lighter, it makes him look younger. Gods, how can he be so beautiful?
He looks a little relieved to see you. Maybe he thought you'd escape by yourself or ask someone else to fly you to the clinic to avoid him. It makes you feel a little bad that you had him worried but it's his own fault for playing with your heart like that.
“Good morning,” you smile, walking up to him. “Are you ready?”
“I was just waiting for you,” he says as he extends a hand for you to take. This has the nerves already lingering inside your body make themselves more noticeable. You almost forgot flying you down means he'll have to carry you. It had taken a while for you to get used to not only the flying but also the way he had to hold you - funny how you never had this problem with Cassian.
You take his hand and try not to move too much or gasp as he picks you up off the floor like you weigh nothing. He immediately starts walking to the edge of the stairs, holding you close to his chest.
“Hold onto me,” he breathes into your ear, extending his wings and getting ready to take flight. You do as he says and wrap your arms tighter around his neck, praying he can't feel your heart beat inside your chest.
You'll never get over how stunning Velaris looks from above or how the wind passes around you as you soar through the clouds. It's a real shame that you weren't born with wings. You understand why Illyrians are so protective of them, after knowing what this feels like, it's hard to imagine never being able to do it again.
“You know I won't drop you.” You look away from the landscape and meet his gaze. He can probably feel how tense you are but you can't tell him it has nothing to do with the height or any fear of him letting you fall.
“I know,” you assure. “What would you do without your favorite healer?” He lets out a small laugh in response and your body finally relaxes.
The flight doesn't take long, and, before you know it, he's landing right outside your clinic. He helps you get down and even holds onto you a little longer, giving you a once over to make sure you're steady on your feet.
An idea passes through your mind and you bite your lip, wondering if you'd truly lost it. You take a quick look around before you lose your nerve. It was still early enough that the streets were almost deserted, no one should see you.
Turning back to the shadowsinger, you hesitate again when you notice him watching you, probably wondering what you were up to. If you read the situation wrong this could make things very awkward for the two of you.
Deciding not to let your anxiety reign your life, you grab his shoulder gently so you can pull him a little closer to your height. Standing on your tiptoes to clear the rest of your height difference. You hold onto his cheek and place a soft kiss on the other side of his face, murmuring a “thank you”.
You step back again and look up at him, still slightly bent from where you pulled him to you and looking at your face with wide eyes. You're not sure if you've ever seen the feared spymaster so caught off guard before. There was a small smile playing at his lips though, so you assume you hadn't completely misread the situation. You can't help but form a grin of your own and turn around to go inside the clinic, leaving him behind just as he did to you last night. Your heart soaring higher than you had just been.
#azriel x reader#azriel x you#azriel x y/n#azriel fluff#azriel fic#azriel shadowsinger#azriel acotar#acotar#divider by saradika#healer!reader
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Meeting each other for the first time in St. Mungo’s, years after the bloody war.
“Fucking hell.” Harry tries, and then fails, not to stare at Malfoy’s ass as he heads out of the ward. The robe is just so flattering. “What is Malfoy doing in med school?”
“I can’t do this with you again,” Ron says. “I won’t. I refuse, on moral grounds.” - No Harm by @tessacrowley
Read here.
Starting the year with an art inspired by a fic I feel not so normal about. It’s on its second chapter, and it has me on a perpetual chokehold since the first. The pacing, setting, and their voices completely took my breath away. It started strong, and only gets stronger, like the world just pulls you in and you can’t help but to immerse yourself in it. Tessa has done it again. My heart.
xo, kismet
#drarry#Never will they ever be normal about each other#kismet draws#art inspired by fic#No Harm by tessacrowley#drarry art#artists on tumblr#harry james potter#draco malfoy#I am so down for down and out Draco#Healer!Draco#Auror!Harry#someone help the bloke#he cannot talk normally to his crush#also ron is just so done
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The hero was getting blood all over the villains nice jacket.
“I’m sorry about the blood—“ they murmured, and the villain hushed them.
“We’re almost there. Just—just stay still, okay?”
If the hero didn’t know better, they’d say the villain almost sounded afraid.
“It’s okay. M’fine.”
The villain breathed a harsh laugh, cradling the hero to their chest as they walked.
“Yes, you certainly look fine bleeding everywhere.”
There was that tone again. The hero frowned. The villain had never used that tone, especially not with them, and they had no idea what it was—
They barged into the villains apartment, as the hero realized the villain was concerned.
Oh.
The villain set them down on a couch, gently, but the hero still flinched. The villain apologized, soft and gentle, and ran their hand over the wound, assessing the damage.
The villains face went carefully blank.
The hero’s head spun, just a little, and they closed their eyes to fight it off. A moment later, they opened them to find the villain wrapping their side.
Their eyebrows crinkled.
“You—when did you get those?” Their voice cracked.
The villain looked up at them.
“Just a minute ago. You passed out,” they said calmly.
Their fingers continued deftly wrapping the bandage on the hero’s side.
“Wait. Why are you,” the hero grit their teeth as the villain brushed against the wound. “Why are you helping me.”
The villain laughed.
“For someone so observant, you miss a lot of things.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
The villain shook their head.
“I knew you were a bit obtuse, but darling, really. Work with me.”
They tied off the bandages, helping the hero sit up against the arm of the couch. The villain held their gaze, cool and collected and concerned, all at once.
“Your powers stem from emotions, yes?”
The hero nodded, once.
“So positive emotions make you stronger. They can heal you, right?”
The hero had tried to keep that bit of information under wraps. Not only could they heal themselves if they were happy, they could heal anyone. They didn’t want to end up some tool to be used in some military stronghold. Still, they healed civilians when no one was looking.
If they were mad, though? They could destroy anything, tear concrete in half, send metal into dust.
The hero cleared their throat. “Yes. Positive emotions can heal me. Not feeling super happy right now, so I’ll get back to you on that—“
The villain sat back on their heels.
“Do you trust me?”
The hero blinked at them. They were ready to give them some bullshit answer about how they could never trust the villain and never would; but that wasn’t true. The villain had saved them, more times than they could count.
And between the agency and the villain? Well, the hero knew who they would choose.
“Yes,” they said hesitantly, and the villain kissed them.
Warmth flooded them, and they reached for the villain, tugging them closer, and the villain smiled against their mouth.
The wound on their side began to close, and the villain felt it. They smiled, pleased with themself, like a cat.
“I give you positive emotions, huh,” they said, still grinning.
“For someone so observant, you can be so obtuse—“ the villain kissed them, again, to get them to shut up. This time, the hero smiled.
The wound closed further.
“I didn’t know you liked me,” the hero murmured.”
“I tolerate you. I just happen to hate everyone else.”
The hero laughed, side twinging with pain.
The villain checked the half closed wound, then turned back to the hero.
“Kiss it better?”
The villain rolled their eyes.
This time, when the villain kissed them, the hero didn’t let them stop.
#writing#writing community#creative writing#snippet#angst#heroes and villains#fic writing#ficlet#writing prompt#hero whumpee#healer#healing power#kisses#hurt/aftermath#hurt/comfort
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The Benevolent | Eris x Healer OC | one
☁︎ summary: The Lady of Autumn hires a healer behind Beron's back. Sworn to secrecy, the healer helps Eris when he is punished by his father and forbidden to see a healer from their court. Eris did not expect to find himself growing attached. He comes to realize that he may know plenty about sacrifice, but he has a lot to learn about choosing to live for the ones you love.
☁︎ notes: let me know how you feel about the order of this chapter. I felt like it didn't read the same to have that last scene at the beginning, but if it's confusing I will change it:)
☁︎ warnings: descriptions of wounds and blood, talk of physical abuse, implied domestic violence
☁︎ word count: 2.8k
☁︎ AO3 Link // Masterlist
“Hurry,” Lady Edana hissed, a sound like pinching a candle flame. It echoed in the quiet, the only sound in the dark hallway.
The silence was so immense it seemed to roar. Every hall and passage was empty and utterly dark. Aya would have thought every court had secrets veiled by this hour between night and morning. But there was no sign of life in the Forest House.
And yet, Lady Edana led the way with a knife in her hand, poised to attack. It was not even a hunting knife or one of the jeweled daggers gifted to young boys of the court. Just a knife, likely stolen from the kitchens or even the dinner table. Aya had to wonder if it was the only weapon Lady Edana had access to.
To her credit, she held it like a fighter, blade pointed down and out so she could still strike if pinned. In her other hand she held her shoes, her stocking feet making no sound as she shuffled across the stone floor. Urgency radiated from her. If it were visible, it would have given her a corona. An aura of flames.
They came to another corner and the Lady tugged Aya against the wall before peering around the corner. She deemed it safe and pulled the healer after her. One last eerie hallway and then they stopped at a large wooden door. Lady Edana fished a chain of keys from its place tucked into her bodice and unlocked the door. It opened without a sound, like the hinges had been oiled or silenced with magic.
The lady snapped and the fae lights came to life in their sconces, revealing the heir of Autumn laying face down on a large bed, bleeding profusely into silk green sheets.
Aya had been warned of his condition but it still sent a jolt through her. He was so still, his red hair stark against pale skin and moss colored bedding. His mother tossed her knife onto the side table and knelt by the bed.
“Eris,” She whispered, her face nearly as pale as his, “Are you awake?”
“Mother,” He croaked. Something in Aya’s chest twisted at the utter brokenness of his voice. It hurt more than looking at the torn up flesh of his back.
“I brought a healer,” She said, beckoning to Aya.
“Mother,” He said again, reprimanding. Pleading.
“I will take care of everything.” She stepped back to let the healer take her place, disappearing into the washroom to fetch water. Eris’s eyes, surprisingly alert, locked onto Aya’s face. They roamed over her features, assessing.
“Worry not,” Aya whispered, unable to resist the urge to brush back a strand of copper hair. She understood the urgency now, as her gaze flickered to the blood pooling around his body.
His eyes softened at her touch, chin trembling like he was a thread away from shattering. So she took her hand away from his forehead, hovering it over his injuries instead. He flinched and she closed her eyes so he would not see the anger in them. The anger at whoever had done this. He needed tenderness and she would give it.
Aya reached into the spring of power within her and willed it to the surface. Willed it to pour from her fingertips into his being and soothe the pain. She urged the bleeding to slow to a stop, for his body to numb enough that she could clean his wounds before the true healing began. She felt his energy begin to pull away, lulled by sleep.
When she opened her eyes she saw that his own had closed, his breathing deep and even.
“You are as talented as the High Lord said,” Lady Edana whispered from beside her. She held a pitcher of water and an arm full of towels.
Aya stared at the mess, wondering where to begin. Even with all her doubts and wariness, she had not pictured an injury this severe when she accepted this position. She had known to expect the sneaking and the secrecy, but not to be led to Eris’s deathbed.
It did not help her uneasiness in the slightest when the lady said, as she mopped up her son’s blood, “Whatever we can’t get clean by morning, just throw into the fireplace. We’ll have to burn it all.”
It was a long moment before Aya said anything. Perhaps it was a risk to ask questions, but Eris’s blood coating her hands felt like justification enough.
“Why?” She murmured, keeping her eyes on the work before her. Lady Edana took her own time answering, lips pursed as she dabbed at the prince’s back.
“The High Lord forbade Eris from seeing a healer. It is part of his punishment.”
“So that is why the job was a secret,” Aya said quietly. They still avoided each other’s gaze.
“Yes.”
“What is the prince being punished for?” Another risky question, but Lady Edana seemed to think her questions were deserved, too. Or maybe she just wanted Aya to understand. From this perspective, dishonesty seemed to be built into the foundation of the Autumn Court.
“He visited the Winter Court without telling his father first. His father wanted to know why. And decided that Eris must be granted permission to leave the court borders.”
Aya clenched her jaw, looking back at the deep wounds on Eris’s back. No doubt from a whip or a belt. They would leave deep scars, and would have easily become infected without a healer. Though that seemed to be what Beron wanted. She decided not to ask what Eris was doing in the Winter Court.
“Beron will be called away first thing in the morning,” The Lady continued, “Not that he would have checked on Eris, anyways. But you will be long gone before he wakes, just in case.”
Aya wondered for a moment how Beron would know that Eris had obeyed his order not to see a healer. And she realized with a sick feeling in her stomach that he had likely left the enforcement of that order to Edana. The entire structure relied on their fear. They would do what he said because they had to, to protect themselves and each other. So what would happen to Lady Edana if Beron knew what she had done? What would happen to Aya?
She looked down at the ring on her forefinger, the blood on it glimmering like a ruby. She wondered how much Thesan had known any of this. It didn’t matter now, anyways, since she was bound to Edana by that golden ring. And looking at Eris, his brows furrowed and skin shining with sweat, she knew it was all for him.
How often was he destroyed this way? Torn apart in mind and body, forbidden from being put back together? Often enough for Aya to be paid a monthly salary. A very handsome one. But perhaps that part truly had been to make sure she wouldn’t change her mind.
As if she had a choice, now.
⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆
Upon returning to the Dawn Court, Aya headed straight for the throne room. She did not bother to change first, her clothes still covered in ash and blood. Her whole body was stiff from sleeping on the floor and heavy from how little rest she had managed to get.
The mammoth wooden doors opened before her, revealing Thesan and a few of his councilors lounging near the throne. Their easy laughter rose into the air, dancing with the cool breeze. The open archways of the throne room showed the pastel skies and fluffy clouds around them.
It was such a stark contrast to the last hours of her life, dimly lit and painted in the dark tones of the Autumn Court. It blew a puff of air into the fire burning in her chest.
Thesan’s brows rose as his gaze landed on her, jaw clenched and eyes blazing as she strode through the room.
“How much did you know about this job?” She demanded. The irreverence shook the High Lord more than her appearance. This was the way she spoke to her cousin, and not Thesan the High Lord. And never in front of others.
He asked the councilors for a moment, keeping his eyes on Aya as they scurried away. One dared to flash her a disdainful look and click his tongue. Aya ignored it.
“What was your question?” Thesan asked softly when they were alone.
“You told me this job would require discretion,” She said, her tone cooling a touch, “Did you know why?”
“Lady Edana requested a healer for personal matters,” He took a sip from his goblet, “I did not think it would be polite to inquire about the details.”
Aya shifted on her feet, her rage slowing to a halt. How delicate was this secret? Thesan could always be counted on for his discretion. But surely there were political implications that she didn’t know or understand. There always was, and figuring them out had never been one of her talents.
“Did you not ask the details before you accepted the job?” He pressed. His curiosity about the state of her clothes was rising into anxiety.
“I assumed the details. I thought maybe she was having age-related troubles. Or perhaps an affair.”
“And you were wrong,” Thesan prompted, “You are very troubled by whatever this secret is.”
“Yes,” Aya admitted, her shoulders drooping.
Thesan’s gaze flickered to the ring on her finger. If he was surprised to see it he did not let it show.
“You bound yourself to her?” His voice still smooth, collected.
“She said a physical contract would leave evidence.”
Thesan groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. He did not believe Edana to have particularly evil intentions, but she had played Aya like a piece in a game.
“Are you able to tell me this secret?” He sighed.
Aya considered the contract. It seemed that Thesan should be exempt from the secrecy. She would find out if she tried to say it out loud, anyways.
“Beron tortures his son for information,” Aya said, dropping her gaze to the marble floor. The heaviness of her body returned and she resisted the urge to let her wings rest on the ground.
“Lucien?” Thesan tilted his head to the side. He did not seem all that surprised.
“Eris,” She whispered, lifting her eyes to his. She knew he would see how haunted they were. Filled with imagery of her long night.
Thesan pursed his lips, his own eyes sparkling with anger. Many things clicked into place with this new information.
“And that is the secret?” He asked, “Beron mustn't know you heal Eris?”
“Yes,” She felt much smaller now, all of her fury laid out before Thesan, “He forbids him from seeing a healer. But he would have died if I wasn’t there.”
They did not speak of what this meant for Aya. The danger she would be in every time she stepped foot in the Autumn Court. It passed between them without words, the worry forming like storm clouds.
“I think I should speak to her,” Thesan rubbed his chin in thought.
“Please don-” Aya began, rushing forward to plead with him. He held up a hand to stop her.
“Worry not, little bird,” He soothed, “I will make sure you keep your job. I just want you to be safe. Now rest, I can see the weariness in your eyes.”
Her mind was far from settled, whirling with countless thoughts and worries. But Eris was well and her own safety was in Thesan’s hands now. That was enough. So she obeyed, gathering the energy to trudge back to her room and rest.
⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆
“Thesan tells me you are looking for work experience outside of the Dawn Court,” Lady Edana took a sip of her tea, amber eyes locked on the girl in front of her.
The Lady of Autumn had requested to meet with Thesan’s best healer in training. In private, in a quiet place. Thesan did not see a good reason to deny her. And he knew that she worked hard to separate herself from her husband in any manner she could. He’d heard the whispered rumors and seen the bruises hiding just beneath the fine lace of her gowns. If he could help to enable her independence, he would.
“Yes, my Lady,” Aya nodded, resisting the urge to ring her hands, “It is the last requirement I need to complete my training.”
She was proud that Thesan had chosen her as the best of her class, but now she was nervous. Edana had come alone, save for one guard who loomed off to the side of the balcony. His eyes were fixed on the glass doors behind them, but Aya had no doubt he had been listening to the entire conversation. Which, up until then, had been all pleasantries and small talk. But now the Lady’s eyes were narrowed, her focus sharp. It sent a shiver through Aya’s feathers.
“There is a certain situation in my home that requires a healer with greater skill than my court can offer,” The Lady began, “And the position requires discretion. I cannot ensure that a healer from my court will not betray me.”
She paused, watching Aya and waiting for a reaction. Aya knew her brows had drawn together, but she willed all other emotion away.
“There are many distinguished healers in a court, my Lady,” Aya said slowly, “Surely you would want someone who has finished their training?”
“No one with a title,” Lady Edana pursed her lips.
Aya only nodded, feeling ever more confused. The lady’s secret was that salacious? Perhaps it would be wildly foolish to get wrapped up in this situation. But offers for work outside of the court did not come along very often for trainees. And Aya would be lying if she said she was not itching to experience something outside of the soft colors of Dawn.
“I would pay you a monthly salary,” The Lady tilted her head to the side, looking as if she knew exactly where the girl’s thoughts had gone, “You will receive the same amount no matter how many calls you receive in a month. Sometimes, I may call on you often. Other times I may not need your help for a long while.”
“You need not pay me if you don’t use my services,” Aya frowned. Many healers in training took positions without pay.
“I was hoping the salary may make the strange requirements worth their while.”
She named the amount and watched Aya’s eyes widen.
“So you need a healer on call to help with private matters. And I must keep the job a secret?” Aya clarified.
That did not sound so suspicious when summed up concisely. Or perhaps the money had dulled the warning signs. She had never let Thesan spoil her just because they were related. She insisted on living in the healer’s dorms and earning her own living like the rest of her class.
“That is correct,” Edana nodded.
“And I would be under contract?” Aya asked. Another common facet of training positions.
“Three years. And it would be through an Autumn Court bargain, and not written,” She said, still watching with those bird-like eyes. She would fit well into Dawn with all of those avine features.
“Very well,” Aya said, “But I would like a written copy of what the bargain entails.”
Edana’s lips twitched up into a smile that Aya couldn’t quite decipher.
“I will write it up and send it your way,” The Lady stood from her chair, “It should be in your hands by this time tomorrow.”
Lady Edana held out her hand. Aya told herself later that she should have been clever enough to wait before shaking hands. She should read that bargain first and study the details. But she did not think of that.
When the magic snapped she let out a yelp and snatched her hand back. Her forefinger was adorned with a simple golden band. She tried to twist it but it did not move, as if it were now a part of her.
“What is this?” She asked, incredulous, turning her hand as she examined the ring.
“A symbol of our contract,” Edana said, straight-faced as ever, “It is a tradition similar to the tattoos in the Night Court.”
Aya stared at it, the pit in her stomach growing larger. How she would be scolded for her oversight. She was certain a version of herself from the future was watching this conversation and screaming at her for being so foolish.
As all of this raged in her mind, she missed the flash of guilt in Edana’s eyes, quickly overtaken by something else. Something too desperate to be sorry.
#i'm kind of in love with this story#acotar#acotar fic#acotar fanfic#acotar fanfiction#eris#eris acotar#eris vanserra#pro eris vanserra#eris fic#eris fanfic#eris fanfiction#eris x oc#eris vanserra fic#eris vanserra fanfic#eris vanserra fanfiction#autumn court#dawn court#dawn court oc#acotar healer oc#eris x healer#lady of autumn#vanserra brothers#beron vanserra#thesan#dawn court healer#acosf#acomaf#acowar#acofas
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‘til we get the healing done
Pairing: Sebastian Sallow × f!MC
Rating: E
Word Count: 3.5K
Warnings: 18+, aged-up characters, mentions of blood and injury, explicit sexual content, fingering, unprotected PIV sex
Summary: post-hogwarts AU where reader/MC is a Healer at St. Mungo’s and Sebastian is a Gringotts Cursebreaker ✨ pretty much porn-with-little-plot, but mind the mentions of blood/injury!
“Wiggenweld ought to take care of this, for the most part,” you tell him. “You’ll probably still have a scar.”
“S’alright,” he murmurs. “You witches love wizards with scars, or so I’ve been told.”
You pointedly ignore his comment as you return to your potions cabinet to start assembling a salve.
It’s barely half past nine in the morning when one of your fellow Healers lets you know that you’ve been requested in the reception area.
“Already?” you smirk. “I haven’t even checked on the Dittany stores yet.”
“I’ll take care of it,” she says easily. “Your favorite patient is here, he’s insisting he won’t see anyone else and he’s bleeding all over the floor.”
Bleeding? Merlin.
You curse under your breath as you quickly make your way to the reception area, where a surly-looking Welcome Witch is scowling as Sebastian Sallow leans against one of fellow Cursebreakers for support. He’s drenched in blood, but mercifully he’s still standing.
“Morning, miss,” his coworker says politely. “Apologies for the mess.
You sigh wearily and wrap one arm around Sebastian’s waist so his companion can shift the deadweight of his body onto you.
“It’s not a problem,” you insist. “I can take him from here.”
“Tell them I’ll be right back,” Sebastian slurs tiredly. “She’ll fix me right up.”
“He will not be back today,” you insist sharply.
Sebastian’s coworker chuckles as he wipes his bloody palms against his pant legs. “I assumed as much. I promise, we’ll send him right home if he tries anyway.”
“Thank you,” you murmur. “I sincerely appreciate it.”
The older man pats Sebastian encouragingly on the shoulder before Apparating out of the lobby, and you motion for another Healer to assist you in walking him away from the gawkers lingering in the reception area once it becomes apparent that his left leg is entirely unusable.
“Mister Sallow,” you drawl as you slowly walk him back to one of the examination rooms on the trauma floor. “What in Merlin’s name have you gotten yourself into this time?”
“Classified,” he insists, but you’re sure he’s just being cheeky.
Once you arrive, you and your coworker inelegantly wrangle him onto the sturdy wooden exam table in the middle of the room. He quickly lets himself out once you assure him you’re able to tend to Sebastian alone — you’re always swamped at St. Mungo’s, and you’re sure his assistance is needed elsewhere.
Sebastian, with that ever-present smirk still on his face, manages to hold himself up even as a slow stream of blood trickles down his calf.
“It’s good to see you too, by the way,” he drawls.
You roll your eyes as you pull the exam room door shut, casually turning the lock and pulling the privacy divider across the window. If Sebastian notices, he doesn’t say anything.
“You look positively dreadful,” you tell him.
It’s not untrue. He’s several shades paler than usual and there’s blood smeared all across his chest where his shirt has been sliced to ribbons, and the left leg of his trousers is in a similarly poor state.
However, even what would otherwise be a mortal injury can’t tamper his good-natured expression, nor does it cause his warm brown eyes to sparkle any less when he sheepishly meets your gaze.
“I swear, this time it was not my fault,” he begins.
“You say that every time,” you remind him. “Eventually, I’m going to stop believing you.”
He laughs and then winces, pressing a hand to the deep laceration he must still be concealing beneath his shirt, given the bloodstains.
“Go on, Seb,” you sigh. “You know what I’m going to ask you.”
“Why, are you suggesting I should take off my robes?” he asks teasingly. “A bit forward of you, mind, but I’ll abide.”
“We’re well past modesty at this point,” you remind him.
Nevertheless, you turn your back — ostensibly to prepare a tonic for him — while he undoes the buttons of his shirt and gingerly pulls the tattered remnants of it away from his bloodied skin.
He makes a pained noise when he attempts to do the same with his trousers, so you quickly turn and rest a hand on his thigh.
“Let’s get you fixed up here first,” you offer softly, gesturing to the nasty-looking gash across his ribcage. “Then we’ll get to your leg.”
“You’re sure that I won’t bleed out in the meantime?” he asks, only half joking.
“I’m positive,” you say reassuringly. “But I’ll have you slowly sip this while I take a closer look.”
You pass him the glass of tonic and nudge his free arm to the side so you can dab at his injury. You’ve become quite used to seeing blood in your line of work, but something about seeing Sebastian take slow, careful breaths as you trace your fingertips over his broken skin makes your stomach lurch.
You’ve been practicing as a Healer at St. Mungo’s for several years now, and not a month goes by without Sebastian limping (or occasionally being hauled) into the reception with some sort of bizarre injury he’d earned as a Cursebreaker at Gringotts.
At first you’d worried after him. He’d always been a brilliant student, so you weren’t quite sure how he managed to harm himself so frequently without putting his employment in jeopardy. But eventually you learned that Sebastian was, in fact, an excellent Cursebreaker.
…He just also happens to be the most reckless.
When you glance up at him to check his face for any signs of pain, you catch him staring at you.
“Drink that,” you remind him, nodding at the dark-colored liquid in his glass. “You’ll feel better.”
Carefully, Sebastian lifts the glass to his lips and takes a small sip. Immediately he makes a face.
“That’s foul,” he sputters. “What is that?! It tastes like metal.”
“It’s a tonic for blood loss,” you explain with a wry smile. “It’s packed with iron. Trust me, you’re going to need it.”
He grumbles under his breath as he takes another sip. You wait for him to swallow before you press firmly against the wound — you’ve learned the hard way that neglecting to do so would result in your being sprayed with tonic.
“Wiggenweld ought to take care of this, for the most part,” you tell him. “You’ll probably still have a scar.”
“S’alright,” he murmurs. “You witches love wizards with scars, or so I’ve been told.”
You pointedly ignore his comment as you return to your potions cabinet to start assembling a salve.
“Anything else I should know about your wounds?” you ask him over your shoulder. “Nothing venomous or toxic to be concerned about?”
“No,” he says, pausing to exhale before admitting, “It’s from a dragon.”
You nearly drop your bottle of Wiggenweld. “A dragon?!”
“See, now, I knew you would be upset when I got around to telling you,” he says with a grin that looks more like a grimace.
“What were you doing with a dragon?” you demand. “They’re not supposed to be kept anywhere near you!”
You’ve heard quite a bit about the inner workings of Gringotts since Sebastian joined the Cursebreaking department. The two of you never did seem to be able to keep secrets from each other — ever since you were teenagers, you’ve been nothing but honest, sometimes to a fault.
(…Well. You suppose if you were truly being honest, you’d tell him that you can’t stand hearing about the witches he dates whenever he pays you a visit. But you don’t like to examine precisely why that is.)
“Like I said, it wasn’t my fault,” he insists. “They brought in a young one from Romania that’s still in training and it got loose.”
You tut under your breath and mix in your highest concentration of Wiggenweld with a basic topical salve. The scent of Dittany is strong, but you know it’ll do the trick.
“Suppose I’m lucky it was a small one,” he continues. “If it had been one of the fully-grown ones they keep down below, I’d be in a box by now.”
“Hush,” you murmur distractedly. “I don’t want to think about that.”
“No?” he teases. “I suppose you wouldn’t. I’m your only friend in London, you’d be hopeless getting on without me.”
You roll your eyes and return to the exam table with your salve.
“You are not my only friend,” you argue.
“Even so, I’m still your best friend,” he replies, nonplussed. “…What have you got there?”
“This is to close the wound,” you explain. “It will sting, so I’ll count to three and then I’ll go as fast as I can, alright?”
“You’re going to go on one just like you always do,” he sighs.
“Am I getting that predictable?” you ask coyly.
“Actually, ye— Merlin’s bloody beard!”
With no warning, you scoop up a glob of salve and start to paint over Sebastian’s jagged wound, the tips of your fingers glowing a soft, cool blue as you channel a bit of your magic into the gash in his side. Before your eyes the torn skin starts to knit closed. Like you suspected, the reformed skin is pink and tender as is any new scar, but at least it looks completely healed and not at risk for reopening when Sebastian inevitably goes right back to work tomorrow.
“You’re a menace,” he grits out. “Honestly, that was cruel.”
“Come off it, you’re fine,” you tease him. “And it’s always easier if you don’t see it coming.”
“For you,” he grumbles.
You trace your fingertips over his fresh scar a few times to confirm that you’ve fully covered the would in salve. You force yourself to remain professional, but it’s extremely hard not to get distracted by how much muscle he’s built up here in his core since your days at Hogwarts.
“Let’s let that sit while I have a look at your leg,” you eventually say. “Think you can lift your hips up for me?”
Sebastian leans back on his hands and lifts himself up so you can tug his shredded trousers off, letting them fall to the floor in a bloody, rumpled pile.
(Thank Merlin he hadn’t foregone undergarments today.)
“Oh, Seb,” you murmur.
His thigh is mangled. Three long, angry-looking slashes run from below his hip to just above his knee, each still wet with blood.
“It looks worse than it feels,” he says under his breath.
You sigh and reach for his hand, squeezing it reassuringly.
“Drink the rest of your tonic and I’ll patch you up,” you tell him. “…I’m glad you came to me. This is beyond what a typical Healer is equipped for, Sebastian.”
“I know,” he admits. “But you’re the only witch I’ll see regardless.”
You blush a bit and turn away, reaching for your pot of salve.
The two of you are both quiet while you work. Sebastian occasionally bites back a curse or a low groan while you work the salve into his wounds, forcing himself to chug the rest of his regenerative drink.
(…You feel horrifically guilty for how your body is reacting to his sounds.)
“How are you feeling?” you ask him, your voice barely above a whisper.
“It aches,” he tells you transparently. “But — but like it’s healing, not like it’s getting worse.”
“That’s how it’s supposed to feel, unfortunately,” you explain. “Even healing comes with its own set of aches.”
“Trust me, I’m well aware of that,” he mumbles. “Honestly, it reminds me of how I felt when Violet and I ended our courtship.”
“O-oh?” you stutter.
“Well, I suppose she’s the one who ended it,” he says with a wry grin. “She said she was sick and tired of me showing up on her doorstep with a new injury each week. I don’t blame her one bit.”
“Seb, that’s horrible,” you coo. “How heartless.”
You’re just finishing up applying salve to the last few centimeters of his wound when Sebastian gently tips your chin up so you’ll meet his gaze.
“Do you want to know what else she said to me?” he asks softly.
You swallow nervously and whisper, “What?”
“She said that it’s pathetic that I keep offering to put myself in harm’s way on the offchance I’ll get to visit my Healer,” he tells you.
His gaze dips down your mouth and you inhale sharply as he drags his thumb across your lower lip.
“That’s — that’s not true, is it?” you whimper.
“Of course it’s true,” he confesses. “The thought always crosses my mind. Whenever I offer to take a crack at opening a surrendered vault or unraveling a protective jinx on one of the new deposit boxes, I always think, ‘If I’m hurt, at least I’ll get to see you.’”
Suddenly you feel like you’re the one who’s lost several pints of blood — dizzy, flushed, not quite sure if you’re imagining all this or not.
“Sebastian,” you murmur. “…You have to promise me you’ll stop.”
“I don’t know if I can,” he admits earnestly, tilting his hand to gently cup your face and coax you into leaning closer. “It’s all I can think about anymore — the next time I get to see you, and feel your hands on me.”
Instinctively you reach out your hands to steady yourself, propping yourself up against the tops of his thighs.
“S-sorry,” you quickly stammer. “I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay,” he breathes. “Just… come closer.”
He cups both hands around your jaw to bring your face to his, gently pressing his lips against yours.
“Seb,” you breathe against his mouth.
“We should’ve done this so long ago,” he murmurs. “Please, love. Say you feel the same way.”
“I… Sebastian, of course I do, but—”
He hauls you against his chest before you can even steady yourself. You’re thankful your work on his wounds seems to be holding steady as you shamelessly climb into his lap, testing the support limits of the wooden examination table.
“Let me touch you,” he whines against your mouth. “I need it, I need to feel you.”
All this time, it’s always been your hands on him — pressing closed his wounds, extracting nauseating curses and beastly venom from his body, infusing your unique magic with traditional Healing techniques to restore him to himself.
Now he’s begging to put his hands on you, and you find yourself powerless to resist.
“Yes,” you breathe. “Anywhere, just — touch me.”
He desperately tugs on your unflattering lime green robes until they fall to the floor until you’re left with just your fitted blouse and skirt. As far as propriety goes, you’ve never been this underdressed in one of your exam rooms.
“Take this off,” he growls, bunching up a handful of your blouse in his fist.
“We — we shouldn’t do this here,” you weakly protest.
“No one’s going to come in,” Sebastian counters. “We have all the privacy we need.”
(Damn him, now you’re positive that he’d seen you lock the door.)
“I — I shouldn’t,” you whisper.
Sebastian leans in and presses his teeth against your neck.
“How long have we already made ourselves wait?” he reminds you in a low voice. “I could’ve died today and we never would have had the chance.”
“That’s not fair,” you whine. “You’ve been hauled into St. Mungo’s on death’s door a dozen times, it doesn’t mean we should have sex at my place of work.”
“Love,” he croons, and you feel all your resolve melt away.
With a frustrated groan, you hastily tug your blouse free from your skirt and wrestle with the buttons while Sebastian unhelpfully runs his hands all across your body.
Once you’re rid of your shirt, you tug your skirt up so he can slide a hand between your thighs.
“Gods, yes,” he moans. “This is what I’ve been wanting, darling. I needed to feel you right here.”
You whimper softly as he grinds the heel of his palm against your aching core.
“Can I go inside?” he asks softly, and you aren’t sure if he’s merely asking to move your panties aside or if he’s suggesting something more, but either way the answer is a fervent yes.
With one deft hand he tugs the soaked fabric between your thighs to one side and traces two fingertips along your slit. You’re scandalously wet already, just from his ardent confession and his eager hands on your body.
Then Sebastian easily presses those two fingers inside you and you hunch in toward him, resting your head on his shoulder.
“That’s it,” he whispers in your ear. “How does that feel?”
“G-good,” you stutter.
“Just good, hmm?” he inquires. “Should I give you more, then? I need you to feel great.”
It’s no surprise that Sebastian would be a skilled lover, but what really has you trembling in need in his lap is how clearly he wants to make you feel loved, and not just serviced himself.
You can tell that this gets him off; that tonic of yours has certainly done its job, if the rigid hardness between his thighs is any indication.
“I w-want you,” you manage to force out. “Quickly, I just — I don’t care if it’s rushed, I need you inside.”
Sebastian curses against the hinge of your jaw and carefully extracts his hand from between your thighs so he can pull his cock out of his undergarments, stroking himself with his still-wet hand.
“Like this?” he asks you. “I don’t know if I’ve got the energy for much else.”
“Yes,” you breathe. “Just… let me.”
Now that you can properly see him, you realize he’s, er, gifted, and he’ll be a lot to take in this position. But you want him, you want to make him feel good just as badly as he wants the same for you, so you steady yourself as best as you can on your knees as you hover over him. With one hand you keep your panties pulled to the side and your skirt tucked away, and with the other you hold him steady as you sink down.
“Gods,” you whine. “I — I can barely…”
It’s nearly impossible to get the leverage you need on a table this narrow. As you take him in, you feel driven through, practically impaled by him as you cling desperately to his shoulders.
“Go on,” he grunts. “Take me, love, you can.”
“I can’t,” you nearly sob.
But then you realize you’ve done it. The insides of your thighs are flush with the tops of his, the remaining traces of salve on his skin making it all too easy for you to grind forward until you’re completely seated on top of him.
“That’s it,” he groans. “You’ve got it, you’ve taken me so well.”
It’s shameful how little praise from Sebastian makes you squirm and keen in his lap like a simpering fool.
He leans in close to your ear and asks you, “Do you think you can ride me?”
“Y-yes,” you whimper. “Yes, I want to.”
As soon as you start to move, the filthily wet sounds of your skin smacking against his makes you blush all the way down to your chest. It’s lewd and raunchy in a way you’ve never felt with any man with whom you’ve been intimate.
(Those men weren’t Sebastian, you think helplessly.)
“Fuck,” Sebastian growls in your ear. “Don’t stop, please, love.”
There’s absolutely nothing that would stop you now, you think. The Minister of Magic himself could come in and fire you on the spot and it simply wouldn’t matter. You feel incredible — it’s been so long since you’ve been touched like this, and never by a man who you’ve truly loved like Sebastian.
He seems similarly overwhelmed, his hands mindlessly traveling over your waist, your breasts, and even up to your face so he can pull you down and messily kiss you into delirium.
“Please,” you whisper. “Please, please…”
“What?” he pants. “Anything, love, tell me.”
“Touch me,” you plead, and then his hand is between your legs right where you need it. His thumb grinds against that sensitive spot that brings you to the edge, over and over in tight, determined circles until you’re burying your face in the crook of his neck to dampen the desperate sounds you let out as you climax.
“Perfect,” he breathes. “That’s — you’re perfect, fuck.”
Sebastian’s undoubtedly weakened and exhausted, but he nevertheless manages to find the energy to grind up into your wrung-out, languid body until he finds his release. He stays buried inside you afterward, fighting through his sensitivity to keep you close and murmur soft words of praise into your hair.
When you finally summon the strength to climb off of him and tug your skirt back into place, you mumble, “We cannot let this happen again.”
“Just at St. Mungo’s, right?” he asks with a suggestive smirk. “Because I, for one, would very much like it to happen again.”
You say nothing as you button up your shirt, but you eventually allow yourself to be pulled into a slow, fervent kiss that lets him know he’ll be getting his way.
#hogwarts legacy#hogwarts legacy fic#sebastian sallow#sebastian sallow x mc#sebastian sallow x reader#sebastian x mc#sebastian x reader#healer au#cursebreaker au#formatting this was a NIGHTMARE bc i only have my phone with me#pray for me also it’s obviously extremely unbeta’d so i hope it’s coherent#my fic
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I saw your requests are open for Harry Potter, was wondering if you’d do one with Fred Weasley 🥺👉🏻👈🏻 I’m like super obsessed w him rn
Plot can be whatever you’d like !
a/n: hi!! i love Fred too!! thank you so much for the request, I hope I did alright 😁
prompt: fred didn't die during the war - was only seriously injured. upon waking up at saint mungos, the obvious reaction is to flirt with the cute healer tending to him.
warning(s): it's been a while since i've read the books and I wasn't exactly paying attention to the lore while watching the movies. I made up some spells and plot lmao
word count: 1,073
Confervo
Waking up felt like dying, Fred thought as his eyes lifted open feeling like lead. His joints felt like stone, weighing him down onto the slightly cushioned bed. At first, the red headed twin thought he was in a muggle hospital, with the bright white walls and fluorescent lights disorienting him even more. But then he saw owls fly through the air, delivering messages and potion bottles flying into the hands of healers, standing at beds identical to Fred's. Speaking of...
"Hello there.." Fred attempted his best flirting tone, his consciousness desperate to impress the healer doing magic next to him. But all that came out was a croak akin to one of a dying frog. Mortified, Fred's face went red, wanting to hide under his blanket as you stifled your laugh under your hand, trying to keep the air of professionalism.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Weasley," your voice soothed the headache building behind his eyes, you raised your wand, assessing him as you continued speaking, "you gave everyone quite a scare you know. I'm sorry to tell you this, but you're banned from fighting anymore dark lords and his army."
Fred tried to laugh at your humor tinted words before reality crashed into him. Sitting up quickly, Fred felt pain shoot through his body. You shot forward, your hands steadying him as his eyes went wide with worry.
"Did we- Is my family okay? George? Ron? Ginny? Mum and Da-"
The comforting pressure of your hand on his shoulder cut him off. He looked up at you, his body relaxing at the answer in your eyes. Wincing, he leaned back, still sitting up but now in a more relaxed position.
“You won. He’s gone.”
You didn’t need to say the Dark Lord’s name, you didn’t want to. Even thinking of the man sent shivers down your spine, making you aware of every dark corner in the room. Fred watched as you walked over to your station, grabbing a potion bottle and twirling it around until the blue liquid turned clear. When you returned to the bedside, you poured some of the liquid into a spoon. The red head watched as the clear potion levitated above the metal utensil, only spilling down like water at a whispered spell that passed your lips.
“Confervo.”
You raised the spoon up to Fred’s lips, who took the potion with slight struggle. It spilled down his throat, tasting slightly of hazelnut. He raised an eyebrow at you, question in his eyes. You winced slightly, setting the spoon down before turning back to face him.
“The explosion you were caught in caused severe internal damage. The Confervious spell along with the knitting potion will heal whatever injuries our efforts haven’t been able to completely heal,” watching as Fred’s eyes widened, you were quick to console him, “But it’s okay! Because the duo has a 97% success rate and, not to brag, but I happen to be one of the best casters of the spell.”
Fred chuckled a bit at your attempt, his body starting to realize the trauma it had been through. You sat on the stool next to his bed, fiddling with your wand as you watched a pocket watch in your hand with intensity. Later Fred would find out that watch is how you saw the healing of his internal organs. Fred poked your arm playfully, getting your attention.
“So, what’s the damage?”
He wiggled his eyebrows but you just stared at him, waiting for an explanation. He used his eyes to ‘point’ at the area between his legs.
“Am I all still here?”
You sighed, folding your hands on your lap.
“Unfortunately, we couldn’t save it.”
Your serious face completely fooled Fred, who for a moment let complete terror take over his features. After a minute or two, you burst into laughter, causing Fred to groan and cover his face with his hands.
“You should’ve seen your face!”
You laughed between words, clutching your side. Fred nodded, recognizing he had been played.
“You got me, you got me. But you must mean this means war.”
You faux gasped, placing your hand on your chest sarcastically.
“Oh no, a battle with a man stuck in a hospital bed, I’m shaking in my boots.”
Fred full on laughed at that before groaning in pain and glaring lightly at you.
“Don’t make me laugh, my insides are still knitting back together!”
You smirked at him, checking the pocket watch to see that the healing was almost complete. You heard a ruckus outside Fred’s room and soon the door burst open, a frazzled fellow Healer sending you an apology with their eyes.
“The Weasley Family plus Harry Potter and Hermione Granger are here for F. Weasley.”
Your coworker said with an exhausted tone before pushing through the crowd back to their station. You smiled at the family as they piled in, answering Molly’s frantic questions and Arthur’s insistence his son was getting the best care. Fred’s siblings, plus Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, stood at his bedside, doting on him. You turned away, letting the family have a moment, organizing your tools and putting back the potion and pocket watch. When you turned back around, you saw George look at you and nudge his twin with waggling eyebrows. Fred turned and winked, causing your face to heat up as you held back a smile.
You joined in the conversation after a few moments, once more answering the questions and consoling the worried thoughts of Fred’s parents. After a few hours, visiting hours were over, and you gently excused the family from the room. You got Fred’s room set up for night, fluffing his pillow and blushing when he craned his neck so his face was close to yours. As you were getting ready to leave, you felt Fred’s finger brush against your wrist, lightly but effectively holding you back.
“You know, I’m not so fond of being blown up but I am really glad it brought me to meet you. When I get out of here, if you’re available, do you want to catch a movie? It’s a muggle thing my pop has been obsessed with recently, I’m just glad he got past his rubber duck phase becau-”
“Yes.”
You answered quickly, cutting off Fred’s uncharacteristic nervous rambling.
The two of you smiled softly at each other before you left the room, mentally compiling a list of quick healing spells.
#fred weasley#fred weasly x reader#fred weasley fanfiction#fred wealsey fic#fred weasley x reader#harry potter fanfiction#healer!reader#fred x healer!reader
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Fanart Advent Calendar: Day 18!
For Heal Thyself, by @astolat. An amazing Draco-centric fic, in which he becomes a healer. I loved this story, Draco's characterization, his journey, how he changed and how he did not.
This piece is part of a personal challenge: an advent calendar featuring one fanart a day for some of my favourite fics, from the 1st of December to the 24th.
#harry potter fanart#draco malfoy#draco malfoy fanart#healer draco#drarry fic#my art#rezal advent calendar 2023
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following the light
Author: LoversAntiquities | Artist: jollyrolls
Posting on Thursday March 14
Almost a year to the day, and Castiel is still sick. After months of blackouts and near misses, Dean has managed to find a way to quell the spells and drag Castiel back from the proverbial abyss. However, when Castiel progressively gets worse and Dean's voice is no longer enough to keep him conscious, Dean sets out to find every faith healer in the country, in the hopes that one of them might shed light on what's happening, and how to prevent it.
Only, Dean and Castiel find out more than they bargained for—and that the solution, apparently, has been right under their noses the whole time.
Keep reading for a sneak preview!
He takes the right, barely tapping the brakes. At the first clear patch of shoulder, Dean pulls off and slams the truck into park, shuttering the engine. He kicks the door open, rounds the engine—yanks the passenger handle so hard that he fears it might break. Hands to Castiel’s biceps, Dean helps him out of the seat and into the grass, just before Castiel turns to dead weight in his arms. Keeping him upright is a feat—getting him backed up against the side panel is a miracle.
“Hey, hey,” Dean rasps. He pats Castiel’s cheek, searching for Castiel’s eyes in the dark. “Hey, look at me, okay? Touch me, hey—” He takes Castiel by the wrist and maneuvers him, forcing Castiel to touch the warm cotton of his T-shirt. Limp, Castiel holds on. “Hey, I—I know you’re in there. You’re always in there, alright? Just hold on to me.”
Castiel’s head lists forward; Dean presses him into the quarter panel with all of his strength. “When we were,” Dean begins, a little too brittle, a little too rough. “When me and Sam were teenagers, we went to this… this canyon in Georgia. Dad said it was the Grand Canyon, but we weren’t even in the right part of the country, but we—we didn’t wanna fight him on it, ‘cause he actually took us somewhere, y’know?” He smiles, fighting back the tremble in his fingers, the ache in his heart. “All the runoff from the farms gouged out a canyon in the middle of nowhere, and it was just so…”
He stops to look down at his tennis shoes, so worn that he can almost see his toe poking through. “Sam thought it was the greatest thing ever. I—Shit, I barely remember it, but every once in a while, he’ll still talk about it, like the week before we weren’t chasing a ghoul across the entire fucking state. But I remember looking at it, and I thought…” He tightens his grip. “For once, I felt calm. Like I was… small, and like my problems didn't matter. Picture it.” He sucks in air, slow, like it might spur Castiel into breathing. “Water cutting through the clay. The green of the trees growing around the tops of the canyon walls. A river. Babbling brooks.”
Dean shakes his head, fighting a laugh. “You hear the water?”
Silence—then, a breath, and the weight piled on Dean’s shoulders threatens to bury him in the grass. Castiel blinks, his mouth forming around a word Dean can’t hear. “Hey, hey,” Dean hushes. He clasps both sides of Castiel’s neck, thumbs pressed to his Adam’s apple as he swallows. “Hey, you with me?”
“It’s loam,” Castiel croaks, and Dean lifts a brow. “Most of the soil in southern Georgia is composed of sand and clay—”
“Okay, not what I’m concerned about.” He swallows around the knot in his throat. “Seriously, you wanna give me a geology lesson, any other time. Now, are you good?”
(continue reading on Ao3 on )
#destiel#deancas#destiel fic#deancas fic#destiel art#deancas art#pinefest 2024#pinefest previews#2024 Dean/Cas Pinefest#author: LoversAntiquities#artist: jollyrolls#Hurt/Comfort#Faith Healers#Road Trips
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One thing I noticed about my TLG Outlander headcanons is that I gave them all some sort of job/hobby/special skill
- Jasiri has her leadership skills
- Madoa is a healer
- Janja’s the enforcer/cop. Like he said, you try to disrespect the Circle, you gotta deal with him
- Chungu serves as everyone’s emotional support
- Cheezi is a master of distractions cuz I keep imagining him being the one to cause them (think the Henry Stickman distraction dance)
- Nne sings
- Tano’s a pro dancer
- Reirei has raised a bunch of rowdy pups and one mate. She deserves to be a mentor
- Goigoi…I don’t have anything for him YET but being just “dad” is good enough for him
- Kiburi has a role as the protector of the Outlands (I like to think he works with Janja to some degree)
- Tamka is an actor (at least he’s trying to be)
- Nduli is a detective
- Neema is a music-enthused “phantom”
- Kenge’s a self-defense teacher to the kids
- Sumu was a hitman for the longest time but now that he’s retired, he’s also become a healer
- Shupavu, Njano, and the rest of the skinks are spies
- Mzingo not only has leadership skills but is also a royal advisor like Zazu
#maaaaay or may not update if i think of something for goigoi#i decided to make sumu a healer with madoa bc the change of pace is so interesting to me#he’s basically the opposite of scorpion from KFP#sumu was a killer turned healer and scorpion was a healer turned killer#i like to think that janja helps kiburi protect the outlands#chungu was a bit tricky until i realized he’s just the emotional support#especially in my fic idea with him#tlg outlanders#the lion guard
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This is written for the prompt “careless” from @drarrymicrofic
Word count: 197
Drarry microfic: poisonous
Cw: being poisoned
“I can’t believe you were that careless!” Draco exclaimed. He ran around the room, taking ingredients left and right and throwing them into his cauldron. “You know those plants are dangerous!”
Harry sighed from where he was sitting on the examination table. He had lost count of how many times he had been here. “I’ve been through worse.”
“You—” Draco turned around, his silver eyes ablaze. He pointed a long finger in Harry’s direction. “You are unbelievable.”
Harry huffed a laugh, a fond smile on his lips. He stood from the table and stumbled his way over to Draco. “I love you,” he said softly as he fell into Draco’s arms, ignoring the searing pain that shot up his back. “You’re amazing.”
“Oh, Merlin.” Draco sighed. “The poison must be spreading quicker than I thought when you’re spouting such nonsense.” He led Harry back to the examination table, making sure he was comfortable. “Hold on a little longer,” he continued. “The antidote is almost done.”
If Harry wasn’t currently fighting the side effects of the poison streaming through his veins, he would have thought he saw a deep blush on Draco cheeks when he turned back around.
Prompt from March 28th
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#drarry#drarry microfic#drarrymicrofic#drarry fic#drarry fanfic#drarry fanfiction#draco malfoy#harry potter#draco x harry#harry x draco#my writing#cp writes#cluelesspigeons#march 2023#healer draco#careless harry#poison#poisonous plant#love confessions
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I'll Be Here
Azriel x Healer!Reader
Description: You feel a little out of place at a celebration in the House of Wind and a certain Shadowsinger comes to the rescue.
Word Count: 3605
Warnings: None
Notes: I had this stuck in my head and decided to just write it down. I'm not really a writer so bear with me please. Hope you enjoy!
part of the healer!reader universe
It's hard to keep an eye on how much wine you drink when the glasses get refilled magically. You've heard that this house has a consciousness of its own. Maybe it can sense your growing anxiety and keeps filling your glass in hopes of helping ease your mind a little. The more you drink the more worried you get, the thought that getting too drunk will only put you at a higher risk of embarrassing yourself having infiltrated your brain and pushed all the rational thoughts out. Big gatherings aren't exactly your cup of tea and the fact that this one was personally hosted by your High Lord didn't exactly help ease your nerves.
You've visited the House of Wind before but always as a part of your duties. Though it was because of your duties you were invited to this dinner so maybe you could add this attendance as part of your job. The High Lord and High Lady decided to invite notable people in Velaris for a night of celebrating the thriving city. After losing its High Lord for decades and the war that followed his release, Velaris went through some tough times but with the help of its people - most of them gathered in this space tonight - the city was once again prospering.
As a healer you usually see the High Lord and his Inner Circle in a state of emergency, when your abilities are needed and there's usually no time for formalities or worries. Every time you encounter them outside of those situations you never know what to make of yourself. You wouldn't say you're completely inept at social situations but you're definitely a lot better at handling them when they involve your patients and you have a job to do, something more important to focus on than choosing the right thing to say.
Your relationship with the Inner Circle is professional albeit friendly. It's hard not to feel your heart warming at the cupcakes the General insisted on buying you for helping heal his wings even after explaining that you actually only helped on his recovery process. Every time he drops by the clinic to pick up any herbs or ointments he insists on buying you one - though you suspect it's also an excuse to get one for himself - and when you see him out and about he demonstrates how healthy his wings are, having done it just before dinner when he was in charge of flying you up to the house. The painting the High Lady personally painted for you, as an acknowledgement of your efforts during the war, hangs right behind your desk in your office at the clinic and is one of your most important possessions.
This would be the kind of relationship anyone would kill to have with their employees - friendly acquaintances. But, since you were there for some of their most intimate moments and helped them through them, you never know how to act when you're not doing your job. You can't exactly call them your friends, even putting the fact that is your High Lord and High Lady aside, outside of work you only exchange some pleasantries whenever you bump into them. However there's too much knowledge for you to act completely professional after decades of nursing them and their family back to health. It feels awkward to shake their hands when they have hugged you with tears in their eyes, thanking you for saving their family.
There's also the tiny detail of the crush you've harbored on the resident shadowsinger ever since you first laid eyes on him. On top of trying to walk the line between friends and strangers with everyone else, you also have to be careful with not letting the observant Spymaster find out about the beat your heart skips when you see him. Making things awkward because of a silly crush is the last thing you need.
It's that reminder and the monumental effort you have to make not to let your eyes search for him that has you finally sneaking out of the room, deciding to find a quiet place to sober up. The House had fed you too much wine, and you still had to be flown back down at the end of the night. You'd really hate to throw up on Cassian's fancy suit. He probably wouldn't buy you cupcakes ever again.
You remember some of your surroundings after decades of being called in for emergencies, quickly finding one of the huge balconies overlooking the city. The fresh air grounds you almost immediately. You can still hear the muffled sounds of the ongoing party but the quietness of the mountain lets you get lost in thought. As much as you enjoy the liveliness of the nightlife in Velaris, you infinitely prefer the quietness and freedom only the woods or mountains at night can provide. When it's only you, the moon and the stars, and the world stops.
You don't know how long you sit there for, leaning on the railing and looking into the distance, wondering why your healing abilities work on some forms of poison but not on sobering you up. Your head only comes back to earth when you hear a familiar voice calling out your name behind you. You turn around fast enough to make you a bit dizzy, leaning back against the railing with wide eyes.
“Didn't mean to scare you,” the shadowsinger explained, “I just noticed you were gone from the room.” You spot the way he's bringing his wings closer to his body, making himself smaller, if that were even possible. Azriel made you feel a lot of things but you hadn't felt scared of him in decades, ever since the first time you met him. If you hadn't been already tipsy and distracted thinking about him you wouldn't have reacted so dramatically.
Realizing the spymaster of this court had just found you wandering around his house unattended, you rush to apologize and give him an explanation.
“I'm sorry. I needed some fresh air and remembered there was a balcony around here. I shouldn't have left the party without permission.” You make to move back, showing you were ready to go back to the party but he raises a hand and takes a step closer to you, stopping you before you can.
“You're not a stranger to this house. No need for permission,” he took another tentative step towards you before continuing, “Do you feel better now?” You relax back against the railing, your heart beating fast for a whole different reason now. It's not often you get to see Azriel out of his leathers and you barely had a chance to see him up close tonight, he looks mesmerizing.
“What?” Maybe you didn't sober up as much as you thought. Maybe being this close to Azriel was just an intoxicating experience in itself. Either way your brain was having a hard time catching up to his words and your chest was starting to feel warm.
“You said you needed some fresh air.” There's a glint in his eyes that wasn't there before. Probably realizing that you weren't actually going to be sick. His shadows peak behind his shoulders, following their master as they usually do.
“Yes. It was just getting a bit stuffy in there.” Aside from the butterflies creating a hurricane in your stomach, talking to Azriel feels right. His calm demeanor lets your thoughts quiet. “I might have drank too much because of the nerves.”
The Shadowsinger moves until he's leaning against the railing next to you. His eyes wander the illuminated city slowly before meeting yours. Stretched wings hang in what you assume is a less straining position after having to be pulled tighter into his body in the crowded room. Shadows start rolling off his shoulders, now lazing around him instead of covering him. The soft wind moves his hair ever so slightly, letting a few strands curl around his forehead and giving him an almost boyish look. It's not often you see the spymaster appear relaxed. You decide it might be your favorite look on him.
“Nerves?” Your eyes search his face once again after hearing the confusion in his voice. Azriel has a permanent seat at the High Lord's table not only as the Night Court's Spymaster but also as someone Rhysand considers family. This night isn't so different from every other dinner he shares with his family, just more crowded.
“I've never been to this house outside of my duties. It's a bit nerve-wracking to be personally invited by the High Lord.” As you finish speaking one of his shadows curls around his ear. You've learned they do this when they're speaking to him. The thought of it being about you has your heart speeding up. Only the Mother knows just how much those shadows can see and hear, if they can hear your thoughts. You check your mental shields just in case. They can be as terrifying as they are beautiful.
“Rhys and Feyre couldn't have thrown a party celebrating the strength and courage the people of Velaris have shown without one of our best healers. You've helped more people than we could ever thank you for.” The warmth you felt in your chest before was now spreading up your neck at an alarming rate. You had just been doing your job but being recognized for it felt incredibly rewarding. The fact that this praise came from the shadowsinger was making you especially giddy. “Rhys invited you because you're very important to this court, to us.”
“I am?” The question comes out before your brain has a chance to catch up. You try not to cringe at the surprise in your tone. It's not that you're not aware of your capabilities, the High Lord and High Lady either call for you or for Madja, one of the most powerful and wise healers you have ever seen. But old insecurities will always show their claws, indifferent to your achievements. To think that you could be important to all these extremely powerful people seemed like the punchline to a joke.
“Of course.” His body turns to you ever so slightly. Fingers uncurl as if he wanted to reach out, comfort you. “None of us would be here in good health if it wasn't for you, maybe not at all. You've helped us more times than I can count.”
“I was just doing my job. And I can't take credit for Madja, I'm usually just assisting her.”
“Even so, you've helped us through a lot.” He sounded very sincere, there was no denying he meant every word, but you still have a hard time believing it.
“I just don't think I really fit in here,” you whispered so low that if it wasn't for his fae hearing he wouldn't have been able to make out the words. The admission felt heavy in the air, it felt good to let it out. You hadn't been this honest with anyone, perhaps even yourself, in decades, you must have drank way more wine than you initially thought.
You weren't born in Velaris, but you've lived here for a century. The problem is you've spent the better part of that century waiting on feeling like you finally belonged. You never felt at home in your own court or in your family so it might have been wishful thinking that it would happen here.
“I think like that sometimes too.” As baffled as you were to hear that coming from him, he looked even more surprised than you. It seems he hadn't meant to say that out loud, but the words couldn't be taken back now.
“That's insane,” you try to level your voice after the outburst, "You're part of this family. Why wouldn't you fit in?” You couldn't let him think like that, there was no doubt in your mind everyone here loved and cherished him like family.
Rhysand's inner circle was known for how close they were, they were seen as the High Lord's family regardless of if they were blood related or not. Azriel has always been calmer and you know he likes to keep to himself but you never thought he looked out of place for a second. It's hard to imagine Rhysand and Cassian without his brother.
His eyes were trained on the city under you. His shadows had come back to him, almost covering him completely. Azriel was quiet for a while, long enough you thought he wouldn't even give you an answer. But then you feel a shield form around you, lest someone wanders in and hears his next words.
“Sometimes things and people change while you stay stuck in the same place,” his eyes meet yours as he talks and you search his expression for the rest of the story you know he won't tell. If there's one thing you hate about the shadowsinger is his ability to mask his emotions. His face was the perfect stoic mask as always.
It's not hard to understand what he meant. In less than a decade the inner circle almost doubled and some of the dynamics had likely changed with it. His brothers have found their mates, something every fae dreams of, and he was the odd one out. Even the Morrigan and Amren had found lovers in recent years.
You had heard some rumors he had taken a liking to the middle Archeron sister after pining for the lovely Morrigan for centuries, but she had also found her mate. Not even his methods of interrogation could make you admit you were avoiding the entire inner circle during that time. The hope you had felt upon realizing he wasn't looking at Morrigan like she hung all the stars in the sky was short lived and it only made you feel pathetic. You didn't understand why it had affected you so much. This was just a silly crush after all, you had never considered actually pursuing a relationship with the shadowsinger.
“I still don't understand how Amren got a lover before you.” You had meant to clear the heavy air between you but why your brain decided to use the millennia old creature to do so was beyond you. “I mean she's just…” you continue, startled by your own words, praying to the Mother that the shield he put up stopped Amren from hearing you, “Well, she's fae now but wasn't before and is still mildly terrifying, even after the transition, and you're so-” Wide eyes meet hazel and nothing could ever prepare you for the look on his face. The amusement shone bright in his eyes and in the teasing grin he wore. Just when you thought the shadowsinger couldn't get any more beautiful.
“I'm so?” He tilts his head a little as he asks the question. His shadows start almost dancing around him, like they can't wait to hear your thoughts on their singer. You clear your throat before continuing, trying to salvage some of your dignity.
“You're the Spymaster, the only known Shadowsinger. That's incredible, anyone would be lucky to have you.” Something flashes in his eyes and your mouth starts back up at the thought that it could be disappointment at the impersonal description. Azriel is much more than his role in this court and you can't let him think that's all you see in him.
“You're also one of the kindest people I've ever met. I've seen you worry over every single person in that room, putting their needs over your own even when you're also injured. You always keep your composure for them and give them your support. I've seen you around Velaris too, you're always respectful to everyone, even when they're a bit scared of you.” Eyes drag themselves back to the shiny stars in the night so you can keep going without wanting to jump off the balcony and making an even bigger fool of yourself. “Even as far as looks go... I would bet my house that if we walked down any of these streets we wouldn't find anyone that doesn't think you're stupidly handsome.”
“Stupidly handsome?” The amusement was dripping down his voice at this point. The smile was unmistakable in his tone and you couldn't hold yourself back from watching him any longer. You feel yourself relax at the grin plastered on his face. It isn't often that the shadowsinger shows any emotion at all, and you can't help the pride in knowing you put that gorgeous smile on his face, especially after the somber turn the conversation had taken earlier. You continue despite the warmth you feel in your ears, you'd compliment him for hours if it meant he wouldn't feel sad ever again.
“I've actually heard someone use those exact words to describe you.” You've thought it to be the most accurate description of the immense beauty the shadowsinger radiates ever since you heard the barista use it. Apparently she hadn't been born in Velaris and had taken up the job only a few days prior to serving the illyrian. She had barely held the compliment down long enough for Azriel to exit the building, shooting up into the sky. A few fae present couldn't contain the laugh at the fervent appreciation of the shadowsinger, but the air of agreement shared by everyone was unmistakable.
“I'll have to let my mom know,” there was laughter in his tone, “I'm sure she will be very proud that her son is receiving such compliments.” You hadn't known his mother was still alive which makes you think it's meant to be kept secret. You almost curse at the way your heart flutters. Stupid crushes.
“I'm sure she is very proud of you regardless.” He doesn't give away any hint of what might be going through his brain and it leaves you in a slight panicked fear of overstepping or having said the wrong thing. You could swear you saw a glint of disbelief but it was gone too fast for you to be sure. The idea that the Spymaster couldn't see his own mother being proud of him was ludicrous to you.
The nod he gives you doesn't give any of his thoughts away, but his shadows keep moving slowly around the balcony, never rushing to cover him.
“Why are you single then?” You know he's changing the subject but you don't have time to consider that when you realize it's your turn to answer the questions.
“Me?” You barely register the slight nod he gives to show you he's expecting an answer. If you had shadows of your own they would have wrapped around you like a blanket until only the top of your hair was peaking out. “How do you know I am? Are you using your spies on me, Spymaster?”
“I have to be well informed of what happens in this city,” he searches your face just like you did to him, “And as the spymaster I'm more than familiar with deflection. You don't have to answer my question. Tell me if I'm overstepping”
“No. It's-” you cringe, trying to find the right words. “I just never found anyone special I guess.” Even talking about this with him has your heart swelling in your chest and you pray to the mother he can't pick up on any changes in your heartbeat. You've been avoiding this conversation with family and friends, but despite all this you know Azriel will understand and won't make fun of your feelings. It feels safe talking to him. “I get really busy sometimes so it's hard to keep up a proper relationship, even with friendships. Sometimes people need more time than what I can give them.” You try not to think of all the times you didn't measure up to other people's expectations, when they didn't see you as enough for the trouble.
“They're idiots for letting you go.” You don't know if he's being polite in not mentioning how your heart keeps speeding up or if he thinks you're drunker than you are, but you thank every deity you can think of that he doesn't say anything.
“Some things just aren't meant to be.” You hope he doesn't insist on this conversation. There isn't much else to say and you'd rather not keep talking about how many times you'd gotten dumped. You consider pointing out he never gave you a reason for being single and that he was the one actually deflecting, but you don't want to push what clearly isn't an easy topic for him to discuss either. You suspect Azriel barely opens up with anyone, so you'll just treasure the brief look into his heart he allowed you before.
The rest of your night is spent with the shadowsinger, sitting in that balcony, watching the stars and talking about anything. The next day you'll sit in bed mortified, thinking about how you were doing most of the talking while he listened, but he had seemed content enough so you couldn't have been too annoying. When the party ended you had said your goodbyes to your hosts, without the previous nerves after your conversation with the shadowsinger. Feyre had even asked you if you were alright because she also noticed you leaving in the middle of the party, though something about the glint in her eyes told you she had gotten the wrong idea. Then Azriel had flown you down the steps and winnowed you to your front door - even though you could do it yourself. Maybe you'd have to rethink calling the inner circle your friends.
#azriel x reader#azriel x you#azriel x y/n#azriel fic#azriel fluff#azriel acotar#azriel shadowsinger#divider by saradika#healer!reader
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Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Characters: Draco Malfoy, Narcissa Black Malfoy, Harry Potter, Luna Lovegood
Additional Tags: Healer Draco Malfoy, St. Mungo's, Medical School, Hospital, Medicine
Series: Part 12 of Harry Potter works
Summary:
"Are you going for the course?" Lovegood asked. "You have the NEWTs.”
“What course?” Draco said, then, “No, don’t be ridiculous,” when he realized she meant the notice pinned up on the board he’d been staring at: Applicants To The Introductory Mediwizard Course For The Coming Term Shall Present Themselves In The Chief Mediwizard’s Office By August 24th.
“Oh, I thought you might,” she said. “Well, goodbye.” And off she wandered again in her addled way.
#Heal Thyself#astolat#Drarry#Drarry fic#Fic rec#Healer Draco#Auror Potter#Amazing#Really good#This was so amazing the dedication astolat took to build Draco's character before he met Harry again.
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Corrie Guard: Fox & Patches
@megneato did two more AMAZING commissions for me (the first was Ma Dong-Seok as Paz Vizsla, he’s beautiful, go look at him), which was to help get my headcanon down for what Fox looks like, and a design for my Corrie Medic OC, Patches! (I belatedly realized that is a common medic OC name. I am. Not sorry. ...or original.)
CC 1010: FOX
tired
like, so fucking tired
Constantly Vibrating Ball of Rage
hair gone white from stress and torture via Evil Sith Shenanigans
lightning scars around his neck, continue below armor on the right side of his torso
no tattoos so that he could pass as some of the other clones (this works up until the scarring and the trauma hair)
CT 9113: PATCHES
MASSIVE baby bro/vod’ika vibes, is from one of the more recent batches
very gentle and sweet and smiley
name comes from his patchwork scars, which were the result of being yeeted through a pane of glass (exact scenario as of yet undecided)
does actually have a kind bedside manner, but do not be fooled: he will also use the big sad eyes RUTHLESSLY
‘i’m not mad, just disappointed’ except instead of disappointed dad it’s your little brother who looks up to you and thinks the world of you and now you let him DOWN
that said, if he’s visibly angry, you should probably run.
#art commissions#tcw#tcw fanart#coruscant guard#commander fox#clone trooper oc patches#@other fic writers:#patches is up for borrowing if you ever need a quick medic OC!#be nice to him (or not)#my wife works with glass for like fiber optics and the like#and we were watching a scene where a dude goes through a window#'if that were real glass it is entirely possible that guy would be dead'#glass is sharp!#very sharp!#stop making people go through it and then be fine!#where are the consequences? where is the SUFFERING?#...anyways i usually play healers so i understand the All Medics Are .5 Seconds Away From Murder#and i thought it'd be interesting to make the opposite#.....he still likes big guns tho#soldier medic + massive gun = otp forever#ANYWAY MEG I LOVE THEM SO MU U CHHH
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Masterlist | The Benevolent
☁︎ Eris Vanserra x Dawn Court OC
☁︎ Summary: The Lady of Autumn hires a healer behind Beron's back. Sworn to secrecy, the healer helps Eris when he is punished by his father and forbidden to see a healer from their court. Eris did not expect to find himself growing attached. He comes to realize that he may know plenty about sacrifice, but he has a lot to learn about choosing to live for the ones you love.
☁︎ Warnings: descriptions of wounds and blood, talk of physical abuse, talk of domestic violence
☁︎ AO3 Link (coming soon)
☁︎ Other things:
- Aya moodboard
- my art of Aya
☁︎ one - bound
☁︎ two -
☁︎ three -
☁︎ four -
☁︎ five -
☁︎ six
☁︎ seven -
☁︎ eight -
☁︎ nine -
☁︎ ten -
☁︎ eleven -
☁︎ twelve -
☁︎ thirteen -
☁︎ fourteen -
☁︎ fifteen -
-
☁︎ bonus scene
#acotar#fanfic#acotar fanfic#acotar fic#acotar fanfiction#eris fanfic#Eris fic#eris vanserra#eris acotar#eris fanfiction#pro eris vanserra#dawn court#dawn court oc#acotar oc#eris x oc#eris x healer#autumn court#lady of autumn#beron vanserra#vanserra brothers#a court of thorns and roses#a court of mist and fury#a court of wings and ruin#a court of silver flames#acosf#acomaf#acowar#acofas
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I finished a collection of AU design practice pieces! You can send me an ask or dm about them if you're curious, I wanna flesh them out.
au titles and solo image under the cut!
In order of appearance, we have:
Healer Hero Izuku
(Notice he's still All-Might themed, the nerd)
Quirk Analyst Izuku
(I like his hair the best)
Tidal Hearts Izuku
(From @samisnotlegend and @macksmilesback's fic! So pretty)
Pokemon Trainer Izuku
(Second attempt)
Apocalypse Izuku
(He has smoke bombs)
Villain Izuku
(DFO au… I want his jacket)
I usually hate lineart, but these were so fun to do. The power of a good lineart brush...
Real proud :)
#kabbage's art tag#midoriya izuku#bnha#art#healer izuku#quirkless izuku#analyst izuku#quirk analyst izuku#mermay#mermaid izuku#fic fanart#tidal hearts#pokemon au#pokemon trainer izuku#apocalypse au#that one is my favorite#villain izuku#dfo au#character design#i spent all my braincells on art so no funny notes this time
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hello, im actually really nervous because i am just starting to get involved with the drarry fandom. im trying to write a fic but it's my very first one. it has an accidental blood bind AND harry as a healer. in other fics it's usually draco as the healer so i thought it would be fun to switch it up. i just wanted to tell someone because i'm so excited!!! they make me so happy.
Hello nonnie! Good for you! I'm glad , always glad, to see someone new in the fandom, we need novelty, we need to not let our marvelous Drarry fandom die !
I love Healer Harry and you're right, there's never enough. But in the meantime, you gave me the idea to rec some of my faves (that might inspire you, who knows!) Good luck with it and make sure to let me know when it's posted, I'd love to read it :)
Nothing but a Heartbeat by maraudersaffair (E; 1.5k; 2018)
Summary: After Draco is attacked by a werewolf, Harry attempts to help him. Too bad Draco wants to eat him whole.
The Slings and Arrows of Outrageous Fortune by secretsalex (E; 3.1k; 2017; mpreg)
Summary: if Astoria refuses to carry their child, Draco will—which is how he finds himself alone, pregnant, and a patient of Healer Potter’s.
Show Me My Options by unadulteredstorycollector (T; 5.6k; 2018)
Summary: Harry is currently training to be a Healer, which is going great! Except then suddenly the lecturer mentions male pregnancy and Harry is very, very confused. And unfortunately there's only one person who can explain it to him.
Constellations on your skin by @orange-peony (E; 56.4k; 2022)
Summary: “I’m going to get my scars removed,” Draco announces on a rainy Wednesday afternoon.
“Who are you seeing?” Blaise asks.
“The best Healer out there,” Draco replies with a little shrug. “Harry Potter.”
Fire Meet Gasoline by @lettersbyelise (E; 62.6k; 2022)
Summary: When Draco’s anger management issues land him in St Mungo’s, he thinks his Quidditch career is over. But Harry, A&E Healer and notorious workaholic, is faced with a similar predicament. To save their jobs, the two of them decide to fake a relationship. All they have to do is convince their friends and employers… and not fall in love in the process. Simple, right?
#drarry#drarry fandom#draco x harry#draco malfoy#harry potter#healer harry potter#good luck!#drarry fic rec#drarry recs#my recs
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