Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Stories keep Izuku alive. He devours books at alarming rates because he wants to be in any world except the one he’s currently living in.

The librarian at their small local library is used to him showing up every day after school, staying until just before sunset.

He leaves at a reasonable time, to avoid questions. He waves when he sees her, but they never talk. 

There’s an unspoken understanding that the table in the back of the library, by the right hand corner, is Izuku’s.

This is the most positive interaction Izuku has outside of his family. Peripherally, he knows this. If he thinks about it too hard, he’ll start crying. His chest will hurt in that particular way that is too far inside and far too honest. He’ll start thinking about consequences and quirkless statistics and how easy it would b—

So he doesn’t think about it at all, and buries himself a little further in the words of other worlds and other people.

I don’t want to be a statistic.

I just want to be lov—

Stories keep Izuku alive. Kacchan taunts at him, yelling “Deku!” as his followers chase him in a pack.

Bruised and hurt, Izuku is desperate for shelter, for safety.

He feels himself tiring, legs giving out, and hears the boys all too close. The tears slip out of his eyes silently, and he feels too fragile. Scared that the boys might break something else inside him today.

Looking up from his place on the ground, Izuku wipes frantically at his eyes as the voices get louder. His blurry vision clears, and he realizes that the clearing he’s in is beautiful.

It’s lush green, edged in a circle of wildflowers. At the center, a ring of mushrooms sits, perfectly tracing a circle. He’s abruptly reminded of the stories he’s read, about fae. With their tricks and manipulation, but also contradictory inability to lie. With their long lifespans and powers, but also weakness to iron.

They’re so dangerous, in the stories. But never to the children. They take them, sure. But to keep. Not to hurt, right? What if those kids needed a better home?

Izuku lightly slaps at himself, reminding himself that this kind of thinking isn’t healthy, that he’s not supposed to sympathize with the fae just because he’s the one who’s broken. Who might want to go somewhere where he is wanted and safe for an eternity—he shakes his head. The most important thing is that those stories aren’t real.

If quirks are real, why can’t fae be?

Izuku only has one more second to think as he hears the branch a few meters to his left crack loudly. “Deku, there’s no point in running. Eventually you’ll have to come back and we’ll get you anyways.” 

Izuku feels the agony of that truth rip at him. And because he wants to believe, wants to believe so badly, he dives towards the center of the clearing, fingers skimming the edge of the circle, uncaring of the consequences, and whispers, “I want to make a deal with you.”

There’s a pause, as if time stops to wait in suspense, before a man appears in the circle. He’s so clearly fae, with white hair and luminous green eyes. Willowy and other. He glances at the rest of the clearing before looking at Izuku, eyes softening at the child.

The rest of the world fades out around them, and Izuku has this curious inkling that the boys couldn’t find him if they tried. He hates that he feels so much safer here than he’s felt anywhere else in a long time.

“Hello, child,” the fae squats down to better meet Izuku’s eyes where he is sitting.

“Hi, Mister,” Izuku whispers, suddenly shy. He would be lying if he were to say he wasn’t also afraid, warnings ringing in his ear from the stories. But he’s also in awe—not even sure what he’s seeing is real.

“What’s your name, child?”

Izuku shakes his head, voice still quiet, “That’s kind of rude, Mister. You wouldn’t give me your name, right?”

The fae laughs softly. “You’re right, of course, darling,” he sounds so fond that Izuku yearns to hear someone speak with that kind of affection about him again. “So clever. You know our rules then?”

Izuku nods, “Yeah. A little bit,” he pinches his index finger and thumb together, leaving a little bit of space in between.

“You know it’s dangerous then, darling,” the fae looks at him very seriously. “You should be careful.”

“Would you hurt me?”

“ Never,” the fae answers fiercely. “Never the children.”

“I’m okay, then,” Izuku says, adding on very quietly, “I’m tired of hurting.” When he thinks about how he got here in the first place, he wants to cry all over again. Doesn’t want to think about why he was okay risking it all on a half-baked plan based on a fantastical story. 

Just the memory of his desperation makes him itch.

The fae leans closer, “Honey, you can’t say that. Not to any fae.”

Izuku tilts his head and blinks lethargically, the adrenaline from the run disappearing into the steady exhaustion that always accompanies him these days. “Why, mister? I’m sorry if I was rude. I don’t want anyone to get hurt. Not ever.” I don’t want to get hurt anymore.

“You’re kind,” the fae says, with realization dawning on his face. “You’re worried about hurting me?” 

“Did I say something wrong?” Izuku asks, face crumpling.

“No, no, honey, of course not,” the fae’s hands twitch as if they want to reach for him. “You can’t say that kind of stuff because we’ll want to keep you. I already want to.” 

The fae cannot lie. The fae cannot lie.

Something high and whining in Izuku’s chest gives way. 

“So it’s true? That you take kids away?” Izuku is exhausted, he wants to sleep, he wants to go away, he wants, wants, wants. 

The fae stoops down, “No—“

Izuku feels the hopelessness trickle in, despair causing his eyes to well up.

“Oh, honey, you didn’t let me finish. We don’t take the kids away, not unless they ask.” The fae finishes talking and reaches out to brush away his tears.

Izuku blinks harshly as a thumb swipes his tears away, touch featherlight. He looks at the fae with wide eyes, and clutches his backpack closer to his chest. “What about older kids? What about if you’re twelve?”

“We would want them. All children are precious. Any kid that wants to would be ours. We cherish them all.”

Izuku’s eyes brighten. Nervously, he chews on his thumbnail. “What about…if they’re quirkless? Would you want them then?”

“Yes, we love all our children. Why would quirks change that?” The fae’s voice is fond and affectionate, but confident, leaving no room for doubt. 

“What about someone who’s useless? Who’s no good?”

“No children are useless or no good. They aren’t meant to work or be the best at something. They aren’t tools.”

Izuku aches at that. Too full of unnameable emotions. “So you want all kids? Even me?”

“Especially you, darling.”

The fae’s eyes soften, and Izuku wants to drown in their softness. Wants to hold onto it forever. Mostly, Izuku just wants to be wanted.

“And you wouldn’t ever hit me?” Izuku has to check. Even though a hand has never been raised against him by his mom, he’s not naive.

Yoichi’s eyes are angry—angry for him, Izuku realizes in wonder. “I would never lift a hand against you.” 

“And you wouldn’t get tired of me? Or leave me behind? Or set me aside? Or exchange me for someone else?” Izuku’s voice trails off, hurt and small. Wanting to believe but unsure if he dares to.

“No, honey, I would never. How could I get tired of my own child? How could I ever let you go once you were mine?” 

Izuku’s heart soars.

“How? How do I ask?” He asks, his voice a desperate whisper.

“Just give me your name, honey, and I’ll take you away. I’ll take you away forever,” the fae looks hopeful, eyes almost yearning.

“That’s not fair,” Izuku cries out. “A name is a lot. I’m scared. I’m so tired of being scared, I want to be safe.” 

“Oh, little one, I know I’m asking a lot. But I promise you’ll be safe with me.”

Izuku, too jaded, can’t bring himself to trust them right away. He knows from his stories that your name is a big deal, that you can’t give it away like that. It’s a trust he doesn’t have. 

Their immediate acceptance just seems too good to be true.

“I want to finish middle school. And if you keep me safe, and promise to never hurt me or leave me behind, when I graduate, I promise I’ll give you my name and you can take me away then,” he finally responds, needing to test the fae, to know they really want him.

If it goes wrong, well. Well, there are worse ways out. 

“That is the easiest deal I’ve ever made, honey,” the fae smiles and it’s warm, like sunshine. “Of course, I’d wait for you.”

Izuku is welcomed and wanted and safer than he could ever imagine.

It’s all so crushing that it has to come from someone who isn’t even human.

The next day, Katsuki tracks him down at lunch. He’s volatile, and doesn’t want to admit that he’d been shaken when they couldn’t find Izuku, worried about how his mom was going to react, or how he was going to tell Auntie Inko. 

Katsuki shoves him. “Where the fuck did you go, Deku?”

Izuku shrugs, “I didn’t go anywhere. I just hid.”

You’re losing him, Kacchan. You don’t even understand the magnitude of what you are about to lose.

Izuku runs to the library, eager to check out new books to bring to the fae he met yesterday.

The librarian, who’s name tag says “Ayame,” scans the book, smiling at his energy, glad to see the boy something other than quiet and timid.

Instead of going to the back table like he usually does, he darts out the library, rushing back to the forest. The clearing. He’s nervous, that the fae will change his mind, but the reminder that they cannot lie gives Izuku hope.

Izuku scarcely brushes a finger across one of the mushrooms in the fae circle before the same fae appears, with pale hair and green eyes. Without hesitation, the fae cards a hand through his hair and Izuku melts into it.

“Little one, you’re too sweet,” he breathes out, “I’m so glad I found you first. The others are going to love you.”

Izuku blushes, freckles almost drowned out by the red. “Thank—thank you?” The reveal of “others” makes Izuku realize that he can’t just keep calling him “the fae.” That would refer to any of the others too. “What—what should I call you instead of your name?”

“How about…First. Since I’m the first fae you met,” First says, looking extremely smug. “It’s just a placeholder anyways. You’ll have my name once you’re officially my child.”

Izuku smiles, bright and genuine. I am wanted. 

First cups Izuku’s cheek, enthralled by the freckles. “You’ve got constellations on your cheeks, starlight.”

Izuku leans into it and closes his eyes. There is a ping, in the back of his brain that says warning. First is too sure that Izuku is fated to be his child. Too certain. 

Already saying “ my” and having admitted that he would like to keep Izuku. Surely, the markings of a parent who needs to learn to let go. 

You would think, at least. Izuku observes it, sees all of this, and digs his nails into his palms. Not because he’s worried, or scared, but because he’s happy that he’s wanted. He gets that it’s not normal.

He wishes he wasn’t so self-aware.

He wishes he didn’t want to be kept, mostly. But he does. He does.

So he lets all the warnings slip away, and he feels nothing but sweet affection as he tucks himself closer to First.

And in return, First makes no mention of the tears that make their way down Izuku’s cheeks. He only holds Izuku tighter.

It is so easy to exist here, in a way that Izuku can’t quite define. Can’t quite remember feeling anywhere else. 

( In scales of tragedy, where does this fall? Where does it end?)

Another week goes by. Izuku limits himself to visiting on Wednesdays even though First has never said anything stating that he couldn’t visit more.

In truth, Izuku is scared of being too much. Too eager. Too chatty. Too clingy. Too emotional. Too—

Well. Useless.

He keeps bringing books, spanning any genre that affords him escape. Yoichi calls him bookworm, and Izuku is safe here, hidden under fae magic, curled into First’s side, and ensconced in affectionate calls of darling’s, honey’s, and starlight’s. 

Reality outside their clearing becomes less. School feels jarring, cutting, too present, too real in comparison to his sanctuary. 

The teacher calls on him, and Izuku fights to stay inside himself and answer, even as lunchtimes grow harsher and afterschool becomes aftermath. 

First hasn’t asked questions yet, but it’s really a matter of when. Izuku has watched First’s eyes darken when Izuku cringes in pain over brushing a bruise or moving too fast, stretching a burn.

Izuku is fairly sure he only avoids asking because he knows Izuku would lie, not fully trusting, and like all fae, First would prefer nothing over a lie.

Kacchan stands over a girl who looks near tears, yelling at her, during lunch. Izuku had thought he was lucky today, but he doesn’t feel so lucky when it means that Kacchan has turned his attention to someone else. 

Rarely is Kacchan’s attention positive—at least not towards other kids. Izuku has only seen him complimentary towards heroes, and only heroes with visibly powerful quirks. If Izuku was any more optimistic or had any more energy, maybe he would raise this concern to Aunt Mitsuki. Maybe he would tell someone: this behavior is worrying. This pattern is concerning.

But Izuku is quirkless. So he will be brushed off or scolded, never heard. And these days, he doesn’t have the energy to try to force people to listen. He’s sure it would hurt him more anyways. Izuku barely has enough energy to pay attention in class, trying to make it to graduation.

Just. Graduation. Then…he’ll be able to breathe, away from here. Away from this.

Tsubasa prevents the girl from running away, flaring his wings out and throwing out taunting words as Kacchan traps her under his gaze, mean and satisfied after his tirade.

Izuku sees him move, quirk activating in his palms as the girl flinches. Aching, Izuku decides there only needs to be one victim in this. He will be gone when the next end of the year comes to pass, so he’ll take this beating. He’ll take it, because no one deserves it, but Izuku won’t have to endure it much longer either.

“STOP IT, KACCHAN,” he yells, shoving the girl aside. 

Kacchan doesn’t stop. Just follows through on him instead, holding his arms as his quirk fires. The girl scrambles away, and doesn’t look back.

Izuku doesn’t cry at the sting. He knew it would happen.

“Who do you think you are, Deku? Are you looking down on me?” Kacchan snarls.

Izuku just looks at him, the quiet so loud in his head, and thinks:

I miss First. I wish I was with him right now. I wish I was gone already.

The worst thing about going home at the end of the day is that his mom is nice.

His mom says I love you.

His mom makes sure he never goes to sleep hungry.

He’s lucky, he reminds himself.

Mom doesn’t notice the burns. Doesn’t notice the hurts. Never second glances at his tears. But she never forgets to leave him dinner, even if she isn’t there to make it.

Her I love you’s are absentminded and read so hollow. But she still asks how his day is, even if the good that he replies with is a blatant lie.

Izuku loves her, enough to slip out of her life unobtrusively. She’d always been busy, making ends meet by working long hours. Izuku does not fault her for this, only loves her more.

But recently, she had met a man. Yagi Toshinori. He treats her right, unlike the man that had abandoned them because of Izuku’s quirklessness so many years ago.

He treats her right, and takes her out, and Izuku is lagging behind. She is moving on, and Izuku is nothing more than a reminder of what she is trying to leave in the past. She’s never said it, but he rarely sees her. After all, she doesn’t need a quirkless son dragging her down.

Doesn’t need his burdens, his fraying mental health, the pressure of his nonexistent future. 

She’s happy in ways that Izuku doesn’t think he’s ever made her. Her smiles light up the room, instead of caving under stress when she thinks about him.

There is no room for him there.

Is it wrong for him to look for his own happy ending? 

Better to be labeled missing or runaway , than an obituary, right? 

At night, his eyes climb up to the book on his bookshelf, an anthology of stories about the fae over the centuries.

He goes to sleep, crying as he thinks about the hand First brushes through his hair.

Izuku loses track of time. First reads the book out loud to him, and Izuku drifts, head pillowed in his lap, basking in the peace of the forest.

His eyes fall shut. It feels like a minute passes before First is shaking him awake, and Izuku blinks, eyes blurry with sleep.

“First,” he complains, childish and sweet, rolling over to bury his face in the fae’s hip. 

First laughs, hauling Izuku upright, “Oh, starlight, you’re sleepy, aren’t you?”

“Mmm,” Izuku refuses to reply, closing his eyes and leaning against First’s shoulder.

“Darling, it’s sunset,” First says, pressing a kiss onto Izuku’s forehead.

Izuku’s eyes snap open, seeing the pink orange in the sky, and he makes a half-hearted effort to scramble out of First’s embrace.

First refuses to let go, softly suggesting, “Why don’t you stay? I’ll show you the constellations tonight, and,” he taps Izuku’s cheeks, “We’ll see if any of them match your freckles.”

Izuku wants to, so badly, but…”What if my mom is waiting for me and gets angry? Isn’t it dangerous if I walk home alone at night?”

“I’d never let you walk home alone in the dark, honey. Of course, I’d come with you. And at night, you don’t have to worry about being seen with me,” First softens his voice, “And darling, your mom hasn’t been home before 10:30pm a single day this week. You told me this. I’ll get you home by 10pm. I don’t want you up too late anyways.”

Izuku’s breath hitches, as he tries to hold off tears. He knows that his mom hasn’t been around to ask where he’s been going, but it hurts to be reminded. At the same time, he feels so cared for, the blow eased by First’s softness.

“Shhh, let’s go stargazing, honey,” First soothes, “You’re a good kid. So gentle, so sweet. You earned this. I’ll handle the rest.”

And Izuku trusts First, he realizes.

And when First says, “I love you, my starlight,” as they trace constellations in the sky—

Izuku believes him.

Izuku gets home before Inko.

At the library, Ayame comes up to Izuku, asking, “How have you been? I noticed you’re not coming as often anymore.”

“I’m good,” Izuku smiles, with eyes brighter than she recalls seeing. 

She remembers his hunched shoulders, his exhaustion, and feels almost guilty that she hadn’t approached him sooner. She’s glad he’s healing, though.

 Izuku wonders about a world where the librarian had asked this question sooner. If there would be a different outcome.

But he remembers First, and it doesn’t really matter anymore in the span of things.

Not when he does have someone he trusts to love him these days. 

Izuku stays longer and longer hours on Wednesdays.

First says, “You can come more than once a week, honey. I’d love to have you more.”

Izuku starts visiting three days a week. Still nervous. Wary of wearing out his welcome, but unable to stay away from the comfort and warmth. From the belonging and the affection.

He brings books and First reads them out loud even though he should be too old for this, tucked into First’s side, as close as he can possibly get.

Humoring him, First is patient as Izuku tells him about his favorite books, and his favorite heroes.

First teaches him the games that fae play in the forest, with stones and sticks. With the trees themselves.

Izuku brings cards and he laughs himself silly watching First puzzle over the rules of Go Fish . He’s achingly happy here.

First looks at him, eyes jewel bright, and says, “I’d never tire of you. I want you here as long as you want to be.” Izuku wants to keel over in relief.

Three days a week turns to five, each visit for four hours, five if he can pull it off.

Time starts to blur, outside of the hours he’s with First. Izuku finds it—finds it difficult to really be there when First isn’t. He thinks it’s because his brain has connected First with safety, so he’s grounded and present with First.

But otherwise, his brain does his best to make reality less. To make it easier on himself.

He’s thankful, truly. It’s not healthy—it’s not helping him reconcile with the life he’s living. Not really. But it’s keeping him safe, and how could he fault that?

He just yearns, day in and day out, to run back into the forest.

Codependent.

At least…Safe.

He feels an inkling that it shouldn’t be this way. First sweeps Izuku into his arms, and it doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter.

Chapter Text

His first meeting with Yagi goes well.

Yagi is kind, although a bit awkward. He’s a bit distant too, infatuated with his mother.

They spend dinner lost in each other’s eyes.

It only hammers home for Izuku that he does not belong here. He’s only holding Inko back. These are good people. Normal people.

He doesn’t fit in this picture—some quirkless not-son. Almost-son. A burden. Directionless.

Too sad for the joy sparking between them. And he fades, quietly. Wishes them the best.

Sometimes, he wishes that they would notice something is wrong. But they don’t, and he’s in First’s arms a few days later, and he forgets about it all anyways.

He can’t recall when he made his decision, but somewhere along the way, disappearing became… inevitable.

First will follow through with their deal. And Izuku will just. Be. Gone. (Safe. This is the good ending, he thinks.)

Izuku thinks that he might ache, for anyone like him. Who would want to… disappear.

On the days leading up to his birthday, Izuku tells First that he won’t be there. Inko and Toshinori, wrapped up in their own world, are still likely to plan something on that day.

Despite his mother’s absence, she’s never missed a birthday dinner with Izuku. It’s a yearly occasion he looks forward to. He expects that it will be shared with Toshinori, because that’s how things are these days. Toshinori sees Inko far more than Izuku does, but he doesn’t say a word about it.

It’ll only make it easier for Izuku to slip away. 

Izuku would be lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to his birthday dinner though. At least, it’ll be nostalgic, and he’ll have positive memories before he leaves. Reassuring First, he says that they’ll celebrate the day after, and he’ll stay late in their little safehaven to make up for it.

Sitting at the dinner table after school, Izuku waits. And waits. And waits for a text, for a call, for the door to open—he waits for four hours. Sure, his mother hadn’t said anything, but usually she’ll let him know on the day of his birthday that they’re going out. She keeps the rest a surprise. 

So he trusts, with what little of it he has left in her, he trusts that she remembers his birthday because she’s never forgotten. But he starts to doubt, dread making cement blocks in his chest. Prove me wrong, he wants to beg Inko.

At 7pm, he calls her. She doesn’t pick up. Izuku claws at his chest, and thinks, I want to be with First. He’s breathing too fast.

Somewhere after 8pm, Izuku feels something inside of him imploding, giving up. Leaving an echo where there used to be something real and stable. His breathing steadies. He doesn’t move from the table, mind so distant that he might as well be gone.

Around 10pm, Inko stumbles into their apartment, cheeks red with laughter, Toshinori following right behind her with a bright smile. It dawns on Izuku that they’ve clearly been out on a date.

“Mom?” Izuku asks, quietly.

She looks at him, “Hi, Izuku baby! I hope you had a great night!” She sweeps by to give a quick one-armed hug before beelining to her bedroom.

There’s no hint of apology or guilt. Izuku doesn’t even think she’s realized that she’s forgotten something.

Izuku, feeling very small, turns to look at Toshinori, who greets him with an enthusiastic, “Hello, my boy! What did you do tonight?” He wonders if his mom even thought to tell Toshinori when his birthday is.

And Izuku feels the last threads of his hope snap, the loose ends falling to the floor. His last pieces of trust in Inko also rain onto the floor, burned into ash. Izuku smiles sweetly, and lets them have this guiltless joy. He lets them stay ignorant to his breaking.

After all, he let them keep their ignorance over the treatment he faced at school. This is just another parting gift.

“Nothing much,” he tells Toshinori, and the growing numbness means he doesn’t remember much else of that night.

Izuku feels very fragile, the next day. Like cracked glass, just on the precipice of falling to pieces. He keeps reminding himself that he just has to get through the school day, and then he’ll be with First, where he is loved.

Maybe he jinxes it.

Kacchan comes up to him, sneering, “Congratulations on another year of wasting space!”

Tsubasa joins in, jeering, “Another year of being a quirkless Deku! I don’t know how you stand it, being so useless all the time.”

Instead of being mad that his spotlight’s been stolen, Kacchan only adds more fuel to the fire. “I don’t know how a fucking Deku like you couldn’t even get a simple memo. The world is better off without you. Auntie Inko is better off without you.”

Tsubasa and Kacchan’s other “friends” laugh pointedly, egging Kacchan on by adding snide comments about how they’re “surprised he made it another trip around the sun.”

Izuku feels the exhaustion hit all at once, bone deep, like hitting rock bottom in one fall.

Kacchan finishes by giving a “birthday present,” in the form of burns across his shoulders and ringed around his upper arms. 

His mind slips away, and Izuku tries not to think about how Kacchan remembered his birthday when his own mother didn’t. Tries not to think about how she’s been Inko over Mom for a little too long now.

Tries not to think about how he mostly just wants First to take him away right now.

Yoichi watches his child stumble into their clearing, and feels his heart drop to the ground and shatter.

His child’s eyes are swollen red from crying, but so empty . Desolate. He’s trembling and fragile. 

Very, very quietly, he asks, “Can you make it stop hurting? I’m very tired, now.”

“ Baby,” Yoichi chokes out, “My baby, come here.”

He lunges to meet Yoichi, diving into his arms. “First,” he says, plaintively, on the edge of crying again. Yoichi feels his child’s legs give out as soon as he can support the weight.

Yoichi is frantic as he reassures his child, “You’re safe, honey. Hidden. Away from them, okay? Just with me. I can take you away. Please let me take you away, my baby, my baby, my baby, who hurt you? I’ll never let them touch you again. Let me bring you home. You don’t have to hurt out here. Let me shelter you, sweetheart. Please. You’re safe with me, always. Just stay with me.”

His child presses himself closer, and weeps.

Yoichi is devastated. He’s never seen his starlight like this—and he already knew that his child was made of three parts tragedy, and one part hope. 

Why else would he come to the fae? And ask to be taken away?

Yoichi just holds his child close, refusing to let go for hours, even as the sun sets, and then the stars shine brightly. Refuses to relinquish his child back to a world that is far too cruel in the face of his kindness. 

He ignores the way his chest aches as his starlight calls it the best birthday present ever.

Izuku starts counting down the months until graduation. It’s less than a year now. It’s too long. 

It’s all he can do, to keep moving when First isn’t there.

First brushes his hands through his hair, smiling down at Izuku, who’s head lays on his lap as he curls as close to First as he can get.

First whispers about spiraling libraries, bookcases in tree branches, twined into the forest. About light streaming on the flowers that love the sun so. About the home he’s painstakingly been carving into the forest.

Izuku can’t wait to go home. Can’t wait to be safe. To be whole, in the arms of his own family. Maybe this was how it had to be.

It matters less, these days, that no one has noticed him slip into the forest for hours upon hours at a time. Not when he’s with his papa, who loves him so. Who’s waited for him every day, hour by hour . Just to take him home. 

Izuku hadn’t really hid that he was going off to meet First in the forest. His last cry for help goes unanswered. The world doesn’t change in the face of this.

It wasn’t okay, but it was what it was, and Izuku couldn’t change that, so he stopped thinking about them. 

And Izuku had better places to be so he focuses all his energy on making it to First after school and everything else works itself out.

Everything else just becomes clouded over and hazy. 

His child’s eyes droop, sleepy and too tired. 

Yoichi aches. 

Needs time to pass faster. He needs to bring his child home, before humans break him anymore. Before his child gives up .

Yoichi can keep him. Keep him safe, keep him loved, give him everything.

He’s patient, but his child is so gentle, and he comes to Yoichi with bruises, too soft, too sweet, too easy for the world to hurt.

It’s not fair.

Yoichi smooths the hair away from his child’s face, longing to have his child’s name.

He dreams of the day he can disappear with his child, whisk him off to the home that waits for them. The home he’s been carving out, one where his child can be gentle. Can be so sweet and soft and lovely, without the risk of pain.

He regrets the deal now—regrets that they hadn’t included a loophole to leave earlier. His child would bloom in the Fae Realm. The changelings would braid flowers into his hair, name him little brother, and curl around to keep him too. His child would be treasured. Reminded everyday of how precious he is.

It would be full of life, and people, and love so loud you couldn’t shout over it. Yoichi’s mad at himself for not negotiating smarter. But he’ll wait an eternity to have his child, he can wait six months.

Leaning down, he kisses his child’s forehead. 

Just a little longer.

Then no one will ever hurt you again.

Toshinori calls Gran Torino, and asks him to pick up Izuku from his graduation. He’s planned a celebration dinner along with Inko, but being All Might means that he can’t make time to pick Izuku up and take the night off to enjoy the dinner. 

So he picks the second. 

Eagerly, he tells Izuku that his old mentor will pick him up to bring him to their family dinner. Inko asks if he’s excited to graduate, and Izuku smiles and nods in response.

His smile is so bright, and Toshinori is glad.

Izuku isn’t really listening. He responds how they want and only smiles genuinely when he realizes that graduation means First is finally going to be able to finish the deal. 

The details of the conversation with Toshinori escape him.

He can’t bring himself to care. Home is around the corner.

“The truth is,” First speaks into his hair, holding him close, “Even if you had killed yourself at the end of these two years, you would’ve been mine. You would’ve been my child. And I would mourn you, raining the wrath of the forest down on your people. They would’ve suffered for what they did to you, my darling. Still now, I only hold back because you wish it so.”

Izuku, so tired of all the hurt in the world, says, “Thank you for listening to me.” He closes his eyes, and there’s just peace. Just sweetness. Quieter, he adds, “I love you.”

First replies, “I love you too, starlight. I can’t wait for you to come home.”

As the day approaches, Izuku finds himself unable to focus on anything except leaving. 

Izuku goes back to the library.

Returns all his books. He doesn’t check out anymore. The librarian calls out, “We have some new books! Are you sure you don’t want anything?”

Izuku smiles, bright and steady and everything soft inside him, “No thanks. But…it’s been really nice. I’m really, really grateful for the library. And you’ve always been kind.”

It’s an anomaly.

She doesn’t know, but it’s a goodbye too, really.

(You should be careful, about those).

Graduation happens. It passes by in a haze, a blur pressing in at the edges of his mind. He walks across the stage, and there is no clapping, and no cheering for him. A pin could drop in the silence, but it doesn’t phase him.

First had said he would pick him up today. They couldn’t risk questions if he showed up to the graduation itself, but of course, he would never miss a chance to celebrate with his child.

Izuku barely feels tethered, as if he’s floating away, already gone with First. The rest of the kids are too wrapped up in themselves and being on their “best behavior” to go after him. It’s a mercy that only makes it easier for Izuku to leave the school immediately after the ceremony finishes, before anyone else has left.

On the sidewalk, First looks at him, all affection, infinitely patient, eternally gentle and Izuku wants to go home, where everything is this soft.

Izuku runs towards First, jumping into his arms. First laughs, catching him and spinning him around. “You did it, darling. You did it. You worked so hard.”

Izuku smiles, feeling so bright, and says, “I want to go home.”

First freezes for only a second, before he smiles, soft and real and Izuku has never been so safe , “ Of course , sweetheart.” He cards a hand through Izuku’s hair, dropping a kiss on his forehead. “I’m so happy that you’re about to be my child .”

Izuku is radiating warmth, as he tells First, “Let’s go then,” tugging on his shirt to get him to move. “I’ve been waiting for so long.”

First laughs, and holds out a hand. There’s a sense of finality, of peace, as Izuku reaches out to take it. His hand clasps First’s, certain, and they just…walk away.

Away from the school. Away from the hurt, the exhaustion, the waiting but never having . 

They slip into the forest, quietly, easily, as if they’ve always really meant to be there. 

Gran Torino calls Toshinori to chew him out, watching Izuku smile brightly to hug an older man.

“You didn’t need me, zygote! You called your babysitter to get Izuku.”

“What do you mean? I didn’t call anyone to pick up Izuku?”

Gran Torino recalls Izuku’s smile, how familiar he was with the unknown man. How comfortable. How happy. He clearly wasn’t a stranger. “Maybe Inko did?”

There’s a pause as Toshinori goes to ask Inko. He comes back, voice frantic, “She didn’t. Gran Torino, I don’t know who Izuku’s with. I don’t know who the man you're describing is.”

Gran Torino snaps his head up in alarm, eyes rapidly flicking over the throngs of celebrating families. His heart sinks. Izuku’s gone. So is the man.

Katsuki follows them, unbearably curious and pretending to be angry. 

He’s never seen the man before, but he knows that Deku would do something dumb and worry Auntie Inko, so he sneaks along behind them.

Deku seems to know the man very well, enough to be affectionate with him, holding his hand and displaying trust that Katsuki hasn’t seen Deku give anyone in years. 

It makes him irrationally angry that he has no idea how this man knows Izuku. 

They don’t stop until they’re deep in the forest, finding a clearing just out from its very center. Katsuki watches, almost uncomfortable as the man kneels down to meet Deku’s eyes better, feeling as if he’s intruding on a moment.

“Oh, child of mine,” First whispers fondly, looking at Izuku with affection spilling out of him. Izuku feels alive in a way he can’t seem to describe.

I am your child, he realizes in wonder. 

First drops a kiss into Izuku’s hair and Izuku feels his eyes close as he basks in the warmth, how freely it’s given. “I have something for you,” First says as he hugs Izuku. He pulls out a wreath.

“ Oh,” Izuku breathes out, stunned. If he wasn’t already sure, he would’ve been sure now. A wreath means so much. It’s First claiming himself as Izuku’s family, as well as welcoming Izuku into the fold of his own family. It’s a bold, undeniable proclamation of First’s love and pride and care. 

Wreaths are handmade and unique. Izuku can spot the branches of their forest weaved into the base, the lovely leaves he calls home, and the flowers that whisper hello every time he walks by. He sees the time and effort that’s gone into it—First has given him a piece of home, a welcoming gift as family. Izuku is so loved. He does not doubt that now.

Tilting his head down, First sets the wreath gently onto his head. Izuku looks up, and he is incandescent with joy and love. “Thank you, First.” He reaches out to squeeze First’s hands. 

“Of course, sweetheart. My name’s Yoichi, but I’d be lucky to be called your papa too.” Izuku understands how important this moment is. Izuku isn’t fae, so the name does not give him power, but it’s a show of trust. A testament to how far their bond has come, how committed Yoichi is to being family. 

Izuku tilts his head forward until their foreheads meet, and he closes his eyes, just letting the wonder of breathing the same air as Yoichi wash over him. “Love you, papa.”

Yoichi’s inhale stutters, and he cups Izuku’s face, leaning back to take in his appearance—a wreath of forest in his hair, the brightest eyes he’s ever seen, and his joy. “You are ethereal, honey. You look like one of us—like my child. Like you’ve always meant to be here.”

Izuku is speechless, feeling as if he might burst from the affection and wonder he’s feeling. “I missed you. I don’t ever want anyone to take me away from you.” It doesn’t fully capture what he means, that he wants Yoichi to solidify his place as his child until no one can even try to untangle them. That this week, knowing how close he was to home, was so hard because he wanted to be there already. 

Yoichi is left unbearably emotional, watching his child closely. “ Darling ,” Yoichi says, with the full force of his unquantifiable love and protection, “My child, won’t you gift me your name?”

Izuku smiles, lovely and soft and everything giving, and says, “My name is—“

“Don’t you fucking dare, Deku. Whatever weird quirk he has, don’t give him your name. He’s a creep! Don’t tell me I have to save your sorry ass for Auntie Inko!” Katsuki interrupts them, unnerved by the nuances he knows he’s missed watching Deku and the man. 

Deku turns and just stares. Looks at Katsuki as if he is already foreign and other and unrecognizable. There’s a moment of silence that Katsuki thinks he’s gotten through to Deku, but instead, Deku turns away.

Before he can even think to move forward and tackle the man or Deku, Deku smiles and says, “My name is Midoriya Izuku. But mostly, I’d like to be your starlight.”

There’s something heavy and final in that sentence. The casual dismissal of his own name. Katsuki feels an unexplainable sense of dread. 

“ Izuku,” the man says, with a kind of gravity Katsuki is angry he’s unable to understand. He says the name like it’s precious and invaluable. As if Izuku has given him something tangible—and maybe he has. “Izuku, kiddo, let’s go home.” He reaches out a hand.

Katsuki watches, frozen, as Izuku grasps it without hesitation. 

“Okay, papa,” he says, sounding younger and innocent, “ I’m ready.” He says it with relief. 

The man hugs Izuku close. Katsuki’s head spins, wondering when he’s earned Izuku’s trust when Katsuki knows that Izuku doesn’t trust easily anymore. Barely trusts at all, really. 

(Not that it hasn’t been warranted.)

The man looks over to address him for the first time in the whole interaction. He cards through Izuku’s hair, as he pins Katsuki with an intense stare. 

“He’ll be safe. You’ll never see him again.”

(You’ll never be able to hurt him again.)

And then they’re gone.

Don’t come calling for me. I won’t answer.

Ayame walks home from the library, and sees a paper flap up from the light pole in the wind.

She’s about to walk by before her eyes catch a shock of green on the poster. Curious, she walks over, smoothing the paper carefully down.

She inhales sharply, heart dropping. No, she thinks, shaking her head. No. Not him.

The poster spells out in block letters “MISSING.” A boy, with a head of green hair, stares out at her. Eyes sad and guileless. 

A name: Midoriya Izuku.

There’s no tears in her eyes, but her chest is hollow as she thinks about the boy who loved his stories like nothing else. Who she’s learned the name of only now, because of his own missing poster. 

You deserve a happy ending, she thinks. You deserve sweetness.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

Izuku picks at the grass, braiding the blades together.

“Izuku, honey, I’ll be right back,” Yoichi says, pressing a kiss to the side of his forehead. He disappears, slipping into the Fae Realm.

Izuku nods, content, safe in ways he cannot name. This clearing holds so many precious memories, and is drenched in Yoichi’s protective intent. They don’t visit the Mortal Realm often, but they both have overwhelmingly positive memories of the clearing, so it’s really the only place that they do visit. 

As he hums to himself, he closes his eyes and sways, happy to be in the forest. But a stunned whisper of “Izuku?” has his eyes snapping open. Toshinori looks at him from outside of the clearing as if he is a ghost—part in disbelief and part in desperation.

He reaches out, only to hit Yoichi’s protective intent in the form of a physical barrier.

Izuku shakes his head, curling up small, and reaching towards the fae circle in the center of the clearing. “You shouldn’t be here. You should go.”

Toshinori scrambles for words, “Izuku—you’ve been missing for months. You can’t expect me to just leave. Please, come here. How can I get across the barrier?”

“I’m safe,” Izuku says, “I’ve never been safer.” He doesn’t respond to Toshinori’s questions. 

“IZUKU! Izuku, please,” Toshinori pleads in desperation. “Your mom and I have missed you so much.”

“I’m not being hurt. I’m loved. I’m happy. Isn’t that enough?”

“You were taken, Izuku. Stolen. You need help. Whoever took you brainwashed you. Trust me!” Toshinori inflates into All Might, “I am here!” He sends a smile at Izuku, as if it would fix everything and convince him. Maybe it would’ve worked, with Izuku’s hero worship, if Yoichi hadn’t loved Izuku. But it’s useless here, where Izuku belongs.

Izuku’s eyes widen in shock before watering. He remembers all the times he’d dreamed of wishing to be saved by All Might. It’s devastating, knowing that All Might had known him and been blind to all his silent cries for help. Another of his childhood comforts—tainted. “Please go. I’m where I’m supposed to be,” Izuku whispers. “If my mom loved me, she’d want you to leave me here.”

Yoichi appears, sweeping Izuku into his arms, turning him away from Toshinori. Izuku clings tightly and closes his eyes, world slipping away. Tears fall from his eyes in a steady stream, aching with old grief.

“Where were you, before?” Yoichi demands. “You gave him up to be loved by someone else. And I do. I love my child more than anyone else in this world.”

Izuku looks up, eyes filled with something shattering, and says, “Love is easy, when I’m with you. I want love to be easy. I don’t want it to hurt.”

I’m tired of being hurt, is what he doesn’t say.

Yoichi doesn’t wait, carrying them far away.

(I’m only safe when I’m gone.)

I will tell you the story

About the little boy I found 

in the grass

Tired soul as he told me

He could hear the children 

wanting to pass.