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If there’s one thing she could change about herself, it would be her magical abilities.
It’s not that she doesn’t like them — she certainly loves all of the different spells she can cast and form — but there’s one in particular that makes her feel like she’s always being used.
Her healing ability.
The mage spends her days in her own home, on the outskirts of the larger town, lost in the maze of trees and mountains and she likes it that way. She’s not a hermit by any means, but it provides enough shelter that she can hide, and the surrounding landscape provides enough supplies to make potions and goodies whenever she’s feeling curious and creative.
But today isn’t that sort of day for her. In fact, it’s a day that she doesn’t want to face.
“Open up!” The voice on the other side of her wood door yells and she stands several feet away from it, holding her hat in her hands while chocolate eyes stare longingly into the old, thick wood.
She takes one step forward, noticing how the rain from outside slowly seeps in through the crack at the bottom of the door and she scrunches her nose at it.
“Witch!”
The second yell makes her jump in her boots, causing her robes to flutter from the sudden movement and that’s what makes her wander closer towards the door.
“Why are you here?” She asks in a determined yet soft voice; it wavers, hoping that it’s not someone here to take her back to the town. The last time they saw her, she was fleeing from the guild that she once served in, making it nearly impossible to avoid their requests to take her back.
She likes being on her own, away from civilization.
The door creaks as she pulls it open, eyes wide as she stares at the figure at her door. The person is a crumpled mess, standing on all fours while their head hangs low; the pouring rain drenches what looks like blonde hair and when he looks up, realization strikes her very core.
“Fucking heal me.” It’s neither a request nor a question, only a demand and it makes her heart drop to her stomach.
Of all the people that could’ve ended up at her door, it just had to be him — the Dragon King.
She takes a step back, fully aware that he won’t let her close the door on him, so she kneels down to get a better look at his face. His eyes are like raw, uncut rubies as he stares at her and she can see the pain welling in his irises. It’s clear to her that somebody really did a number on him if he came all the way to her but there’s a pull at her heart that doesn’t want to offer her services.
“Why should I help you?” She asks; it’s a painful thing to inquire, one she’s more embarrassed of asking than anything.
That’s when he really looks at her, crimson liquid running down the side of his face and she has never seen him look this weak. It makes something in her heart stir, looking at this person who needs her help more than anything.
“Are you asking because you can’t, or you won’t?”
His voice is raspy as he speaks, clearly struggling with breathing but his words make Uraraka frown.
“Because I won’t, Bakugou.”
His nostrils flare almost immediately but she doesn’t back down from the silent challenge that lingers in his eyes. There’s something that snaps from within her, making her feel more than determined to meet his scowl and when he starts to pick himself up, she backs up slightly.
“Why not, witch?”
Uraraka stands at that point, looking down on his weakened form as he struggles to pick himself up but she knows she’s more than capable of taking him on if he tries to attack. After she straightens her posture and pulls her shoulders back, she clears her throat and dismisses the soft look in her eyes.
“You’ll only break again. You’ll end up back at my door, throwing curses and scowling at me to heal you once more, only so you can go and get hurt, again?” She breathes out her anger as she rests her hands on her hips. “You’re a stubborn person, Bakugou.”
He chuckles before spitting up blood. Katsuki then uses the frame of her entryway to pull himself up until his glare is level with her determined look; there’s always something raw and overwhelming about the aura he gives off but she doesn’t back down.
“So you won’t?”
She feels her cheeks burn, turning a darker shade than they usually are and it hurts to look at him. Internally, her mind screams at her to turn her back and let him walk out, but her heart encourages her to help him — she’s torn between what to do.
Finally, Uraraka bites at her lower lip before turning her back, anger festering beneath her skin but she’s not going to let him walk away. He would probably die before he could get the help he needs.
“Close the door behind you,” she instructs before walking to the small kitchen that her home holds.
There’s bits of plants that she gathered from her last journey, as well as roots and liquids for potions and elixirs and when the table is finally cleared of all her projects, her eyes stare at the wooden surface.
“Don’t underestimate me,” she warns with a stern tone and it makes her bristle when he smirks at her.
“Who says that I do?”
His words make her stop before she turns his gaze to him, watching him slowly make his way onto the table. When he finally lies on his back, she can see the large wound across his abdomen and it makes her cringe. It’s already turning all sorts of different hues of blacks and purples and she can tell that he’s been poisoned.
When her hands start to glow, they illuminate his scarlet eyes, turning them a pinkish color and she’s actually amazed by how pretty they look. It doesn’t stop her from focusing on controlling her magic, concentrating the power to her fingertips as she places them on his cool, damp skin.
The young king hisses under her touch, showing his teeth as he squirms from her magic and she can tell that it takes every ounce of composure to hold still.
“This is going to take awhile. You may pass out from the pain,” she advises but his lips turn into another lopsided smirk.
“I can take the pain.”
She finds herself rolling her eyes at him; this isn’t their first healing she’s performed on the stubborn boy and she’s more than positive that it won’t be her last.
••
She rests her back against the leg of the table, her eyes watching the flames in her fireplace dance in different shades of oranges and yellows. Uraraka feels drained from over exerting herself. She didn’t imagine that is would take that much of her strength and stamina to heal him this time around.
Now he lies on the table, his wound wrapped and the poison removed. She even took it upon herself to put a pillow under his head and place a blanket over his cold skin — she wasn’t sure how long he was out in the pouring rain, but from the look of his purple lips and red nose, he was out there for more than an hour.
Her knees are pulled to her chest, head resting firmly atop them but when she feels the table move from behind her, she’s quick to scurry from her place on the floor and find Bakugou stirring.
He looks at her from beneath his blonde tresses, eyes half lidded while confusion lines his facial features.
“You passed out from the pain,” she says in an even tone and it makes him blink.
Bakugou looks almost peaceful from where he lies, exhaustion pulling his eyes shut until he opens them against but when he moves to get up, he winces in pain. His left hand quickly grabs at his gut while a grunt falls from his parted lips.
“What the fuck—”
“Don’t move, or you’ll open it back up!” She jumps to him to prevent him from touching it. “I know this goes against your morals, but you’re going to have to relax and let it heal. That entails staying here… for a couple of days.”
The last part of her sentence makes her mind numb, makes her feels as though she’s set herself up for doom because it’s been years since she’s been in someone else’s company for more than an hour or two.
“That wasn’t part of this whole healing process,” he snaps and it makes her frown.
“You asked for my help and I helped you. If you want to risk hurting yourself further, then please, be my guest.”
He scowls at her before lying down again, his head resting upon the provided pillow. It makes her heart rate calm yet her blood still boils from the adrenaline; this wasn’t what she had in mind either, but as long as he doesn’t act like the pompous, cocky man that he usually does, then maybe it wouldn’t be bad to have another person around.
Uraraka slides back down to the floor, letting her back rest against the leg of the table before she feels his hand come to rest on the top of her head. He ruffles her hair slightly and it makes her move until she’s out of his reach.
“Not bad for a witch,” he comments with a sleepy voice but she’s quick to huff her protest.
“I prefer to be called a mage, you barbarian.”
He laughs before groaning slightly.
“That’s Dragon King to you, mage.”