I'm Throwing Up From The Sweetness 💕💕

I'm throwing up from the sweetness 💕💕

lawnol

lawnol [ˈlaw.nol] n. great joy

Anonymous Request: can we get some neteyam being an absolute simp and the girl just being completely oblivious so he thinks she doesn’t like him so he starts ranting about how he was dumb for thinking she would like him back and she just shuts him up with a kiss and he just gets super shy but happy :)

Neteyam is absolutely infatuated with you, and hates that you don't feel the same way - especially when he hears another has asked for your hand.

634 words.

Lo'ak rolls his eyes at his older brother. "Dude, relax," he said, probably for the 100th time. "I'm instituting a ban on talking about Y/N."

Neteyam glares at him. "Shut up, Lo'ak."

The brothers are returning home a long day of hunting, during which Neteyam had brought Y/N up no less than 20 times.

"Y/N uses her bow like this, Y/N was smiling at Marek yesterday, do you think she likes him? Y/N will like a meal prepared with this," Lo'ak says, taunting his brother. "Just tell her how you feel! We all know she's great. You don't have to tell us every day."

Neteyam growels, but doesn't reply. How is it his fault that everything reminded him of her? She is all he can ever think about.

Just outside their home, Lo'ak stops, grabbing Neteyam by the shoulder. "I've been trying to tell you this all day, bro, but... you really do need to tell her how you feel. Marek asked her father for permission. I think she's considering it."

Neteyam's eyes widen in shock and he straightens his stance, as if to intimidate Marek, who is nowhere nearby.

Thrusting his bow into his brother's hands, he turns and runs.

I kneel before the Tree of Souls, asking the Great Mother for guidance, for protection over my family, and thanking her for all she had provided us.

"Help me, Great Mother," I say. "Look into my memories. Tell me what to do."

"Got a big decision to make?"

I turn to see Neteyam approaching, out of breath as if he had just ran for many hours. I remove my queue from the Tree, and stand up.

"Just, asking for help," I reply with a shrug. "Are you okay, Neteyam?" He was sweaty, and breathless, and looked just a little bit panicked.

"Yes," he says, with a small half smile, which quickly disappears. "No, actually. Are you to be mated with Marek?"

"Marek?"

"I feel so stupid, Y/N. I waited too long to tell you how I feel. Do you know you are all I talk about? My family has to tell me to stop talking about you, but I can't. Every single thing I see or experience makes me think of you, because every time we aren't together, even if I just saw you moments ago, I miss you and wish you were with me.

"When I open my eyes in the morning, I think of you, and I dream of you at night. I am hopelessly in love with you, and I am so stupid for thinking you could feel the same, or... or that I could wait around, and someone else would not make you theirs. I've missed my chance, and-"

Thinking of no other way to possibly get him to stop talking, I step forward and press a kiss to his lips, having to stand on my tip toes to do so. It's quick, but firm, and when I pull away, he is most certainly stunned speechless.

"I am not to be mated with Marek. He has no interest in me. I believe he has eyes on Smon."

A blush crosses Neteyam's cheek, and I am unable to hide my giddy laughter.

"You are stupid, Neteyam, for not seeing how I have felt about you all this time. And for falling for a lie that I am guessing Lo'ak told you. But you are not stupid for loving me. That is... my greatest joy."

Neteyam reaches up, rubbing his thumb across my cheek. "My Lawnol," he whispers, and we share a smile. "May I kiss you again?"

"Any time you want to," I tell him, and the smile that spreads across his face is beautiful enough to make my heart nearly stop.

My Lawnol.

Flipped [Part One] | Ao’nung

[ao’nung x f!metkayina! reader]

sypnosis: from a young age you were already certain that ao’nung would be your mate. however, ao’nung never really seemed very fond of the idea.

warning: slight neteyam x reader, but ao'nung x reader is endgame sorry to my neteyam girlies, physical violence, threats, explicit language (?), and ao'nung's stubborn jealousy.

a/n: heyyy, nothing to report but i hope you enjoy reading this. i'll try my best to get the second part out either this week or next week.

"hey, ao'nung!"

the ten-year-old boy's smile immediately faded from his face, wincing as he turned away from his friends to look down at your little body. there you stood with a toothy grin looking right at him with your fingers wiggling in a small wave. your purple seaweed skirt blew along your legs as a heavy wind blew past you all.

"what do you want?" ao'nung snapped in annoyance, but the smile on your face only grew as you heard his voice.

"reya told me you were gonna go hunting with your friends, and i just wanted to know if i could go too!" you exclaimed, but his friends behind him burst into laughter.

"you're too weak to come with us!" one of his friends yelled out, causing another fit of laughter to sound.

"yeah, you'll only get yourself killed." another said.

their comments struck a chord in your little ten-year-old heart. it made your smile falter as you now looked like you were about to start crying. ao'nung noticed the way your lip began to tremble and could also see the way your eyes became wide with tears.

shit.

"skxawng, if you make her cry, my parents will never let me out to hunt again!" ao'nung seethed, turning his body abruptly to glare at his friends. they immediately choked back their laughter, noticing the annoyed expression that ao'nung had.

"listen, you can't come with us." ao'nung's eyes made their way to stare down at yours.

"but why? i want to go hunting with you too, you know." you whimpered, about to start crying, and ao'nung's eyes darted around nervously.

you were a ticking time bomb. ao'nung had to be careful about what he said to you or risk making you cry and his parents finding out about it. he'd never be able to hear the end of it from tsireya either.

"because if you get hurt, then i'll be in trouble." ao'nung tried to reason, but it only seemed like you wanted to start crying even more. your expression made him sigh tiredly and shut his eyes.

"okay! i promise i'll pick shells with you tomorrow if you promise just to stay here and not bother us for the rest of the day."

his promise made your eyes widen in excitement, forgetting all about going hunting. this was the first time he'd ever promised to hang out with you and just you two. there's no way you could ever pass this opportunity up.

"really?!" you gasped, your lips forming into the smile you always had on your face when you were in front of ao'nung. "you really promise?"

ao'nung sighed but nodded reluctantly. "yes, i promise."

" don't forget, okay?" you say as you are about to start running off, and he gives you a sarcastic smile. you finally skipped off to tell tsireya and rotxo, leaving ao'nung with his friends.

୨ ୧

you brushed your wet hair out of your face, flipping it over your shoulders, and glanced at tsireya. tsireya did the same as she approached the water's surface with her ilu. you were about to call out to her when a shadow loomed above you both for a moment, which startled you both. you lifted your head to the sky, ears perking up at the sound of animal-like calls.

"what are those?" you asked, catching a glimpse of large flying animals soaring through the sky. "it looks like they're going to land here! let's go check it out." you raced off toward the shore, leading your ilu to emerge underwater and toward the shore. tsireya was quick to follow after you on her ilu.

as you both were close to the shore, you brought your liu up towards the surface and allowed it to reach the sand. you unlinked your queue, brushing it over your shoulder, and turned to the ilu with a grateful smile.

"thank you!" you beamed, and the ilu let out a joyful squeak. you glanced behind it as tsireya popped her head up from the water. she unlinked her queue and walked up to you on the sandy shore. you nodded your head to the crowd of metkayina that slowly formed around the newcomers who had arrived on the flying animals. you both walked beside each other, making your way over. you and tsireya came up behind ao'nung and rotxo, who were too busy snickering and pointing at two new boys in front of them. it was clear that the family was a lot different from the metkayina. the dark shade of blue, yellow eyes, thin limbs, and a thin tail to match. even the tiger-like markings on their bodies were different.

"enough! rotxo, ao'nung!" tsireya reprimanded them, slapping rotxo on the wrist, and ao'nung just rolled his eyes.

"hey, ao'nung!" you greeted with a grin, and he just huffed, avoiding your eyes. you glanced at tsireya, who sighed in annoyance and smacked ao'nung on the back of his head. her older brother yelped silently and nodded his head at you.

"hey," one of the new boys said, nodding at tsireya. in turn, tsireya giggled bashfully and cast her eyes to the sand.

your lips pursed together into a knowing smile, and as you looked away from your best friend, your eyes met with a pair of golden ones. the older boy smiled at you, nodding his head as a greeting. you beamed back at him and politely shook your head back at him. unbeknownst to you, ao'nung rolled his eyes at the interaction.

"get back, (y/n)." ao'nung grumbled, grabbing your wrist and pulling you behind him. you huffed, but as you peeked around his arm, you noticed that the boy's eyes were still on you. you tilted your head in embarrassment. ao'nung must've seen the exchange because he quickly pushed you back once more.

from what you had confirmed that day, the sully family had come to the clan seeking uturu or a sanctuary. it took a lot of convincing for ronal to allow them in, even saying that the children had demon blood running through their veins. however, after confirming that the family was done with war, tonowari allowed them uturu, which was enough for ronal to trust his decision.

"my son, ao'nung and our daughter, tsireya, will show your children what to do." tonowari gestured to his children with his arm. while tisreya looked ecstatic, ao'nung was visibly displeased at the news.

"father, why do i-" he was cut off quickly by his father's arm.

"it has been decided." came his father's firm order, and you couldn't help but snicker at ao'nung's incredulous expression.

"come, i will show you the village." tsireya said kindly, stepping forward to greet the sully family.

tsireya and you happily helped the family unpack their luggage from the flying animals they arrived on. as you stood before one, you marveled at the beautiful greenish-blue scales that painted the animal. it let out a hiss, and you couldn't help but gasp in amazement. they weren't native to the land, so this was a newfound fascination for you.

"they're ikrans. there's a lot of them back home." you heard from behind you, and you were startled as you jumped at the voice. the boy who greeted you was now beside you, gazing up at his ikran.

"she's gorgeous." you breathed out and watched as he lifted a hand to its snout. he gestured for you to pet the animal as well, and you were more than happy to do so. a breathy laugh left your lips as you felt the skin of its snout.

"if you'd like, i could show you how to ride." the boy offered, and your head snapped up at him in surprise.

"really?!" you gasped with a smile creeping up onto your lips.

"yeah, they only allow one rider, but you can ride with me if you want to feel what it is like to fly." he chuckled. "i promise."

you paused at that for a moment at the last bit. you tilted your head up at him, searching his face for evidence of lies. there wasn't. his golden eyes pierced into yours with sincerity. a sincerity that didn't seem to waver.

"okay," you say, breaking eye contact to look at his ikran. "i'm (y/n), by the way."

"neteyam." the omaticayan boy responded, and you were about to say something until somebody behind you both cleared their throat. you quickly turned around to find ao'nung with his arms crossed against his chest and a prominent frown on his face.

"don't you have something better to do, (y/n)?" ao'nung snapped, and his condescending tone brought a frown on your face. a frown that mirrored his. "you don't have to be here."

"just wanted to help,” you grumbled, letting your hand fall from the ikran’s snout and glaring at the ground.

“you’re probably bothering them,” he retorted as he approached you both.

“hey, it’s no problem.” neteyam tried to defend, but ao’nung just rolled his eyes and grabbed your wrist. as he pulled you away, you turned your head back to the newcomer to wave him goodbye.

“it was nice meeting you, neteyam!” you shouted, which further angered the male pulling you away.

“you should stay clear of them.” ao’nung grunted as you both made it to the village, and you looked at him in disbelief.

“stay away from them or just him?” you griped, swiping your arm away from his hold, and he looked shocked at your tone and your angry expression.

“them,” he stated. “they’re freaks, (y/n). you heard what my mother said. demon blood.” you gasped loudly enough for some of the villagers to hear, and your lip curled into a nasty growl.

“i can’t believe you!” you raised both of your arms to shove him in the chest, making him stagger back a little. “just because some of them have four fingers does not make them any less na’vi. do you think that ignorantly?”

“look at them, (y/n)! they’re-“

“i’ve seen them, ao’nung, and they are not freaks. they’re just different.” you sighed, wrapping your arms around your body and switching your gaze down to your feet. “it seems that you are the one who needs to look harder.” you didn’t even give him a chance to speak as you just brushed past him and walked toward your marui, leaving the metkayina boy by himself. ao’nung didn’t even notice the sully family coming up from behind him, along with rotxo and tsireya.

“trouble in paradise?” ao’nung heard rotxo say teasingly from behind him.

“shut up, rotxo.” was his response as the tsireya led the sully family down the passageway and to their new home.

୨ ୧

ao’nung was not happy with the arrangement. it was already bad enough that he had to help them out, but then you came into the picture. suddenly, you were much more concerned with whether the sully kids understood the lessons they were teaching or assisting one of them with something they were struggling with. even after lessons, you'd constantly gush about the sullys, and ao'nung grew more annoyed as you began to ask questions about them.

"do you think we should start with breathing lessons? neteyam seems to have a hard time with those."

"lo'ak has improved on ilu riding, no?"

"kiri is such a natural, don't you think?"

every time you talked about them, ao'nung stormed off in a huff, and you'd be left alone, wondering whether you said something to upset him.

"(y/n)!" the said girl turned around to find neteyam jogging up towards her. "is ao'nung alright? he looked upset." you pursed your lips together as you looked at where ao'nung had stood before he took off toward the village.

"just ao'nung being ao'nung, i guess" you sheepishly shrugged, and neteyam chuckled as he nodded. "did you need something? maybe you need more help?"

"just wanted to know if you were free." neteyam replied, bringing his arm up to rub the back of his neck nervously. "i promised you that i would show you how to fly."

"oh," you breathed out until your eyes widened in surprise. "oh! i didn't think you'd remember that."

neteyam seemed embarrassed now. "oh, it's okay if you change your mind! i won't force you to."

"no, i would love to!" you giggled, placing a hand on his arm to lull his embarrassment. "i think it's only fair that i learn a bit of your home, too, right?"

"yeah." neteyam replied with a smile and led you toward the sand to call his ikran. "i think you'll enjoy flying. "

you nodded as you watched him let out a loud yelp and whistle. it was silent momentarily until you felt a huge gust of wind weigh against your figure. your eyes narrowed as you lifted your arms across your face to avoid the flying sand around you. once the area was clear, you brought your arm to your side and slowly opened your eyes to find neteyam's ikran in front of you. you grinned as neteyam patted his ikran on its snout.

"tam, tam." he cooed at the animal before gesturing for you to come closer to pet it.

you cautiously shuffled over, hesitantly raising your hand toward the snout. you waited for a moment, shutting your eyes as the ikran moved its head closer to you. you finally let out the breath you were holding as you felt the soft flesh of the animal. your eyes slowly opened to find the ikran nudging its snout against your hand.

"you are simply gorgeous!" you exclaimed, and it huffed in response which only caused the grin on your face to stretch across your cheeks, and you snapped your head to neteyam, who stood beside you.

your smile faded as you noticed his gaze on you. his eyes were soft and heated as he stared down at you. it made you feel nervous as you turned your attention back to the ikran, trying to avoid the omaticayan boy's eyes.

"so, how do you ride?" your question seemed to have snapped neteyam out of his trance as he now frantically looked between you and his ikran.

"right," neteyam cleared his throat before pulling his queue over his shoulder and signaling the ikran to crouch down. "first, i make the bond. back home, we must tame an ikran as a test in our rite of passage. once you do, your ikran will only fly with one rider for the rest of its life." he explained, climbing onto the saddle and bringing the ikran's queue towards his own. you watched in fascination as the ikran began to shift anxiously, but neteyam quickly calmed his ikran down.

"one rider?" you tilted your head in confusion, and neteyam nodded before holding his hand out for her to take. you reached for his hand and gasped as he pulled you up the saddle to sit behind him.

"yes, our bond is like your bond with your spirit sister." neteyam said, and you nodded, trying to take in the new information. the forest and the reef people held many differences, but also had many similarities.

"okay, hold on." neteyam instructed, and you expected him to hand you some rope to hold on to, but it only confused you as he didn't give you anything. his sudden laughter rang through your ears as you seemed unsure of what to hold on to. "here." neteyam offered with a chuckle as he reached behind him to grab your arms and wrap them around his midriff. your eyes widened in realization, and as he let go of your hands, you loosened your hold for a moment to lessen the contact.

neteyam let out a yelp, signaling the ikran to take off. you shrieked as the ikran uttered a shrill cry, and neteyam led his ikran off the ground. you gasped as the ground below became less and less. you couldn't help but tighten your arms around neteyam's waist. your stomach began to burst into butterflies at the sudden motion. you pressed your cheek against his back, and your eyes quickly shut.

"are you okay?!" you heard neteyam yell over the wind, and you meekly nodded your head against his shoulder blade. "you should open your eyes! the view is great from up here!"

you did just that, and low and behold, the view was breathtaking from above. the sun was setting at the horizon, and its golden hues cast along the crystal waters. the island of enormous mangrove trees seemed to be the masterpiece of the view. you could make out the little blurbs of people below. the fishermen wrapping up their work, children splashing about in the water, and the women lighting the candles for nighttime to fall. as you slowly breathed in, you relished in the way the wind blew through your hair. being in the sky was a new, exhilarating feeling. it felt so free and wild. you let your head hang back before letting out a laugh. neteyam's ears perked up at your laughter, and he smiled to himself before leading his ikran to free fall.

"neteyam!" you screeched, pressing your cheek against him once more.

was he trying to kill you? was this his plan the whole time? build your trust and then have you meet eywa? it wasn't until the ikran was a foot away from the water that neteyam pulled the reins. the ikran swiftly directed itself to fly an inch above the water, and you sighed in relief. you heard neteyam burst into laughter, and you shook your head with a smile.

"that was not funny!" you snapped teasingly, slapping neteyam's shoulder blade. "i thought i was going to die, skxawng!"

"i was considered the most skilled ikran rider back home." neteyam boasted, leading his ikran to land back safely onto the sand and unlinked his queue from his ikran. he skillfully hopped off the animal before lifting his head to look at you.

"i promise that i would never do anything to put you in danger," he said, and his words made you purse your lips into a thin-lipped smile. it was that word again. "come then, it is almost time for us to head home." neteyam noted the darkening sky and held his hands up to assist you off the ikran's saddle. your hands reached down to meet his until neteyam was shoved into the sand.

"ao'nung!" you yelled, watching in horror as the boy now stood above neteyam with his fist clenched by his side. "what are you doing?!" you questioned, carefully sliding off neteyam's ikran and planting your feet into the sand.

"what am i doing? what are you doing?!" ao'nung scoffed, turning his attention to you. he stormed up to you and pointed an accusing finger in your face. "i told you to stay away from them."

"are you crazy?!" you huffed incredulously and walked past him to help neteyam off the ground.

neteyam looked bewildered as he got up from the ground, his gaze switching between you and ao'nung. the boy was visibly angry with his creased brows and curled lip. ao'nung's hateful glare was directed at neteyam, who didn't understand why he was the victim of ao'nung's wrath at the moment.

"you! are you an idiot?!" ao'nung sneered at neteyam, storming up toward him. "you could have killed her up there!"

"well i didn't!" neteyam yelled back. "what's your problem?!"

"ao'nung, just let me-!" you snapped, only to let out a sharp gasp as ao'nung tackled neteyam to the sand.

ao'nung and neteyam wrestled for dominance, rolling over one another to gain the upper hand. neteyam finally straddled ao'nung, pulling back his fist and punching the boy in the jaw. you tried to get between the two boys, grabbing neteyam's shoulders to pull him off ao'nung, but that only left room for ao'nung to shove neteyam off of him. ao'nung was now on top of neteyam, punching him consistently in the face.

you felt helpless trying to pry ao'nung off by his shoulders, but it was no use. he was far stronger than you and it wasn't until you were shoved aside into the sand that you decided to give up and call for help. luckily for you, rotxo, tsireya, and lo'ak were nearby and were startled at your desperate pleas that rang through their ears. they quickly took notice of the brawl that was happening behind you and immediately sprang into action. rotxo wrapped his arms under ao'nung's underarms and loo'ak kneeled beside his brother to put some distance between the two fighting boys.

"stay away from her, you hear me?!" ao'nung shouted, struggling to get out of rotxo's hold. "if i see you near her again, i'll kill you, forest boy!"

"ao'nung!" you and tsireya yelled out in horror, eyes widening at his threat.

neteyam hissed, but lo'ak gripped his wrist and shook his head at him. lo'ak had never seen his brother lose his cool this way and it was highly unusually for him to be the mediator in this situation.

"come on, bro, let's just go." lo'ak urged, quickly standing up and holding his hand out. neteyam glanced back at ao'nung who stared down at him menacingly and then back at his brother before taking lo'ak's hand and pulling himself up. neteyam gave ao'nung one last glare and turned his back

"tsireya, please go check if he needs to be patched up." you instructed the younger girl and she nodded before following after the sully brothers. "rotxo." you firmly called out at the boy and he nodded, releasing his hold on his best friend and made his way after tsireya to leave you and ao'nung alone.

you took a deep breath in before stalking up to the still seething boy and slapping him across the face. ao'nung was visibly shocked, snapping his head to look down at you while his cheek stung a bit from your action. your brows were furrowed and your lips were turned down in a displeased frown.

you were furious.

"why did you do that?" you questioned angrily and he just staared at you, still processing the slap that you had just delivered across his face.

"that idiot could've killed you and you're asking me that?!" came his harsh response which made you scoff immediately.

"well, he didn't." you snapped, holding your arms out to show no injuries on your body. "i'm unharmed as you can see."

"and if you had fallen off, then what?!"

"is this really what this is about?" you asked desperately, titling your head incredulously at his behavior.

"what?" ao'nung furrowed his brows in confusion, not at all understanding what you were talking about now.

"i'm not stupid, ao'nung," you laughed bitterly, sending him a glare that pierced through his core. "ever since the sullys arrived, you've been acting different. your attitude toward them is unbelievable, especially toward neteyam who was just trying to show me a piece of his home."

"its clear that he wants to do more with you." ao'nung sneered and now it was your eyes widened in realization.

ao'nung was jealous.

if ao'nung had shown you his jealous side back as children, you would've felt giddy. however, ao'nung's behavior to the innocent sully boy was not something that you stood for. you knew ao'nung could be brash, but ao'nung's protectiveness and envy was of bad intent and you could see it in the way ao'nung had thrown his punches.

"you do not get to be jealous." you deadpanned and ao'nung was surprised at your statement. "not when you've never shown interest in me at all."

"you're an idiot, (y/n)," ao'nung scoffed. "now that some boy shows you some interest, you all of sudden have feelings for him?"

"I don't feelings for neteyam!" you yelled, absolutely exhausted at the boy's stubbornness. "I have feelings for you, skxawng! I always have and you know this!"

ao'nung stayed quiet at your confession. the confession wasn't new information. he had known since you were kids that you were head over heels for him. from the way you would always greet him as if it was your first time seeing him, follow him around with that stupid smile on your face, and the way your eyes always seemed to look at him like he was the most beautiful person that eywa had ever created.

"you know that i've loved you since we were children," you sighed, feeling your eyes droop tiredly and ao'nung winced at the pained tone in your voice. "but now, i don't even know who you are anymore. you can't expect me to wait for someone who doesn't return my feelings."

"(y/n)-" ao'nung started to say, but you shook your head to stop him from apologizing.

"if i'm an idiot for giving my attention to someone who does have interest in me, then so be it." you said, biting back tears that watered your eyes and ao'nung's chest tightened at the sight of your saddened expression.

"it would be stupid of me to continue giving my attention to someone who has shown no interest in me, despite my obvious affection."

ao'nung's throat felt constricted and his heart started to beat furiously at your statement. you looked tired; defeated even, as you just stared up at him with those big doe eyes of yours. you looked at him as if he were a stranger. as if you two had not grown up together as children. it hurt him to see you like this, but it angered him even more that he was the cause of this expression.

"i have to get home now, my parents are expecting me." you say after a minute of silence between you both. "goodnight, ao'nung. may eywa. be with you."

ao'nung watched with a pained expression as you turned your back toward him and started walking back to the village with your arms wrapped around yourself.

it wasn't until you were inches away from the village that you finally broke down. you crouched down to the sand and slapped a hand on your mouth to stifle the sobs that threatened to escape your lips. you felt so hurt by the harsh words that were exchanged. it hurt you even more to say that you were basically giving up on ao'nung. you had given up on trying to win his affection.

"(y/n), are you alright?" tsireya asked, concerned at the way you were crouched down.

you looked up at her with tears coming down your cheeks and the younger girl's eyes softened in pity. it was clear to her that you and ao'nung had a spat. a really bad spat at that if you were crying over him.

"oh, (y/n)," she whimpered, kneeling down to engulf your body into a hug. "come, let me walk you home, okay?" tsireya cooed, helping you up and circling an arm around your shoulders before leading you off to your marui.

tsireya turned her head back to where you had came from. sure enough, ao'nung still stood with his fists clenched tightly at his side and tsireya sighed, shifting her attention back to leading you back home.

tsireya could only hope that her older brother had finally came to his senses about not only your feelings, but his as well.

୨ ୧

taglist:

@fanboyluvr

@jakesully-sbabygirl

@st4rrlighttt

@dumb-fawkin-bitch

@mazemymirror

@23victoria

@neteyamsmate4life

if you would like to be added to my permanent taglist, please message me privately and tell me which character you'd prefer to be tagged in.

if you'd like to be tagged in part two, please let me know in the replies of this post!

thank you all for reading and i hope you enjoyed it!

2K notes View Post

ohdeersthings

2 years ago

I'm cackling 😂😂

🏴‍☠️️ au ที่น้องคัตขอน้องเดแต่งงานแบบวิล:

13K notes View Post

ohdeersthings

1 year ago

Look at me with your special eyes 🫣🫠🥰🥰

Sick. So fucking sick OUGH

love lost {neteyam sully}

neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan x fem na'vi!reader

requested: n/a (well... kind of. i pitched the idea to julie and she encourages me too much <3)

words: 4.0k (this is... double the length of what i had planned oop)

a/n: the way of water spoilers i stg if you haven't watched the movie you don't get to bitch about spoilers if you read this fic listen. listen i love neteyam so much. and as much as i would like to write a canon variance fic, i also have fun writing angst. my forte is more hurt/comfort and "angsty but there will be fluff and a happy ending" because i'm a softie and a romantic but sad angst is still fun to write

warnings/tags: hurt/no comfort, implied doing the dirty, mating (sfw), death, grieving/mourning, depression symptoms, implied suicidal ideation, reader and neteyam are about 18/19 because that's how old i thought he was when i watched the movie, mostly canon compliant (whoops), SPOILERS, no proofreading we die like neteyam men

pronouns: she/her

na'vi translations:

oeyä - my (possessive) narlor - beautiful (visually) muntxa si - mate / marry yawne - beloved

From a young age, it was clear that you would spend the rest of your life by Neteyam’s side. He was your best friend, the first person to treat him as just another kid and not the first born son of the olo’eyktan.

As you grew together, the way you felt about each other seemed to grow in sync, from entirely platonic best friends, to teenagers who would sneak out of chores to kiss in the forest. One day, while leaning against his chest and feeling his fingers play with the beaded ends of your braids, he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, whispering into your skin.

“Once we have finished the rites, I want to be yours,” your breath hitched at his words, “forever.” You blinked, twisting to look up at him with wide eyes. “If you’ll have me.” You rolled your eyes, leaning up to kiss his jaw.

“Of course I’ll have you.” Neteyam broke into a wide smile, as if for a moment he expected you would say anything else. “In this life and the next.” If you were told as a child, that at sixteen, just days before he made his first kill, that you and Neteyam would be promising to be each other’s mates, you would have laughed them off.

Now, you were beaming at him while sat on his lap, pressing kisses to his mouth and cheeks, eliciting laughter from him as he fell back, arms wrapped around your waist.

Your parents and his had all apparently known of his plans to propose to you that evening, as they were all waiting for you in the Sully family hut as you arrived, excited that your families would become one. As Kiri swatted Lo’ak for throwing his hands in the air with a loud exclamation of ‘finally’, Mo’at guided you away from the crowd.

“Once you begin your rites, I shall teach you to use and amplify your connection to Eywa.” Her eyes were soft as she rested her hands on your shoulders. “I believe you shall become a strong Tsahik.” You thanked her with a bow, grateful that she would so willingly teach you and flattered at her compliment.

Time seemed to move both too fast and not fast enough over the next year and a half as you both completed your rites and became adults of the clan. Like his father, Neteyam became one of the greatest Omaticaya warriors, proudly taking his place at the olo’eyktan’s side. But however strong and fearless he became, his eyes always softened as he looked at you, an impatience within him to finally have you as his official mate, to be able to say he is yours entirely.

Like Mo’at told, your connection to Eywa grew, able to understand her guidance with ease. Quickly, you learned that your favourite part of being the future Tsahik was healing. Being able to help those in your clan that were injured or unwell was always rewarding. And despite her being your personal guide and teacher, you were extremely honoured every time Mo’at invited you to assist in ceremonies with Eywa in front of the clan.

Neteyam’s ceremony was performed around a month after your own, and still, he waited a week to ask you again to be his mate.

With his fingers easily weaved between your own, he guided you toward the bioluminescent clearing where he had first proposed. (And where, two short years before that, you had shared your first kiss). Neteyam held both of your hands, close enough that you could count the freckles scattered across his face; not that you hadn’t done so many times before.

“I know I have already asked you this,” his voice was soft and nervous as he spoke, “but I want to ask again.” As he drew in a slow, shuddered breath, you leaned up and pressed a kiss beside his mouth. “Will you be my mate? Would you honour me with allowing me to be yours forever?” Your eyes watered, crying despite knowing what he was going to ask, and you nodded with a smile. But still he waited, wanting to hear you say it.

“Neteyam, yes. I would love to be your mate.” He let out a sigh of relief, quick to drop your hands to grab your face and kiss you. You smiled against each other’s mouths, hands on each other and pulling each other as close as you physically could.

His hands slide down your body and grasp the underside of your thighs, lifting you so your legs could wrap around his waist. With his mouth never leaving yours, Neteyam carefully sat down and rested you on his lap, the ground lighting up under him.

“You are so breathtaking.” He whispered against your lips and you pulled away with a flustered laugh, forehead rested against his. Neteyam was never shy about complimenting you, but somehow his words never failed to cause your heart to skip and the tips of your ears to warm.

“Oel ngati kamele, Ma Neteyam.” You ran your fingers over his bicep causing goosebumps to raise as you spoke with a sigh.

Wordlessly, you reached up behind you to grab your braid that safely held your queue, pulling it over your shoulder and dragging your fingers down to the end. The soft tendrils of your queue reached for him, yearning for him just as your heart did. Neteyam mirrored your movement, bringing his queue around, and held it just in front of your own. Your eyes flicked up from your queues to meet his eyes.

Although you had loved each other since you were children, you were both still nervous that the other would change their mind.

“I am yours.” You asserted. Neteyam dropped his head forward to press your foreheads together again.

“Yours. I have always been yours.”

As your queues entangled, you sucked in a short breath, body relaxing as you watched his pupils dilate. Your heart began to race as your breaths began to match his, eyes falling closed. After years of promises and soft kisses in the dark, your souls were entwined and could never be separated.

---

You squeezed Neteyam’s hand as Tarsem’s hand dropped against Jake’s chest in a fist, cementing the change in leader and the end of Jake’s reign as olo’eyktan. The Suli Tseyeyk’itan family were leaving the clan as sky people threatened to hunt them. Revenge on Jake for something that happened nearly two decades ago. Neteyam had offered to let you stay with the clan while he left with his family. But you refused, reminding him that you were his mate, by his side forever. And if his family was in danger, you were included in that.

Neteyam pulled you up behind him onto his ikran and you easily wrapped your arms around his waist, head resting on the back of his shoulders. It was a position that you had been in before, taken on many flights by your mate from the day that he bonded with his flying beast.

But the pit in your stomach still reminded you of how different this would be. You were leaving your clan and the only family and life you had ever known. You knew that you would follow Neteyam to the ends of Pandora, but the change was still scary. You had no way of knowing what was to come with leaving your home, you had no idea what your new one would look like. Neteyam reached down and rested his hand on your thigh, giving it a squeeze as his ikran took off.

No two na’vi described the effects of mating the same, Eywa giving each couple a different way of connecting and understanding each other. For you and Neteyam, it seemed that it had given you both the ability to understand the deep emotions of each other. You could tell when he was stressed about the pressures of his future title and he could tell when your anxiety sunk deep into your bones. It was as if you could feel him in the depths of your being, an overlay on the edge of your soul.

So he knew, as you pressed your chest against him and felt the rush of the wind whistling past his ears, that you were afraid of what was to come. But with his hand pressed safely against your thigh, the warmth spreading from where the skin met, it reassured you that whatever happened he would be by your side and making things a little less scary.

---

Neteyam always asserted that you were the most beautiful being he had ever seen. Even as a child, there was something about you that made him smile and desperate to hear your laugh. You had swum together many times in the various ponds around the Home Tree and Ayram alusing, but watching you rise out of the ocean, flicking water out of your braids with a shake and laughing with Tsireya, he could swear that he fell in love with you all over again.

“Bro,” Lo’ak smacked his chest, bringing his attention back to their ilu training, “she’s already your mate, you can stop the lovesick staring.” Neteyam hit him back, looking back over at you to see your attention already on him. You sent him a soft wave, which he happily returned with a smile.

---

Despite Jake’s best attempt at keeping his family safe and keeping the war away, the need for vengeance from a man who was supposed to be long dead was too strong. All too quickly the sky people in their boat with their machines that killed tulkun with ease arrived.

You held onto the ilu tightly as you all raced to catch up with Lo’ak, the ocean spray whipping at you. You knew it was dangerous, leaving Awa’atlu, it was stupid and reckless but Lo’ak was determined to warn the tulkun he had bonded with.

You watched in awe as the giant creature rose from the ocean, eagerly greeting Lo’ak, who began to panic once noticing a red spear-like tracker in the beast’s shoulder. You wasted little time, standing up on the ilu and diving into the water, swimming over to help the boy pull the tracker out. Neteyam was close behind you, and he helped pull up the Metkayina teens who had come with you.

You heard Lo’ak radio their father while Kiri and Tuk climbed onto the tulkun and finally, as the sky people boat rounded the rocky bluff, the six of you pulled the tracker out.

“Go that way, I’ll draw them off.” Neteyam ordered, holding the tracker. As you opened your mouth to rebut, he cut you off. “Go with Tsireya. I’ll be okay.” You huffed at him, but obliged, swimming beside the girl and grabbing hold of her ilu’s saddle.

---

You held onto the ilu as Lo’ak raced towards the rocky island with Neteyam leaning against him. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him, the way he wheezed with each breath. There was no way to explain it, but you could feel a heat blooming in your chest. You hadn’t seen him get shot, having been with Tsireya after she escaped the large ship, but you immediately knew, your mated connection through Eywa causing a phantom pain.

You could only watch as Spider and Tsireya guided Neteyam up to Jake, who helped them pull him onto the rocks. Jake rolled him onto his side to check for wounds before he laid him back. For a moment, he looked between you and Lo’ak who kneeled beside Neteyal, but quickly chose to take Lo’ak’s hands and had him apply pressure.

As Neteyam gasped for breath, you felt like you couldn’t catch your breath either. With shaky hands you took his, lowering yourself down so you could hold it to your mouth, staring up at him with glassy eyes.

His breaths grew shorter, more panicked, as Neytiri landed her ikran and fell to her knees between you and Lo’ak. Jake held his face as he reassured him that it would be okay, and you felt like your throat was closing. Then everything stopped, and Jake pulled his hand away from Neteyam’s cheek.

Everything sounded muffled, like you were underwater or had cups over your ears. You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. It felt as though your lungs stopped taking in air and like someone was squeezing your heart. You couldn’t hear what Neytiri was saying as she shook Neteyam’s shoulders, you could only hear the anguish in her voice. You felt it in your chest as she screamed and Jake pulled her to his chest. You looked over as the sounds around you echoed to see Lo’ak staring down at his red-stained hands.

You rocked on your knees, internally pleading with Eywa to wake you up, give you a sign that this was a nightmare and the emptiness in your chest was a horrid lie. You didn’t bother wiping away any of your tears, barely noticing them as they rolled down your cheeks and met with the back of Neteyam’s hand, which you hadn’t moved from your lips in the hopes that it would twitch, that he would be alive.

Then, all at once, sound returned. And you screamed. Pained and desperate, your voice cracking. You dropped his hand and collapsed down into Neteyam’s chest, pleading with Eywa to let his heart start beating again. You could hear voices, Jake and Neytiri’s, but what they were saying didn’t register. All you could focus on as you sobbed was the hollow, empty feeling deep in your chest. You let out a pained wail as you sat up, turning to Jake as you felt his hand rest on your shoulder. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but closed it again, instead choosing to give you a soft, sad look.

You were left alone on the rocks with Neteyam as the others left to return to the ship and save the Sully daughters. You sat beside him cross-legged, and carefully pulled his head into your lap as if trying not to wake him from sleep. As gently as you could, you wiped away the blood staining his skin, wanting to erase all evidence that he was hurt, then you ran your fingers over his face, pushing his braids to the side and wiping away water and tears (both his and your own) from his star-speckled cheeks. Once you were satisfied, you gently closed his eyes.

Neteyam was always so beautiful as he slept, and you always loved the mornings when you would wake up before him leaving you able to roll over and stare at his peaceful expression. He would always get embarrassed when you told him he was pretty when he slept, the tips of his ears flushing pink.

“Ma Neteyam. Oeyä narlor muntxa si.” You pressed your lips to his forehead while you whispered to him. “Oeyä yawne. Please, come back to me. I cannot do this without you, I cannot live the rest of my life without you. You were supposed to be by my side forever.” You hiccuped as a sob broke out of you. You leaned back, staring up at the sky. “Great Mother, please. Please, do not take him from me, Great Mother.” You continued to sob and plead with Eywa and Neteyam’s heart as the boat exploded and a fire broke out.

The yellow-orange light reflected in your eyes and the tears that stained your cheeks. You barely registered the warmth, unable to feel without Neteyam.

---

You swam with the Sully family, close to Jake and Neytiri as they carried Neteyam’s body toward the Metkayina’s cove of ancestors. You had no idea whether the salted damp permanently on your cheeks was your tears or the ocean as the two had long-since become one and the same. You barely ate, you barely spoke. Everything felt as though you were fighting quicksand, too much effort for you.

Jake and Neytiri had told you that you could swim his body down with them, but you refused, knowing that if you did, it was unlikely you would be able to bring yourself back to the surface without him.

You and Lo’ak stayed by each other’s side, your hand holding his in a desperate attempt to not take in a breath of water. He held out his other hand toward his brother, while you squeezed your fist to your chest hoping the pinch of your nails into your palm would let you feel more than just numb.

The glowing anemone reached out to Neteyam, pulling him down and into its warmth. His energy was being returned to Eywa. As the glow absorbed him you let out a sob, realising that he was gone. Your mate, the man who promised he would be by your side forever, was gone and had left you alone with a tightness in your throat and feeling as though there was part of your soul missing.

Once you made your way back to your hut, you returned to the place you had been laying since you returned to Awa’atlu after being separated from Neteyam; the mat you had shared with Neteyam in the corner and wrapped in the blanked you had brought with you from your home with the Omatikaya clan, the blanket that still smelled so much like your mate.

Every time you closed your eyes, Neteyam was there with his wide eyes and bright smile. You could still hear his laugh and feel his touch on your skin as you fell asleep. As you slept, you dreamt of the life you were supposed to have with him, by his side as you grew old together, starting your own family that would share the way he smiled and that look he got when he was flying on his ikran.

You let out a sob and it broke Neytiri’s heart to hear as she passed by. She had seen the way her mother suffered after her father’s death, knowing that the bond of a mate left the living feeling less than themselves. And she herself had nearly lost her Jake once, and that pain was all consuming. Knowing that pain and mixing it with the grief she felt over losing her son, she could only imagine how you felt, so young and without your mate.

Silently she entered, bowl of food in her hand. Neytiri knew you hadn’t eaten all day, and you were still a part of her family. She slowly crouched beside you and you jolted when you felt her hand on your shoulder. You sniffed, nose still blocked from the crying that never seemed to end, and looked down at the food she offered. You shook your head, having no appetite. Food would not solve the feeling that someone had opened your chest and removed your heart, the only solution to that was buried with the ancestors.

“My sweet,” her words were soft, and you looked up at her with teary eyes, “are you ready to go to the Spirit Tree?” In the weeks since his death, Neytiri and Jake asked you this question in variation every day, hoping that seeing him in Eywa would ease your grief. They had learned quickly that saying Neteyam’s name visibly broke your already shattered heart even further, even more than the question itself. Neither were sure how long it would take until you were ready, but both did their best to keep you afloat in your grief.

Every time you thought of him, it felt as though you had breathed in water, your lungs heavy and your throat tight. Your breaths came in heaves, every inhale an effort against the thick air of loss. It was rare you were seen outside of your hut, the darkness within keeping you captive.

But you surprised Neytiri when you slowly shrugged off the blanket and nodded. She blinked down at you, but quickly offered you her hand. You took it, accepting her help in pulling you to your feet, the weight on the unused limbs causing you to wobble slightly.

“I’m afraid.” Your voice was small, scratched from your tears and it’s lack of use.

“Of what?” Neytiri left a comforting hand on your back, knowing that you may collapse into your consuming grief.

“That the spirit with Eywa is from before we mated.” That was half true.

After Jake and Neytiri returned from the Spirit Tree, Jake had told you that the Neteyam he saw was from when he was younger. If you saw that version, he may not even know that you were together at all.

She hummed as your eyes itched. Neytiri knew you were hiding from her, and while she didn’t want to force your words, she wanted you to know that there was nothing to be ashamed of when it came to expressing your grief.

“And that I’ve forgotten his face.” That confession is what broke you, a whimpered sob breaking from your throat. “I see him everywhere and in everything. I see him when I sleep and I hear him when it’s quiet. But what if the face I remember isn’t the right one.” Neytiri stopped walking and guided you toward her in a hug. You cried freely as her hand ran circles on your back.

She didn’t need to speak, her presence enough. She was, in human terms, your mother-in-law, and she took that very seriously. You were her child, the mated soul of her son. Neytiri would protect you in every way she could and that included keeping you safe from self-destructing in your grief and comforting you in your fears.

You sucked in a shuddered breath and pulled yourself away from her, apologising for your tears that stuck to her skin. Neytiri waved you off and let you choose the direction to continue in: either back to your hut or toward the Spirit Tree.

---

You sucked in a deep breath before bending at the waist and swimming down toward the glowing tendrils of the Metkayina clan’s Spirit Tree. The cool glow reflected off your skin and you squeezed your eyes closed as you reached behind you and took hold of your braided queue.

Eywa, please. Let me see My Neteyam again.

You were home again. Back in the deep forest, feet padding along the glowing moss. You pushed aside the familiar branches that revealed the clearing. Your clearing. The place of your first kiss, where he proposed, where you mated.

You looked around, already tearing up again (a seemingly constant state for you) at being home, when the sound of a pebble bouncing along the water met you. Your ears flicked toward the sound, and your head quickly followed.

Squatting by the pond, arm still extended from the throw, was Neteyam. You let out a short, shuddered breath at the sight of him, and you saw his ears flick.

He turned, eyes bright and smile warm, his chest showing no sign of the wound that took him from you. Neteyam was exactly as you saw him when you closed your eyes.

“Ma y/n!” At the sound of his voice, the tears broke free and his face dropped, immediately rushing over to you and bringing his hands to your upper arms. “Yawne, what’s wrong?” You shook your head, not wanting him to worry about you. He brought one hand to your chin and you leaned into it.

“I’m just-” your voice cracked, “I’m so happy to see you.” He tilted his head with a soft smile, leaning down to press his forehead against your own.

“I’ve missed you.” You felt his breath on your lips and more tears rolled down your flushed cheeks, though they were quickly wiped away by his thumb. You tilted your head to kiss him, ignoring the saltiness of the tears that stuck to your lips.

“I don’t want to leave you.” Your voice was wet with tears, and Neteyam leaned back to look at you.

“Yawne, I am always with you.” You shook your head but he continued to speak. “But you cannot stay here forever. Not yet.” Neteyam kissed you slowly, pouring out the love that he held for you and making up for the kisses you had missed since his death.

You opened your mouth to ask why not, but you felt a pain in your lungs. A pain that pulled you away from Neteyam and back to the ocean as your body begged for breath.

reblogs and kind words are always appreciated!!

tagging: @websterss

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ohdeersthings

10 months ago

Uh. Excuse me. It's there a doctor in the house. I'm dying from cuteness and wholesome over load 😭😭❤️🩵❤️ Please let me lick the dirt off your shoes.

sunflowers

pairing: bakugou katuski x f! reader contains: enemies to lovers, fluff, mutual pining status: standalone, one-shot, completed wc: 17840 summary: there you stand at the beginning of the world, with you and your sunflowers; your lovely liar's smile.

note: canon-compliant but i bend it; early childhood and then up to season 3. also cross-posted to ao3.

The first time you meet Bakugou Katsuki, you are six-turning-seven, and you remember it well. Not just because it’s the first day of school, or even that it’s your birthday. Rather, you remember it because of him, and though you think you would rather die than admit it, there is some part of you⏤ a more rational part⏤ that can temper itself down to acknowledge the fact.

You remember it well, because that morning, your mother makes sure to doll you up extra pretty. She dons you in a frilled dress like it is your armor, taking extra care with your hair, its bows, and she does: so much that there is an extra skip to your step as you walk. You don’t just feel pretty, you know you are; a work of art atop a work of art. But you still make sure to say your thank yous to all the unfamiliar faces that compliment you with gummy smiles and a not-so-quiet, conspiratorial grin. “It’s my birthday!”

You remember the way your cheeks hurt from forcing the wideness of it, the way you think it has started to sound like a mantra. You remember smiling, nonetheless, at his friend, as he wishes you a happy birthday! in return⏤ you are smiling at his friend, and not him.

You remember it well, because the first time you ever meet him, he looks you up and down, clad in your careful curls and prettiest dress⏤ and dares to call you ugly.

If you were anyone else, you might’ve taken the words like a physical blow. Already, your new friends are tensing for the inevitable confrontation. “You can’t just say that to her,” Sueko says, her eyes already narrowing in a glare.

“And who the hell are you, extra?” The crimson-eyed boy scowls right back.

The other girl wilts a bit, but her glare remains set.

You decide, right there and then, that she is your new best friend.

You smile. If you were anyone else, you might’ve taken the words like a physical blow. But you don’t just feel pretty, you know you are; a work of art atop a work of art. So you only give him your kindest smile, because your mother told you to play nice in the morning, as she brushed out your hair. You make sure to give him a once over, glancing down, and then up.

“It’s okay!” Your eyes curve, ingratiatingly polite; ingratiatingly sweet. “Some people are just born blind. And stupid.”

“HAH?” His reaction is exactly what you hoped for, and it’s almost too easy. “WHO THE HELL ARE YOU CALLING⏤”

The slight quirk of your mouth is amused, but you only turn, pointedly, to your new best friend. “Any chance you’re free this weekend? Let’s hang out.”

She stutters an answer, eyes darting between you, and the blond you know is seething behind you, if the glare he’s practically boring into the back of your head means anything.

You tilt your head to the side. A little inquiry, a little push. “So?”

Hands slam down on your desk, cutting out her squeaked yes. You jump a little at the sound, your eyes widening⏤ both a little bit at the sound, and how close his face suddenly is. All of a sudden, you’re glad you didn’t call him ugly right back⏤ it would have sounded petty, after all, and almost certainly would have bit you right in the foot, considering how this crimson-eyed boy is so clearly not.

“I’m talking to you.” Well. You think, he’d probably be a great deal prettier if wasn’t glaring down at you, face contorted in what seems like half snarl, half scowl.

His friend adds, a little bit placatingly. “Bakugou-san’s not stupid. He’s really smart, actually, always been top of the class. He’s really cool!”

You note the way the class eyes him, the way the blond’s eyeing the door. He grunts. “I also have twenty-twenty vision.” His chin raises, arrogance in the set of his features, a bit calmer at the praise, but also a touch quieter, almost a bit wary.

The door opens. He glances back, just as a man walks in, old enough that you assume that he is your teacher.

It takes effort to keep the shit-eating grin from spreading across your features. “Are you sure?” You ask instead, completely straight-faced. ( You should really consider acting, you think. You’re practically a genius! ) You simper, a hand covering your mouth. “Could’ve fooled me.”

It’s almost too easy, you think, the way he explodes, literally.

“YOU WANNA FIGHT, EXTRA?” Miniature blasts pepper the table, and you might have thought it intimidating, if it’s not for the way your sensei is stalking over, looking almost as murderous as the boy himself. “I’LL KILL YOU!”

You coo a little, fearless with the backing of your newfound supporter. “You’re really scary. That’s illegal, you know.”

He opens his mouth. But then⏤ “Bakugou. Seeing as it’s the first day, you won’t be getting detention.” His mouth closes mutely. You grin a little at the way he’s being pulled away from your desk, fingers still clutching at the edges of it⏤ by the scruff of his collar, and somewhat like a dog, you think.

His eyes flash, a little bit angry, a little bit dangerous. He points one grubby finger in your direction. “She started it!”

The sensei also pins you with a stern look. “The next time this happens, the both of you’ll be staying after class to clean, as detention. Am I clear?”

You gape at both of them. It’s half genuine, half not. You think this verdict is a little unfair. The boy grins, smug.

A complaint is on the tip of your tongue, then you see the sensei’s expression: deadpan, tired, and unsympathetic. You sober up, frowning a little.

“Okay. Sorry, sensei. I’ll try.”

The crimson-eyed boy is still glaring at you, a little victorious, a little smug, but with a gleam in his eyes. This is war, they seem to say, silent and from across the room.

Little does he know, it has been, ever since the moment he decides to look you up and own, clad in your careful curls and prettiest dress⏤ and calls you ugly.

You blow him a kiss.

He jolts. The face he makes is obviously a frown of disgust.

The sensei straightens. You smile ingratiatingly, turning away.

This is war, his eyes seem to promise, and really, you can’t help but agree.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Your revenge is served not even three days later, on a Saturday evening, and you think it is the sweetest thing you have ever tasted.

You have your father to thank for it, actually. The boy, whose name you learn is Bakugou Katsuki, is something of a mini celebrity at your school.

This means that the surface level things are easy to find⏤ he has anger issues, an explosive Quirk, and is smart, consistently at the top of the class. ( You frown a little when they tell you. These are all things you already know, and the only new information⏤ he likes spicy food⏤ isn’t helpful in the slightest. ) But this also means that, knowing his temper, there are very few willing to actively take your side, and much more openly against you. You are the new girl, the outlier, and though he can’t quite make you an outcast⏤ you and your horde of girl-followers ( bought with your mother’s fashion, your father’s wallet, and your pure, sunny disposition )⏤ he has enough friends, or rather sycophants, that will ignore you in the hallways, or mutter names at you.

The boy in question doesn’t, though.

He storms up to your desk the second day. You are chatting with your friends, as he slams his hands on the desk and snarls: “Fight me.”

Catching your pencil just before it falls, you frown up with him. “What ever happened to: hi, hello, how are you?”

“Hi, hello, how are you.” He sneers. “Scared?”

“No, and my answer is no.”

His scowl deepens. “So you are scared.”

“I’m a healer.” You lift your chin in outrage, affronted. “I’m not violent.”

“Nah. You’re just an extra.”

Internally, you seethe. First ugly, and now an extra. You have never been called such things in your life. You open your mouth, a retort on the tip of your tongue.

The sensei walks in.

It dies in your throat, Bakugou’s face splits into a shit-eating grin. He turns away, head held high; arrogant and condescending, having won this encounter by a mile.

Wrath boils in your ears, but you tamp it down, expressionless. Your pencils are carefully aligned, your notebook opened with just a little more force than necessary. Internally, you promise yourself, he’ll get what’s coming to him. You will make sure of it.

You get your chance soon enough on a Saturday evening, dolled up again in a dress your mother painstakingly picked out for you, your hair pressed into careful curls. Your father had told you: your family had been invited to dinner by a friend he’d met at work, and that they have a son in the same grade as you, in the same school.

You had shrugged. So long as there’s a chance their son would be willing to join your Anti-Bakugou Society ( consisting only of you at the moment ), you don’t particularly mind.

“Play nice,” Your mother reminds you now, as you stand before the door; your father knocking on it. There is a bouquet of sunflowers clutched in your hands, matching the color of your dress, and you only scrunch your nose up a little at her.

“I’m always nice.”

Your mother doesn’t get a chance to respond, because then there’s a⏤ Katsuki, get the door!⏤ along with an answering⏤ “SHUT UP, OLD HAG! I’M GETTING IT!”⏤ and then, you blink.

The name sounds rather familiar. The voice, too.

The door opens. You stare, wide-eyed, as a head of blond hair enters your vision, familiar and crimson-eyed.

He’s just as stunned as you are, as you watch, with no small amount of delight, as he takes one look at you, and then the sunflowers you hold in your hands, and sneezes.

Christmas has come early, you think. “Katsuki! This is your house?” You step a little closer, a sickly sweet grin on your face.

He dodges the sweep of your bouquet. A pity, you think, but you are successful: he only sneezes all the harder.

You raise an eyebrow. “Are you… by any chance allergic to sunflowers?”

Your mother gasps, tearing the bouquet from your hands. She had been the one to pick them out.

He doesn’t need to respond for you to know the answer: as soon as they’re taken away from his immediate vicinity, his sneezes lessen.

Your mother had been the one to pick them out, and you had disliked the way they looked. But you decide, there and in the moment, that they are your favorite flower.

He straightens. His nose is still red, and there is murder in his eyes. “Why the hell are you here?”

His mother sweeps in, pinching him by the ear. “You will not address our guests that way.” She hisses, before looking up at the three of you, apologetic. “I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to teach him manners, I swear⏤”

“No worries at all, Bakugou-san.” Your mother says, correcting herself at the other woman’s oh, just call me Mitsuki! She pinches your ear in turn. “This one is much the same. A righteous demon, she is.” You narrow your eyes a little at her.

The blonde laughs, and the way she ruffles her son’s hair is terribly fond. “That’s just part of their charm, I suppose.”

He hisses up at her. She hisses right back.

You love her, you think.

“Oh, where are my manners!” She straightens, blinking. “Please come in. Masaru’s in the kitchen, just setting up⏤”

Your parents walk in first, complimenting the decor. Mitsuki beams at them, and down at you. “Masaru tells me the two of you go to the same school,” She says. “Have the two of you met before?”

You say: “Yes!” at the same time he gives a flat, but resounding, “No.”

He glares daggers into the side of your head. You grin. “We’re in the same class, and he’s my best friend!” You exclaim, the lie rolling easily off your tongue.

“No the fuck I’m not.”

“Language, Katsuki!” Mitsuki reaches for his ear again, her face the picture of delight. “I’m so happy you’re finally making friends!”

“WE’RE NOT FRIENDS!”

She gasps, affronted, looking like she wants to tear him a new one. You smile. Your parents look on, utterly lost. “It’s okay, Mitsuki-san. That’s just how Katsuki-kun shows his love. I don’t mind.”

“Oh, you angel.” And from the look on her face, one might have thought she truly believed it. She whips around to glare at her son. He glares back. “I don’t know how she puts up with you, but you’d better treat her well.” You grin at him from behind, terribly smug, and terribly victorious.

She turns around, and your smile is pretty again, pleasant and soft.

Mitsuki coos at you. You think the dichotomy between the way she talks to the both of you is like heaven and earth. “Come over to our house more often. I’d love to have you over anytime!”

“HAH? WHAT⏤”

“We wouldn’t want to trouble you, Mitsuki-san.” Your mother says, assertively. She is shooting you the look, the one that means she knows what you’re up to.

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all!” She dismisses the statement with a wave of her hand. “Katsuki has few enough friends as it is.”

Your father laughs, ever the mediator. “We’ll have to invite you over next time as well. We live just down the street.” He brightens. “Actually, seeing as they’re classmates, they could maybe walk together in the mornings?”

Your mother’s grip tightens around his arm.

There is a wicked grin on your face. “I’d love that!”

The boy in question doesn’t even get the chance to protest, because Mitsuki’s already chirping. “It’s settled, then!”

You think: it doesn’t even matter if he emerges victorious in all the encounters you have after this, because when the adults turn, you get to stick your tongue out at him.

The look on his face is so quietly violent, so blatantly murderous, as you wave your still sunflower-smeared hands in his face, that you think you will remember the sweetness of this victory for the rest of your life.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Your relationship does not change in the slightest after that.

Mitsuki invites you over to her house once a week, and your parents do the same. The adults do their own thing, and you do yours: trying your best to annoy the daylights out of your newfound nemesis, and he only does the same to you. You’ll make fun of his All Might merchandise, the ones displayed proudly in his room, and he’ll make fun of your Recovery Girl ones, the ones you have so painstakingly collected⏤ she’s not nearly as popular of a Hero. He’ll sneer: “So that’s why you used to kiss everyone you healed?”

You’ll sneer right back, cringing internally at the reminder of that phase, though you are still Recovery Girl’s number one fan, though. “My Quirk’s literally activated through touch. You’d be lucky if I poked you with a ten-foot pole, let alone heal you with a kiss.”

He’ll make a face. “Eugh. You wish, idiot. I’d never want to kiss an extra like you.”

The two of you have learned to act relatively civil with adults in the house. You smile up at him, sickly sweet. “Yeah. This extra is an idiot, and she definitely didn’t score higher than you on the last history test.”

By one point, but still.

He snorts, though you can tell the reminder irks him. “That’s only ‘cause you sucked up to sensei like, three classes in a row.”

You sniff in derision. “I did not.” Sure, it’s true: you’d definitely been a little more active in class, and answered more questions than usual, but you’d studied for it! You’d studied a lot!

He sneers back. “Did too.”

You have learned to imitate the murderous glare he likes to level you with, and the first time you mimic it, you grin a little as his eyes widen, stunned.

The two of you are civil for the most part, though, at each other’s houses. His mother would tear him a new one if she heard him acting anything but⏤ ( she has )⏤ and you think you like his parents too much to ruin your relationship over something as trivial as this.

School is a different story, however, as are your walks in the mornings. “Shut the fuck up,” He’ll snarl at you.

“But Katsuki-kun!” You’ll coo right back, using the tone you know he hates. “I haven’t even started talking yet!”

He’ll scowl at you. You’ll simper right back. He’ll speed up, and you do not slow, nor do you attempt to match his pace, because you know: if you slow, he will too. Always keeping that same distance, and if you speed up⏤ well, you’d tried that once. And you’d kept pace with him for all of two seconds, before he’d sped up in turn, until the both of you were practically sprinting to school.

You lose, of course. You have never run a day in your life.

( You start training right after. )

You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You flop on his bed, making sure to crinkle his carefully-pressed sheets, forcing him to his desk during one of your so-called ‘hangouts’ and ‘study sessions’⏤ Mitsuki’s words, not either of yours, but there are textbooks in front of the both of you, so that is good enough. You study harder than you ever have before, and rub every one of your small victories in his face, and he studies like a demon in return⏤ ( even though he’s never needed to study in his life )⏤ until the both of you are neck and neck, with perfect grades in every subject. You buy everything sunflower-colored, sunflower-shaped, and tack sunflower stickers onto every surface you can see, pinning some cute ones to your backpack.

( Your mother picked out the flowers, but you are the one that held them, and you were also the one to decide, there and then, that these were your favorite flowers in the world. )

You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You see his face more often than anything else, and he calls you an idiot when you tell him about the fictional boys you think are cute. Well, you don’t care. You tell him about them anyways, because you are bored and Kuroo-kun looked particularly stunning in the episode the other day⏤ only because you are bored and there is nothing else to do, or so you tell yourself. You find: you do not regret lying the first day and calling him your best friend, because even if you are not even friends⏤ you don’t think you are, at least, because he has never confirmed it, even if he does seem somewhat tolerant of you; punches your pseudo-stalker in the face for you, and carries you piggyback on the way home, crying all the while.

“You’re ruining my shirt,” He grouses. “Stop crying. I’m literally more injured than you are.”

You sniff. “I’m not kissing you better.”

He snarls. “Come anywhere near me with your mouth and I’ll blow your face off.”

“You want it so bad it makes you look stupid.” You tell him, and he tenses beneath you, but you only press your cheek to his neck, and think, heal.

The pain of the bruises lances through you, and you feel the way he relaxes.

You droop. “Onwards, steed.”

“I will literally drop you.”

“I just healed you. I’m tired.”

“No one fucking asked you to.”

He doesn’t make good on his promise, though, and eventually, you sigh a little into his neck.

“What.”

“Nothing.”

“What, dumbass.”

You hum, a little absentminded. “You’re going to UA, right?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Oh, I was thinking of applying for the healer understudy openings.” You shrug. “Dunno if I can get in, though.”

“You will.” His certainty surprises you.

You smile. “Didn’t know you believed in me so much, Katsuki-kun.” Your head flops back onto his shoulder. “Will you still walk with me in the mornings, then?”

“After school, too. Even if you don’t get in.”

You shift to blink up at him in surprise.

He clicks his tongue. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look this uncomfortable.

“Who the fuck else’s gonna punch shitty stalkers for you?”

You don’t think you’ve ever felt like this before, like the sun cresting upon the horizon, lighting up like a dawn inside your chest. You laugh at the feel of it. “Are you sure you woke up on the right side of the bed today? Besides, you don’t even know where I’d be going.” You reach up to pinch him on the cheek.

He jerks away, the look on his face disgusted.

“Then I’ll teach you to fight.”

You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You find: you do not regret lying the first day and calling him your best friend, because even if you are not even friends⏤ he is tolerant of you, he punches your pseudo-stalker for you, he walks with you before school, and he walks with you after. He lets you flop on his bed, lets you push him to the desk, wrinkles his nose at you when you tell him about a boy that was cute, and calls your friends dumb when you tell him about something they said that was funny. You weasel his birthday out of Mitsuki, and get him that All Might merch you know he’ll like. There’s some Recovery Girl merch left on your windowsill the day of yours. He laughs when you try a bite of his food for the first time and cough instantly after, your face aflame. What the hell is this? You hiss, and he grins, telling you it’s real food, and that you’re just weak. He never calls you his friend, but he believes in you and your dream, and promises to walk you to and from school anyways, even if you do not attend the same one.

( That’s just how Katsuki-kun shows his love, you tell Mitsuki-san, once upon a time, and though you are not sure if it is love, you think: you do not mind it. )

This is how your relationship is, and how it remains, until the end of the second last year of middle school, right before the both of you enter UA.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You are asleep at your desk when you are jumpscared awake.

“UA? That national school? Isn’t their acceptance rate really low?” Someone in your class is asking.

“That’s exactly why you guys are just extras!” You roll your eyes as the ash-blond jumps straight atop his desk. “I aced the mock test! I’m the only one at this school who could possibly get into UA. I’ll definitely surpass All Might and become the top hero!”

This is not the first time you’ve heard this tirade. Sueko nudges you, quietly. “Hey. Didn’t you say you were applying for one of their healer slots?”

“Oh, yeah.” The sensei glances down at his list. “Midoriya wanted to go to UA as well, right? And someone else…” You tense.

The class bursts into uproarious laughter, and it seems you are temporarily saved.

“Huh? Midoriya? No way! You can’t get into the Hero course by just studying!”

The green-haired boy stammers. “Th-they got rid of the rule! There’s just no precedent…”

You roll your eyes at the sound of familiar explosions. “Huh? Deku! You’re below the rejects! You’re quirkless! How can you even stand in the same ring as me?”

“No, wait! Kacchan! It’s not like I’m trying to compete with you or anything! Believe me!” He falters “It’s just that it’s been my goal ever since I was little! I won’t know unless I try…”

“What do you mean, unless you try? You’re Quirkless!”

You slam your textbook down with a little more force than usual, and the whole class turns to you in surprise. “He has a dream that he dares to try for,” you say, coolly and careful. “Isn’t that enough?”

“And what the hell would you know about that?”

Disbelief rushes through you, and you turn to look him squarely in the eye. The class tenses, and his own eyes widen. It has been a while since you’ve challenged him like this directly, whether in school or otherwise.

Sueko pipes up, unhelpfully, from beside you, as if he wouldn’t know. “She’s also applying for UA.”

You don’t get the chance to glare at her, because your sensei continues the thought. “Oh, yes, that’s right! You were the last student applying to UA! The healer routes are notoriously difficult⏤ how’s that coming along?”

“Ah, I applied to some hospitals for volunteering, but I don’t know if they accept middle-schoolers,” You laugh.

Your sensei nods, in support, but also a little condescendingly. “Well, it’s also a very difficult path, so don’t beat yourself up about it too much, yeah?”

The smile on your face feels a little bit painful, a little bit stretched.

You are distracted for the rest of that day. So out of it, in fact, that when the sensei calls upon you, his favorite student, you take all of five seconds to respond⏤ blinking, first, then glancing up, with a: “Sorry, what was the question?” You are so out of it that you bump your hip into your own desk as you move past for lunch, wincing at the twinge of it, and you are so out of it that you forget your pencil case when you leave after class, and have to go back to get it.

“Believe that you’ll be born with a Quirk in your next life, and take a last chance dive off the roof!”

You know that voice. You pause. But then, the blast of familiar explosions.

Before your hands, the door slams open.

You don’t know what you were expecting. Bakugou and Midoriya both, obviously, and you suppose you should have known his two lackeys would have been there, too. They turn from their face-off, and your glare is sharp and terrible. “So what if he’s Quirkless?” You snap, storming over to grab the green-haired boy by the wrist. “At least he has a dream. At least he dares to try. That’s more than I can say for the two of you.”

“Stay out of this,” The blond snarls, a warning.

You are not entirely a good person. You lie as you please, wielding the power of your mother’s fashion, your father’s wallet, and do things entirely for your own amusement, uncaring of the aftermath. You know Midoriya, or rather, you know of him, and how he is a frequent target of Bakugou’s scathing remarks. At first, you had assumed he’d just been one of the people that disliked you, but it had become increasingly evident that he was just one of the people that didn’t dare to brave the blond’s wrath. And you are not entirely a good person, because you just didn’t care. Not to talk to him, not to stand up for him, not if he hadn’t even tried to for you.

You are not entirely a good person yourself, but even so, you know that there are lines that should not be crossed.

You lift your chin, and say, quietly. “Apologize.”

“Hah?” He tilts his head. “And why the hell should I? Why the hell are you defending him?”

You feel incredulous. “What does that have anything to do with it?” You don’t see the way his eyes flicker down to where you are holding the green-haired boy, by his wrist. “There are things that you should never, ever, say to a person.” His eyes narrow, but there’s an irrational anger within you, a disbelief. “You’re literally trying to become a Hero. How can you, an applicant of UA, who hopes to become one of the best heroes in the world, tell someone to kill themselves, and not think there’s anything wrong with it?”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Little explosions are escaping his hands, in the uncontrolled way they do when he’s furious and unaware of them.

You think Midoriya makes a pained sound, what with the way your hands are clenching, angry and white. Heal. A sting pulses through you, and you drop his wrist, but your eyes are flashing. “You’re being an ass. Apologize.”

“You don’t tell me what to do.”

You lift your chin. “If you value our friendship in the slightest, then yes, I do.” The vehemence of your words stuns you a bit, and the blond recoils, as if he has been physically struck.

You think you have won, for all of a moment, and then he scoffs.

“Yeah, right. What friendship? The one you lied to my mom about and said that we had? That friendship? The one that doesn’t exist? Won’t exist?”

His sneer is not harsh, but the breath that leaves you is shaky.

You do not hear his next words.

( You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You flop on his bed, making sure to crinkle his carefully-pressed sheets, forcing him to his desk during one of your so-called ‘hangouts’ and ‘study sessions’⏤ Mitsuki’s words, not either of yours, but there are textbooks in front of the both of you, so that is good enough. You study harder than you ever have before, and rub every one of your small victories in his face, and he studies like a demon in return⏤ ( even though he’s never needed to study in his life )⏤ until the both of you are neck and neck, with perfect grades in every subject. You buy everything sunflower-colored, sunflower-shaped, and tack sunflower stickers onto every surface you can see, pinning some cute ones to your backpack. You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You see his face more often than anything else, and he calls you an idiot when you tell him about the fictional boys you think are cute. Well, you don’t care. You tell him about them anyways, because you are bored and Kuroo-kun looked particularly nice in the episode the other day⏤ only because you are bored and there is nothing else to do, or so you tell yourself. You find: you do not regret lying the first day and calling him your best friend, because even if you are not even friends⏤ you don’t think you are, at least, because he has never confirmed it, even if he does seem somewhat tolerant of you; punches your pseudo-stalker in the face for you, and carries you piggyback on the way home, crying all the while. You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You find: you do not regret lying the first day and calling him your best friend, because even if you are not even friends⏤ he is tolerant of you, he punches your pseudo-stalker for you, he walks with you before school, and he walks with you after. He lets you flop on his bed, lets you push him to the desk, wrinkles his nose at you when you tell him about a boy that was cute, and calls your friends dumb when you tell him about something they said that was funny. You weasel his birthday out of Mitsuki, and get him that All Might merch you know he’ll like, and there’s some Recovery Girl merch left on your windowsill the day of yours. He laughs when you try a bite of his food for the first time and cough instantly after, your face aflame. What the hell is this? You hiss, and he grins, telling you it’s real food, and that you’re just weak. He never calls you his friend, but he believes in you and your dream, and promises to walk you to and from school anyways, even if you do not attend the same one. )

This is how Katsuki-kun shows his love, you say to Mitsuki-san once upon a time, but now, you know, because you have learned to read between the lines of his words; to understand him: that this is just how he treats liars who worm their way into his world, and how he tolerates them.

Your lip wobbles. There is a lump in your throat. But you will not cry for him, nor will you plead. Play nice, your mother chastises you once upon a time, because you are a willful child, vindictive in both your action and your speech, and petty enough to hold onto your grudges. She chastises you once upon a time, because you do not particularly care to cater to the feelings of those around you unless you feel like it; do not care to stand up for a boy who has done nothing to you, just because he has done nothing for you.

You are petty, yes. Vindictive, too. You may not be that much of a good person, and you are not without your own feelings, hypocritical as that may be. But you are trying, and you are genuine, or at least as much as you can be, as much as you ever have, and he⏤ he has just thrown all of that in your face.

“Fine, then.” You smile, and you are unfeeling as you lie. “I’ve never thought of you as a friend, either. Don’t talk to me again.”

The door slams behind you.

You do not hear his next words, so you do not hear him mean: not while you choose him, and not me.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Katsuki is six-turning seven the first time he meets you.

It is the first day of school. You are seated at your desk, a crowd of adoring sycophants around you. “Happy birthday! You look really pretty today,” His friend says from beside him, and he looks you up and down. You are wearing a sky-blue dress, with your hair pressed into careful curls.

His cheeks warm. He thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, but he only grunts, looking away to the side. “Dunno. She looks pretty ugly to me.”

“You can’t just say that to her,” Your friend hisses. He doesn’t know her face.

He scowls at her. “And who the heck are you, extra?”

She wilts under the force of his glare, and he feels a little better, as if satisfied.

“It’s okay!” You smile. He blinks. Maybe he should call you ugly more often.

And then you call him stupid. And blind.

And the rest is history.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

The results of your hospital volunteer application are sent back the next week, and the first thing you think of, somewhat bitterly, is that at least now, you have a proper excuse for skipping out on your weekly dinners.

You have already skipped out on the first, pretending you feel sick.

Your phone is still silent. You have not talked to him since that day, not even to check up on him when you see the news, though your fingers itch to. You think of sunflowers: how you didn’t even like them, until him. You think of how your bag now feels empty without its signature pins, how you have thrown every scrap of yellow clothing into a pile in your closet, your sunflower-themed charms and notebooks tucked away.

Proof of life comes from your mother, and you do not turn on your phone.

You break your silence two days later, pushing your vegetables somewhat morosely around your plate. “My volunteer application was accepted. They’re letting me intern at the hospital.”

Your father beams. “That’s great news! You should’ve told us earlier! Honey, we have to eat out to celebrate! Oh, I need to tell Masaru⏤”

“I won’t be going to weekly dinners for the rest of the summer,” You cut in. Your mother’s chopsticks pause midair.

Your father blinks at you. “Surely the hospital isn’t making its interns work that much.”

“Well, I’m applying to UA.” You shrug. That much is true, but it’s also just so you can fill in your hours, work yourself down to the bone. “I’d like as much experience as possible.”

Your mother is watching you carefully.

Your father clears his throat. “Well, don’t work yourself too hard.” He says, jokingly, as he dishes another helping of food upon your plate. “You tell us if they’re giving you any trouble, alright?”

You force yourself to smile back. “‘Course, dad.”

( Your mother asks you, a week later, when you arrive home from your internship. “Are you still friends with him?” She has asked you a similar question once, years ago and late in the evening, at the end of the dinner party, your father drunken and half-leaning on her shoulder.

You give her the same answer you did then, and in the same way. Cheery, and without a hint of hesitation. “Nope!”

She is watching you carefully.

You excuse yourself, and she does not ask you about it again. )

It feels like the days never end, and yet summer passes by before you can blink. You banish all thoughts of blond hair and crimson eyes entirely from your mind, and truthfully, you do not have the mind to think of him much, anyways. You steal the pain of your patients and make it your own, smiling at the brightness of their faces as you heal one, then two, then several more. It tires you terribly so, and between your time at the hospital and pre-studying for the UA exams, you’re so fatigued each night that you fall asleep before your head even hits the pillow. You don’t even have the time to meet up with your friends. And before you know it, the last year of middle school is upon you, as are the start of your applications.

It is a whirlwind of things to do, so much that you feel you do not have the time to breathe, or even think. Katsuki’s been placed in a different class from yours, which comes as a relief in more ways than one⏤ firstly, that you don’t have to see him, and secondly, because you can let your grades fall just a little, and still come out as top of your class. Between your intern shifts, your mindless studying, the applications, the tests and quizzes and preparing endlessly for interviews, the thoughts of anything else vanish entirely from your mind. You do not feel the emptiness of your afternoons, nor much of your mornings.

About two months in, Midoriya Izuku is the one to seek you out.

There is a spoonful of rice halfway to your mouth, a textbook in your other hand. You notice him when a shadow falls over it, blotting the light out. You glance up, drawling. “Yes?”

“Can I… talk to you for a moment?” He ventures, nervously, a tray gripped in his hands.

You eye him a little strangely.

You haven’t seen him since four months ago⏤ you haven’t really been paying much attention, and even the reminder sets your walls of iron slamming up. He’d been shorter then, you think, and significantly more hesitant. The boy from back then would never have even dared think about approaching you like this.

He flusters. “I-I just! Another time is also okay, or if you don’t want to, that’s also okay⏤”

There he is, you think, a touch amused. “Can it be said here?”

Beside you, Sueko’s jaw drops. You can feel the stares of your friends boring into the side of your face.

“Y-yes?”

“Then make it quick.” You flip the page of your textbook.

He hesitates. “Is it really okay…? For me to sit here?”

Your eyebrow arches, high. “Since when have you been unable to sit where you like?”

Mutely, he sets his tray down, and sits.

You only flip another page. “You can either eat or talk.” You say, conversationally. “Lunch won’t last all day.”

Obediently, he takes a spoonful of rice, and swallows. “I just… wanted to thank you.” He begins.

You know exactly what he is talking about, and your throat tightens. ( You think of your backpack, how empty it feels, but your refusal to tack on your sunflower pins anyway. ) You shrug. “No need to thank me. I didn’t do it for you.”

“Even so,” Midoriya perks up a bit. “N-no one’s ever stood up for me like that before, and especially not to Kacchan… I-I’m really grateful, either way!”

You snort a little. Never would you have thought Midoriya Izuku, of all people, would stand here one day, thanking you.

“I think you’re a really good person,” He says to you, a little bit hesitant. It jolts you a bit, the genuine honesty of his tone, but what you are not prepared for is what comes after. “And I know Kacchan does, too.”

Your spoon stops halfway to your mouth.

“He still cares about you,” Midoriya says, a touch softer. Your friends are not looking at you, but you can still feel the weight of their gazes, their ears.

You say as you set your spoon down. “If you want to be friends with me, then you will never speak of him again.”

Midoriya watches you carefully, notes the finality in your tone. His gaze rises to a point above your shoulder.

He flinches.

He does not speak of what he sees, or of this conversation, ever again.

You do not turn, and you do not ask.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

The week of UA acceptances arrive, and you await your own with bated breath.

Your father laughs as you run out exactly at eight every morning to check, before he finally deigns to tell you that the postman usually delivers to your house around twelve. “I knew that!” You say, and he laughs at the obvious lie.

You stick your tongue out at him, but you still sneak out the next day at the same time, just in case.

But as it turns out, the postman is late. You know this, because Midoriya texts you late in the evening, after dinnertime, with his signature All Might emoji and a brief: check your mailbox!!!!!

You stop, your heart in your throat. You don’t think you are breathing.

He’s still typing, spamming your text messages with a thousand All Might emojis, each of them more despairing than the last. You do not know what this means. And then, you see his next message: I got in!!!!!

It turns out that you are not, in fact, breathing.

You feel like you are holding your breath the whole time you’re fumbling through your mailbox, dropping random letters haphazardly onto your doorstep. That one looks like it’s important, you think, distantly, and it gets dropped somewhere onto the growing pile at your right, scanning them all for a familiar logo, and⏤ you see it at the very bottom of the pile.

You thumb it open with shaking hands. Congratulations, it reads, and you scream.

( You think for one moment of sunflowers, how you can imagine exactly how he’d react, hear exactly what he’d say. )

Your father pokes his head around the corner. “I heard screaming. Everything alright?”

Your mother is smiling. “Mitsuki just called. Katsuki’s in.”

Your father is looking at you with wide eyes. You are grinning, there are tears in your eyes, and you are wordless in your delight.

Your mother laughs, soft. “I suppose two congratulations are in order.”

“Midoriya also made it, so make that three.” You correct, grinning.

Your father whoops. “THAT’S MY GIRL!” For the first time in almost a year, you feel light as a feather, like the world is spread wide before you, and you are a young god before it, your wings wide and at the ready.

For the first time in almost a year, you think, for one moment of sunflowers, how you can imagine exactly how he’d react, hear exactly what he’d say. You think of reaching for your phone⏤ ( and if you did, you’d see his icon that you’d purposefully wiped blank bubbling )⏤ but you don’t. You think of a boy with blond hair and crimson eyes that you have not looked at in almost a year, how you’ll brush past him in the halls, surrounded by your gaggle of friends, your uniform and makeup, your armor, and try not to note how he’s grown taller. For the first time in over a year, you think of him, and your heart does not feel like an empty cavity in your chest; you do not feel so hollow, nor do you ache.

Your heart only squeezes, a little tight, but.

You think you will be fine.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You are delusional. You are not, in fact, fine.

You are standing in front of the classroom door. It spells the code of your class: 1A, in bold lettering, proportions inhumanly large. You are three minutes late, but it’s really not your fault⏤ you’d simply fangirled so hard over the fact that you’re finally getting to meet your idol in person last night that you’d barely gotten any sleep, and your mother had had to haul you practically out of bed and out the door, throughout the whole of your alarm.

You slide open the door. Instantly, you’re met with a sea of faces, and you steel yourself⏤ but then.

For the first time in over a year, you see him, and all of a sudden, you are painfully aware of the lack of yellow on your figure; your backpack entirely empty of its signature sunflower pins.

The smile is frozen on your face, and he looks just as shocked as you feel.

A voice drawls at your side. “You must be the healer,” You are glad for the distraction; the source a scraggly-haired man halfway through removing himself from a sleeping bag. Your sensei, you deduce. “You’re late.”

“Sorry, sensei!” You bow. “I overslept because I was fangirling too hard over meeting Recovery Girl today! I promise it won’t happen again!”

A wave of soft laughter ripples through the class, and over the din, you hear a⏤ she’s kinda cute!⏤ at the same time as a⏤ oh, I love her already.

“If I get hurt, will I get to see you?” A voice calls, and you turn to see a boy⏤ blond, and your heart stutters for a moment, but his shade isn’t ash, it’s golden. He’s grinning cheekily up at you.

“No flirting in my class.” Your sensei warns. “But yes, seeing as she’s 1A’s healer understudy.” He turns to you. “Recovery Girl’s waiting for you in her office. You know where it is?”

You nod cheerily. “Sir, yes, sir!”

“Good.” You turn at the obvious dismissal, shooting a wave at your green-haired friend as you do.

You leave the classroom with your shoulders set, your chin tilted high, your outfit your armor, and your makeup your helm.

You pretend like you do not feel the crimson glare that seems like it’s trying to pierce through the back of your neck.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Recovery Girl likes you, and you feel as if you are floating for the whole of a day. Not even meeting Bakugou’s gaze the next morning can knock you from it, nor can the grape-haired boy’s leering from across the room. You can’t really dwell on them for long, either, not with the crowd of people aggregating by your desk. You blink up a little, surprised.

It’s not like you’ve made an effort to dress up especially pretty today, and you don’t think you’ve come off as incessantly nice. You are not the you from first grade anymore⏤ you don’t just think yourself pretty, you know you are⏤ but are confident enough in your own skin that you have stopped putting on airs; have allowed yourself to be as cold and sarcastic and dry as you want. Most of your girl-followers⏤ ( the ones you buy with your mother’s fashion, your father’s wallet, and your pure, sunny disposition )⏤ have only seen glimpses of you like this, and you can count on one hand the people outside of your parents who know you as you are.

Sueko, Midoriya, and of course, him.

You do not dwell on it for long. You are confident in your own skin, and though you would like some more friends, you do not wish to temper yourself to gain them.

You smile a little at the question the purple-haired boy asks, disliking the way his eyes are lingering at your chest. “You’re all welcome to drop by the clinic anytime you like. It’s what we’re here for, after all. Though, if you want a kiss to make you feel better,”

You pause a little bit for dramatic effect watching the eyes of several boys brighten just a bit.

“You’ll have to go to Recovery Girl.”

Your straight face is very well-practiced, but you do not hide the small quirk of your mouth as you watch their souls die.

An arm slings around your shoulder, its pink-skinned, pink-haired owner grinning at you. “I think we’re going to be best friends, you and I.”

You remember thinking the same thing about a different girl, when you are six-turning seven, and you hear the same genuinity behind it.

( You are clad in your outfit like armor, your makeup a helm. Today, you are exactly as cold and sarcastic and dry as you like, because you are confident in your own skin, and you do not temper yourself in the slightest. )

You smile up at her. “I think I’d like that!”

Her grin widens, but then, an older Hero walks in⏤ Cementoss, you think. You have made an effort to memorize the roster. “To your seats, everyone.” He calls.

You take out your notebook, neatly arranging your pens. New year, new you. You don’t have as many shifts at the hospital anymore⏤ you don’t need the experience exactly, as you’re sure UA will look good enough on your resume, but it can’t hurt. Besides, you enjoy working there anyways; the older nurses who help you out with a kind smile, the doctors who are almost always willing to answer a question. But the lessened shifts allow you to breathe, just a little, to settle back into a healthier routine; one no longer so bogged down by your thoughts.

Math transitions quickly into English. You think you prefer Cementoss’s teaching style just a little, even if Present Mic is more energetic⏤ a little bit too loud for your tastes, you think. The material is basic, seeing as it’s the unofficial first day of class, and though you’ve already pre-studied most of the content, you end up writing most of it down, anyways.

Lunchtime arrives. You balance your tray on your hands, walking side-by-side with Mina. Midoriya waves at you from his table, surrounded by an assortment of friends, and you nod back. “Let’s sit there!” The pink-haired girl points excitedly at a particular table.

You see several boys from your class, some more familiar than the rest. A head of ash blonde, crimson eyes that glance up to meet your own.

“Midoriya wanted me to sit with him today,” You say, a touch apologetic. “You’re welcome to join us, if you’d like?”

Her eyes widen a bit, and you note the glance, the observance. Her own smile is your mirror, just as apologetic, and just as assertive. “Maybe another time,” She says.

She knows what she wants, and she’s not afraid to say it. You like that about her.

You incline your head, eyelid pulling down in a wink. “Do let me know which one you like,”

She only laughs at you, her answering grin somewhat sly.

All Might steps into the room after lunch, and though you’ve never been one of his particularly die-hard fans⏤ you think of your sunflowers, how you make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours⏤ you can admit that in person, he stands a legend in real life. You are just a little starstruck, you think, as he smiles at you, and says⏤ “Do try to keep your injuries to a minimum, though not to worry! Our healer team will be here to assist you!”

You find yourself grinning a little as you respond, “Nothing fatal, though. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything about anyone bringing a dead person back to life.”

He booms a laugh. “Naturally! You are all Heroes! You should refrain from using lethal power whenever possible!”

He speaks too soon. The first teams are called up, and the matchup is almost comical.

Bakugou will be fine. You know this. You are not worried for him in the slightest⏤ not that you would, you tell yourself, a touch sardonically.

No. What you worry for is the state of your Quirkless friend, and you are right to worry. Bakugou seems almost angrier than you’ve ever seen him, and that’s saying a lot, considering how good you are⏤ how good you used to be, you correct yourself⏤ at getting on his nerves, though Midoriya seems to be holding up very well.

Your friend has grown, you think. He is not at all the same person he was over a year ago in that classroom.

But you are right to worry, because All Might is shouting into his microphone. “Young Bakugou, stop! Are you trying to kill him?”

No, you think, immediately, instinctively. You know Bakugou is many things, but he is not that. Never that.

You feel the force of that explosion from here. “This is supposed to be a class!” One of your classmates, red-haired and red-eyed, is saying. “You have to stop him!”

“He knows what he’s doing.” You find yourself saying. Somewhat cold, somewhat callous. There are eyes on you, surprised.

You shrug.

You don’t really know why you say it, either.

“Young Bakugou, the next time you use that, I’ll stop the fight, and your team will lose. To attack on such a large scale inside is inviting the destruction of the very stronghold you are supposed to be protecting. That is a foolish plan for both heroes and villains, and you will lose a lot of points!”

You don’t need to look at him to feel his teeth gnash in anger, but you still watch the screen, anyways.

Their clash is violent. You remember saying, once, that you dislike violence because you are a healer. But that is not entirely true, you think: you see the passion in their every movement, even as your green-haired friend receives the brunt of the beating, the callous elegance of it. The careful calculations, the years of training that you have walked alongside most of to witness.

“This looks bad!” One of the classmates from before seems to shout. “Sensei!”

You don’t dislike violence just because you are a healer. What you have always disliked is the senseless brutality of it, the cruelty of its aftermath. Not because you have to deal with it, but because sometimes, you can’t.

You look to All Might. He seems to be struggling with something.

“So long as it is not fatal,” Your voice is soft, but no less firm. “I can heal it.”

His mouth tightens, but you see his decision made in that moment.

You turn your attention back to the screen just in time to see Midoriya’s Quirk. Your eyes widen. It’s so sudden, so powerful, that you almost miss it; the blast entirely different from Bakugou’s own. So he was not Quirkless after all, you think, but all thought of that vanishes when you see the aftermath.

All Might is turning for you, but you are already running.

You see the two you are unfamiliar with first. “How is she?” You ask the blue-haired boy who stands upright.

“I’m fine!” She gasps out. “Just nauseous! But Deku⏤”

You hear the nickname, and you think you look a little strangely at her for it. You don’t dwell on it very long, though, because you’re already slipping past.

Then, you see him, and though your heart stutters a little in your chest⏤ ( your bag, empty of its sunflowers )⏤ you still look him in the eye. You are professional. “Are you hurt?” You ask, because he is standing there, still gaping, a little open-mouthed.

He turns that look upon you, and his eyes widen.

The eye contact feels slightly unsettling. You look away first. “Well. If you are, you can let me know.”

You kneel at the green-haired boy’s side.

A hand stops you, just as you reach out. They’re a little bit bigger than what you’re used to, a little bit more callused. “Wait,” He says, voice raspy, and you tense a little: both at the familiar and unfamiliar touch, and because it’s been so long since you’ve heard his voice. “You don’t have to⏤” He scowls, cursing. “Recovery Girl.”

You blink up at him, a little confused.

But then you see his eyes dart towards your arm, and then the green-haired boy’s, lying prone on the ground.

“I am a healer. It’s what I do.”

“That’s not what I⏤” He curses again under his breath. “The damn nerd will be fine. Does he even know about your Quirk?”

“Why would that even matter?” You are confused, and you shove his arm away. Your friend is still hurt, and he is keeping you from your job. Why do you even care? You want to say.

You bite your tongue, and think: heal.

Midoriya blinks awake halfway through. Your arm is covered in purple contusions, and he gasps, jerking away. “You⏤ your arm!”

They fade within seconds. You only reach again for it, feeling the crimson gaze burning into the side of your face, as you’re sure the rest of the class is too, from their camera screens hundreds of meters away. You stare straight ahead, and think, heal, even as your arm ripples in agony again, painted and purple.

You steal your patient’s pain, and you feel all of it, but you don’t show a thing. Because you are a healer, and that’s what you do.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You are a healer, and that’s what you do, but the next day, Aizawa-sensei still admonishes you for it.

“Your records are very impressive,” He tells you first, and you straighten. You figure: he is likely a man notorious for his lack of praise, so you might as well lap it up while you can. “However, just because you have a very high pain tolerance, does not mean you do not feel pain. Am I correct?”

“Yes, sensei.” You dip your head.

“The lot of you hear that, right?” He addresses the rest of the class. “She’s a healer, and she can heal almost anything, save those who are already dead. That’s very impressive, and it’s very rare. Don’t let her become your crutch. She will not always be there, and though she might say she doesn’t mind your burden, others will. Whether it’s yourself, your fellow Pro Heroes, or the civilians you are trying to save.”

There is murmured assent from the class.

He turns back to you. “Heroism is also about knowing when to step back and let others handle the situation. It is okay to share your burdens,” He tells you.

You blink a little, surprised at the comments that are not really criticism at all. “I am a healer,” You state. “It’s what I do.”

He sighs. “You’re just as stubborn as your mentor,” He says.

You smile at this, chirping. “Thank you!”

“That was not a compliment.”

You sink into your chair a little sheepishly, but it’s like a sun has been lit in your chest, because you take it as one anyways, and you are grinning.

Lunchtime is a little strange today, for more reasons than one. Mina invites you again, but she doesn’t protest your decision, a knowing glint in her eye. But she doesn’t mention a thing, and you are grateful for it.

Midoriya is sitting with the same people as yesterday, and he beams, delighted, as you slide into the seat beside him. Iida and Uraraka nod at you from across the table, and you nod back.

Surprisingly, it’s the red-and-white haired boy across from you⏤ Todoroki, who breaks the silence. “My father says he would like to meet you.”

You blink. That’s certainly not what you were expecting. “Endeavour, right?”

He nods, his face deadpan. “Please decline.”

You choke a little bit on the bite of food that has just entered your mouth. Midoriya slides you a napkin.

You cough around it. “Wow, Todoroki-san. You really dislike me that much?”

He shoots you a strange look. “Not at all. Why do you ask?”

You’re a little confused. “Oh, that was a joke.”

“Apologies. I have never been very good with jokes.”

“Nothing to apologize for, and I was planning on declining, anyways. I’m going to intern under Recovery Girl for the rest of my life!”

“I will communicate that to him, then.”

Midoriya coughs lightly from your other side. You elbow him.

Uraraka giggles, but whatever she is going to say is cut off by the sound of the alarm. There has been a level three security breach, you hear.

“Trespassing,” You hear someone clarify.

You stare at the horde of gray-uniformed students crowding the hallway. You have never been a huge fan of crowds, especially ones as tightly-packed as this. Besides, you think, a touch dryly, that if there were an intruder, walking headfirst into a mosh pit like this would probably be the best way to get yourself caught up in a mass murder.

But you don’t get to voice any of these concerns, because then Uraraka is tugging at your wrist. “If we don’t get ourselves in there now, we’re never going to get our way out! Come on!”

You fall, weightless, and are carried away upon the sea.

It’s horrible. Internally, you curse the girl, and almost don’t even feel bad about it because yes, she’s like the sweetest person you’ve ever known, but she’s also reason you’re in the midst of a thousand wayward bodies right now, wrinkling your nose at the reek, and practically fighting for your life to keep your head above the throng. You are a healer, you think, a little despairingly, as you elbow someone so harshly that your own limb twinges. You are fighting a desperate battle, but nonetheless a losing one⏤ at least you are, until hands lift you by the waist and carry you forth; your savior cutting his way through the crowd with ease.

Your back hits the wall, and gratitude is on the tip of your tongue as you look up, but then you see him: ash-blond, and glaring at you with crimson eyes. “The hell were you thinking?” He hisses. “You don’t even like crowds.”

You hate the familiarity in the way he says it, as if he still knows you, and you hate the way he cages you in against the wall, his body larger than you have known, but how it still feels the same, pressed up against yours.

( You think of your sunflowers, how your bag feels strangely empty without them. )

It is the nearest he has been to you in well over a year. You hate the way he smells, like burnt caramel, and you hate the way your cheeks warm.

You want to say: neither do you, and you want to ask him why he even bothered to try and save you. You know he doesn't like you, not even in the slightest, not this liar who has wormed their way into his world; this liar that he tolerates. You think of a thousand witty remarks, ones that used to make his eyes light, the curl of his scowl somewhat harsh, but no less familiar, of giving voice to your outrage, to your feelings, and simply storming past.

You choose none of the above.

You still your features, the picture of calm, set the steel of your shoulders, and stare straight at a point above his shoulder. “Why do you even care?”

You do not look at him, so you don’t see the way he recoils, ever-slightly. The expression he levels you, half-bewildered, half-disbelieving, the rest a complicated mix of emotions even he could not decipher himself.

You don't see the way he opens his mouth, because then Iida is there and shouting.

You see your chance, and you don’t wait for his answer. You weren’t expecting one, anyways.

He doesn’t even have the time to reach for you, before you slip past, and are gone.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You stand before the mouth of USJ, your heart in your throat.

You barely notice the weight of the device upon your wrist; a monitor that connects you to all the ones distributed amongst the class, because there are villains down there, you think, a little dumbfoundedly. Real villains, like the type you see in movies, and you feel almost ridiculous, out of place, as if someone will smack you upside the head and tell you: wake up! and that you are not in a story. And you are not, because you pinch yourself, and yes, this is real life.

You have never seen a villain yourself before, because you are a healer, and have only ever dealt with the aftermath of what they have done. You know the damage, the pain, the torture it can inflict upon a soul; the way sometimes, no one can ever fully heal them afterwards, not even you. So though you are a little wide-eyed, your thoughts blank, when the mist wraps around you, you don’t even think.

You lunge.

Crimson eyes widen, and he catches you, just one second before you fall into darkness as one.

You try not to think about the way his body feels against yours, how he is cradling you, the way his hand automatically wraps around the back of your head. You feel the impact in your bones, though he bears the brunt of it. Automatically, you reach up, and think, heal, but you don’t have the time to do much else, because then his eyes widen, and he’s shoving you away.

“STAY THERE!” Distantly, you think he is roaring at you, and another time, you might have protested that you could defend yourself. But the shock of it all is still settling in⏤ ( these are real villains, you think dazedly, and this is real life )⏤ and you are a healer, right now, you are nothing more than a civilian.

In the aftermath, you still stand, dazed. Bakugou and another red-haired guy from your class are panting, smoke curling from your familiar ash-blond’s figure, and you register, like the world is separated from you by a film: it’s over.

“Oi.” There are palms cupping your face, and you blink a little, startled, as crimson eyes boring into yours. “You hurt anywhere?”

No, you think, a little too stunned to speak; the harshness of his tone at odds with the gentle manner of his touch. But then you see a hint of blood trickling down the side of his cheek.

As if on instinct, you reach out for him. He jerks away.

Wow, you think, the lump rising to your throat instantly. You had not known he hated you this much, to the point that he is unwilling of even your touch.

“I am a healer,” You say, your throat somewhat tight. ( You think of sunflowers, your bag that is empty, your closet and its piled-up yellow. ) “You are hurt, and I am simply repaying a favor.”

You sense that he is watching you carefully, but your eyes do not rise to meet his gaze. You simply steal his pain, and you barely feel a thing⏤ even if his injuries were not so light, you think you are too numb to, anyways.

You move past, and he does not reach for you. The red-haired classmate⏤ Kirishima, you recognize, grins at you, saying that he is unharmed. He offers to escort you back to the front, but then, your wristband is beeping, a location upon it.

You straighten. You are still afraid, you recognize, but there is someone out there that needs help, and this is simply another obstacle you must overcome. You will not always be in your hospital, tending to those that manage to get themselves wheeled in⏤ and though there is fear in you, there is also an equal determination.

“There are people who need healing,” You say, and that is all you need to.

You are a healer, but that does not mean you are any less brave.

You are a healer, and this is what you do.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You ask Aizawa, two days later, if he would be willing to teach you self defense.

( You remember a boy, back from what feels like eons ago. You, on his back, the sun in your chest as he offers to walk you both to and from school. You don’t even know where I’m going, you tease, and he only scoffs at you. Then I’ll teach you how to fight.

You think of your sunflowers, and your bag, empty of them.

Your throat tightens, and you make your decision. )

He looks a little surprised, and asks you if you are sure. He warns you that he will not be a lenient teacher, but you have seen how this man dove headfirst into danger to save his students; seen his kindnesses that are masked in the form of tough love.

You also know he likes you, at least a little bit. If he hadn’t, he would not have complimented you like that on the third day, would not have had the hint of fondness in his tone as he drawled, that wasn’t a compliment.

And even if he doesn’t, you know he will be at least a little lenient.

You had been the one to heal him, after all.

You are wrong.

You hate running. Always have. You started training, years ago, but that had been entirely out of spite, and in the wake of it⏤ ( your bag, empty of sunflowers )⏤ you had stopped. You hate running, always have, and you have no time, you’d told yourself, nor the energy⏤ but really, you hate it because it reminds you of him.

Now, you hate it for a different reason. You hate it because Aizawa pushes you, hard, until your lungs are gasping for air, your knees and legs trembling⏤ you think, somewhat sourly, that none of your healings had ever prepared you for this. You have healed all manner of wounds, cured a variety of diseases, but that does not change the fact even back when you were running, you had not put everything you had into it, and that now, you are trembling, bones soft, muscles even more so, somewhat like a deer.

You heal fast, though, you always have. You would not have been able to heal without it⏤ Aizawa knows this, which is why he pushes you hard. “If you hadn’t been so dedicated to medicine,” He tells you, “I would’ve told you to go the Hero route instead.”

You shrug. The thought has never occurred to you. Your mother is a doctor, and as soon as your Quirk had developed, you had never thought about anything else. But you don’t get a chance to voice it, or even to thank him, because then he’s hauling you up by the arm.

“Break’s over,” He informs you, a signature shit-eating grin on his face. You think you’re beginning to hate the sight of it. “Back to running.”

You sigh, before dutifully acquiescing.

Schoolwork is easier, at least, though between your sparse shifts at the hospital and Aizawa’s daily after-school training, you are pretty much spent. You don’t even register Mina chatting excitedly beside you about the upcoming UA sports festival that Aizawa has just announced⏤ you only think, a little despairingly; more work.

You glance up at your pink-haired friend’s surprised exclamation, and you see: a crowd of people, so many that from your vantage point, it seems like it’s the intruder incident all over again. A scoff, vaguely familiar⏤ “They’re obviously scoping out the competition, small fries. We’re the group that made it out of the villain attack.” Someone protests, telling him to play nice⏤ no, you think. This is him being nice. “Out of my way, extras!”

“I came to see what the famous Class 1-A is like, but you all seem pretty arrogant. Are all the students in the Hero courses like this?”

You see: a head of purple hair, mussed, and you think⏤ wow, he could be Aizawa if your sensei’s hair was shorter, purple, and he were using his Quirk.

“Seeing something like this makes me disillusioned. There are quite a few people who enrolled in general studies or other courses because they didn’t make it into the Hero course. Did you know that?”

You didn’t, but he only continues.

“The school has left those of us a chance. And based on the results of the sports festival, they’ll consider our transfer into the Hero course, and vice versa. Scoping out the competition?” He scoffs. “I, at least, came to say that even if you’re in the Hero course, if you get too carried away, I’ll sweep your feet out from under you.” His eyes flash, chin raised high. “Consider it a declaration of war.”

You sigh a little internally at the theatrics. “Excuse me, coming through.” You call. You ignore the way the ash-blond tenses a little as you walk up beside him, and you smile politely at the crowd; your uniform your armor, and your makeup your helm. You can do damage control just fine. “I’m class 1-A’s healer, so I don’t have a bone to pick with you really, but,” You cock your head. “All we did was fight off and survive a villain attack. I’m not sure how that’s arrogance. Have any of us gone out of our way to bother you?”

You are sure your classmates haven’t, because though you have not known them long, you are observant enough to tell that they are good and entirely dedicated to the path of Heroism. And you are right: he is wordless in the face of your diplomatic tone, the maturity of it all.

But then⏤ a laugh, somewhat mocking. You think you recognize the voice, and you do: it’s class 1-B’s understudy, standing in the middle of the crowd. You have not talked to her much, thinking her quiet, but it seems that really, she just dislikes you.

“That’s so rich of you to say,” She says, with a scoff. “Sucking up to Recovery Girl all the time, parading around like you own the place, all because you went viral and people started calling you The Best Healer of our Generation.”

You blink⏤ you remember Sueko mentioning it once, you think, after one of your co-workers, one of the older interns had started making videos of you, with your consent. You had not put much thought behind it, and you hadn’t the time to, between your many hours and the boneless weariness that had been so constant in your life after.

“Get off your high horse,” She snarls, a vehement finality to it, as she scans you, up, and then down.

You don’t know what to say, because honestly, you had never thought of yourself that way; had not thought of any others thinking of you that way. There are cries of outrage from behind you, you hear, distantly, as if you are underwater, but you are still stuck on the way she scans you. As if you are less than what you are, reduced to the painted trim of your nails, the makeup on your face, less than what you are and undeserving. As if it does not matter that you go to the hospital more often than not, your features clear, your hair pulled up, and lose yourself in your work; the agony of your patients, healing them and then some more until your bones ache with the ghost of their pain and you drop dead to your pillow, your phone turned off.

You are silent not because you are hurt, exactly⏤ you do not know this girl, and she does not know you⏤ but because you are so stunned. You don’t know what to say, because you have never thought yourself reduced to just this, less than what you are and undeserving. Distantly, you hear the cries of outrage, you feel yourself, adrift amidst an ocean, your hands clenching. You don’t know how to start, or what to even say.

But he does.

“She doesn’t use social media,” He starts, and yes, you don’t, but how does he know? “It obviously wasn’t even her recording the videos, you fuckwit, and it says in the account biography that it’s owned and run by a friend.”

You are staring at him, your heart held like hope in your throat. ( You think of your sunflowers. ) You don’t understand why he is saying this, why he is stepping in for you. ( You remember making fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You remember finding that you do not regret lying the first day and calling him your best friend, because even if you are not even friends⏤ he is tolerant of you, he punches your pseudo-stalker for you, he walks with you before school, and he walks with you after. He never calls himself your friend, but he believes in you and your dream, and promises to walk you to and from school anyways, even if you do not attend the same one. )

He does not look at you, nor does he pause, and though there is anger in his voice, you think he is holding himself back. “High horse?” He laughs sardonically. “Get off yours. She’s already ten times the healer, hell, the Hero, you’ll ever be.”

( He doesn’t call himself your friend, but he still stands up for you. )

You don’t know what sort of expression you’re making, but it has to be ugly, something complicated, not exactly bewilderment nor gratitude or simply hope but some combination of them all; like something in between.

“And what would you know? What are you, her guard dog?” She snarks back.

And finally, you find your voice.

“He does what he likes.”

You are still watching him, and you see the way his hands clench, and then unclench.

( You think very briefly of your sunflowers, and you think that you will always miss them. You can heal any wound on this earth, save the fatal ones, but you cannot heal the hole he has carved into your heart; not the one from this boy who knows you, every facet, both the good and the bad. You have never needed to hide the unsavory parts of yourself from him; after all, your very relationship was built upon a lie. You think a part of you has always loved him for it, will always love him for it⏤ this boy who is not your friend, has never been your friend, but still knows you, stands up for you, and believes in you, in all of you. And, you think, even if he does not care for you, there will always be a part of you that always cares for him. )

You turn to level her with a cool stare.

“He’s right,” You say. “I don’t use social media, and before you call me a liar, just listen.” You add, as her mouth opens.

( Your mother is a doctor, and when your Quirk develops, you know you want to go the same route. You have never even considered anything else; never even thought of being a Hero, until your sensei tells you that he might’ve pushed you for it, had you not already been so dedicated to the path.

And you will not pretend like you have been good every step of the way⏤ you are not that much of a good person. Your mother tells you to play nice, because you are a willful child, vindictive in both your action and your speech, and petty enough to hold onto your grudges. You are not that much of a good person, you have never particularly cared to cater to the feelings of those around you unless you feel like it; do not care to stand up for a boy who has done nothing to you, just because he has done nothing for you.

You are grown now, better now, you know, but some elements of you still remain. You still wear your outfits like your armor, though it is not your hair but your makeup that is now your helm, you take time with your appearance and you take care of it every morning. Your volunteering at the hospital was not born entirely out of unselfish intention⏤ firstly because your mother said it was what you should do, and second because you thought the experience would look good, especially since you were applying to UA. But⏤ )

“I don’t know why you applied to UA, but I know why I did.” You say, simply. “It was because I wanted to become a healer, and this is one of the best places in the world to do it.” You straighten, jerking a finger at the ash-blond beside you. “We all went through the same application process. Take him, for example. He’s arrogant, he’s loud, and he always gets on your nerves. But that doesn’t make him any less passionate, or any less of a Hero. It doesn’t matter, because if you’re determined enough, strong enough, you’ll eventually rise to the top.”

You are the center of attention, but you have never been so aware of a singular set of eyes, burning straight into you.

You continue. “I don’t know who you are, or what you want to be, but that goes for the rest of you, too.” You jerk your thumb back to your classroom. “There’s a green-haired boy in there that everyone thought was Quirkless, including himself. But he had a dream that he dared to try for, and look where he is now.”

You look at your fellow intern, the class 1-B one.

“I don’t use social media for a variety of reasons, haven’t for a long while, and I won’t pretend like all of them were good. But ever since I started volunteering at the hospital, whenever I think about it, I think: every second I spend scrolling the internet could be another life lost. Someone I didn’t save, something I didn’t learn that could’ve helped someone in the future.” Your shoulders are set, and you lift your chin high. “You can think I’m a liar all you want, but I would hope, as a healer, you would be at least able to understand this.”

She is mute, and you look at the rest of the crowd, wearing your outfit like armor, your makeup, your helm.

You raise one eyebrow. “Anything else?”

Silence is your only answer, and you shrug.

“See you around, I guess.”

The crowd parts mutely before you, but then your wrist is clasped in a hand⏤ you think, very briefly, of sunflowers, but then you turn, and it is Mina grinning up at you, several others from your class in tow. “You’re so fucking cool,” She tells you, bright and genuine.

You are not that much of a good person, never have been, and, you think, you are not entirely sure if you ever will be. You will never be entirely unselfish, free of your precociousness, your pettiness, your occasional lying habits, and all the other thousand-and-one flaws you could find in yourself, if you really tried.

But you are growing. You are the same you that you were before, and you are also different.

You grin at her. “I know I am,” You say.

You are not that much of a good person, but you are growing, just as much the person you were before, as you are someone new.

You are a healer, you are yourself; this is who you are, and this is what you do.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

His mother calls him out on his sulking, barely a week in.

“Did something happen between the two of you?” She frowns, and his heart clenches painfully in his chest.

“S’fine,” He snarls. “Keep your damn nose out of my business, old hag.”

For once, his mother does not take him up on the challenge⏤ he almost wishes she would. He’s been itching for a fight, to get it out of his system somehow, but she’s always been able to read him⏤ just like you.

Mitsuki waves the phone in her hand. “Her father said she won’t be joining us for weekly dinners anymore⏤ she’s started volunteering at the hospital, and just won’t have time.” She states, plainly, and without judgment. “I don’t know what happened between the two of you, or if you’re still friends, but you were probably a little shit like usual, so get off your ass and go apologize.”

Apologize. That damned word. He hates it. And he’s considered it, but then he remembers: you, your face, the way it had crumpled, and then the way you’d sneered, don’t talk to me again.

He has always been able to tell your lies from your truths, and it stunned him in the moment, because it had not seemed like so much of a lie.

And it’s not. He sees the truth of it, a week later, when you skip out on your weekly dinners, accept your volunteer position, and cut the whole of him from your life, just like that. He sees the truth of it, on the first day of school, as he waits by your intersection and is almost late because you aren’t there, as he scans his class for your face and finds you absent, when you pass him in the halls and don’t even bother to look up. He sees the truth of it two months later, when that damned nerd stands at your table, a tray in his hands, and you allow him to sit. His heart is in his throat, clenching around something painful, there is smoke rising from his hands⏤ Deku looks up instinctively, flinching, and you do not even bother to turn.

( You and your sunflowers, the way you smile like the sun when you find out he is allergic, and go out of your way to plaster sunflower-themed things all over yourself, and he’s not quite sure if they are your favorite flower, or you do it just because you hate him. But then he gets to know you, slowly and over the years, a thousand-and-one forced interactions until he finds, one day, that he is not reacting so sharply to your barbs, uncaring that you flop onto his bed and muss up the sheets, unminding of your chatter, your studious, stupidly competitive nature, the way your eyebrows knit a little when you focus on a more difficult concept, or how you’re grinning as you annoy him, rambling about anything and everything; your fictional crushes.

You say you want to be a healer, and the first thing he thinks is: that’s stupid, why not a Hero?⏤ but your eyes are determined as you say it, there is a fire in them, and he sees that bleed into the way you do things; the way you act. You never call him your friend⏤ you have, once, very clearly a lie⏤ but he punches your pseudo-stalker for you, promises to walk you to and from school, even if he does not know which one you might go to, promises to teach you how to fight. It’s stupid, he knows it is, the way he tenses when you joke that you want him to kiss you so bad because he’s imagining it. And then the guilt after, when you press your cheek softly into the curve of his nape, feeling the dried-out tracks of your tears, the way you shudder as you steal his pain⏤ barely-there, but he feels it, anyway. )

He looks at you, properly, fork crumpling in his hand. “Yo. You’re staring.” One of his friends nudges him, gently, and he forces himself to look away.

( You, the sunflowers you bedazzle yourself in, your bag absent of them, and the way you never wear anything yellow ever again. )

He’s angry at you, at first. It’s unfair, he thinks, the way you seem to carve him completely out of your life, with all the practiced precision of a surgeon, that he spends almost all his time thinking about you, and that you do not do the same for him. You don’t want to talk to him, you’ve made that abundantly clear, and that’s fine⏤ he has his pride, and he is not going to beg you to stay. Not when you chose the nerd over him.

But then you stand in the doorway. You look like you did the first day, clear-eyed, but older. Your eyes widen when they catch sight of him, ever-slight, but he’s never missed a single expression on your face, and he does not miss it now. All of a sudden, he wants to talk to you so badly that it hurts⏤ he sees the bags under your eyes and wants to tell you to sleep, the bone-weariness with which you carry yourself, your step absent of skip.

But then, your gaze drops. He sees your bag, absent of its sunflowers.

He feels as if his gut were a stone, heavy and damning.

He remembers: you have never once thought of him as a friend, and he will not beg you to. He will respect your space, your wishes.

And yet. You stand by the entrance, the day of that first class, fierce and silhouetted by the sun. Are you hurt? You ask him, and it feels as if he were floating, stuck in a dream.

He takes too long to respond, and you give him a once-over, clearly discerning he is fine. You kneel by the damn nerd’s side, and he feels the absence of your attention like a physical thing, but even that is secondary to the horror he feels when you reach the other boy; his arm painfully bruised and almost a terror to look at.

He wants to say: you don’t have to do this, you don’t have to hurt yourself. There are other healers in the building, and don’t you have a mentor? You raved about Recovery Girl all the time, there’s no reason you should be taking his pain for yourself. And the nerd will be fine⏤ anger clenches at him, then, because if the nerd knows about your Quirk and still allows you to hurt yourself for him⏤ “Why does that even matter?” You ask him, and he hears the ghost of what you don’t say: why do you even care?

He does. Of course he does. He always has, even when you giggle to yourself about something so blatantly stupid, even when you are an entire pain in his ass.

But then he thinks of you, your bag empty of sunflowers, the way you have not worn yellow since.

His arm drops back to his side, and he says nothing more to you, just as you’d like.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You have always disliked crowds, but so has he.

He is watching you when it happens, sees you lingering hesitantly by the exit. You’ll be smart about it, he’s sure⏤ he’s hotheaded, yes, but that doesn’t mean he’s stupid or blind. But then⏤ brown-haired cheeks tugs you by the wrist, forcing you into the throng, and he thinks: what the fuck?

He knows it’s stupid, and that you won’t thank him for it, but he dives after you, anyway.

He forces his way towards you, watching as you elbow someone particularly hard with a surge of pride, before he’s holding you and marching away, towards the wall, towards free space, trying not to think about how you feel in his arms, how you feel with the whole of you pressed against him. He needs to say something, anything to distract himself, so what he says is: “What the hell were you thinking? You don’t even like crowds.”

Your cheeks are a little flushed, and you are staring at him. He feels his own warm in turn, and he feels like a kid again, heart like a sun in his chest.

Your features still. Your mouth flattens, and you are cold as you say what you did not only a day before. “Why do you even care?” You ask.

He does. Of course he does.

But you do not ask this question in hopes of an answer. Your gaze slides past, and then you go with it, refusing to give him even the time to reach for you.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

When the mist envelops him, the first thing he turns towards is you.

His eyes widen⏤ you are already in the air, lunging at him, and he barely has the mind, the presence of thought to catch you. You fall as one, and his gut lurches⏤ he wraps himself around you, shielding your vitals, your head from harm, and gladly takes the brunt of the impact. He has all of a second to check up on you, to feel you pressed against him, know that you are safe, before he catches sight of more villains behind. “STAY THERE.” He shoves you into a corner, setting his back to you⏤ and when they are done, you have not moved an inch.

He sees the daze of your eyes, the shock, and cups your cheeks anyways, trying to ground you. “Oi,” He says, harsh, but also soft. “You hurt anywhere?”

You blink up at him, and then at the red he barely feels sliding down the side of his cheek.

He jerks away. He doesn’t want you to touch him, not to heal him⏤ he’s strong, he’s fine, he can deal with it, he doesn’t need you to steal his pain. Not when it’ll hurt you.

“I am a healer,” You say, and his heart clenches again at the sound of your voice, and again when you tell him: “You are hurt, and I am simply repaying a favor.”

He hears the steel in your voice, lets you touch him.

He would give anything to curl into your touch, even if for the rest of your life, your relationship is just like this: he, the dog, and your favors, the bone. He wants it, so long as you will keep on touching him like this, and yet he also doesn’t want it, because he cannot bear to be the one causing you such pain.

He is angry beyond words when the extra starts laying into you like she does, and you simply stand there, bearing the brunt of it all.

He’s watched the videos, seen every single one. Seen how hard you work inside of them⏤ the comments talk about how beautiful you are, but all he can think of is the tired pallor of your face⏤ but what’s more is that he knows how hard you work outside, too, and who is this girl to even talk about you like that, when she doesn’t know what it’s like to take the pain of another, and make it into your own? His tone of delivery is quiet, no less than lethal, and he speaks with every ounce of pride he has in you and the person that you are.

You are watching him, he thinks, and he thinks, somewhat dizzily, that this is it. You’ll chew him out in front of the crowd, call him out on his bullshit, tell him to stop speaking about you, speaking for you, that you hate him, that he’s stupid, anything and everything of the above.

But you do not.

You only rise, and he thinks that you are not at all the girl he has known before. Some parts of you are the same, entirely unchanged, but you have grown⏤ so much that it takes his breath away. You have always been coolly elegant in your deliveries when you mean it, but this⏤

He thinks: it is okay if you never want to talk to him, if you don’t care one bit. It is okay if you choose never to wear yellow again, your bag remaining empty of its sunflowers, it is okay if you carve him entirely from your life.

He will respect your wishes, and watch from the sidelines, basking in the radiance of you: the healer, the girl, and simply everything that you are.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You should not be here.

You feel terribly out of place in this darkened room, with a crowd of familiar villains before you, disoriented and groggy.

If it were not for the ash-blond by your side, you think you might’ve started hyperventilating. You are quiet as you wake. You notice: his hands are bound, but yours are not⏤ they know you are a healer, you think, and they do not fear you.

You feel, rather than see, crimson eyes slide to yours. You blink up at him.

And then, his eyes flicker up.

You see the resolve set firmly onto his face. You know him, likely more than he does himself, which is why you know what he will say.

He says: “I’ll listen. I’ll consider working with you, so long as you make sure to leave her out of it.”

No. The word clangs into you with a force, a viciousness. You jolt upwards, so fast your head spins⏤ no. You know he won’t. He is a Hero to the core, and you know this, because you have decided early on that you will remain a step behind him always, even if he does not care at all for you, there and ready to steal away your pain. You have decided: you will see him live out all of his days, full of glory and entirely unscathed, victorious, and you will not watch him burn his life away like this, tucked away in a corner of this world, quietly and without a sound.

He lies to protect you, and you decide there and then that it isn’t worth it. You know him, have spent a thousand and one days getting to know him, just as you know that his bluff will be called before long, because though Bakugou Katsuki is many things, you have always known him to be a terrible liar.

You aren’t, though.

You straighten, and rasp. “No, he won’t.”

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

He watches you straighten, watches you drawl, and he feels a terror like ice creeping up to his throat.

Your lips are pulled into your liar’s smile, soft and lovely under the candlelight, but then⏤ “Katsuki’s going to be a Hero,” You tell them, and his heart stutters because when was the last time you actually called him by his name?

“Shut the fuck up,” He tells you.

You ignore him.

“Trust me when I say, this guy’s like, the biggest All Might fan you’ll ever see. Well, actually, maybe not the biggest⏤ Midoriya’s collection is insanely impressive, but you get the point. Did you really see his actions at the Sports Festival and think that was your opening?”

You stand, a smirk on your face, and he wants to tell you to shut the hell up again, to just stop talking, but⏤ you turn, you flash him a grin, and it’s like he’s six again and seeing you for the first time. You see him, in a way no one else ever has, in a way that assuages all the criticism he’s seen since, narrowing his world down to these things: you, and your unwavering confidence in him. Your lips are pulled into your liar’s smile, you are scared and terrified and pretty much everything in between, but he hears your words, hears your truth.

“Newsflash, losers. He’s wanted to be a Hero ever since he was a kid, and nothing’s ever going to change that.”

His heart swells so tight he thinks it’s going to burst. You, in this moment, like you still care, that he’s not alone in this, and that he cares for you more than anything else in the world, loves you more than you will ever know.

You do not need to say anything else, because there is a knock on the door⏤ pizza delivery, someone calls, and then the door opens; All Might in the flesh. The heroes⏤ and then you are scrambling for him, your fingers fumbling with the knots, but he simply jerks his hands apart, tearing the fabric, and reaches for yours.

You still a little, surprised, flinching back a bit, but his heart is singing⏤ you care, he thinks, somewhat dumbly, like a mantra bouncing around inside his head. He barely registers the rest of it⏤ he emerges by the ruins of a building, your hand still in his, piloting the both of you around the villains who try to keep you. Shitty Hair, calling down at him from the fucking sky⏤ what the fuck? but then he’s calling for you, and then there is you: looping your arms around his neck, knowing, instinctively, what he means.

His chest warms like the sun, ethereal and glorious.

You blast together into the night. His hand lands upon another one, similarly callused, and then he’s curling his other around you, latching you to him. Your head is settled in the crook of his neck, and you don’t protest it in the slightest, only untangling yourself once you land.

You don’t reach for his hand once you do, but that’s okay. His heart is singing.

He snarls at the others in his usual manner, and you assert yourself with your own. He follows you as you walk, a step behind. The others leave you at the police station, their own parents plenty concerned, and he doesn’t mind it in the slightest⏤ he gets to walk you home, after all.

You are silent as he does. He walks a step behind, and does not prod you.

You stop. He does, too. Your hands ball up into fists. He watches, waiting.

Finally, you whisper. “Why the hell’d you do it?”

That is not at all what he’s expecting you to say.

“Hah?” He’s never been good with his words, always more combative than means. Particularly with you. Especially with you. “Cause I wanted to, dumbass. The hell do you want me to say?”

You whip around and slug him instantly, punching him square in the gut.

He barely bends from the force of it. You clutch your fist, teary and glaring.

“Fuck you,” You hiss. “Fuck you, Katsuki. You don’t just get to pretend like you care when you want to, whenever it suits you! You don’t get to⏤”

He’s stunned into silence. He’s the one that’s pretending like he cares about you?

Your mouth opens and closes, so angry that you cannot quite find the words. “You don’t get to just fucking try and sacrifice yourself for me! What the fuck!”

He steps closer, disbelief lighting a second sun in his chest.

You lash out. “Stay away from me!”

He catches it in his hand, and you try to fucking headbutt him. He dodges that, too, and then he’s pulling you into him, as tight as his heart feels.

You stiffen. Frankly, he doesn’t give a shit, not when he’s figured out how you really feel.

“I’m sorry,” He rasps into your ear. “I care for you. I’ve liked you since we were fucking six, and you shoved your stupid fucking sunflowers in my face. I was angry. I’m sorry. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you’ll have me.”

You do not move. Do not breathe, and for all of a second, he thinks: this is it.

And then, you crumple.

He can count the number of times he’s seen you cry on one hand, but you weep into his shoulder now, a year’s worth of repressed emotions wrung out of you in an instant. You melt into him so perfectly he feels as if he was made for you, the weight of you so perfect and familiar in his arms. “You’re so fucking stupid,” He thinks you are saying though it’s somewhat unintelligible, between your sobs and the way your voice is muffled from being pressed into his chest.

He chuffs in your ear. “Feel free to add blind and ugly to the list, if you’d like.”

You laugh, broken and teary, but then your arms rise, and you are wrapping them around him.

He thinks: it’s okay if the world ends right then and there, so long as he gets to hold you; just like this; just then and there; just for a moment longer.

( He thinks of you and your sunflowers, your liar’s smile. How your face had lit up in absolute delight at the sound of his first sneeze, and how you’d stepped forward to thrust it further into his face, a wicked grin on yours all the while. How you lie your way into weekly dinners, and he’s furious, swearing he won’t talk to his parents for the whole of a month⏤ but then you’re there, in his room and making fun of his figurines.

You say, somewhat disinterestedly, that you think you remember a new All Might one on the market. He caves, and his vow lasts only a week.

He thinks of you and your sunflowers, your liar’s smile. How he had always hated the sight of them before you; a young god faced with his one mortal weakness, but as time went on, he learned how he did not quite mind the look of them on you. He thinks of you and your sunflowers, your liar’s smile; soft and lovely under the candlelight, scared and shaking and terrified but still believing wholly in him, just as he does you.

He thinks he has loved you since forever. )

Absent-mindedly, he presses his mouth to your hair.

And in the light of the dawn, pink-streaked and painting you awash in sunflower yellow, you look up at him, and smile.

bc i need to rant about this fic: afterword

2K notes View Post

ohdeersthings

2 years ago

I choked on my food 🤣🤣

Fire of Souls

Enemies to Lovers

Tsu'tey x reader (younger sister of Jake Sully)

Anything written in italics is spoken in Na'vi

“Keep up!” Jake snaps at me as he holds a large leaf back. “Neytiri hates having to wait.” I pass by the leaf and roll my eyes.

“I saw that.” His tail flicks with annoyance.

“You were supposed to,” I retort back with a smile. He shakes his head and keeps leading me towards Hometree. Jake has been selected by the Omatikaya to learn their ways. Which is what Tom and I had trained for, before he died. So now I’m on Pandora with Jake, the most overprotective and annoying older brother, ever.

As if reading my thoughts, he turns back and raises his eyebrows at me. “What?”

“Nothing.” I shrug innocently. “I just can’t believe they chose you.”

“Yea well, join the club. I think Norm is the president of it.” He flicks his braid behind him and picks up his pace. I laugh before almost stumbling over a thick root. I’m still getting used to my avatar body and my large boots only make it harder.

“You know, it’d be easier if you ditched the Earth clothes,” Jake says without turning around. I’m about to sass him when I snap my mouth shut. Jake worked hard to convince Neytiri to consider training me; I owe him one.

We move quickly, Jake making his way easily through the terrain as I stagger behind him. Pandora’s forest glistens above me. Animal’s I’d only ever studied, jump from branch to branch, making foreign sounds. Flowers that glow and twirl, sprout from around my feet. I want to sit and take samples, Grace would love that. But Jake wouldn’t stop, not for that.

“And,” Jake begins, breaking the silence that had settled between us,“please be respectful. Respect is big to the Omatikaya.”

Seriously? It’s like Jake forgets that I’m that one who actually trained to come to Pandora. I raise my hands up in a sarcastic surrender. “I’ll be so respectful. I learned from you, big bro.”

Jake narrows his eyes. “Don’t be a smartass.”

“Well, I am the smart one.”

Jake scoffs. A colorful prolemuris chitters innocently as it hangs from a nearby branch. I raise an eyebrow at my brother. He opens his mouth to say something when a blue figure falls elegantly through the trees.

I recognize Neytiri instantly as she lands in a crouch, her eyes wide. I freeze, full of shock that she just jumped from so high. Jake smirks at the surprised look on my face. I suppress the urge to stick my tongue out at him. Neytiri slowly stands and takes a step towards me. Her eyes rake over my body, taking in my five fingers, long hair, and eyebrows. She takes another step closer and sniffs before grimacing slightly as if I smell. I pull my arms closer to my sides.

“One smartass is enough,” she mumbles as she inspects my sky people clothes. She walks behind me and flicks my tail.

I jump before turning to her. “Trust me, I am actually worth it.”

Neytiri’s eyes shoot to my face, making eye contact with me for the first time. I smile at her, trying my best to seem friendly, which is not my strong suit. She tilts her head to the side. “You speak Na’vi?”

“Yes, I studied it before coming here.”

“So you are not a warrior, like Jake?”

Jake tenses at the recognition of his name. “Hey, English please?”

Neytiri doesn’t react to his plea, her stony eyes remain on me. Jake looks at me, his ears laying irritatedly against his head.

I could lie to Neytiri, tell her that I’ve never been a warrior and never had any training, that I am simply a scientist. But my insides twist at the thought. Something in the way Neytiri is studying me, I know if I lie, she’d see right through me.

“I was a warrior,” I say, the words bitter in my mouth, “But now I’m a scientist.”

The sudden silence is deafening, it’s like the forest is holding its breath, waiting for Neytiri’s response. She continues to stare, her thoughtful yellow eyes lingering on my chest, as if she sees my anxious breath. Then, she straightens herself and looks at Jake. “I will teach your sister and you.”

His shoulders relax. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” I repeat.

She raises her head. “Come.”

~~~

Na’vi clothes are not clothes. They’re thongs and bras trapezing around as if they are clothes. I stare in a dusty mirror, my blue body with hardly any covering stares back. I groan.

Neytiri had walked me through some side entrance of Hometree, claiming that my sky people clothes would not be welcome here. We’d walked up an outerspiral of the tree. Small fires lit the way as we ran on the smooth bark until we came to a miniature alcove. She’d given me some loincloths before ordering me to change and leaving.

Now, I try again to arrange the cloths over my parts. I yank at the string covering my butt. The material flaps uselessly before falling down again, covering nothing. What I’d do for some shorts…

Neytiri rounds the corner as I have one finger up my ass trying to shove the material further over.

“Argh!” She exclaims as she rushes over and swats my hand away. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t think these clothes fit.”

Neytiri’s eyes go flat and she looks at me like I’m an idiot. “They fit.”

I’m about to protest when she pushes me out of the alcove. I stumble slightly, before my bare feet find their balance on the downward spiral. Hometree is massive, the inner spirals are a confusing maze, one that intrigues me. The inner layout isn’t in any textbook. I would be more than ecstatic if I didn’t feel so naked. Neytiri walks in front of me. Her shoulders are loose but I can sense her peeking at me from the corner of her eye.

“The clan is gathered for dinner. Jake is already there,” Neytiri explains as we reach the ground level of Hometree. The entire floor is covered with Omatikaya, warriors, healers, and families. Young children run past us, their tails flying behind them as they call after each other. The roar of conversation fills the space as people settle on the ground to eat.

Neytiri keeps walking, accustomed to the beauty of her clan. I follow her, taking in every detail of my surroundings. The beaded headwear certain men wear, a game with marbles that children are playing, and the soft beat of drums. Clan members stare openly at me. Some of them are curious, their ears perked up; but most of them glare at me.

“Demon,” a man hisses as I pass. I jolt at the fierceness of his voice. Neytiri grabs my shoulder and forces me forward before I have a chance to respond.

Jake sits criss crossed with his back against the far wall, a small distance away from any other clan members. His face brightens when he sees us. The closer we get, he begins to grin. Once we’re right in front of him, his head hits the back of the tree as he lets out a laugh.

“Don’t say a single word,” I spit at him. He’s not gonna be able to help himself, he’s just going to have to make fun of—

“God, that’s worse than your bikini’s on Earth,” he manages to say between spurts of laughter. Neytiri looks cluelessly at us.

“I will kill you,” I say calmly.

Neytiri’s head cocks to the side as if that thought intrigued her. Jake stops laughing and puts his hands up in fake surrender. I roll my eyes and sit down beside him.

“Wait for the clan to get their food, then you may have some,” Neytiri states before turning and working her way through the crowd.

Jake and I don’t talk in her absence. Our relationship is used to silence. There was a time, when we both trained for the Marines, where we talked about deeper things. Then everything happened, and I had to leave, and Jake and I grew apart. I try not to think about that year. If I ignore it long enough, it’ll be like it never even happened.

When I left the army, I joined Tom for avatar training and prepared to leave for Pandora. Seeing Jake in Tom’s avatar is like a knife being constantly twisted into my gut, digging deeper and deeper. I take a deep breath. I don’t want to think about Tom or life back on Earth; I came to Pandora to get away from it all.

A large fire burns in the middle of the floor where Na’vi fill their plates. Laughter and conversation infuses the space, giving it a pleasant ambience. Growing up here, having a community like this, must be so nice. They don’t even know how good they have it. If only we humans could understand. Neytiri appears in the crowd and works her way over to us, three plates balancing in her hand.

Jake’s eyebrows raise. “Think she brought us some?”

My stomach growls. I didn’t even know my avatar could do that. “I hope so.”

Neytiri stops in front of us, an annoyed expression on her face. I’m starting to think that’s just how she always looks. “I brought your dinner. Best you stay further away from the clan.”

“Right,” Jake says as he reaches for the plate, “thank you.”

I take my plate from her, “thanks.”

Neytiri settles in across from us, her eyes lingering on her clan members. She’s probably wishing she could eat with them instead of us. I push the thought away and dig into my food. It’s some kind of meat, probably sturmbeest, and a selection of sweet fruit. I take a bite and instantly melt, flavors bursting on my tongue. “This is good.”

Neytiri ignores me and eats her own food. Jake nudges me with his shoulder, telling me he thinks it’s good too. I relax a little, suddenly grateful for him.

“Neytiri,” he begins, “will we be hunting tomorrow?”

I chase a small piece of fruit around my plate, it sprays pink juice all over my fingers.

“Yes,” Neytiri answers curtly.

“You’ve brought another?” A foreign voice says. I snap my head up to find a Na’vi man standing before us. His muscular chest is covered in a beaded piece that crawls up his neck. He glares venomously at me, the hatred in his gaze sends chills down my spine. I narrow my eyes on him. I know who he is, I’ve seen his pictures in my textbooks. It’s Tsu’tey.

Neytiri hisses. “Not now, Tsu’tey.”

“They will never be one of us,” He says, his eyes boring into mine. He tilts his head slowly as he looks me over, he lingers on where my five fingers are stained with juice from the fruit. He chuckles and shakes his head incredulously. “Especially not the new one.”

Heat rushes to my cheeks. I’m rarely embarrassed or offended by other people, but something about Tsu’tey sets me off. His words nestle under my skin. I open my mouth to snap at him when Jake places his hand on my forearm, as if he can feel the anger rising off of me.

‘Tsu’tey,” Jake mutters, “always a pleasure.”

Tsu’tey’s lip curls with distaste as he looks at Jake. His entire presence is dangerous and lethal, he doesn’t even need to speak. I rub the side of the loincloth. Neytiri rolls her eyes at him. “Go on.”

“Don’t waste your time,” Tsu’tey whispers to Neytiri, just loud enough so I can hear, “that new one can’t even sit still in her clothing.”

Neytiri giggles, making my blood boil. Tsu’tey looks smug as he leans back. My vision darkens.

“I could sit still on your throat until you run out of breath,” I say with deadly calm.

Neytiri gasps as shock registers on Tsu'tey’s face, his mouth dropping open. Clearly he didn’t think I spoke Na’vi. Pretentious asshole. Jake looks confused between us all. “What’s–”

“I could have your life for that,” Tsu’tey interrupts Jake, seethingly. His eyes look like they’ve been set on fire. They’re practically ablaze as he stares into me, his hands shaking furiously at his side.

“Calm down, Tsu’tey,” Neytiri says before eyeing me cautiously, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips. “People are noticing…”

Tsu’tey inhales sharply. Multiple clan members stare at us, alarm and curiosity coating their features. Tsu’tey steps back slowly, his eyes assessing the sudden attention were receiving. He sets his strong jaw, the movement highlights the high arch of his cheekbone.

“I’ll be seeing you, alien,” he mutters through clenched teeth. I fight the urge to flick him off as he turns away.

The clan members go back to their own conversations and my heart rate returns to normal. Jake blows out a breath of air. “What the hell was that?”

Tsu’tey’s blue backside glitters as he passes by the firelight. Multiple people greet him as he passes, he gives them each a tense and strained nod. He is a seriously stressed out guy…

“Your sister,” Neytiri begins, “she is interesting.”

My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Neytiri’s eyes are crinkled as she looks at me, like she’s seeing something in me that she hadn’t seen before.

Jake laughs. “That’s one word for it.”

I smack him playfully. Neytiri smiles at the gesture, now observing my brother and I. After a moment, she goes back to her food. Jake begins asking her about our training plans tomorrow.

Tsu’tey is now standing with a group of men on the other side of the fire, the light washes over his chiseled arms. They talk animatedly, smacking each other’s back and laughing. What are they talking about? I cock my head to the side, watching how Tsu’tey fixes his chest piece and listens to his friends. I wonder if he’s an asshole to them too or if that’s just reserved for special cases.

He nods to one of his friends, his beaded hair flicks across his ears before he turns. His eyes lock with mine from across the fire. I flinch at the sudden contact. His eyes darken, making my stomach drop. I quickly look away and pretend to be a part of Jake and Neytiri’s conversation. I can feel the weight of his stare, it pierces me, like he’s tearing me apart with just his eyes. My breathing quickens and I try to focus on the conversation in front of me but I can’t process anything. Tsu’tey’s raging face keeps popping into my mind.

After a few moments, I finally get myself under control. He’s just some asshole, I can’t be this bothered by some guy being rude. I risk glancing back to where he stood across the fire. He’s gone. I let out a relieved sigh, but something still curls in my stomach. That won’t be the last I see of Tsu’tey.

Part 2

Hi beautiful, thanks for reading!

I haven't seen anyone writing about Tsu'tey so hopefully someone wants to read this??? Idk, I just really love the idea of enemies to lovers and Jake being like bro what

I want to make this into multiple parts and make it a slow burn with tension and everything. Would anyone want that?

I'll still be doing other submissions as well <3