#healer!reader
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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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does viking!soap have an arm ring?
just imagining healer!reader somehow in a situation where soap's hand is pressed flat on the surface she's leaning on. totally not eyeing the veins trailing down his arm, they focus instead on the intricate design. maybe it's a remaining family heirloom or a gift after his first voyage... you know definitely not something he's hoped and imagined about passing on to any future children or anything like that
Viking!Soap has integrated into viking culture fairly well since [redacted] of course he has an arm ring. I think he probably got it after his first voyage with the 141, a gift from his new family meant to tie him to something again. I imagine there are very few things Soap was able to keep from his life in Scotland.
You're starting to spend more time than you mean to looking at Mactavish's arms. The thick flexing biceps and veins that trace over his forearms, usually hidden by long sleeves and his cloak, now on full display in the heat of summer. He ties his hair back as well, but that you can handle, it's the new skin you're having trouble with. The skin and the attitude. He seems emboldened by the warm weather, boxing you against doorways, leaning close, murmuring in that delicious low rumble that makes your skin prickle with heat. You've told him to stop, but as usual your wants go unnoticed.
That's really when you notice it: the thick metal band that circles his bicep. You'd caught flashes of it during the winter when it sat tighter, though still loose, around his wrist, hidden under his sleeves. Now it's hard to miss.
Mactavish leans against your table, chattering away, his arms crossed over his chest while you ignore him. It never seems to make him leave. His arm ring draws your eye and you let your eyes trace the silver twists, trying to decipher the heads at the ends while he talks. After a moment Mactavishes fingers find the band and rub over it.
"Huginn and Muninn," he says. You look up at him in confusion and he laughs. He slips the ring down his arm and holds it out to you to look over. "Odin's ravens. The travel the world, learn things, the um-" he pauses, you don't know Mactavish to pause often, "Price gave it to me, after my first expedition. Supposed to keep me comin' home."
You trace your fingers over the metal beaks of the ravens, turning the band over in your hands before handing it back. "It's pretty," you don't know what else to say. Mactavish holds it carefully, looks at it like it's something important. You suppose it must be. To you it's just a nice piece of metal, but you're not a viking.
"Yeah," he says, slipping it back up his arm, "It'll go to my boy one day."
"Oh," you don't know why it makes your stomach drop to hear him talk about his child, "I thought Gaz was thr only one with a child."
Mactavish makes an inquisitive noise, his fingers tight around the band. "He is, but I'd like children some day," you glance up, meet his eye, he tilts his head, "don't you?"
You clench your fists and turn you attention back to your work, tamp down the fluttering in your heart. "No," you tell him firmly, try to push purpose to the edge in your voice, "not here, not with any of you."
Mactavish hums. He does that when you do this, when you show your teeth. You never know what it means, never have the courage to look at him, to try and read what he's feeling. If you did you might see the hurt in his eyes. "I know, Vænn," he tells you quietly, "it's all my fault."
You clench your fists tight, dig your nails into your palms and clench your teeth. It doesn't work. You hatred and grief won't work if he sounds like that, if he pushes off your table and leaves before you can find the courage to snap at him. You hate him. You hate how unsettled your stomach gets at his words, hate the nausea, and the spiderweb feeling in your chest. It is his fault.
So why can't you stand to hear him say it?
#cod x reader#x reader#x oc#cod x oc#john soap mctavish x reader#john soap mactavish#john soap mactavish x reader#soap mactavish#soap cod#soap mw2#soap x reader#johnny soap mactavish#johnny soap mactavish x reader#viking!soap#highlander!reader#healer!reader
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Give and Take
Softdom!Cassian x Healer!Reader
Premise: You get back after a long day of work and Cassian is ready to take over everything, you give him control so that you don’t lose it entirely.
Splitting this into two parts so that I don't lose my mind over it anymore. Love to all who jumped on this prompt!
Warnings: Dom/sub dynamics, smutty fluff, emotional overstimulation, self-sacrificing, poor self-care (bordering on self-harm), injury and slight gore, 18+ minors DNI
Part 1:
The last flight of stairs up to the rooms you and Cassian occupied in the River House seemed steeper than you had ever remembered, dragging yourself up the stairs was utterly Sisyphean, the last stretch in a long day that had frustrated tears finally pricking in your eyes. You were tired to your bones, fed up with being hunched over a desk, and the day was still far from done over eleven hours after it had begun. You woke and dressed when the sky was dark, and were returning hours after the braziers lining the hallways had been lit.
You had two bags hanging in the crook of one elbow, full of brewing equipment that needed to be polished with a protective tonic before being used in class tomorrow. In the same arm, you were clutching a thick stack of essays requiring grading. Tucked under your other arm was a folio of research on restorative therapies for Illyrians who had their wings clipped. Slung over your shoulder from training was your weapons belt, sheathed with two daggers and a longsword Cassian had wrought for you as a wedding gift.
The file of research slipped from your arms, scattering down all the steps you had just climbed in complete disarray. You made a small sound of anguish and finally, the tears were flowing freely. You were so grateful for it all, for this beautiful life you had. You were grateful for the research you were able to do to find a way to reverse the horrors wrought on Illyrian females. You were enthusiastic about teaching your students, passing along ancient knowledge to the trainees who would one day be your peers. You itched for training with Nesta, Emerie, and Gwyn; pouring intentional movement into your body after long days of obligatory motion.
Healing people, feeling your tendrils of power sweep over broken bones, seeking out the source of symptoms, touching the broken parts of people’s souls. It was the greatest gift, one that multiplied every time you held a newborn babe, watched someone run or dance on legs that had never worked before, and felt the relief of familial caregivers as you restored hearing or sight or even small amounts of lucidity to their aging parents. It was quite possibly the only gift that you valued more than your precious mate. The one who you had remade and been remade by.
You were so grateful for it all, for this beautiful life you had. But there were some days when you felt the burden of worlds bearing down on you. Days when failed healings left you shattered. Days when there was simply too much to do and not enough hours to do it.
“What’s all this sweetheart.” Cassian appeared at the top of the stairs, his darkened gaze forcing you to rethink your current predicament.
Despite his intimidating size and title, the Lord of Bloodshed was as gentle a lover as you had ever known. He had honed his resolve over the centuries, along with all his other skills. Even in the most feral moments between the two of you, lost entirely to the bond in skin and teeth and brutish groans, he would never lose himself. He could balance himself over you for hours with just the head of his cock pressing into your center, and could sit perfectly still while stuffed down your pretty little throat.
What he couldn’t do was abide by disobedience. And disobedience to Cassian was self-neglect. Disobedience was forgetting to eat, not getting enough sleep. Disobedience was piling too much onto your plate. Disobedience was trying to lug over one-hundred pounds of shit up the stairs after you had left before dawn and were returning long after dark. And disobedience would earn you punishment.
—
Ever since you had helped Azriel rehabilitate his shredded wings after Hybern wrought his havoc, you had remained in close connection with the High Lord’s Inner Circle. Your attentive and tranquil care healed both Azriel’s wings and the lingering horror that wracked his soul in the following weeks as he tried to move on from those paralyzing moments of agony. You treated his flesh and soul with equal gentleness, cementing your regard as a healer with the capacity to treat vulnerability with as much tenderness as you treated wounds and sickness.
When Cassian lay broken and bleeding, of course, it was you who was summoned to the tent. He was like every other patient before in your ability and desire to help him. But he was also like no other patient before because he was your mate. You could still feel his screaming cleaving the air and reverberating through your jaw, dulling all senses to anything but him. His brothers had to hold him down with tears in their eyes; Feyre lost her stomach; Mor just sat in the corner silently shaking. You were cursed to remember every ounce of hopelessness in his eyes as he scrambled away from your hands, refusing any of your help or assessment for fear of what you might find.
You found femur bone shattered like glass, tearing into the muscle and tendon of his massive thigh. You found snapped cartilage, torn muscle, and severe hemorrhaging that nearly cut off blood supply to his entire left wing; the damage so bad it would have resulted in field amputation had you not been there. You found the husk of a man who had been so sure he was going to die without being able to save his family, without even being able to say goodbye.
You burned yourself out with the raw power that flooded from you as you were confronted with the primal need to save him. You gave yourself entirely to the will of the goddess that had blessed your hands. At one point Rhys had to blanket your mind in darkness so that you wouldn’t drain that well of power entirely.
When finally, the damage left could only be healed by time, you had collapsed over him and refused to move. Unable to. Gentle, weak arms had dragged you ungracefully to a warm chest, to a beating heart. The only thing you could hear through the thundering haze of your overwrought senses.
“Don’t you ever do that again, for anyone. Not even me sweetheart.”
And then it was Cassian’s turn to heal you. To watch over your trembling body as you recovered from the depletion of your powers. He fed and bathed you. Stretched and massaged the muscles that felt as though they had been filleted by lightning. Braided your hair to keep it from knotting during the long hours you slept.
He poured himself into you in a way you had never had before. In a way you had only ever provided to others, never received yourself. In a way you hadn’t ever known you wanted so badly until you were sobbing hoarsely into his arms, years of self-sacrifice pouring out of you.
It didn’t stop there. Only when you had settled into living together did either of you realize the extent to which overextending yourself had become a way of life. The first time you came home past midnight, Cass was in a panic thinking you had been hurt or taken. When you stumbled through the door on legs bent with exhaustion and informed him that you had eaten exactly three crackers and a handful of berries all day, he just stared at you for a long time.
“How do you expect to save everyone if you destroy yourself in the process? This level of self-sacrifice isn’t noble, it’s irresponsible. Now, get on your fucking knees.” Your head snapped to him, pinning him with a disbelieving scoff. But he was dead serious.
In a flash he had your hair gathered in a stern but gentle fist, and you had your mouth very, very full. He fucked your mouth with a fervor, his fingers finding the corners so he could pop your jaw open further and push himself even deeper down your throat.
He came with a hiss, freeing a hand from your ruined mouth to pound in a fist against the unyielding stone wall.
Then he scooped you up and laid you in bed, pouring water with lemon and honeyed tea down your throat. Leaving your side briefly, only to return with a veritable feast of foods specifically selected to strengthen your body and magic. His care was almost overwhelming, but you found yourself surrendering to his vigil over you.
—
“Put it down” he said, pure authority radiating from him.
“Put what down?” you feigned.
“All of it, sweetheart. And don’t make me ask again. I’d hate to have to take you down to Az’s workroom. He put up such a fuss last time, even after I cleaned everything in front of him.” There was no room for disobedience in his tone, even if the remark had you chuckling.
You struggled to unburden yourself, unsure of how to extend your arms and set down one item without imperiling another. You met Cassian’s gaze with pleading eyes that quickly turned fiery at his smugness. You drew yourself up slowly, eyes narrowing…
And dropped everything from your hands, letting the first bag of glassware slide off your arms and crash to the ground – even if the sound of tinkering glass made something in you twist and cringe.
“Don’t be a fucking brat, you know it’ll only make things worse.” he snapped, lips pulling back in a feral grin as he raked his gaze over your body, your leather-bound dips and curves displayed to him unobstructed.
The belt you set down gently, minding your beautiful blade. In the middle of the night after your mating ceremony, in the haze of your frenzy, Cassian had marched you down to the deepest chambers of the Court of Nightmares, where the mountain burned nearly as hot as your bond. You had watched with lust-glazed eyes as he hammered out a blade and fused it to the hilt he had already carved and polished—smooth, rounded obsidian imbued with the cavernous powers of the Mountains.
He fucked you hard into the stone floor and then soared into the night sky with you and the weapon, cooling skin and steel alike. And when you finally touched ground again, he wasted no time showing you exactly why he chose that particular shape for the handle.
A snap of his fingers had the scattered papers piled neatly beside it. Then you gingerly set down the second bag of glassware, cringing as you considered how your eager disobedience would reflect back in Cassian’s treatment.
“Good.” he crooned. “Now go bathe and wait for me in bed.”
Cass abided by your whims for the most part, always eager to take care of you but never pressuring you to submit. He could always tell when you needed to give away control. When you needed to be told what and when to eat, how to dress, when to speak, and when to be silent. When to “get on your fucking knees” and when to “lay down darling, that’s it, now hush my love and let me work.” And he would give it to you every time without tire, for the rest of his days.
As you passed him to make towards your suite, he sidestepped into your path and halted you with a hand to your shoulder, the palm of his other hand cupping your face. He looked down at you with gentle eyes. You leaned into his touch instinctively, eager to shove away the pressures of your autonomy, even if just for the next few hours.
“I counted five things that you placed over your own needs today. Your patients, your students, your research, your training, your healing. Then you had to go and double it by bratting off and making a mess of your things.” He glanced around, unimpressed at your display of resistance.
“It’ll take me time to fix and polish the glassware and reorganize your papers. So you’ll wait. You’ll be doing a lot of that tonight. It only makes sense, I think, that you take ten hard edges before we think about next steps.” His voice was hard, determined, even as his hands were so so soft.
Your eyes widened, head shaking even as his words had your blood thrumming with desire.
“Yes, sweetheart. Yes, you will. Maybe this time you’ll finally learn your lesson about what happens when we deny ourselves what we need.”
#acotar#cassian x reader#cassian#cassian smut#smut blurb#but like also not#it’s more than that#acotar fanfiction#fantasy#acotar crack#night court#rhysand#azriel#healer!reader#Dom!cassian#illyrian baby#one meaty batboy to go please! with the thickest thighs you can find!
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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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Healer's Flight
Description: Your would-be assassin picked the wrong beach to ambush you on.
Reader is an immortal mutant with healing powers.
It’s a beautiful beach, one with pristine sands, and cool breezes, the scent of sea salt on the air, and clear waters reflecting the stars that dotted the night sky. You loved this beach, held its location safe within your chest, nestled beside your heart.
Loved, past tense, because now you were afraid, feet digging into the sand as you ran, heart pounding against your chest like a war drum. You veered towards the water, one foot landing in the surf, your heart taking flight, but then he caught you, yanking you back by your hair.
“I said, stop fucking running.” He growled, his grip on your hair tight, pulling at your scalp, as his arms wrapped around you.
“Let me go, you Nazi bitch.” You fought against him, trying to break free of his hold, but it was useless. This wasn’t a normal low-level assassin, this was an enhanced.
His grip tightened on you, squeezing like a vice grip, and you felt your lungs began to stutter, unable to draw in oxygen.
Tears began to roll down your face, dripping onto his bare arm.
“Don’t worry, it’ll be over soon.” He cooed mockingly.
“You’re a monster.” You choked out, nails clawing at his skin.
“Me? I’m not the mutant freak. I’m doing the world a favor by getting rid of you.”
You weren’t a threat to humans, you were a healer, all you did was lie low and try to help those who needed it. That’s all you had been doing for five hundred years.
“K’uk’ulkan.” You whimpered out, as your vision began to fade, hoping the gods would take mercy on you, and allow you a final vision of him before you died.
“Kool-la-what? Are you casting a spell on me, witch?” The assassin snarled, releasing his grip ever so slightly.
Your hand was free, and you gripped his arm, focusing on the spot where your skin connected.
He swore and dropped you, holding his arm close to his chest. There in the shape of your hand was decaying flesh, black and rotted.
You struggled to your knees, desperately sucking in air as your lungs seized. “Yes, I am.”
You weren’t, but he didn’t need to know that.
The assassin lunged at you, and you threw your body to the side, landing in the surf, hands glowing a bright gold.
You pushed the hair out of your face, tense and waiting for his next move, when you heard something whiz by you, then a solid thud. You looked up to see the assassin lying on his back, a spear imbedded in his chest.
Large warm hands pulled you to your feet. “In yakunaj, are you hurt?”
K’uk’ulkan’s low voice was a balm to your panicked mind, and your fingers found purchase in the bejeweled collar he wore, as you collapsed against him.
He scooped you up and brought you further onto the beach, settling on the sand with you in his lap. His hands smoothed back your wet hair, his eyes searching your face.
“I—my throat.” You coughed out, motioning to the mottled bruising that you were sure was already starting to appear.
He gently tilted your head up and hummed in displeasure. “He dared to put his hands upon you? I will throw his body to the sharks; I swear to you in reina.”
“They will fade, do not fret, my love.” You soothed, leaning into his touch.
K’uk’ulkan’s presence made you feel safe, as if no harm could befall you while he remained at your side.
“You are done with the surface world, they do not deserve you, and this has proved it.” He said firmly, his eyes narrowed at the corpse behind you.
“But there are people that need me.” You protested weakly, lightly running your fingers across your throat, speeding up your already enhanced healing ability.
He cupped your face, his warm brown eyes like amber flecked with gold, filled with sorrow. “They do not need you more than I do in yakunaj. I do not know what I would do if you were taken from me.”
You melted under his gaze, the fight draining from your body, leaving only exhaustion in its place. “But who am I if not a healer?”
“You will still be a healer, my people injure themselves often, they are like children, stumbling over every loose stone in their path.” He gave you a weary smile along with his promise.
You smiled back at him, carding your fingers through his thick hair. “That is not true, your people are fearsome warriors.”
K’uk’ulkan rested his forehead against yours. “What can I do to make you come home, and to stay? What must I give you to have my queen by my side?”
Your eyes fluttered closed as you basked in his warmth. It had been four hundred years of this, back and forth, stay or go, rule, or heal. You loved K’uk’ulkan more than anyone, anything, but you’d never been able to pry yourself from the grip of the surface world.
“You cannot buy my heart, you already have it.” You said, taking one of his hands and pressing it to your heart.
“But I do not. It sits in the hands of the surface dwellers, who crush it into a fine powder day after day, while I am helpless to watch.” His fingers curled, finding purchase in the fabric of your shirt, a desperate, pleading grasp.
“K’uk’ulkan…” You breathed, heartbreaking at the anguish in his voice.
“Y/N, you must return with me, if only so that I do not die of worry.” He pulled away and motioned to the corpse. “Look at what has happened, what if I had not been here—in yakunaj, you could have died.”
You bit the inside of your cheek. You were terrified, closer to death than you’d been in a long time. Maybe he was right, you could go with him, take care of his people, then return to the surface in a century or two and check on them.
“I will do it.” You said, closing your eyes, so he couldn’t see the tears of guilt welling up in them. How could you do this? Abandon all those who needed your help?
His thumbs wiped away the stray tears, and he brushed his lips across your forehead. “You will be happy there in reina, have faith in me.”
You looked up at him, bottom lip trembling. “I do, but…”
He shook his head. “No, but, do not let your mind run rampant as it tends to do. You owe the surface world nothing.” His voice was steady, as he leaned down and captured your lips, the warmth of him soothing your worries, and making your head pleasantly fuzzy.
You looped your arms around his neck, head tilting to the side, to deepen the kiss. He tasted of coconut and sea salt, his skilled tongue stroking yours in a way that sent shivers down your spine.
He kept you pressed against him as he stood, wrapping your legs around his waist as he walked into the surf, intent on keeping you safe forever.
Tag list: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @starlady66
#namor x y/n#namor x reader#namor x you#mcu namor#tenoch huerta namor#namor imagine#namor fanfiction#meg's writing#I started this and wasn't loving it but I think it ended up alright#k’uk’ulkan#k'uk'ulkan x reader#k'uk'ulkan x you#mutant!reader#healer!reader
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Him, Not It
*Bonus Content*
Series Masterlist
Summary: You'd been training under Madam Pomfrey since the beginning of the year. The TriWizard Tournament been the perfect opportunity for you to learn the basics of Healing. By the Third Task you thought you were prepared for whatever happened. This is backstory to “Before I Knew You”.
Word Count: 2,719
Warnings: 18+, Injuries, Death, Ministry Officials being shitty, grief, sleep deprivation. Minors DNI.
Horror rooted itself in your lungs as you watched Fleur Delacour brought in the Medi-Tent, her body limp but breathing. Her piercing scream from minutes before still rang in your ears over the rapid voices of those scurrying around her. Whispers you caught as they tried to determine what had done this to her, their diagnostic spells turning up no physical injuries. It was obvious to them all, but the thought of it seemed impossible.
She'd been hit with some dark magic somewhere within the walls of the maze that had made their attempts at casting the reviving spells ineffective. It was unclear what exactly had hit her, but it was evident that no creature that had been set loose in the labyrinth could have done it. The only other option was one of the three people who had been in there with Fleur. Three people you would have never thought capable of such a thing.
Before the reality of that could take hold, Viktor Krum's frozen body was carried in. His diagnosis was less worrisome, only one Medi-Wizard pulling off from Fleur to work on him. Stunned. It did, however, leave the questions of why. To win? Had Harry or Cedric taken out the others to improve their chance?
"Rennervate!"
Viktor shot off his cot, his wand still clinched in his fist from when he'd been hit by the spell. His head whipped around, assessing the space. The wizard tried to speak with him and get him to return to the cot, but Viktor paid him no heed. Instead his gaze locked on Fleur and his body went rigged. Not like when he’d been Stunned, but as if there was some unseen strain on him his muscles flexed and chest heaved.
It was then as he blinked that you saw it. The familiar dark brown of his eyes was dulled, like something was obscuring the color. His hand shook as his wand began to rise, mouth parting.
“Stupefy!”
The red jet of light hit his shoulder and silenced the tent. A dozen sets of eyes danced between the Stunned Bulgarian and the wand you had pointed at him. “He’s Imperiused.”
Questions flew at you. 'Who let the child in here?' 'How do you know what the Imperious Curse looks like?' 'What can we do to reverse it?' 'Who cast it?'
A joyous roar from the crowd in the bleachers outside the tent cut through them. Someone had won. Hogwarts had won. At what cost?
"He's dead!" "He's dead!" "Cedric Diggory! Dead!"
The Medi-Witches and Wizards ran from the tent, but your feet did not move. Cedric. Cedric dead. Ced—
You pushed it down. Not now. Not yet. Viktor was alive. Fleur was alive. They needed help. You stepped forward, overly aware of how poorly trained the others had been to have completely left them here alone. A dozen of them and not one thought to stay behind.
Professor Moody’s words echoed in your mind. “Only an exceptionally strong will can break the curse. Otherwise, it can only be removed by the caster or upon the caster’s death.”
The jinx you'd cast was already beginning to fail. Viktor's cheek began to twitch. A cart of potions sat between the cots. A bottle of dark purple caught your eye. Sleeping Draught. You swiped it and turned to him. He blinked. "Sorry, Vik."
You pulled out the cork, placed the rim on his lip, and tipped it. He was already falling back onto the cot when the potion emptied. It would keep him out for a few hours.
Turning to Fleur you had the terrible realization that Viktor was not the only Champion who had an Unforgivable cast on them tonight. A quick diagnostic spell confirming again there were no physical injuries.
“A person will lose their mind if they suffer it long enough. Some last longer than others, but,” Moody had shaken his head with a deep sigh, “no one can suffer it forever without something breaking.”
Her scream had been brief, doubtful she’d experienced the Cruciatus Curse long enough for any extensive mental harm. But the only way to be sure was to wake her. Again, you looked at the cart. Draught of Peace to ease the anxiety of what she’d suffered and Invigoration Draught to wake her.
You adjusted the cot to have her upper body raised and poured each potion down her throat like you had for Viktor. It took longer for her to wake than it had for him to fall asleep.
“Where am I?” she asked, her perfect features scrunched in confusion.
“The Medi-Tent.”
The answer seemed to stir her memory. A good sign. “I was attacked! I was hit by something from behind, a spell, I think? I heard a spell. It hurt like nothing I have felt before.”
A response died on your lips as the others returned to the tent. A cot carrying something covered by a cloak floated behind them followed by the Minister and Mr. and Mrs. Diggory. The Medi-Wizard who’d attended to Viktor tripped over nothing and fell to the ground. It appeared he’d been the one to cast the levitation spell on the cot as it too came crashing down.
Horrified gasps came as Cedric rolled across the ground until he finally stopped, his blue eyes empty as they stared at you.
-
The Common Room was quiet despite the entirety of Hufflepuff occupying the space. Professor Sprout had wanted everyone together. A few quiet conversations scattered amongst those left awake and a handful of snores. Compared to the sounds of grief that had filled it two hours before it, it was near silence.
Cedric was dead.
“A terrible accident,” Fudge had called it. A lie. There were already two Champions who’d suffered Unforgivables, it wasn’t difficult to recognize Cedric had suffered one too.
The scene of the previous night replayed your head again and again as you watched the crackling fire. Cedric had sat where you did now with a wide grin as your housemates suggested the things he could buy when he won. He'd been adamant about getting the whole Quidditch team new brooms. He'd blushed cherry red when asked if he'd also buy a new broom for Ravenclaw's Seeker.
There had been no color in the face of the corpse.
The gentle call of your name pulled you from the memory. Professor Sprout was there, a pitying expression as she stared down at you. "I'm very sorry, dear. I tried to tell them it could wait until tomorrow, but…" you followed as her gaze drifted to the entryway where a man and a woman stood. Ministry. "...they have a few questions for you."
You nodded, standing from the couch.
"Would you like me to come with you?"
A shake of your head was all you could offer. You followed the Ministry officials silently as they led you through the dungeons, past the ground floor, and up onto the first floor. It was a familiar path. The doors of the Hospital Wing were ajar as you walked through. Only two beds were occupied. One held a sleeping Harry Potter. Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, and an older woman with fiery-red hair you didn't know were asleep in chairs around his bed.
The other held a disheveled but awake Professor Moody missing his usual magic eye and seeming rather annoyed by the Ministry man he was speaking to.
Why was he here?
In the very back of the wing were Madam Pomfrey, Headmaster Dumbledore, one of the Medi-Wizards from the tent, and a man whose face was scrunched in distaste. "This," he asked the Medi-Wizard, "is who determined Unforgivables were used? An actual child?"
"A very intelligent young woman," Dumbledore said calmly. "She was the most equipped in that tent to identify such things, as we have told you."
"Forgive me for being skeptical of the stories you have told tonight," the man sneered. What else had been said tonight? "I'd like to question her alone."
Madam Pomfrey was outraged. "You cannot question a child alone!"
"Which is it? Is she a child incapable of answering questions? Or an intelligent young woman who can identify Unforgivables?"
Some piece of you snapped. The Ministry was trying to sweep this under the rug and claims of your incompetence would only further their agenda. Cedric deserved the truth, whatever it was. As did Viktor, Fleur, and Harry. You spoke for the first time since you'd left the tent hours before, voice dry with disdain. "It's fine. Can we use your office, Madam Pomfrey?"
Your mentor looked unwilling as she nodded. Dumbledore assured you they'd be outside the door and that you could end the questions whenever you wished.
It irked you how comfortable the man seemed to be as he sat in Pomfrey's chair.
“So," he began, the chair creaking as he leaned back, "why were you in the tent tonight?”
You had to unclench your jaw to answer. “I've been training under Madam Pomfrey to become a Healer.”
“But Madam Pomfrey was not in the tent.”
Obviously. “No, she wasn’t. She was here in the Hospital Wing.”
“Then why were you in the tent?”
“Because Madam Pomfrey ensured my inclusion in every medical aspect of the tournament so I could learn as many valuable skills as possible, even if she herself was not there." You spoke slowly, hoping the words would take root. "It was approved by the Ministry and St. Mungo's."
"That doesn't tell me why you were there."
"I was in that tent to learn how to quickly identify and heal bites and scratches from the various magical creatures and plants they’d placed in the maze. Instead," you said leaning forward and poking at the desk, "I witnessed a dozen Ministry assigned Medi-Staff fail to recognize the effects of two Unforgivable Curses and leave two patients of unknown status unattended for an extended period of time.”
The chair squeaked as he adjusted himself and folded his arms. “Or given your lack of experience and young age, you misdiagnosed them.”
He wasn't dense. He was looking for a way to discredit you.
“Viktor said nothing after he was revennerated. He's not a man of many words, but the last time he'd been Stunned—which was only a few weeks ago by the way—he was quick to explain exactly what had happened to him. And his eyes were cloudy! Like, like there was something over them. He was raising his wand at Fleur to attack her again, but he was struggling. He was under the Imperius Curse, but he was fighting it. That's why I Stunned him and gave him the Sleeping Potion. I was afraid the mental toll would harm him."
His chair squeaked again as he sat forward. "What do you mean he was going to attack Miss Delcour again?" It seemed that tidbit of information hadn't been passed around.
"Fleur was hit by the Cruciatus Curse in the maze. Given how Viktor responded in the tent, it seems obvious that he was the one who cast it."
It took a minute for him to process that. He cleared his throat before saying doubtfully, "Or you're jumping to conclusions."
"I'm not. Fleur had no signs of any physical injuries. Not on my diagnostic and not on the ones the Medi-Staff did. But when she woke up she said she'd been hit with a spell from behind and it was excruciating. That sounds exactly like someone hit her with a Cruciatus."
"Diggory or Potter could have cast it, couldn't they?" More doubt.
"No, they couldn't have."
"But Krum could?"
"Under the influence of the Imperius Curse, yes. Otherwise, he'd be incapable of it." Viktor had a strong dislike for Dark Magic.
His fingers strummed against the desk. "How do you have any idea what these Unforgivables do? Or what they look like?"
"Because Professor Moody taught us. I saw first hand what it looks like when someone is Imperiused and what it looks like when they're fighting it."
"Ahh," he said, straightening up. There was a gleam in his eyes that sank your stomach. "It seems to me that you were under quite a bit of stress. It can't have been easy dealing with school and having all the extra responsibilities of your training. You were exposed to Dark Magic in the classroom, a great failing to you by this school." His eyes danced as he made irrelevant connections. "All that combined," he interlocked his fingers and gave you a pitying smile, "skewed your perception of the things you saw tonight."
"It seems to me," you snarled, grief fanning the flames of your rage, "that the Ministry is trying to cover up its own failings in what happened tonight instead of looking for the truth. There is someone out there who mur—" you choked on the word "—murdered Cedric and hurt Fleur and Viktor and you're doing nothing about it."
"Cedric Diggory's death was a terrible accident. What happened to Miss Delacour and Mr. Krum were unfortunate accidents. I am very sorry that you had to experience these things tonight. You are far too young to be put into this position and the Ministry will reevaluate your training."
—
"When's the last time you slept?"
It took a moment to comprehend the question, blinking at Alastor Moody—the real Alastor Moody you'd learned—as he laid in the only occupied bed of the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey had told you what she knew. That all year Professor Moody had been locked in a trunk while a supposedly dead Death Eater working for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named assumed his identity. That he'd somehow gone unnoticed as he carried out a plan to bring him back. That Viktor had been Imperiused and Fleur had been Crucioed and that Harry had witnessed Cedric's death with the Killing Curse. That He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had returned and the Ministry refused to believe it.
"But we must believe it," she had said. "War will come as it always does and we must be ready for it."
"I'm not sure," you admitted. It had been a long few days. The Third Task, Cedric's death, a fight with the Ministry to keep your position in the Hospital Wing that you'd only won with the support of St. Mungo's. Cillian had been there offering support. Held you when you'd gotten the news of the burial. He'd tried to coax you to relax, but you couldn't. Couldn't close your eyes.
You had a task. A potion Alastor was meant to take. There was a bottle in your hand full of a dark purple liquid. What was it? The letters on the label were neat and precise, but indecipherable as they blurred the longer you stared. Then it was gone. Seemingly disappeared into nothingness. Perhaps it had never been there at all.
A sharp pain in the back of your knees had you collapsing into a chair you didn't remember being so close to the bed. You'd walked into it maybe.
"You're going to hurt someone," a voice growled. All you could do was blink at the man in the bed as he held out a glass bottle of dark purple liquid. "You need to rest."
Your head shook. "I can't." You couldn't see it again. Wouldn't.
“You have to,” he said gruffly, pushing the bottle into your hand. “Cedric would want you to.”
Cedric would have wanted that. But Cedric was gone. Gone. Senselessly. Mercilessly. Gone. “And I wanted him to come back.” The tears were cold as they fell. “But he didn’t, did he?”
Softly he said, “Potter brought him back.”
“He brought back a corpse. It wasn’t him, it wasn’t Cedric.” He hadn’t seen it. Trapped in a trunk, he didn’t hear the wails of Cedric’s friends and family as they saw it. He hadn't seen the eyes. “Not anymore.”
“He is still Cedric. He’s not just a body.”
"It doesn't matter. They've already buried it."
"Him," he said harshly. "Not it. The dead still deserve respect. Cedric still deserves respect."
You were silent, watching the liquid swirl. Him. Him. Him. Him. Him. Him. Him. Him. Him. Him.
"They buried him," you finally said, uncorking the bottle. The potion was easy to drain down your throat. "They buried him and I didn't even get to say goodbye."
Part Five
Before I Knew You Tag List: @believinghurts @frozenwisteria @maralisa124 @voiddylanobrosey @kyla-hale-blog @pearlsofme @minstens @sofrian @sheeple @alldaysdreamers @hotleaf-juice @elnmop @sweetphantomofyournoodler @itshardbeingamultistan @remuslupinscumslutt @thesecretwriter @cali-girl-in-heart @thxtmarvelchick @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night @bitch-biblioklept @unstableyetloveable @psamathegoesrawr @camelliaflow3r @undeniablyyou @luciferismybabe @luvrsbian @pink-hufflepuff @queen-of-elves @bountydroid
HP Tag List: @bamboozledflamplant @charmingandfantasticfics @discogrrl @squishytomatoes @benonlinear @byelannie e @itsccc @bluegiraffeplushie e @pancakefancake
#before i knew you#bill weasley x reader#healer!reader#Hogwarts#triwizard tournament#sorry besties#cedric is deadric in this one
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Elder Faerie Cookie x Healer/Wife Cookie
When Elder Faerie was slowly dying from one of episode in beat-yeast
Reader got to heal them and get full recovery but unfortunately after that event they got traumatised and now at times get nightmares of Reader not succeeding there healing spell and ended up loosing him which made them ask themselves once they wake up "what if he dies again?" and Reader will be alone again since Reader has abandonment issues and so Reader just listen to his heartbeat to confirm that his there and his not leaving them?
Elder Faerie knew his attempted sacrifice would've troubled you, but he only now saw more of the consequences.
You had been so, so scared for him once this all started. You knew there was only so much your healing magic could do. You'd ask him so many times how he felt, does he hurt anywhere, is he feeling sick, did anybody hurt him? Every time, he'd reassure you that he was alright and would give you a kiss. Still, your worries troubled you deeply. You had lost so, so much in the past, and he was the only one you didn't want to lose. Please, witches above, don't make you lose him...
Sometimes at night, Elder Faerie will awaken with you awake as well, simply pressing your head against his chest or your fingers touching his wrists or neck. Your healing staff would always be nearby too, just as if you were waiting for something disastrous to happen. On those nights, he would do his best to get you back to sleep, all the while trying to think how he could help you. He didn't want to see his beloved butterfly in distress...
Maybe he'd need another cookie's help.
#🎭shadow writing!#cookie run#cookie run kingdom#cookie run oneshot#elder faerie cookie#reader cookie#y/n cookie#elder faerie x reader#wife!reader#wife!y/n#elder faerie x wife!reader#healer!reader#healer!y/n#elder faerie x healer!reader#elder faerie x wife!healer!reader
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A Carefree Rascal || Jake Sully x fem!Omaticaya reader
Summary: Jake Sully is the Olo’eyktan of the Omaticaya clan but his carefree attitude often results in injuries. As the healer of the clan, you are not impressed with his reckless behaviour despite having feelings for him
Warnings: none
Word count: 4436
Authors: Cass & Fenrir
Jake had been living with the Omaticaya clan for several years now, serving as their Olo'eyktan and leading them through countless challenges. He had come to love the people and the way of life here on Pandora, and he felt a deep sense of pride knowing that he was a part of this tribe.
On this particular day, he had gone out on a hunting expedition, determined to bring back a kill that would feed the village for days. He had tracked a huge herd of talioang for hours, unfortunately before he could have stroked, Jake came face-to-face with the ferocious palulukan. In the intense struggle that followed, the creature had inflicted several deep wounds on Jake's body with its sharp claws and fangs, leaving him bloodied and battered.
Despite his injuries, Jake managed to make his way back to the village, where he was greeted with cheers and relief from the members of his clan. They immediately sprang into action, tending to his wounds with the skill and expertise that had been passed down through generations.
As he lay there, Jake felt a sense of gratitude and awe wash over him. This was his home now, and these were his people. He had come to understand their ways and their values, and he had learned to respect and cherish them all.
As the healer of the clan, you swiftly received news of an almost fully successful hunt. While some might argue that it was completely successful since everyone would have food, it was difficult to call it a success when it had resulted in injuries.
After gathering the necessary supplies, you hastened to assist whoever required your aid. Upon arriving at the location, you had to shoo away others to be able to work effectively. It came as no surprise to you when you discovered that the injured party was none other than Jake himself. "You seem to enjoy getting hurt, don't you?" You remarked.
Jake rose to his feet, wincing slightly from the pain in his wounds. He turned to you and gestured for you to follow him to his tent, a serious expression on his face. You fell into step beside him, feeling your heart race with anticipation and concern for his well-being.
As you entered the tent, Jake motioned for you to take a seat on a nearby stool. He then proceeded to recount the story of his latest hunting excursion, during which he had been attacked by a fierce palulukan. He described how the creature had ambushed him from behind, raking its sharp claws across his back and leaving him with several deep wounds. "It was a fierce battle, but I managed to take it down. Unfortunately, it managed to get in a few good hits before I did. Its claws are razor-sharp, and I couldn't dodge them all. It's nothing too serious," he added, though the pain etched on his face suggested otherwise. "I've had worse."
It was clear that Jake was a skilled hunter, but even the best could fall victim to the dangers of the forest.
As he finished recounting the details of the attack, Jake turned to face you and asked if you would be willing to help treat his wounds.
You sat with your arms crossed, listening to an unnecessary story that you had never asked for. As you heard him out, your tail began to move restlessly, reflecting your growing impatience. "Considering how senseless your question was, I might as well leave you to deal with it alone," you retorted, tapping your fingers against your arm in frustration. Letting out a deep sigh, you stood up and approached the injured person to inspect their wounds more closely.
Jake sat on his cot, his back facing you, revealing the deep wounds left by the palulukan. You could see that the scratches were still fresh and bleeding, and it was clear that the hunt had been a difficult and dangerous one.
The palulukan, a fierce and formidable predator, had put up a fierce fight, and its razor-sharp claws had left a trail of deep, jagged wounds across Jake's back. The cuts were long and deep, some of them still bleeding and oozing pus, and it was clear that they would need careful attention if Jake was to make a full recovery.
You touched the wound gently, thinking carefully about your next steps. Fortunately, this wasn't your first time dealing with such a situation; in fact, it had happened more often than not. "Stupid," you muttered under your breath, flicking Jake's ear lightly. "So skilled, yet so stupid and reckless," shaking your head, you began your work by cleaning the wounds first. “A carefree rascal. Nì’eveng!”
Jake winced as you gently touched his wounds, his body still sore from the recent attack. You could feel the heat radiating off his skin, and you knew that he was in a great deal of pain. But despite the discomfort, Jake remained stoic and silent, determined to tough it out. "Look, I'm not stupid," Jake said, turning his head to look at you over his shoulder. "I know that even the best hunters can't always see an attack coming from behind." He winced as you applied pressure to one of his wounds, but he continued speaking. "That palulukan was faster than I expected, and I paid the price for it." He let out a deep breath and clenched his jaw as you worked on another wound. "But I'll be back on my feet in no time. I'm not going to let a little thing like this keep me down for too long."
You looked straight into his eyes and hissed at him, turning his head away from you to make it easier to focus. "If you're going to be back on your feet in no time, then why am I even here? I have more important things to do," you snapped.
Your skilled fingers worked swiftly on the wounds, ensuring that he wouldn't bleed out and would make a full recovery. Your anger towards him wasn't due to hate, but rather worry. He had a tendency to get injured more frequently than others, and for some reason, you cared about him deeply, which made you anxious.
Jake expressed his frustration at having let his guard down, as he prided himself on being a vigilant and cautious hunter. You could see the pain etched on his face as he spoke, both from his physical wounds and the wound to his pride as a warrior.
As you continued to tend to his wounds, he softened his tone and thanked you for your care and attention. "I knew Mo'at made the right choice in accepting you as a healer," Jake said, looking at you again with gratitude in his eyes. "Your skill and care have helped me tremendously, and I am thankful to have you among the people."
Frowning, you flicked his ear once again, this time much harder in an attempt to shut him up, and turned his head away from you once more. "You sure like to talk, Sully. Maybe you got so hurt because you tried to talk the palulukan to death?" You quipped.
After finishing the cleaning and ensuring it was done correctly, you carefully began to apply ointment on the wounds.
Jake felt a sharp pain as you tended to his wounds, and he had to fight back a hiss. He tried to stay quiet, not wanting to show any signs of weakness or discomfort. He knew that the Omaticaya valued strength and resilience, and he didn't want to appear weak in front of you.
He took a deep breath and focused on keeping his composure as you continued to work on his wounds. Despite the pain, Jake couldn't help but feel a growing sense of attraction towards you. He had been drawn to you ever since he first met you, and he couldn't deny the chemistry between the two of you, at least it was what he hoped for. But he knew that his duty as Olo'eyktan came first, and he had to stay focused on leading the Omaticaya clan. "Ha-ha, how funny you are, Y/N."
"Who said I was joking?" you asked with a smile as you pressed on one of the wounds, knowing it would elicit a reaction from him.
Of course, you were fully aware of how to do this without causing him any additional pain, but just to give him a little shock.
Jake grunted with pain as you pressed down too hard on one of his wounds. He tried to stay quiet, but a hiss escaped his lips. He gave you a brief glance, showing his fangs as well. "Nìktungzup!"
You didn't hold back from baring your teeth in return, but you soon gave him a mocking grin. "What? Did I hurt our big and mighty Sully? I thought you were tougher," you taunted.
"Behave, Y/N," Jake hissed in a stern voice, his eyes locking onto yours. "I'm tough when I need to be."
You hissed back and laughed softly, mocking him slightly. "I'll behave. It's just that I have a fussy hunter on my hands."
Jake rolled his eyes, not bothering himself with commenting on your words.
With a smile, you continued your work. After properly cleaning and applying ointment to his injuries, you proceeded to wrap them to ensure they were secure.
After his wounds were treated, Jake's expression relaxed and he breathed a sigh of relief. As the Olo'eyktan, he knew the importance of having skilled members in the tribe, and he expressed his gratitude for your presence. "Thank you for your help," Jake said with a smile, as you finished treating his wounds. "I think some of the other hunters might need your assistance as well. It was a fierce battle out there." He standed up from his cot, wincing slightly at the pain spreading all over his body but still looking determined.
After patting his shoulder, you added, "You should rest for a few days. It won't make you look weak if you lie down."
Then you left the room to attend to others.
The next day, not having heard from him, you decided to check on Sully. Knowing him, he probably wouldn't heed any of your words, and the last thing you wanted was for him to bleed out.
You made your way to his tent, humming softly.
Jake stood at the edge of the High Camp, his eyes scanning the horizon for any signs of danger. He heard the sound of footsteps approaching and turned to see a group of young trackers returning to base. "What happened out there?" Jake demanded, his voice stern.
One of the young trackers stepped forward and began to explain, but Jake cut him off. "I don't want to hear excuses. You were supposed to be back hours ago. If you can't keep up with the pace, you have no business being out here."
The young trackers hung their heads, looking ashamed. Jake walked over to them, his expression softening. "Listen, I know it's tough out here. But we have a responsibility to the clan. We have to keep them safe, no matter what, and RDA is acting up again."
He looked each of them in the eye, his gaze firm but kind. "You need to rest and heal your wounds. But tomorrow, you get back out there and do better. Our people are counting on us."
His ears perked up and he turned his head around to see you walking towards them. "Y/N, oel ngati kameie."
You nodded, looking right at him. "Stubborn as always, I said to stay down for a bit and you didn't follow. But it seems you're doing well despite your wounds."
Crossing your arms over your chest, you tapped your feet against the ground, not out of anger, but out of a mix of amusement and mild frustration.
As you finished speaking, one of the young trackers smirked and muttered something under his breath.
Jake's keen hearing picked up on it, and he turned to face the tracker with a scowl. "Is something funny?" He asked, his voice low and dangerous.
The young boy's smirk disappeared, replaced with a look of fear. "No, sir," he stammered.
Jake gave a nod. "You're dismissed."
After approaching you, he let out a deep grunt. "Listen, I know I should be resting, but I can't afford to stay in bed right now," Jake explained to you. "As the Olo'eyktan, I have a responsibility to keep the clan safe. I can't do that from my cot. There are threats out there that we need to stay vigilant against. Omaticaya have a strong connection to Eywa, but that doesn't mean we can let our guard down. The RDA is still out there, and they're always looking for a way to exploit our weaknesses."
You gave a little smile and waved to the others before returning to pestering Jake once more. "Trust me, I'm well aware of all that," you said, shrugging. "My point is, I took the time to patch you up, and I don't want you to mess it up by not being able to sit down for two days."
He growled at your words. "Aren't you a little too dramatic?"
"You know me, always the drama queen," you said with a smirk as you followed Jake to his tent. "But in all seriousness, I just want to make sure you're healing properly. Let me take a look at those bandages."
You stepped inside and began to inspect his wounds, making sure everything was as it should be.
Jake let out another grunt of annoyance. "I'm fine, you don't need to check upon me," he told you.
"I'm afraid I do have to check on you. I need to ensure your injuries are healing properly."
Jake took the garb off his shoulders, revealing his muscular arms and chest. He let out a deep breath and stretched his arms, feeling the cool air against his skin. He looked over at you and smiled, the tension from earlier melting away. He folded the garb carefully and set it aside before sitting down on his cot.
You couldn't help but appreciate his physique for a moment, but you kept your expression neutral so as not to give him any satisfaction. "Thank you," you nodded, approaching him. "So, how do you feel? Any pain other than your injuries?"
He fell silent for a moment, lost in thought. Then he turned to you with a serious expression. "Does emotional pain count?"
"It depends," you replied, sitting down and beginning to carefully unwrap the bandages to examine his wounds. "Care to tell me more about it?"
He looked at you intently, as if trying to convey the weight of his responsibility. "I know I could be tough to deal with sometimes," he said. "But I took my responsibilities as Olo'eyktan very seriously. The safety of my people was always on my mind, and sometimes that meant I had to make hard decisions. I hope you understood that."
You gave him a gentle tug on his ear and said, "First of all, those are also my people. I live among them and I help them however I can. Second, I understand that, but the truth is that a dead Olo'eyktan is good for nothing, so you need to remember this as well."
Jake smirked more to himself than to you. "There's a great truth in your words."
"You seem to forget that I have a healer's duty to keep you alive," you said with a playful smirk, checking his wound. Your fingers deftly probed the edges of the injury to ensure it was healing properly. You were relieved to find that everything seemed to be in order. Although you tried to hide it, your tail gave away your happiness at his recovery. "Looks like you're going to make it. For now, at least."
Jake noticed your tail wagging back and forth. He couldn't help but feel amused by the sight. "Looks like someone's excited," he commented with a chuckle.
You lightly tapped his shoulder. "I'm not excited, just relieved that you'll be okay. It's a normal reaction. I still think you're foolish and impulsive, just a reckless child."
Jake got up from his cot, stretching his muscles as he stood. Jake walked over to you and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. You could feel his warmth and the solidness of his body against yours. He nuzzled his face into your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "How long will we pretend, hmm?"
You huffed in annoyance and nuzzled him, wrapping your arms around him. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Sully," you replied with a playful grin, your expression lightening.
Without saying a word, he leaned in and brushed his lips against yours, the kiss gentle and tender.
You pulled away from him, a growl escaping your lips. "Oh, I hate you so much, Jake," you muttered before leaning in to kiss him properly this time.
For a moment, everything else faded away and it was just the two of you, lost in the sensation of the kiss. Jake felt as though he could stay like this forever, wrapped in your arms and lost in the kiss. He murmured softly in your mouth, enjoying the sweetness of your lips.
Once again, you pulled away from him and observed his face with a mocking grin. "Well, well, well. Our mighty Olo'eyktan falling for a healer. How the mighty have fallen," you teased.
Jake took a deep breath and looked into your eyes, his expression serious. "I need to tell you something," he said. "I know I can be a bit difficult to read sometimes, but I want you to know that I care about you deeply."
He took your hand in his and squeezed it tightly. "I know we've been through a lot together, and I just want you to know that I'm here for you, always. I want to be more than just your friend, if you'll have me."
You wrapped your arms around his neck. "You can be a pain in the ass sometimes, but you're easy to read. I saw everything you did and heard everything you said. I just decided not to let you win me over so easily."
"I didn't know you felt the same way," Jake said, his frown deepening. He seemed surprised by your confession, and you could see the emotions playing across his face. "But I'm glad you told me," he continued, a small smile breaking through. "I've had feelings for you for a long time, but I wasn't sure if you felt the same way." He pulled you into a tight embrace, holding you close. "I don't want to hide my feelings for you anymore," he whispered in your ear. "I want everyone to know that you're mine and that I'm yours."
You let out a soft chuckle before gently holding Jake's cheeks and turning his face to look at you. "Just so you know, I care about you deeply," you said with a small smile. "But that doesn't change the fact that, to me, you are reckless."
Jake scoffed, his expression turning sceptical. "You can't be serious," he said, crossing his arms over his chest.
Chuckling, you nodded and gave him a playful tap on the nose. "I know you're serious, but that doesn't change the fact that I like you a lot too."
As soon as Jake spotted Mo'at approaching, he moved away in a slight move.
As she entered the tent, Jake stepped aside, giving her space. He had great respect for the Tsahìk and always made sure to defer to her wisdom.
Mo'at looked around the tent, her sharp eyes taking in everything. Jake waited quietly, his posture relaxed but respectful. When she finally turned her gaze to him, he met her stare without flinching, his expression open and honest. "I somehow knew I would find you here, Y/N," said Mo'at, fixing her yellowish eyes on your face.
You turned to her and gave a soft smile. "Is everything okay? I just had to make sure that our stubborn Olo'eyktan lives to see another day."
Mo'at gave you a significant glance as she reminded you that others required your assistance.
You apologised to Jake and gave him a quick look before telling him quietly that you would be back later. After that, you left to attend to your duties, not wanting to neglect them any further and bringing Mo'at's anger on your soul.
The evening came quickly, taking his busy schedule.
He made his way back to his tent, feeling a sense of relief wash over him as he stepped inside. The air was cool and quiet, a welcome respite from the chaos of the day. Jake quickly shed his gear and settled onto his cot, stretching out his tired muscles.
As he lay there, he could hear the distant sounds of the Na'vi speaking as the eclipse was approaching. He closed his eyes, imagining the sight that would soon unfold: the sun disappearing behind Polyphemus, the sky darkening, the world falling silent.
You decided to surprise him by sneaking into his tent. Standing at the entrance, you rested your hand on your hips and looked straight at him. "Oh, look at that. My most stubborn hunter is finally lying down. I think I need to thank Eywa for this miracle."
"So, what brings you here?" Jake asked, raising his eyebrow slowly. "Not that I'm complaining, of course. I'm always happy to see you, but it's hard for me to believe you came just to check upon my wounds for you've done it earlier."
You raised an eyebrow and let out a short scoff. "I came to check up on you, but if my presence is bothersome, then I'll leave."
When you finished, he gave you a warm smile. "Oh, come on, where is your sense of humour?"
You playfully hissed and let out a deep sigh. "I'm just tired, Jake. Sorry."
He cocked his eyebrow, listening to you. "A lot of work, huh?"
"Yes, not only injured but sick as well, especially kids," you nodded, rubbing your eyes. "Am I bothering you? After all, I promised to be back."
"You're not a bother," he said, his voice calm and warm. "I'm always happy to spend time with you. I enjoy your company," he added, his eyes meeting yours. "So please, never hesitate to come see me."
You nodded once more and took a comfortable seat next to him. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm doing fine," Jake said with a small smile. "It's been tough, but I'm getting through it. How about you?"
You gently examined his injury and let out a relieved sigh. "I'm glad to hear that, but don't push yourself too hard. Rest is important for healing."
Jake got up from his cot and letting out a contented sigh, he walked over to the small table in the corner of his tent. There was a bowl of fruit sitting there, and he picked up one and took a bite. He chewed thoughtfully, savouring the sweetness, looking at you, pointing at the bowl. "Would you like some?"
"Well, I was starting to think you'd never offer. I was afraid I'd have to die here before you'd bring it up. Yes, please. I would love one."
He walked to you, his hand outstretched with the fruit resting in his palm. "Here," he said, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "It's one of the best fruits on Pandora, but I'm sure you know that."
“Irayo.” You took a bite of the fruit and your eyes widened in surprise. The sweetness exploded in your mouth, and you felt a burst of energy flow through your body. You couldn't help but let out a small moan of pleasure. You quickly finished the fruit, savouring every last bit, and couldn't believe you felt refreshed and rejuvenated, ready to take on anything that came your way.
Jake smirked at you as he stood by the entrance to his tent, watching the hustle and bustle of the village. He looked relaxed and content, as if he was enjoying the simple pleasures of life on Pandora. "It's a beautiful sight, isn't it?" He said, turning to you with a smile. "There's something so peaceful about watching the village like this. It's like everything else fades away and you're just left with the present moment."
"That's true," you said, walking up to him and wrapping your arms around his waist from behind to give him a hug. "These moments are priceless and so peaceful. I hope we can continue to enjoy them together."
Jake's body tensed for a moment, but then he relaxed into your embrace, tilting his head slightly to the side to rest it against yours. He took a deep breath, savouring the feel of your arms around him.
You teased him, squeezing his waist, "Someone tensed up here for a moment. Am I making you nervous?"
As you hugged Jake from behind, he turned to face you and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close to him. You could feel the warmth of his body and the strength of his embrace. Jake let out a contented sigh, enjoying the feeling of your touch. His hand caressed your back as he held you close, savouring the moment. "Kxawm. Or maybe not."
Your hands curiously moved up and down his belly, exploring every inch of his skin and every strong muscle beneath. "Oh, really? That's why you got so tense when I touched you?"
Jake closed his arms around you, holding you tightly as if he never wanted to let go.
With a smile on your face, you snuggled up to him, feeling pleased with your teasing attempt. "Oh, didn't you like that?"
His strong, yet gentle hands moved up and down your spine, loosening the knots that had formed there. "You okay?" he asked, concern etched on his face. Jake continued to rub your back for a few more minutes, and you felt your muscles begin to relax under his touch. Eventually, he stopped and gave you a reassuring smile. "Better?" He asked.
You relaxed, leaning comfortably against him as you let out a soft purr. His touch was indeed making you feel better, easing the tension in your sore muscles. "It seems like you can do more than just get hurt," you told him, looking up in his eyes.
Glossary:
talioang - sturmbeest
palulukan - thanator
nì’eveng - like a child
nìktungzup - carefully
oel ngati kameie - I see you
kxawm - maybe
irayo - thanks
#jake sully#jake sully angst#jake sully fluff#jake sully drabble#jake sully x reader#jake sully x fem!reader#avatar jake#avatar ff#jake sully x y/n#jake sully x you#avatar x you#jake sully x omaticaya!reader#writers on tumblr#avatar 2#avatar the way of water#na'vi x reader#na'vi x y/n#omaticaya!reader#atwow#healer!reader#x reader#jake sully fic#jake sully fiction#olo’eyktan
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Healing Hands pt.3
Summary: Wanda sees what happens when she goes behind your back.
Warnings: fighting, backstory time, Wanda uses Agatha’s techniques. lmk if there’s anything else!
A/N: This is probably gonna be the last piece today :’(
pt. i, pt. ii, pt. iii, pt. iv, pt. v, pt. vi
*not my gif*
You woke up in a daze, your body still fatigued but not as incredibly so as before. You shuffled through the house to be greeted by the sight of Wanda cooking eggs, your tired mind ignoring hers as you went outside.
The sun recharged your body and you decided to stay out there, stay away from the witch, even if your inner healer wanted to start again. You kept your eyes away from her as she conjured another porch chair, sitting on the other side of the door.
“How are you-”
“Don’t.” You interrupted.
Wanda turned to face you, watching how cold you looked. Your face held no emotion, but your body language did. It told her everything she needed to know, everything she already knew - you loathed her.
“I’m sorry for hurting you.” She murmured, looking down at her marked hand.
“What did you do to me?”
Those same words echoed in your mind, but from last night. The fury behind them was terrifying, but you unfortunately knew that deep down, it wasn’t her fault, so your heart couldn’t blame her. “I’m sure Stephen told you.”
She froze. “What do you mean?”
You glared at her. “I feel every piece of energy in this cage, Scarlet Witch. I know you have America locked up downstairs, unconscious and in need of healing. I know you talked to Stephen because his astral form explained your fight to me in my dream. And I know what you truly seek.”
You stood, standing tall above her seated position as your anger surfaced. It was terrifying for the witch, the way your face was calm and yet your eyes flickered with angered power.
“You seek not to heal yourself. You seek to harm others to get what you want. You want your ‘boys’ from another universe? Okay, go for it. But you will hurt that Wanda Maximoff in the process. You will and have hurt America by trying to take her power. You will have hurt everyone in the process of claiming something that is not yours, was never yours, and never will be yours.”
You looked down at your hand and Wanda gasped, standing up abruptly. She grabbed your hand, throwing it into different positions to make sure she wasn’t seeing what she was seeing.
But the Darkhold was not deceiving her this time.
“And you will have hurt me, just as you’ve already done.” You muttered, pulling your blackened fingertips away from hers whilst you stormed away, slamming your bedroom door shut.
Wanda simply stood at the porch door, watching you as a tear fell down her cheeks. Why was everything going so wrong?
——————————🜃🜂🜁🜄 —————————
You lay in your bed, no more energetic than this morning. Your body was in order, but your mind had been consumed with chaos, with her. Was this a trick? Was the magic that binded you together too much for you? Would you lose your mind before your intended goal was achieved?
A knock came at the door before it opened, a sniffling sound coming from the other side. You glared at Wanda as America came into your view too, the young girl tackling you in a hug whilst Wanda left.
“You’re alright, young one. There there, easy now.” You cooed, gently rocking her from side to side.
“It hurts, Master Healer.” She whined against your sleeve, tears soaking it.
“You do not have to call me that, little one. You may call me Y/N.” You assured her.
“Now, where does it hurt?”
“Everywhere. It’s like she’d torn me apart from the inside out and just… left me there to die.” She sobbed, but your inner spirit knew.
“Lift your shirt for me, America. Just to your belly button, alright?”
With your focus on America, you didn’t notice how Wanda was listening intently on the other side, her magic manipulating the door to become a one-way mirror. She watched you slowly tend to America, keeping her calm and collected whilst you chatted.
“Master Y/N?”
“Yes, America?” You replied, holding your hand over her stomach as you moved it fluidly and consistently like a shark’s tail.
“How did you become a healer? A-And is there a process to becoming a Master Healer? Can... Can I be a healer? Like you?” She asked you meekly, nerves causing her stutter.
She was in front of THE Master Healer - why wouldn’t she be nervous?
You took a deep breath. “Stephen wouldn’t tell you the process, would he?”
She shook her head. “He said I had to hear it from you. That only you could tell me.”
You nodded at the fact. “Are you sure? It is nothing short of a gruesome story, not to mention my past.”
Wanda’s interest peaked. She would finally learn how you were different from the other sorcerers, how you became a healer. She would learn what made you you, what made you special to her.
Maybe then she wouldn’t need you anymore.
“First, you must learn the difference between healers and regular sorcerers.” You stated, watching America’s chest rise and fall steadily as a good sign.
“Regular Sorcerers are humans that have harnessed the teachings of eldritch magic and utilised them to protect the world. Healers… once we become Healers, we are no longer human.”
“How come?” America murmured.
“We go through a series of spells cast by the Sorcerer Supreme to enhance our capabilities. Think of it like a pumpkin carving on Halloween - the spells carve out my insides, take away anything that’s unnecessary, and replace them with the ability to manipulate energy.”
“So… it’s painful?” She squeaked, getting a sense of your power acquirement.
You looked at the nervous girl, conflicted between telling her the truth or omitting it. “Are you sure you wish to know?”
She gave you a silent nod. Wanda nodded behind her magic, tempted to come in and sit but she knew you would not say a thing to her.
“Okay, here it goes.” You took a deep breath before you recalled the moments prior to your healer status.
“Yes. Incredibly so. It’s like your body is being subdued in a blazing fire and a pool of Arctic water at the same time. You don’t know which way is up because all you are focused on is the pain. Your bones snap, ligaments and tendons tear, blood vessels burst. Your organs begin to fail, your lungs begin to constrict. And then, for a brief moment, your heart stops. But your brain never fails, the pain never stops.”
Wanda watched as you tore the shoulders of your shirt very easily, stripping them off. She withheld her gasp, unlike America, who’s eye widened at what covered your arms.
“Then, when it feels like the pain is too much, your body begins to stitch itself back together. Your organs regenerate, your heart begins to beat again. Blue blood, enriched in energy, is pumped through your body, healing your bones, ligaments, tendons, everything. You’re tired, sure - I slept for five days afterwards - but you’re okay. Healers are cursed with the pain of every known injury, in order to be able to treat them all.”
You placed your hand back over America’s stomach and she eyed the blackened tips. “Are you reading the Darkhold too?”
You chuckled softly. “No no, I wouldn’t touch that book of my own volition. Healers are immune to the influence of dark magic because we are mostly made of energy, something the Darkhold cannot manipulate. But… my other patient isn’t immune.”
“Wanda.” America realised.
The witch faltered in her stance, the quietest creak coming from the floor beneath her. Her head lifted to see you looking at her, a sympathetic expression she knew you wouldn’t wear if you could see her.
“Yeah.” You sighed, removing your hand from America’s stomach before adjusting her shirt.
“You’re healed, dear.” You stated as your ripped shirt repaired itself.
America embraced you in a tight hug, a warm and accepting one, that you soon returned with a looser grip. “Thank you.” She murmured.
“You’re always welcome.” You kissed her forehead before she pulled away.
“I don’t want to go back out there. Please don’t make me.”
You cupped America’s cheek as tears fell, brushing them away gently. “Let me speak with Wanda first.”
You eyed the door and Wanda stepped back silently, floating away until you closed the door behind you. You spotted her in the kitchen, making lunch, and you stood across from her.
“You are not as sly as you think you may be.” You stated numbly.
“How come you didn’t die?” She asked, chopping the onions with a reddened dome around them.
“Did I mention my past?” You answered with a question, making her chopping falter.
“What happened?”
“Why would I tell you?”
She looked up at you, guilt eating at the darkness surrounding her heart. “I’d like to get to know you better, I guess.”
“Or you’ll just use it against me.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“And how can you be so sure of that?” You replied as she tipped the onions into the hot pan.
She didn’t answer that question. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Well, too late for that.” You held up your hand and you saw her eyes flick wider if but for a moment, darkness consuming all of your knuckles whilst touching the edge of your palm.
You watched her fret, her eyes darting between the pans as she tried to think. Suddenly, a blast of red magic came over the kitchen and everything disappeared, her breathing heavy as she looked at you.
The blast had done nothing to you, as far as she could tell.
Emotion - the kind she hadn’t felt in a long time - simmered behind her eyes, a stinging sensation building. “What point are you trying to make? Why are you getting harsher a-and meaner whilst I get nicer and warmer? Why are you so mean to me?!”
“Because I am taking your darkness from you, Wanda!” You bellowed.
She took a step back. “What?”
You scoffed. How did she not know? Did she truly learn nothing from that stupid book? “It is what a healer does! They take the pain, they take the hurt and the light, the order within, destroys it! But you have gone too far down your path to be redeemed, so I am forcing you to make a choice!”
You came towards her as tears pricked her eyes, your hand rising to her crown. “Continue and lose the one person who thinks you’re worthy of redemption…”
You lifted it slightly. “Or understand that I only wish to help you regain control of your life.”
Her heart ached for that feeling to return. “I don’t have control. I never have.” She murmured.
You took the crown off of her head before taking her hands and their black-tipped fingers. “Then let’s work together to control it. Okay? No more hurting people, no more running from your own reality. Let it go, Wanda.”
You watched as her face contorted, lips quivering as her hand opened. Your Slingy rested in her palm, looking as beautiful as your own magic.
“Take her back. Leave and never return. I don’t want to hurt you anymore.” Her bottom lip quivered but she was thankful that the lump in her throat let her speak clearly.
You gave her a gentle nod and walked to your room, seeing America sitting calmly on the end of the bed before you smiled at her. With a flick of your wrist, a portal opened and you smiled at Stephen and Christine.
“Go with them.” You urged America, putting a hand out to silence Stephen whilst the young girl walked through the portal.
“Farewell, my friend.” You bowed to Stephen before closing the portal.
You walked back out of the room to see Wanda on her knees, tears streaming down her face before you knelt in front of her.
“Why didn’t you leave? Everybody leaves...” She sniffled quietly and you took her chin in your palm, watching her close her eyes before gently leaning into the touch.
“When I make promises, my dear, I intend on keeping them.” You kissed her forehead slowly, then holding her ear to your chest for her mind to focus on something other than pain.
“I need to return the Darkhold to Wong. Can you please summon it?” You murmured softly.
She nodded, moving away from the hug to summon the book. The dark spells tried to influence your mind, rope you in like it did Wanda, but a portal appeared behind it and you spotted Wong with another sorceress.
“Wong, Sara - I trust you will keep it safe.” You wrapped the book in a binding spell before handing it over through the portal.
“What are you doing?” Wong asked you gravely.
You looked down at Wanda, the woman having fallen asleep in your arms. You smiled at Wong, a peaceful smile he knew to be from your core. “I’m going to heal her shattered heart. Just like I promised.”
He hesitated before giving you a nod, closing the portal to bring silence to the small cabin. You stood with Wanda in your arms, bringing her to your bed to lie her down gently. You watched as her cloak disappeared, subconsciously replaced with a set of pyjamas, and you kissed her forehead.
“You’ll be okay.” You muttered, looking at your greying fingertips.
“Maybe tomorrow night will be a good place to start anew.”
——————————🜃🜂🜁🜄 —————————
When Wanda woke in the morning, she almost had a panic attack when she didn’t recognise her dark room. Instead, it was yours - your green sheets, your lovely bright room, your scent on the pillow.
She brushed her hand across the pillow as something tickled her nose, seeing a lock of your hair now pinched between her fingers. Her mind flashed backwards a year, to a teaching she never thought she’d practice.
Her magic swirled around the strand of hair, stretching it taut as it became tinged with her magic.
“Y/N/N?!” A voice called out, albeit muffled, and she turned around to face it.
A younger you was resting underneath a tree, staring up at the full and bright moon. A cloak of primed leather rested around you like a shell of warmth, a woollen long-sleeve and leather vest covering your torso whilst a similar combination covered your legs.
“And there’s Heracles- ooh, there’s Capricornus!” You giggled to yourself, a smile coming to Wanda’s features.
She looked around as she tried to gauge what time period it was. Fire was the main source of light in the small village down the hill, small brick houses clumped together with no discernible organisation. Chimneys rose upwards as smoke billowed from almost every single one, her eyes dropping back down to you as more noise came.
“Y/N/N, there you are! Mama is worried!”
“Stop worrying, little sister. I’m fine.”
“Are you talking to the moon again?”
Wanda sat down on a log as she watched you converse with this little girl, presumably a younger sister. She was lively, bright, energetic - almost the opposite of you. You sat and listened to her intently, nodding along and replying gently at times.
“Oh, I almost forgot! Mama’s dinner is almost ready!”
You stood with her as she dragged you down the hill, the world shifting for Wanda until she came to the outside of your small house. She was just in time to see you racing your little sister inside, letting her win and gloat as your Mama dished up your dinner.
“Enjoy, my sweet ones.” She kissed your foreheads.
As you were about to take a mouthful of the stew, a loud ruckus came from beyond the front door. Wanda stepped through the wall just as your mother opened the door, a few men at her doorstep.
“Good evening, ma’am. We’re just passing through, checking for witches. May we enter?”
She nodded and let them in, eyeing both you and your sister. You both lifted your heads, greeting them formally, before they sat down opposite you both.
“Now, I want you to focus on this little stick, okay? Focus as much as you can.” The main man looked at your sister as he placed the stick in the centre of the table.
“Okay!” She smiled.
Wanda’s mind was racing to understand what was going on.
Your sister focused intently on the stick, but nothing happened. She looked almost constipated, her entire body shaking until she released her held breath.
“Nothing happened!” She complained, but the man put a hand up to her.
“That’s good, little one. Now, how about you?”
She watched your eyes, those precious young eyes, as they fell onto the stick. A small glow of yellow came from your hands, which were hidden underneath your cloak, and the stick did nothing.
But the men caught on fire.
“Witch! Witch! Get the stake, ready the fire!” The men wailed as they burned to death within your house.
You bolted and Wanda followed behind you, your sister on your shoulders as you raced back up the mountain. She closed her eyes before reopening them, back at the top as she watched you run up.
“Come on, come on, come on.” She muttered to herself, but there was nothing she could do.
This was just a memory.
The small village had torches and firewood ready as they chased you both up to the top, your eyes wild as you spotted the frozen lake. You placed one bare foot on it, not hearing a single crack or shift, before you began to speed across it.
Wanda simply walked, the ice not affecting her.
Soon enough, the vast lake was surrounded by the villagers. Every one either had firewood, a torch, a pitchfork or a combination of the three.
“Leave the girl alone, you stupid witch!”
“BURN!”
“Dark magic! You poisonous creature!”
“No wonder we’ve had three harsh winters in a row!”
Tears were streaming down your little face, your sister clutching tightly to your waist. Several of the villagers were beginning to slide across the ice.
Cracks began to echo.
You looked down at the ice beneath you, lines of cracks spreading from the villagers to you. Their weight was going to be your downfall.
You turned to your sister and kissed her forehead, giving her the tightest hug your small body could muster. “I love you. Always.”
Wanda’s heart cracked as you kneeled down, swept her off of her feet and slid her across the ice as somebody threw a bottle that shattered at your feet. You looked up and Wanda wished it wasn’t a memory as a torch landed in the puddle of liquid.
Fire consumed your clothing before the ice beneath you gave way, the villagers cheering about ‘the witch is dead’. Wanda was able to drop beneath the ice, watching the flames dissipate whilst you began to sink to the bottom of the lake.
A knock from the bedroom door had her eyes truly open, her magic knowing you stood behind it.
“Wanda? Are you awake?” You asked gently.
Wanda looked down at the single strand of hair, then you. Then the hair, and then you again.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m awake.” She replied.
“Okay. I made some eggs on toast if you’d like.”
She heard your footsteps recede and she gently placed the hair in a pocket dimension, a promise to return to it when the time was right.
She stepped out of the room and saw you humming softly to yourself, but a change had occurred. You were no longer wearing long-sleeved shirts - there was no point, given that Wanda had already seen your scars.
But the vastness of them was something she’d yet to wrap her head around.
She thought someone had given a thousand children a rock and asked them to draw a small line on your body. Some were thin, some were thick, but they were all visible. What was also visible was your muscular shape, no doubt formed from the teachings of Kamar-Taj.
“A picture will last longer, Ms Maximoff.” You muttered over your shoulder, watching as she stepped closer to eat her breakfast.
Before she took a bite, she cut off a piece and offered it to you. You shook your head, but the deafening silence and her unwavering fork made you sigh before taking the bite.
“Thank you.” You stated after swallowing.
Wanda looked at what you were focused on - your small notepad, with a seemingly endless amount of pages. You were muttering softly to yourself in a language she could only assume was Healeon since her mind did not translate it.
“When you’re finished, please come outside.” You asked, tucking your notepad into its pocket dimension.
Wanda watched you walk, her eyes drifting down to your legs to see some smaller scars, yet they were more… methodical. Whichever spiritual child thought it’d be funny to ‘tally’ you up would face Wanda’s wrath.
After finishing her breakfast, Wanda made her way outside. It was truly beautiful and she felt guilty for not letting you explore on that first day. It had put a dampener on your soul, she could see it now.
“I’m sorry for keeping you here like a pet.” She muttered as she sat down.
“You’re really quite amazing.”
You thanked her with a silent nod before you stretched out your hand. Wanda hesitated, looking at her left hand as the blue swirls lit up the closer you got to her.
“Relax, Wanda.” You took her hand gently and she felt a rush of warmth.
Was this what the Darkhold was hiding from her? It told her that you were going to poison her, bar her from finding her children.
She could already see how wrong that first statement was.
Your eyes flickered with your crystalline hue and Wanda watched the swirls on her arm glow the further they moved up. Eventually, a warmth blossomed in her chest and she felt part of the weight on her shoulders dissipate.
“Whoa.” She took her hand away from you.
“What was that?”
“Since you wouldn’t let me take away your parental pain last time, I took it just then.” You puffed, giving her a soft smile before you sank into your chair.
“Is that it for today?” She asked.
“Yup. I’ll need to recharge for the week if we want to tackle your next pain.”
*Brotherly.* She remembered, the pain trickling back over her.
She missed her brother. The pain was duller than it used to be, but the reminder a year ago felt wrong - Agatha violated her mind, manipulated her into thinking her family was whole again, only for it all to be lost.
She missed his smile, his laugh, his personality. How he would make her laugh whenever she needed it, how he would sacrifice his meal if she didn’t have one. The way he would step in front of her when they met bad people on the street, when they met Strucker and Ultron. He was her protector, even when he knew she was more powerful.
“Is there anything you’d like to talk about?” You gently nudged her with the tip of your finger.
She eyed the grey tinge on both of your hands, suddenly becoming wary. “No… Why do you ask?”
You looked out onto the lake. “Your spirit is off. I don’t know if it’s because we removed the Darkhold from the equation, but how are you feeling otherwise?”
She didn’t know what to tell you. How was she going to explain that she’d watched you get chased by your village? How she knew about your past, one that she could only assume was the Salem Witch Trials? How she’d used a lock of hair to invade your memories?
“I don’t know.” She murmured, letting her head rest on her hand.
You nodded. “Not knowing is valid. There are just some emotions that we are incapable of explaining.”
She hummed in agreement, a few minutes passing before she heard your breathing level out. She looked over at you, peace upon your brows as you slept. The cut on your forehead had healed, leaving behind a small mark she could see with her magic. She then looked down at her hands, her memories flashing as she remembered the amount of ways she’d hurt you in such a short span of time.
She had hurt you so much. Belittled you, beaten you, poisoned you. So there was only one question she wished to ask when you woke.
Why did you insist on staying with her?
.
.
.
Taglist:
@padmeswife , @ripofflizzie , @romanoffswifey , @thursdayygrrrl , @steinfellds , @dajirana , @me-uglypretty , @thatonebrazilian
#smalls-words#WandaMaximoff#wandamaximoffimagine#wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff x fem!reader#wanda maximoff angst#wanda maximoff x f!reader#wanda maximoff x you#wanda maximoff x y/n#healer!reader#healer!fem!reader
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The Godfeather
Request: Can someone PLEASE write an Ardeth Bay x Reader fanfic where she found his bird Horus and nurses him back to health and Ardeth finds Horus eventually with her in her care? I don’t know if anyone has done that yet. @justcallmecinnamon
Author’s Note: Well, @justcallmecinammon, your wish is my command! I hope you like it.
Warnings: Mentions of animal death, mentions of rot, mentions of battle, mentions of hurt soldiers and battle wounds, blood, angst with a happy ending
An injured bird flapped desperately to the Medjai camp before crashing in the blazing desert. A man in black saw the bird on the horizon before it crashed and rushed to it on horse-back.
The falcon lay unmoving, half-dead in the sand as the desert heat scorched the poor creature’s back. It’s wing was twisted at an unnatural angle, it’s feathers matted crimson as blood seeped through it’s gaping wound.
The Medjai warrior scooped up the fragile bird in his arms, quickly mounting his horse they galloped at full speed towards the camp, the falcon clutched in his arms.
The warrior quickly entered the chief’s tent with the falcon in his arms, a grim expression on his face. The chiefs were gathered around the table on which the warrior laid the bird. One of the chiefs gently took the bloody message from the falcon’s foot, about to read it before the bird gently squawked.
The chiefs stared at the bird in shock, it seemed the same stubbornness that ran though his master’s veins powered through the falcon. Seeing the falcon’s spark of life, a woman arose from her seat at the corner of the tent. Gently taking the falcon in her arms, she said a few quick words to her father, one of the chief’s, before dashing to her tent.
She quickly set to work, patching up the gaping hole in the bird’s wing before setting it’s wing into place. Upon his broken wing she placed a stick before wrapping it in cloth to support the poor creature’s wing.
Although it’s bleeding had been stopped the bird was still not out of the woods. The woman painstakingly fed the bird water with a piece of cotton, drop by drop.
After she had done as much as she could to help the bird, she laid it to rest in a soft nest she had prepared in a wicker basket within the tent.
She then set out various jars of ointments and salves in preparation for the wounded which would surely flood her tent as the battle drew nearer. It was her responsibility as their healer to tend to the injured, as the women in her family had, before her.
~
The battle had commenced and the Medjai had rode to the battlefield, ready to face their old foe, prepared to die fighting, to protecting the world from the curse they had spared it from for centuries.
Hours spent in anticipation as she awaited the Medjai. She eagerly watched the horizon until finally, she saw them, riding on their horses, bringing with them the dead and the wounded.
She quickly set to work, cleaning and sewing wounds, applying salves and comforting the wounded. Adrenalin coursed through her veins as she swiftly traveled from one cot to the next, checking on the fallen.
After she had finally checked on the last wounded soldier it was almost midnight. The pale moon glowed in the desert as she made her way towards her tent. Slumping in seat she observed the plate of food placed on her small table. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she’d skipped dinner. She slowly bit into the bread and curry they had provided her with.
She was about to continue eating when she heard a chirp in the corner of her tent. The falcon she had healed was peeking it’s head out from the wicker basket, chirping at her.
She smiled, rising with her plate before sitting closer to the falcon, feeding it tiny pieces of bread.
‘The poor thing must’ve been starving,’ she tentatively thought.
After feeding the falcon and checking it’s wound, she retreated to her bed, bone-tired from the events of the day.
~
Ardeth had heard the shot in the air, followed by the pained cry of his beloved companion. In that moment, his heart stopped. They’d shot him! They’d shot Horus! He had been his companion for years, constantly at his side in even the hardest battle and now, his dear friend was killed without mercy. Left to rot in the cursed forest among creatures who would feast on his body, an undignified and shameful death for an honorable companion whose bravery could rival that of a tiger’s. He screamed his name is pain, yet there was no response, there would never another response from his greatest companion.
Although this death pained him deeply his grief would have to wait, he knew that without his brave companion, the Medjai would not be able to arrive to fight the army of Anubis. He had to figure out a way to get the message to the Medjai. And soon.
~
A few months later:
Taking care of the bird had been...an experience, to say the least. He was a stubborn one, always picky about what he ate and unwilling to let up on anything. He even had the audacity to glare at her when she stayed up too late!
Finally, after months of healing, the falcon was finally deemed ready to fly. The poor bird had been cooped up in her tent for far too long. The falcon seemed...almost excited to finally be out of what it probably deemed as ‘confinement’.
The falcon sat on her arm as she exited the tent, the bird perked with excitement before promptly taking off. Startled, she stared at the flying bird before giving chase, following it through narrow lanes and wide ways, through the camp until she saw the bird land on the arm of a man draped in black. A Medjai with his face covered.
~
It had been a painful journey, grieving Horus while also performing his duties. He was returning after patrolling on the night shift. He was on the edge of the camp when he saw it, a bird that looked exactly like Horus flying at him, at full speed.
He raised his arm, out of muscle memory, for the falcon to land on.
The bird landed on his arm and chirped at him. Staring at the falcon in disbelief, he had tears in his eyes as he gently brushed the falcon’s soft feathers. He was brought out of his trance by a soft giggle near him.
“Hello. Who are you?”
“I could ask you the same. I am Ardeth Bay and you are?”
“Oh, so you’re the infamous Ardeth Bay. I’m Y/N, the healer.”
“I have heard may great things about you, Y/N. They say that your hands were blessed with the power to bring a man back from the brink of death.”
“I have heard many a tale about you as well, Ardeth Bay. They say your bravery is unrivaled. Even my father was impressed by your great feats.”
“How long have you had this falcon? He reminds me so much of my companion, Horus.”
“Oh, just a few months. The poor bird was shot in the wing and flapped desperately to get here with a message.”
“Wait...You..I can’t believe it!! This is my bird! This is my Horus! Oh, how I grieved you, old friend. How-I thought him dead ,” he said to the bir- Horus.
“He almost was, the poor thing arrived at our camp with a hole in it’s wing and a bloody note on his leg. I cleaned and stitched him up. This is his first flight after a few months of being grounded. Looks like he’s a loyal friend, he found you again,”
Breaking the tension that settled over them she said, “Ah, Horus is a cute name, I was calling him The Godfeather.”
Chuckling at her pun, he asked, “Why?”
“Have you seen him when he glares?”
“Ah, I have been on the receiving end of that look multiple times. But please, tell me. How can I repay you, for without you Horus would have certainly perished.”
“Oh, no. I need no repayment. I am just glad that you’re reunited with your friend.”
“I insist. Please. At the very least, dine with me.”
“Okay. But let me tell you, this is a one-time thing.”
“I look forward to our meal together.”
“I do, too. I shall see you later, Ardeth.”
~
And so, one dinner turned into multiple and soon, the Medjai and the healer were inseparable. The soldiers in the Medjai were glad that their leader had found someone who he could rely on, someone who made him happy and most importantly, someone who brought him peace.
As the years went on, under starry skies, children whispered the stories of The healer and the Medjai who were united by a falcon named after the God of the Sky.
#the mummy#the mummy returns#ardeth bay#ardeth bey#ardeth#ardeth x reader#ardeth bay x reader#horus#falcon#animal death#angst#The mummy reader insert#The mummy returns reader insert#medjai#Healer#Healer! Reader#Healer!Reader#The mummy returns fanfiction#The mummy fanfiction
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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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Læknir [Chapter 5]
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Tags: Viking au, Viking!Soap, highlander!reader, healer!reader, Soap x f!reader, medical procedures, bodily fluids(blood and puss), slow burn, Gaz is here Hi Gaz
Summary: It's funny, you don't even think about what your participation means, whether it will be seen as compliance, or an acceptance of your situation. You're a healer, and you have patients to treat.
You peak over the fur lined bedroll you’d spent most of the night tossing and turning on. Mactavish sits beside you in the same cross legged position he took last night. His eyes are fixed on the tent’s flap, something cold and impenetrable holding his features. Somewhere in the pit of your stomach you pity him. You don’t know for what, or why, but the moment is broken when his eyes dart to yours. He seems to pull his charm on like a well worn cloak, his smile bright enough you almost miss the way it barely touches his eyes. You wonder if he slept any better than you did, if he slept at all. Though any sleep would be better than what you got. Every shift in the wind had woken you last night, every creaking footstep, every howl of some poor distant animal making your bones quake. You’ve been brave enough for a lifetime, you’re not stupid enough to sleep.
“You were busy last night,” Mactavish quips as you sit up. You shoot him a quick glare, and don’t bother entertaining his teasing. The soft grey light of morning is filtering in under the tent flap and you’d rather be up before anyone can force you up. “There’s breakfast,” He tries a different approach.
“You don’t have anyone better to bother?” You ask him quickly, biting the hand that tries to feed you. He doesn’t flinch.
“Captain hasn’t come lookin’ for me yet.”
As if on cue the tent flap is pulled aside. You’re unsurprised to see a viking, you wish you could find it a relief that it’s one you almost recognize. The dim morning light washes all the warmth from his dark skin, but Mactavish smiles a little more genuinely when he sees him. Having more men in the tent makes you nervous, you try not to let it show on your face.
“Captain wants-” Your tired brain does its best to translate as the viking speaks, you pick up on pieces of words, try to parse together a sentence. You catch the tail end of it, “out” and try not to settle yourself in doom. Mactavish nods. You always fancied yourself smart for being able to translate an unfamiliar tongue. He makes you feel stupid, a viking better than you at something you prided yourself on.
He speaks in the harsh tongue easily, pulls the words together like a musician. You hear his tone shift to the affirmative, and a “Thanks mate.” in your own tongue. You wonder if you’ll fall into such easy switches. You hope not. You hope that this tongue, this culture keeps its hooks out of you for as long as it takes you to find a way to freedom. Mactavish turns his attention to you.
“Gaz is gonna take you around to check the other men,” He tells you. Gaz. You file the name away for future reference.
“Where are you going?” You ask, some sick rolling thing in your stomach hates him for abandoning you so soon after stealing you away. His brows draw together in confusion, you wonder if he knows what made you ask, if he thinks you have any sort of draw to him.
“Have to deal with a couple things, you’ll be alright without me,” He assures you, “Gaz won’t let anythin’ happen to ya.”
You glance at Gaz, he smiles at you. Again you find a spark of pity in his eyes. You wish he’d turn that wretched emotion on someone else.
Mactavish touches your arm and you jerk away from him, his fingers tighten into a fist in response, almost as quickly as you’d moved. You don’t bother looking at him, despite the way you feel him stare, and grab your pack as you move around him, ducking under Gaz’s arm and into the open air. The morning’s chill makes you deflate a little.
The high cliff face separating the beach from the highlands feels insurmountable. A giant wall set up between you and the life you once led. You’re struck by the gnawing pit in your stomach that whispers to you, you can never go home. Gaz comes to stand beside you, eyes fixed on the dark cliffs. He must have come from somewhere too, right? What does he see, what wall has been erected by the gods to stop him? You push the thought from your mind. Pity does nothing and serves no one. It’s a connection you’re eager to set yourself apart from.
“Over here,” Gaz tells you, turning away from the cliff and walking towards the still burning fire. He doesn’t touch you, and for that you’re grateful. You follow after him, if you’re going to pretend to be a healer you may as well make a play at actually healing.
Vikings huddle around the fire, talking and laughing, the warmth of it still radiates strong, the smoke still billows. It’s funny how much you can hate something that once brought you so much comfort. Your eyes fix on it too long.
“Læknir,” Gaz calls, and you jerk your head, sure he’s talking to you. You file the word away, ashamed to think you might ask Mactavish about it later. “Look after the men,” He continues once he has your attention. You glance at the vikings sitting around the fire, and nod. If you’re going to survive, and you must survive, it’s better to be a healer.
There’s a palpable distance between you and the vikings. Gaz hovers nearby, waiting to help translate as best he can, and you catch the other men glancing at him occasionally, but for the most part the vikings don’t stop their conversations as you check them over. Most are in good health. Their scars are pink and silver, others more purple, healing, healed, well taken care of. You wonder what their healers back home are like.
You poke at one of the viking’s shoulders and he hisses. You’re quick to grab at his cloak, tugging at the fur to get a better look at what’s causing him pain. Your bedside manner has always left something to be desired. The viking looks startled, more confused than you really expected him to be. You give another tug and he grabs at the edge of his cloak to wrap it around himself more securely. Big baby.
Gaz says something, covering barely contained anger. The viking responds and Gaz hums. “Læknir,” He settles a hand on your shoulder and you glance at him, “you need to ask.”
You look back at the viking who looks a little put out by your insistent yanking. You- you think you were hurting him. You forgot. You forgot that you could hurt these men. Something akin to guilt flashes hot in your stomach, twists in on itself until you feel sick. It isn’t the fact you’ve hurt someone that does it.
It’s the way you want to feel good about hurting him. You want to feel some sort of vindication, like this is their penance for stealing you away. If you can hurt them, maybe you can do more than just bide your time. The thought sickens you. You hope there never comes a day where these men force you to become as violent as they are.
“I need to look,” You tell the viking in your stilted, inelegant translation, “please.”
The viking sighs and unclasps his fur, his cloak, lets you pull his loose shirt to the side to check his shoulder. You palpate the area with your fingers, checking for breaks and dislocations. It’s sort of… squishy? Moveable but in a way that makes the viking hiss. There’s a fresh scar running along the length of the bump you’re pressing. You think you remember this happening to one of the men in your village, an excess of blood and phlegm built up under the skin. The elders had brought you and a few other apprentices to watch the extraction of it.
You turn to rummage through your bag to try to find your notes. There are few things more precious to you in this world than the bag you carry at your side, the last remaining vestiges of home and a firm reminder of what you are. You pull a book free from its pocket, and flip through the carefully penned pages. Your crude sketches and quick handwriting aren’t anything to boast about, but the knowledge contained within them is more than you’re sure vikings have.
“I need,” You fish for the correct word as you pull your knife free, the blade flashes wickedly, you look up at Gaz, “He needs to bite.” You make the motion with your teeth, clenching your jaw to be sure he’s got the point. He’s smart, you’ll give the viking that much, Gaz rummages through his own pockets and pulls a strip of thick leather free. You nod quickly and stand to hold your knife in the fire.
If you’re going to do this under scrutiny you may as well take every precaution. A hot knife stops bleeding before it starts, though the smell of it is… unpleasant. You can only thank the gods that you keep your tools sharp, staring at the blade as it darkens with heat. You know the metal is heated enough when it hurts your hand. The heat biting into your palm almost feels good. Penance for cooperating with the wolves.
When you turn back to your patient he’s got the leather strap between his teeth, and two more men holding him steady. You almost feel bad, but it isn’t your job to feel bad, it’s your job to fix. It’s your job to be quick enough that your patients don’t suffer unnecessarily. You move close, side step around the vikings to push your fingers against your patient’s skin, feeling the squish that needs to be excised.
You press the blade of your knife to the viking’s shoulder, and he tenses with a low groan of pain. Less than you’d expected. You suppose these men are used to pain. Your cut is short, but deep enough you can feel where the skin breaks for puss. You can see it too, the viscous yellow that spills over the edges of the wound. You grimace when it flows, warm, over your fingertips and reposition your hand around the edges of the squishy pocket. Gaz hands you a cloth, exchanges it for your knife, and you hold it under the wound to catch the sickness that you carefully squeeze out.
You push against the viking’s skin until it’s just blood running from the wound. When you’re satisfied you’ve gotten all the sick out, you hold the cloth out to Gaz. He grimaces, and jerks his head towards the fire. Ah. You chuck the soiled linen into the blaze and ignore the crackle of fluid heating. You dig through your bag again, pulling needle and thread free of their places, and carefully knot a few stitches in the fresh wound. It’s ugly, but it does the job keeping the skin together. You’ll have to check the wound again in a few days to be sure the puss hasn’t come back, but it doesn’t seem like you’ll be going anywhere.
You shake the blood off your fingers, letting the red splatter on the grey rocks of the beach. It’s sort of satisfying doing your job, you’ve been training in it long enough. Turning your attention back to the viking he’s attempting to pull his shirt back into place. You’re quick to try and stop him, fussing with your bag and tugging a jar free. You open the seal and dip your fingers into the golden honey within, smearing it over the fresh wound.
Gaz hands you another length of cloth and you tie it tight around the viking’s shoulder. It’s dirty work, but between the two of you it’s been quick. That’s good, less risk if medicine is quick.
You cap the honey, wiping your fingers on your skirt. More stains for the unassuming fabric, but better this than dirtying your earasaid. You look away from your patient as he pulls his shirt back into place, refastens his cloak, and make eye contact with the captain. His gaze is just as flinty as it was yesterday, hard as stone and just as unyielding. Mactavish is next to him, and smiles when your eyes dart to him. The captain turns and shifts his attention back to his crew. You turn your attention to reorganizing your bag as Mactavish makes his way towards you.
“You keep honey on you?” He asks, snatching the jar from where you’d set it. You’re just as quick to snatch it back. Your annoyance flares.
“I found a hive while I was in the forest,” You tell him, keeping your eyes focused on your work as you settle your book and the jar reverently into their places, “wasted too much time collecting it, you wouldn’t have-”
You bite your tongue, cut yourself off. If you hadn’t wasted so much time on the honey you might have finished gathering herbs in time to avoid Mactavish. Maybe then you could have done something to help your family. Or perished with them, a quiet voice whispers to you. It would have been better than this, you tell the voice.
You look at Mactavish when he’s been quiet too long. His face is unreadable, but his posture is rigid. He isn’t here just to bother you. You straighten from your rummaging, afford yourself all the height you can steal to meet his eye.
“What?” You ask.
“You’re hired,” He tells you, though it does nothing to ease his posture; you blink at him and go back to your bag, untwisting the strap to pull it over your shoulder, “and-”
“And I don’t have a choice in the matter” You grumble. Mactavish grips your chin with firm fingers, turns you to look him in the eye again. His eyes are stormy, the brilliant blue yielding to clouds the same way the sky does. It startles you enough to keep you still.
“And we’re going home.” He says home like a finality, like the last wheezing breath before death. He says it like he means you to know his meaning without his saying it.
“Home.” You swallow and he nods.
“Aye, home.”
Not your home, you think, theirs.
#cod x reader#x reader#x oc#cod x oc#john soap mactavish#john soap x reader#john soap mactavish x reader#johnny mactavish#johnny mactavish x reader#soap mactavish#johnny soap mactavish#soap modern warfare#soap cod#soap mw2#john mactavish#soap x reader#viking!soap#healer!reader#f!reader#johnny soap mactavish x you#viking au
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Soft Dom Cassian x Overworked Healer Reader fic incoming 💌💌💌
Literally was just going to write a fluffy little fic about Cass comforting reader after getting home from a long day at work (yes I’m projecting thanks for noticing) and it’s spiraling into fully developed backstory with mating bond dynamics and smut.
Oh well your honor I had to slay! 😔
#acotar#cassian x reader#cassian#cassian smut#smut blurb#but like also not#it’s more than that#do u see the vision 🤨#and do u know the muffin man 🤨🤨#acotar fanfiction#fantasy#acotar crack#night court#rhysand#azriel#healer!reader#Dom!cassian
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Dearer than I?
Description: You must choose between betraying your dear friend or your dearest love.
Got bored during my last half hour of work, and that TikTok audio has been stuck in my head, so here's my attempt to purge it from my mind. Enjoy!!!
His hand is outstretched, patient but pleading, his eyes, dark and intense, but somehow still soft as sunlight settling on the ocean floor.
Your arms are wrapped around yourself, tight and desperate, attempting to keep yourself from metaphorically spilling onto the sand, a bloody mess of grief and regret, of anger and loss.
“Please in yakunaj.” His voice is a whisper, breaking at the end, and it feels as if someone has taken a spear and jammed it through your chest.
You want to look away, you’re desperate to, but cannot. His eyes always draw you back, he need not open his mouth to sing, you were ensnared by a single glance, by the kaleidoscope of warm colors weaved within his eyes.
The invisible thread that exists between you and him keeps you pinned in place. “I would be betraying Shuri, she is my friend, I owe her my life.”
“You would betray me, instead?” He asked, voice still soft, as if it would pain him to raise it.
You wished he would yell, scream, rage, do anything, be anything, but this soft broken K’uk’ulkan that stands before you.
You swallow hard, blinking away tears, your lips move but no sound escapes.
The waves crash on the shore, the nightbirds sing, the wind swirls between the two of you, and you take a step forward. Towards him, the man—the god—the mutant—whatever the hell he is, and he takes in a quick breath, chest expanding as you draw closer.
“I love you.” You manage to utter, your heart in a vice grip, the pressure of the choice you must make weighs so heavily upon you, and you wish to collapse, to drown, rather than make it.
“Then take my hand, burn the world with me.” He pleaded, the moonlight bathing him in her soft glow, shining off the gold he adorned himself with.
All his focus is on you, every flicker within his eyes, every rise and fall of his chest, every syllable that passes through those perfectly formed lips, is for you.
“I would be betraying Wakanda, the very country I left my home to protect, the one who embraced me even though I did not bear her blood.” You stressed, praying he would understand, that somehow, he would make the decision for you.
“And you believe Talkon would not do the same? That they would not welcome you with open arms, that my people would not rejoice in the fact that I have found my queen?” His fingers twitched as if he wished to take your hand, to press it to his heart as he often did when making silent promises.
“I didn’t say that—”
The anguish is clear in his low voice as he cuts you off. “You are mine, my queen, you have stolen my heart and held it captive within your chest. I cannot retrieve it without cracking open your ribs and ripping it out, and to do so—to do so would end me. I cannot fathom harming you in reina, do not force my hand, I beg of you.”
Tears slip down your cheeks, your heart pounds against your chest so strongly for a moment you think that perhaps he is right, his heart resides beside your own, for your heart never possessed such strength. “If I could return it to you, I would, K’uk’ulkan I would never wish you pain, never wish to force your hand.”
His tone is angry now, words sharp as the weapons his people favor, but his eyes remain swirling pools of grief. “I do not want it back, it is yours. I want you. I want the woman I love by my side, where I can protect her.”
You’re on the brink of sobbing, of falling to the sand and crying until your tears flow, so heavily you become one with the sea. “I cannot betray them; they are dear to me.”
His fingers curl inwards, slowly, mournfully. “Dearer than I?”
You shake your head, mind a whirlwind of choices, of answers, of guilt and grief, and want.
You want to be with K’uk’ulkan, you want to ease his pain, to smooth out the furrow of his brow, to sit by his side and be his queen. You are both immortal, if Talkon remained hidden, you would rule together for eternity.
“No, no one is dearer than you.” You admit, half-adoringly, half-helplessly.
You are helpless against the torrent that is your affections for him, helpless to the call of his heart to yours. He’s wrong, his heart does not reside within your chest, beside your own, for yours has slipped between the cracks of your ribs and into his own. He carries your heart as you carry his.
“Then I do not under—”
It’s your turn to cut him off. You take his hand, unfurling it, and bringing it to your cheek before you kiss him. Fervently, desperately, wishing to drown in him before your grief chokes you. “No one, there is no one dearer than you.” You assure him, willing your heart to return to your chest, to free him from this torment.
Your heart gives no answer except beating in time with his, two drums of war echoing each other’s call.
He cradles your cheek, his free arm wrapping around your waist, crushing you against him. “In reina, in reina, in reina.” He whispered over and over as he brushed soft, grateful kisses to every inch of your skin. “I love you, only you, I am yours.”
“I am yours, your queen.” You echo, letting him take you under, the world muffled by the sea.
You would not face Shuri, would not return to Wakanda until she was long dead, perhaps then you could seek forgiveness from her grave.
Tag list: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @starlady66
#namor x reader#namor x you#k’uk’ulkan#k'uk'ulkan x you#k'uk'ulkan x reader#tenoch huerta namor#mcu namor#meg's writing#ok I feel like this was poetic af and I love that for me#mutant!reader#healer!reader#let's just say I'm always making the reader a healing mutant bc it's easier#unless I had like a request for a different type of reader then obvi I'd follow the request#namor imagine#namor fanfiction#i love when men are in anguish over their love#it's just *chef's kiss*
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I need help finding an azriel fic.
I hasn’t finished it and when I left the app it just disappeared.
It’s an enemies to lovers where the reader is a healer and specialises in healing Illyrian wings. At some point azriel and reader have to fly together to Windhaven. The last part i read was when Morrigan and Cassian came to Readers house after reader had hooked up with someone they met at Rita’s.
The fic also switches between first person readers pov and third person azriel pov.
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Ananas Dragon Cookie x Male Reader who is there personal nurse who gets worried easily even a small cut gets them over the edge
Always want there Dragon to be safe and secure and yet Reader is a Common Healing/Healer Cookie
"My delicious fruit, I am fine... "
You were Ananas Dragon's chosen healer, and through thick and thin, you have managed to heal even the most serious of wounds for the dragon. It impressed them, honestly, considering you were simply a mere healer cookie who managed to heal them from a battle one day. It was almost shameful at the time to have been healed by a mere land-dough... But admittedly, you've grown on them.
Ananas Dragon doesn't get into as many battles anymore though, especially not with their siblings, like Pitaya Dragon, but your concern and worry for them still stay, and you work so hard to make sure that they're in the most excellent of health. Not even a small crack upon one of their claws will be left unhealed.
In return for your diligence, you live with them at their temple, being the Great Pineapple Healer of sorts... If only Ananas Dragon could get you to relax sometimes and not worry so much.
#🎭shadow writing!#cookie run#cookie run ovenbreak#cookie run oneshot#ananas dragon cookie#reader cookie#y/n cookie#ananas dragon x reader#male!reader#male!y/n#healer!reader#healer!y/n#ananas dragon x male!reader#ananas dragon x healer!reader#ananas dragon x male!healer!reader
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