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landothemuppet · 3 years

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Far Longer Than Forever (p.p)

Word count: 4737

Pairing : peter parker

Request: YES! ANON I LOVE YOU SO MUCH. The Swan Princess is one of my childhood movie and this was so fun to write. I can’t stop listenning the soundtrack now ! I’m so sorry for the time i took to write this, i had so much work to do with school. But it’s over now and i hope you will like this !

N/A: First, gif not mine but i don’t know who i’m gonna credit on this, i have no clue...This is my first Peter Parker x reader and i hope you all will like it! As always, I remind you that English is not my native language. Don’t hesitate to tell me what you think of the fic! Like, reblogs to support. You can Love you all! xx

Taglist: @angeliquekalampoka @harryhollandsgirlfriend @cedricdiggorysimpp - if you want to be notified of all my future writings you can add yourself in my taglist : here

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As far as you can remember, you've always hated summer. Well, it was partly a lie. You loved the sweltering heat of Queens, the cherry popsicles from Delmar's, not having to worry about what time you had to get up. You liked it but hated the idea of the last two weeks of August.

This year was no exception. You looked at your half-finished suitcase, a grimace on your face. August still meant the same thing, the same routine: having to spend the last three weeks of his vacation with Peter Parker.

summer 2009

Peter Parker had lost his parents very early on, two years ago. He had lived since then with his aunt May and his uncle Ben. It was your mother's idea to introduce you to each other. Aunt May and your mom were friends from college and luckily, they lived in the same neighborhood. Your first meeting with the one who, many years later, would become Spider-Man, took place on his eighth birthday. You were invited to the party when you weren't even at the same school. Aunt May had simply shared his fears about Peter's difficulty making friends after the trauma he had experienced. Your mother, as the perfect friend that she was, had suggested that Peter and you spend time together.

There were 3 kids in total at that birthday party, you, Peter - obviously - and a boy from his school whose mother had forced him to be there, too. It was a fact; you were the only girl and you didn't know Peter at all. Your mother walked up to you, got up to your eye level and whispered

"Can you be nice? May told me she invited Peter's whole class and only this boy came"

You wanted to please your mother so you nodded before approaching the two boys. Peter and his friend were in the corner of the room, their backs turned to the adults. When you tapping the young boy on the shoulder to make you notice by him, he turned to you with a guilty expression. He had buttercream all over the corner of his mouth and he was holding a cupcake in his hand that looked delicious.

“My Aunt May tried to bake a cake, but Uncle Ben bought some cupcakes in anticipation. Do you want one?” Peter asked you in a friendly voice

“Why? Is May's cake not good?

“Uncle Ben says that she is not very good at cooking.”

You let out a little laugh and nodded your head before grabbing the cupcake with a smile. You thanked him and began to taste the little pastry with envy. It was so good! The buttercream was lemony, the cupcake was slightly lemony too but there was a taste you couldn't recognize. You were almost sure you had tasted it before, but you couldn't tell what it was. Peter and the other boy suggested that you go to Peter's room. He wanted to show you the LEGO set his uncle Ben had given him ahead of time and you followed them even though you weren't more excited about the idea.

And you were right. For several minutes, you were pushed aside while the two young boys spoke spiritedly. You complained several times that you wanted to do something else but Peter didn't seem to listen to you, too excited to finally be able to chat with someone who appreciated Star Wars as much as he did.

So you were annoyed and slightly angry with Peter but what broke the camel's back is that you started to not feel so good. Your throat was itching and you felt like your tongue was taking up a lot more space in your mouth, getting drier. Peter gave you a distracted look before his eyes widened. He let go of everything he had in his hands before running to his aunt.

"Aunt May, Aunt May! Y/N's tongue looks like a big, desiccated steak!"

"Peter, don't be rude!" she exclaimed, shocked by her nephew’s words

"No, no come see, she has a huge tongue! I think something is wrong"

Meanwhile, you ran into the bathroom at Peter's reaction. You weren't sure why he had looked at you like that, but you felt that a few things were wrong. In addition, you were more and more thirsty, your eyes also hurt. And that's when you saw your reflection. You were puffy, your tongue had tripled in size, hence this feeling of dryness and discomfort. It was the same with your throat. You started to cry and when May called you through the bathroom door, you fervently opened it.

May and your mother's expression of horror was instantaneous and your mother knew exactly what was causing your condition.

"What did she eat?"

"Nothing..." he tried to escape from being grounded

"Peter, this is very important. What did you eat?"

"We just ate the cupcakes Uncle Ben brought back"

Ben looked at May with guilty eyes. May had put so much effort into Peter's birthday cake and she felt hurt that they had bought some pastries in anticipation. Your mother was impatiently stamping her foot. It was important to know exactly what you had eaten and above all, you shouldn't waste any more time. Peter felt completely helpless. He had only given a cupcake to his guest, that’s all. What was wrong with giving someone a cupcake?

"What were those cupcakes flavor?" your mother said impatiently ...

"With lemon and almonds." he said in a very small voice.

You were panicked. And the eight-year-old that you were was not coping well with stress. Plus, your feeling of being sidelined by Peter and his friend made you feel even worse. So you frowned. You couldn't see a thing but you could feel the torrent of tears escaping your cheeks. You pointed at Peter with rage

"You tried to kill me !!!" you said somehow with your tongue as big as a little tangerine.

"It's not true!"

"Yes! You are a murderer"

And you cried even more before your mother takes you to the emergency room as quickly as possible, apologizing for the scene.

The week later, May forced Peter to apologize for giving you a cupcake, while justifying that he didn't know about your allergy. Your mother forced you to apologize for insulting Peter "a murderer" and accept his apologies.

But you spent the rest of the vacation arguing with the little guy. After all, you didn't want to be friends with a murderer.

Summer 2013

Aunt May and your mom didn't let go, however, and every summer you spent three damn weeks with Peter. The summer of your twelve years, you did not thus escape this eternal masquerade but this year, the tide had turned in your favor.

From the start, you never liked Star Wars. It really wasn't your world. You had always preferred Harry Potter and although Peter had read the books and enjoyed them - which he would never admit to you as that would amount to listing the commonalities you had - he was much more invested in the galactic universe. But on that day, Peter had particularly bothered you. He had first replaced the sugar in your hot chocolate with salt. He kept chanting silly nursery rhymes about you and the downstairs neighbor, insinuating that you were in love: which was not the case. Yes, Peter had been extremely annoying. This time Peter was getting on your nerds by bouncing a small ball against the ceiling as you tried to read your book. Uncle Ben was in the living room watching the sport - you weren't sure exactly which one since it didn't matter to you - so you couldn't go anywhere else to be quiet.

"Peter, stop it."

"Stop what?" he asked by bouncing the ball once more off his ceiling. You could even make out the smirk on his lips.

"That. Stop it! I can't read."

"This is nothing new."

You threw him the first thing you found on his desk, c.e, a banana, which he easily dodged. You groaned in frustration. May and your mother didn't understand when you talked about Peter's attitude towards you. He was a calm child, far too shy at school and interested in everything, especially science. He was looking forward to entering Midletown High School in two years. You hated that nerd side about him. Secretly, you were a little jealous of him for being the smartest in the room.

“I'm gonna hit you so hard you won't know your name anymore”

“ try me, dumbass.”

A few minutes later, he had finally stopped throwing that damn ball, but obviously Peter's boredom was driving him to find everything the most boring thing than the previous one to drive you crazy. This time, he had simply taken his favorite lightsaber - because he had several - and he was poking your shoulder to get your attention.

"Parker, stop!"

"Don't you want to drop this book and watch a movie?"

"What do you want to watch? Star Wars? No thanks ..."

"Oh come on, Y / N! I'm sure you'll like it!"

He patted you on the shoulder once more with his lightsaber.

"Do you want to play this, Parker?" you said before grabbing one of his other lightsabers

"What are you going to do? I'm sure you don't know how to fight with" he mocked.

You have lit the glowing plastic stick and you are placed in the guard position.

"Do you want to bet, knothead?"

He smiled at you and attacked you first. Strangely, this is what most resembled a moment of bond between Peter and you and deep down, you appreciate it. But you also appreciate that possibility of kicking his ass after he's been so irritating. You responded to his lightsaber attacks with ease and joy. It was playful, childish, but it was one of the few times you had fun with Peter. And you really appreciate it. Your two laughs mingled, echoing in the room.

But suddenly, as you were trying to dodge an attack from the brunet, your elbow made contact with his face. Peter's muffled cry of pain echoed and you froze. He was holding his nose with a grimace and when he took his hand away you both noticed in horror that he was bleeding.

"Fuck…"

"Pete..." you started talking

"You blew my nose!" Peter shouted

"I did not do it on purpose!" you defended yourself.

"Of course, you do! You fucking blew my nose!"

"Peter, I swear ..."

But Peter interrupted you by rushing out of his bedroom looking for his aunt who was in the office as she tried to file the important papers, that Ben and her had received this week. You were livid. First, because you didn't mean to hurt Peter on purpose. Second, you couldn't stand the sight of blood and it was literally everywhere. Peter was leaving trails of droplets on the floor of the apartment.

"Aunt May?!? Y/N blew my nose! Damn, I'm bleeding!"

After a brief stint in the ER, the rest of the stay was peaceful as you and Peter avoided each other until the end of the summer.

Summer 2017

Peter was not the Peter you had always known.

Since the death of his uncle Ben, the young man had closed in on himself and was even further away. Always so intelligent and discreet but much more distant. He had stopped teasing you or doing things that got on your nerves. He was minding his own business. And even though you had tried to be there for him, not denying him any of the offers he made to you during your stay ... you found him really ... overwhelmed. Which was still understandable.

But this year was worse than the last. May told your mother that last year Peter got an internship at Stark Industry and attended a seminar in Germany but came back with a black eye. He had been acting most weirdly ever more since then. And you could have witnessed it. In the afternoon, when you were busy, and when it was too hot, when you tried to rest, Peter would disappear for hours. When you caught him sneaking back several times, he made you promise not to tell Aunt May.

And you were starting to have theories about his nighttime getaways. After all, you were 16 and you too had started dating a few boys. But it never really worked. who knows why?! And when you wondered if Peter had a girlfriend, and who she was - he had to have one in view of all his sneaking out - your stomach twisted in a strange feeling. You didn't understand why the thought of Peter having a girlfriend bothered you so much. Over time, you had learned to be friends. It still happened sometimes that you quarreled but the events of the life made you grow up. Your parents had divorced, Peter had lost his uncle. You could tell yourself that you both had grown.

And it was one night when Peter was sneaking back in again that you discovered two secrets.

The first one: He was Spider-Man.

It was around midnight when you heard the sound of the window opening. Since your childhood and this Machiavellian plan of your mother and Aunt May, you had always slept in Peter's room during holiday and more recently in his bed. The noise alerted you and you got up in a sitting position. But the only thing you saw was a foot, placed on this said window, closing it gently. How the hell was that possible?

You were ready to scream but your gut told you to look up at the ceiling. A figure hung on it and you were paralyzed. Were you having one of those weird experiences called sleep paralysis? Delicately, silently, you grabbed the first blunt object within reach. A chemistry book that Peter seemed particularly fond of. The figure stepped on the ceiling as you were paralyzed. The form turned to land on the ground and then stood up, still with its back to you. You got up gently from Peter's bed and walked over. The man in the suit whose color you couldn't see took off his mask and you hit the air in an attempt to shoot him down. Peter turned around so quickly and blocked your gesture easily, like a reflex.

"What the ..."

"Bloody hell".

You both said at the same time. Your big surprised eyes mirrored Peter's. The curly man let go of your hand with an apologetic expression as you walked away from your friend. You turned on the bedside lamp before you discovered his blue and red costume. A very recognizable costume since it was that of Spider-Man. You winced, a look of judgment and incomprehension on your face. Not bothering to look at his face covered with bruises and traces of blood.

"What the ... are you sneaking out to go to a costume party?"

"What?! No…No Y/N I’m…”

“Spider-Man? Great costume by the way” you joked.

For a moment, you completely forgot that you just saw your friend glued upside down to the ceiling. Peter looked at you a little jaded, by the tone of your voice your guess was far from a sincere question but more of a mockery. And right now, the young man needed to be honest with you. He needed you.

"But, I am."

"Yeah that's it. And I slept with the Winter Soldier. You can't imagine what he can do with his metal arm."

Peter cut you off by pulling a web with his web shooter, tying your hands. The feel of the canvas was unpleasant, sticky but above all resistant. You let out a little cry of surprise, not powerful enough to pass the walls of Peter's room. Your eyes looked like two big golf balls, realizing that your friend was telling the truth.

"Omg, You're Spider-Man" you almost spoke too loud.

"Yes and don't make me web your mouth. May doesn't have to know"

"damn, peter. What happened to your face!"

“yeah about that…I need you Y/N, please…”

And without warning, Peter squeezed the spider in the middle of his costume, at chest level. He winced at the action revealing his bruised chest. He staggered a bit from the action, unsure of his legs and the pain in his sides fierce. You might see several bruises and cuts on your friend's body. You were having difficulty swallowing before you told him you were going to the bathroom to get what you needed. Before leaving the room, he made you promise to be discreet and not tell May anything if she ran into you. When you walk back into Peter's room, he's sitting half-lying on his bed, grimacing. You sit next to him, your heart pounding. You never noticed that he was so built. After all, as a superhero, he had to keep fit. But you couldn't deny that it intimidated you. Your cheeks were burning with embarrassment and a desire you never knew before. He had his eyes closed, as if trying to make the pain go away. And there, looking at him, you found him pretty. he was so cute that you couldn't help but run your hand through his curls to signal your presence and soothe him a bit. But Peter already knew you were there. He had heard your footsteps, he had smelled your scent, a sweet scent he had grown used to in his later years. He sighed softly, more relaxed. You started to clean the few shallow wounds.

"Does it hurt?" you asked quietly

"Mhmm no, not really."

"Did you win?"

"Ouch..No. Not tonight."

"Sorry." you said more for your gesture rather than the fact that he didn't win the fight against the bad guys.

"No, it's perfect ... it's just a little sensitive"

You smiled but something was wrong. A feeling you've never felt before. You've finished cleaning up Peter's wounds, but your gaze has darkened. As you were about to get up, the brunette gently grabbed your wrist to hold you back. He could hear your calm breathing and yet your heart was racing. He could feel the heat on your cheeks. He too felt that the tension was at its height. Your mind was muddled, he didn't know why, he wasn't a telepath, but he could see it, feel it. Your body betrayed your mind.

"Y/N, what is it?"

"I..I don't know." you lied.

"You can tell me everything."

"I ... Well…Seeing you like this ... makes me ... makes me realize that I ... I'm afraid of losing you."

"You won't lose me ... I promise"

You are ashamed of your vulnerable state. How did you go from hating this boy to having an overwhelming fear of losing him? You looked at those chocolate eyes in confusion and distress. You were now fully aware that the little neighborhood spider was none other than your childhood friend. The one you once loved to hate, tease, fight with over trivia. He was also on the youtube videos, who stopped cars with his bare hands.

“Y/N… you won’t lose me, I promise.”

Peter dared to walk slowly towards you and in a surge of courage, one of his hands circled your burning cheek, his lips rested on yours. The brunette had always had a crush on you without actually admitting it. After all, you had known each other since you were children but... your relationship had been rather confrontational. But for two years now, everything had changed for him. He appreciated more and more your little arguments, your teasing. His thoughts would sometimes turn darker when you lick your lips or when your fingers scratched that point behind your ear, when you were a little stressed.

Your lips moved between them in a harmonious dance and you were now clinging desperately to Peter's slightly sweaty brown curls. Your heart was pounding at a speed close to the point of no return, reluctant to stop suddenly in the face of this overstimulation. But all good things came to an end and you slowly walked away. You bit your lip to get the taste of Peter's back. Your mind wandered, lost in the haze of rushing feelings.

"You..you should rest ..."

You ended up pulling away, swallowing hard. That night you didn't sleep. You have studied every facial feature of Peter, thinking of every event since your friendship. The next day, you fooled that nothing had happened. Too scared of what that kiss meant to you.

Summer 2025

It all happened so quickly. After that summer, the summer of your kiss, you promised yourself that you understood your feelings towards Peter. You weren't going to the same high school and even though you were both on social media, you never dared to contact him. You needed time.

But you haven't had this time. Peter became full-time Spider-Man and then the aliens came to earth, again. The threat of Thanos hovered and within moments, days, hours ... you were gone under his snap.

When you returned to your childhood apartment, you were alone. Well, alone in front of the family who lived in this place now. The man in his forties simply believed you were a drug-hunting teenager squatter. Five damn years had passed. 5 years where your mother had a new life when you had been eclipsed. You were distraught, alone and it was by happy coincidence that you found May at the F.E.A.S.T project. It was a relief for you to find a familiar face again. She had suggested that you come and live in her new temporary apartment, allowing you to finish high school without having to move to the other end of the United States, with your mother. You declined your offer. You wanted to fend for yourself. And surprisingly, you did pretty well.

To be exact, Mr. Delmar was looking for a student to work in his store and was kind enough to greet you in the bedroom of one of his daughters who had gone to college. By the greatest of luck, you've never seen Peter. Or rather, you managed to avoid it for an entire year. You had caught a glimpse of him one day, trying to speak Italian to get a travel adapter and a dual headphone adapter. Did you feel foolish thinking that after so long - could we consider those 5 years to be 5 concrete years? - would it still focus on the kiss you shared? After all, you got away from him after that. And then, everything went in a state of madness.

Every time you turned on the television, you learned that elemental monsters had attacked a different country. They had first started with Mexico and then moved to Europe. Italy, Prague and then London. A certain Mysterio seemed to be taking care of this matter, but you couldn't help but think of Peter. May told you he was supposed to go to Italy. In fact, every time she went to Delmar's for a sandwich, she gave you an update on her nephew's trip. But it wasn't the craziest.

Upon his return ... Spider-man's identity was revealed. You had watched in horror the video of Mysterio, which appeared on the Daily Buggle newspaper, accusing Peter of wanting to be the new Iron-Man. You were listening to J. Jonah Jameson falsely accusing Peter of being a murderer. You knew Peter, and there was no way he had done such an act. The video was bogus, you were sure. When you tried to reconnect that summer, you noticed Peter's girlfriend. Michelle Jones and ... and that's what kept you from approaching him. He was already supported. He had his best friend, Ned. His girlfriend, MJ. And he had May. It was enough, wasn't it?

It was the following year, after a new incredible adventure that you met again.

You worked at the store in the evening. Mr Delmar had asked you to help him out urgently because his youngest daughter had a health problem. You accepted with pleasure. You had offered to babysit his daughter but the loving father he was wanted to be with her. And it was precisely this evening that a thug decided to steal the fund from you.

You were at gunpoint with your hands up in the air when you saw a red and black mass fall behind the thug.

"Hey buddy, I think the bank is across the street"

Spider-Man tapped the thief on the shoulder and dodged a punch.

"But I think I'll arrest you anyway if you went to the bank. You don't seem like a nice guy." Peter joked.

You were paralyzed as your friend, your best friend if you were honest, chained or avoided them with agility. You swallowed hard, unable to move or run away. A gunshot rang out and you smelled a scared little vintage. Peter squeezed the barrel of the gun in his hand, deviating from his course. It made sense now to say that he had simply defended himself against the assault. After a few seconds that seemed like an eternity, Peter stared the offender against a fridge door, immobilizing him. He then turned to you, oblivious to your identity at the time.

"Are you okay there?"

"Peter!"

You didn't give him the chance to realize and you rushed into his arms, hugging him so tight to feel the comfort of his body against yours.

"Uh, yeah, you're welcome. Cuddles are nice but ..."

He paused for a moment and his automated eyes widened. He knew his perfume. The flowery, sweet scents that he had missed so much. Is this possible?

"Y/N?"

You let go of him and immediately put his mask back on. Adrenaline was controlling your actions and god damn it, you needed that touch. You kissed him, bluntly. Your lips crushed against his in impatience, in ardor, but too bad. You needed to feel it against you, to regain the feeling that you had felt, years ago. After a few seconds, you felt Peter's hands encircle your waist, pulling you closer to him. Your heart was exploding, the ardor was present in your kiss. You were even frustrated that you couldn't grab her brown curls with full hands, settling for only the base of her hair. You let out a moan before pulling away abruptly. He had a girlfriend.

"I… I'm sorry. I… Sorry, I didn't mean… MJ… and… please don't blame me."

Peter silenced you with another kiss, shorter this time but so good.

“There is no MJ .... Just you and me ... Far Longer Than Forever”

You looked at him hopefully and then burst out laughing after his words.

"I didn't know you were so romantic, Parker"

"Shut your mouth."

"Make me"

"You are impossible."

"But obviously, you like"

He was going to say something to nag you, he was looking for it but you caught him off guard, placing your lips on his again. You could feel his smile in the kiss and you couldn't help but do the same. Anyone living in the neighborhood present in the street would have a view of Spider-Man kissing the student cashier from Delmar. But you couldn't care less. You had waited too long and the joy you were feeling now was so intense, you didn't want to stop feeling this. It is reluctantly that Peter moved away from you apologizing for the fact that he had to go on patrol again.

"Go save the Spider-Man neighborhood"

"Only if you promise me you'll be there when I get back."

"I was thinking of going to say goodnight to May instead ... But if you want, I have a sleeping bag in the storeroom."

"You are incorrigible .... See you later ..."

"See you later."

You smiled, in a misty state of bliss as Peter disappeared from view. This time, you weren't planning to escape, you wanted to fall into the webs of Peter Parker. You closed the store after the police visit and headed to May's flat. It was late but with her kindness she welcomed you with open arms.

This summer ... was the best in years but the others to come were going to be even more wonderful.

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker fic #tom holland #tom holland fic

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ghostgothgeek · 3 years

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Shallow.

Another for the Phic Phight 2021! 4,596 words. Rated T for mean girl shit.

FFN || AO3

Danny finds out why Paulina and Sam actually hate each other. Prompt by Ozone.

I had actually been planning on writing this before it was a Phic Phight prompt, and had even started writing it already! I refuse to believe that Sam would just hate a girl for no reason.

The "Danny and Sam meeting in detention in 7th grade" is a nod to Myaibou's The Lunch Club. I love that being the way the trio met. This author has a lot of other great fics too, I highly recommend!

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“So I’m thinking about organizing a rally against police violence. Would you guys want to join?” Sam asked her two friends at lunch. She was poking at her salad.

“Yeah! Something I’ll actually want to do!” Tucker exclaimed, forcing Sam to fist bump.

“Sweet. How about you Danny?”

“Yeah, I’m in,” Danny popped a fry into his mouth and grinned.

“Awesome! Okay so, I was thinking next weekend at the park. We can make flyers and posters and make an event on social media to get people interested. Would you mind doing that Tucker?” Sam pulled up her checklist on her phone.

“Huh? Yeah sure. Remind me later.”

“Danny, do you think we could maybe have a short appearance from Phantom? I feel like having a celebrity of sorts would really get people excited,” Sam continued. After no reply from Danny, she glanced up at her two friends, noticing they were distracted once again by Paulina. Sam rolled her eyes. “Danny?”

“Uh huh. Sure.”

Sam let out a sigh of frustration. “We could even reveal your secret, make a huge event out of it.”

“Yeah, yeah. I feel you,” Tucker replied.

“And then I can jump off the roof in a pink tutu…” Sam added.

“Sounds good,” Danny sighed and rested his head in his hand.

“Then I’ll mud wrestle my parents in a floral bikini.”

“Yeah that sucks,” Danny replied again.

Sam just groaned, “You guys aren’t even listening to me!”

Danny glanced at her. “Yeah we are! Something about a uh….poster? Environment thing?”

Tucker finally looked at her as well. “Did you say something about you wearing a bikini?”

“Argh! Stop staring at Paulina for two seconds please!” She drummed her fingernails on the table impatiently.

“Wait, Sam’s wearing a bikini? But it’s winter!” Danny replied to Tucker’s comment.

Sam let out a small scream and started packing her stuff up. “Ugh, forget it!”

Noticing Sam was about to leave, Danny put a hand on her shoulder to sit her back down. “No no no, don’t leave Sam! You have our attention.”

“Really? Because it seems to me you two were just making a puddle of drool that would still be less shallow than Paulina.” Sam glared at the girl in question, who was clinging to Dash and trying to get his attention as Kwan put forks up his nose to look like a walrus.

“Jeeze, lay off. What’s your problem with Paulina?” Tucker turned back towards his friends and sipped at his energy drink. It had been a long night capturing Technus.

“Yeah, you just hated her from day one. She didn’t do anything! She literally just moved here,” Danny added.

“No, she didn’t. You just never noticed her until other guys started to. And I have my reasons.” Sam stabbed at her salad harshly, as if she was making a Paulina voodoo doll out of her food.

“Well then, why? Why do you hate her?”

“I don’t just hate her. She hates me too. It’s a mutual hate,” Sam growled.

“Okay but why?” Tucker chimed in.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Sam said shortly.

“Well either tell us or stop complaining,” Tucker replied.

Danny made a grab for her fork and held it away from her. “Danny, give me my fork back.”

“No,” Danny said stubbornly. “We’re your best friends! You can tell us anything. And trust me, I’m desperate to hear your reasoning.”

Both boys stared her down. She would have stabbed both of them with her fork if she still had it. She was pissed. But then Danny’s stare down turned into his puppy dog eyes and pout, which she knew he knew would get her to cave. Damn him. She turned her focus to Tucker so she could keep her angry face, but he too started pouting. Sam hated when they ganged up on her like this. She could usually save face when Tucker pouted. Danny’s big sad questioning eyes almost always swayed her. She could get either of them to cave with a glare or, in very rare cases, her puppy dog eyes. It was so rare that it would immediately get her what she wanted. But when two of them ganged up on the remaining member of the trio, it was difficult to say no.

Sam let out a long groan. “Fine. If you can actually focus and not stare at the queen bee for two minutes, I’ll tell you.” As soon as that was out of her mouth, both boys stood up straight and focused all their attention on her, eager to finally hear why the two girls despised each other so much. “And we will never bring this up again. What I tell you doesn’t leave this table.” Both boys nodded unanimously. “Okay, remember those few years from 3rd grade to 6th grade when I went to a different school?” The boys nodded again. “Well, I never really told you guys why I was only there for a few years. You obviously know the part about my parents wanting to send me to a different school after that fiasco with the lunch box in 2nd grade, but they forced me to go to a private school. In 5th grade, Paulina moved to Amity Park from Florida. And...ugh, this is gross...We…” She trailed off and muttered something the boys didn’t catch.

“What?” Both boys pressed.

“We...used to be...friends,” Sam choked the words out.

Both Danny and Tucker’s eyes widened, eyebrows raised in complete surprise. They thought Paulina moved here in 9th grade, but of course if she went to the private school, they never would have seen her. They definitely didn’t hang out in the same places or with the same people. Hell, they forgot Sam existed until she went back to public school again in 7th grade with her goth look. Before that, they weren’t even friends with Sam, just classmates. Then all three of them had to spend a week in detention with each other, they became friends, and the rest is history. Sam’s break in private school was the reason they were still learning some things about her, like her playing video games and her family being wealthy. It was shocking that her and Paulina were friends once upon a time, because now the girls wouldn’t even talk to each other or acknowledge each other.

“What happened?” Tucker asked in dismay.

“Armageddon.”

“Class, please welcome our new student Paulina Sanchez. She moved here all the way from Florida!” Mrs. Wellington clapped her hands, motioning for her students to do the same. “Miss Sanchez, there is an empty seat behind Miss Manson. Miss Manson, please raise your hand.”

Sam Manson raised her hand as she studied the new girl. She seemed nice enough. She couldn’t tell if they had the same style or not because they had to wear uniforms, but she had a pretty butterfly clip in her long wavy hair. Paulina had some pink lipgloss on and already looked like she was….developing - even at 10 years old. She smiled at Sam and took her seat behind her.

Once the teacher started getting their math lesson started, Paulina whispered in Sam’s ear. “I love your bow, it’s so pretty!”

Sam smiled and glanced back at the new girl. “Thanks! I like your clip. Do you want to sit with me and my friends at lunch today?”

“Yes please! I don’t know anyone in this weird town.”

“I’m Samantha. Samantha Manson.” She stuck her hand out.

Paulina, with a perfect manicure, shook Sam’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

For the entirety of 5th grade, Sam and Paulina had become nearly inseparable. They played with Paulina’s large dollhouse when they got together after school, they skipped rope and chanted nursery rhymes at recess, and braided each other’s hair at lunch. There weren’t many kids at the private school, for it was very exclusive...and expensive.

That fact had been Pamela Manson’s primary reason for sending her daughter to that school. Public school was turning her sweet daughter into a barbarian. Fighting with boys at school? Well, considering the boy threw up in her lunch box, the fight was almost justified. Almost. The Mansons were disgusted that the teachers would allow that to happen. Samantha had only been in public school in the first place due to her grandmother’s persistence. Ida Manson insisted public school would be better for their little Sammykins. She would meet more people that way. Reluctantly, Pamela and Jeremy agreed. Although the Mansons were furious at first that their little girl had gotten in trouble, they were eventually delighted because they now had an excuse to send Samantha to a better and more dignified school.

Pamela Manson adored Paulina. She was glad her daughter had finally picked a proper friend. Samantha had been getting a little too close with those two boys who always riled her up. Folten or Fenton or something. Foley? She didn’t care to remember, her daughter wouldn’t be seeing them anymore. Paulina wore pretty pink dresses and was always groomed properly and well behaved. She had hoped Paulina would be a better influence on Sam after those boys. Plus, Pamela loved outings with the Sanchez family. She and Isabella had frequent mother-daughter outings with their girls.

Everything was perfect until 6th grade started. A few weeks into that first semester, all hell broke loose.

“Hey guys,” Sam sat down at her lunch table, joining Paulina and a few other girls she had become friends with.

“Hey Samantha!”

“Samantha, Kylie was just telling me how pretty my hair is!” Paulina bragged.

“It is lovely,” Sam commented, opening up her lunch box and discarding the meat products her mom had the butler slip in. Paulina had originally thought it was a little odd that Sam did that, but when her friend explained it was because she loved animals so much, Paulina agreed that they were too cute to eat but kept on with her own ways.

“I know!” Paulina chirped.

“Wow, Samantha. Your hair is really pretty too!” Kylie reached out a hand and started running her fingers through Sam’s almost hip-length black hair. “Oooh and it’s so soft!” A few other girls joined Kylie in playing with Sam’s hair.

“Thanks,” Sam laughed. She really didn’t care, but she found it amusing that her friends were so enthralled by her hair.

“What about mine?” Paulina pouted, upset the attention wasn’t on her anymore.

“Yours isn’t as soft, but it’s still nice!” One of the girls replied, still enamoured with Sam’s raven locks. “Is this your natural color?” Sam’s nod was followed up with coos of approval.

Paulina crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes at the other girls. Sam was her best friend. She loved Sam. But Sam didn’t care about that kind of stuff. Paulina did! She was used to getting more attention from people. Paulina was the first in their grade to get a bra, she liked to flirt with boys, and she loved being pampered. When outside of school, Sam didn’t really dress up anymore. She would just wear dark t-shirts and shorts and put her hair up into a ponytail. She wouldn’t even let Paulina put flowers in her hair to make her more girly! Instead, Sam scolded her for killing a living thing and disrupting nature or something stupid like that.

After Sam and her family had taken a short visit to one of the industrial plants they owned, she hadn’t been the same. Sam had told Paulina that there was trash in all the pretty trees and flowers, and then Sam had done some research and found out that her parents’ friends’ companies tested on animals, polluted the environment, and had poor labor conditions. She was really upset about it and thought things were wrong, and Paulina would just politely agree with her. She liked that Sam loved the earth and stuff, but then it started to get really annoying.

Sam started reading these weird books after their class learned about Edgar Allan Poe. Stuff about magic and mythology and the occult. Even though Paulina and the other girls thought it was weird, Sam was still their friend. Kind of. Paulina was going to drop Sam until she had been invited to the Manson mansion and found out just how rich Sam’s family was. That kept Sam in good standing with Paulina. Despite the weird factor, Sam was still admired. Sam got better grades than Paulina. Sam got attention from boys because she would still play kickball in her jumper and didn’t mind getting dirty. Sam’s family had a bigger house than Paulina’s. Sam’s family had more money. Sam’s hair was softer, longer, prettier than Paulina’s.

As Paulina watched her friends doting on Sam, taking turns to play with Sam’s hair, she realized she was a little jealous. No matter how hard Paulina had flaunted herself and tried to show up Sam, she felt like Sam always won in the end. It was extra annoying because Sam was so nice. Everyone loved her. Everyone wanted to hang out with her. Sam was a lot of things Paulina tried so hard to be, and Sam had done everything so effortlessly. It wasn’t fair!

They were both very dominant girls, and Paulina realized there wasn’t enough room for the both of them. She needed to prove to everyone, to herself, that she was better and she was in charge of things. Filthy rich or not, Paulina began to ice Sam out and Sam didn’t even seem to notice! After trying and failing to persuade the other girls to drop Sam, she realized she would need to take more drastic measures. She could make people not like Sam anymore. She could make her hair prettier than Sam’s. Sure, it was petty and low, but petty and low is what teenagers are.

Paulina ignored the lesson and stared at the back of Sam’s hair. It was so shiny and looked so soft. Sam smiled as she felt Paulina pulling her long black hair onto her desk, blocking Paulina’s view of her textbook. Paulina pretended to play with Sam’s hair as she dug something out of her purse. After a few minutes, Paulina had shoved several sticks of gum in her mouth, chomping spitefully as she stared at Sam’s hair. Paulina silently spit the large wad of gum into her hand and she carefully placed it on top of Sam’s hair. Furiously but nonchalantly slamming her text book shut with Sam’s hair and the gum still in the middle of it. That should get the gum thoroughly stuck in her hair. Paulina grinned to herself as she tried opening the textbook again, the pages stuck to the hair and gum mess she had made.

When the class all stood up to go to lunch, Sam cried out as Paulina’s textbook yanked her head back. “What?” Sam tried to figure out what was going on, looking behind her.

“Oh my god!” A boy in the class yelled, which caught the attention of the rest of the class, causing them to start yelling as well. The teacher scrambled over to see what was wrong, trying to get Sam’s hair out of the textbook.

“Ow!” Sam yelled and glanced back at Paulina, who pretended to be shocked as she covered her mouth with her hands.

“Oh no Samantha! I’m so sorry, it was an accident!”

Tears welled up in Sam’s eyes as the situation got progressively worse. The teacher told all the kids to go to lunch as she worked on Sam’s hair in the classroom alone. It was no use. The teacher grabbed some scissors and began cutting as low as she could. “I’m so sorry sweetie.”

Sam sat there furiously, eyes full of tears. She knew Paulina had done that on purpose. Paulina had been meaner to her lately and they weren’t allowed to have gum in class! She reached back and felt her choppy hair that now landed a little past her shoulders. When the class had returned from lunch, they were all gasping and pointing at Sam’s hair.

Though the teacher had given Paulina a detention and made her pay a fine to replace the textbook, Sam didn’t feel that was a fair punishment. The teacher had sent Sam home and apologized profusely to Pamela Manson, who had called the school screaming and demanding the teacher be fired. Sam’s hair had to be cut even shorter to even it out; it now sat about an inch or so above her shoulders.

“Oh yeah, that’s pretty shitty,” Danny commented as Sam finished the story.

Tucker nodded his head in agreement. “Yeah that’s pretty low.”

Sam sighed as she ran her hand through her hair. She had kept it short so Paulina wouldn’t get the chance to mess with it again. “That’s not the end of the story.”

Tucker and Danny exchanged a look as she continued.

Sam had stopped going near Paulina after that, but she still hadn’t forgiven the girl. Her mom, though angry at Paulina, told Sam to just leave it alone. Like hell Sam was going to let her get away with this. At lunch the next day, she snuck an innocent little worm on Paulina’s lunch when she wasn’t looking. Paulina of course screamed and caused a commotion, easily pointing the finger at Sam. Teachers had no proof Sam did anything, so they just got Paulina a new lunch and told her to calm down.

Pranks and nasty incidents just escalated after that, until Paulina had done something so terrible it got Sam expelled.

Paulina had a crush on Ricky (ironically no relation to Lunch Box Ricky) and Ricky was chatting away happily with Sam about some comic book. Paulina was already over all the pranks: spiders in her purse, “accidentally” ruining her new shirt...Sam had been careful to not leave behind too much evidence so she never got in trouble. Paulina wasn’t as clever and had to serve a few detentions. And now, Sam was trying to steal her new boyfriend away from her! She knew she needed to not only win this war, but completely end it. And fast.

Sam had been called into the office the next day. Her parents were also called in to meet with the teacher, vice principal, and principal. Apparently, there were some naked pictures of Sam floating around the school, which was against their code of conduct. As much as Sam explained that wasn’t her and that Paulina was just trying to get back at her, her parents were threatening to send her to a boarding school and she would be suspended for the rest of the year. When Sam tried to confront Paulina about everything, Paulina admitted getting Ricky, who was in yearbook and owed her for letting him get to second base, to poorly photoshop some images together and make it seem like Sam had taken naked photos of herself. Though some kids backed Sam up and validated that Paulina had in fact done that on purpose, Sam ended up getting expelled for punching Paulina square in the face. Paulina said she wanted a nose job anyway. Plus, the stuck up bitch had stuck gum to the side of Sam’s head AGAIN, forcing Sam to shave half of her head.

More kids came forward about the feuding girls as Paulina continued to spread rumors about Sam being a freak and pretending to be rich when she wasn’t. Paulina was so shallow; she only cared about looks and popularity and money (and got the rest of the students at the school on board with being snobby and stuck up) - she showed no remorse for treating her former best friend, who kindly helped her gain her footing in Amity Park, the way she did.

The Mansons eventually learned the truth of what happened and cut off all ties with the Sanchez family after having a huge screaming fit over the phone. Though the school had apologized and said Sam could return to school, the damage had already been done and her parents never forgave the school. Sam and her grandmother had convinced her parents that she could go back to public school for 7th grade. Her parents had continued to force their daughter to go back to the way she was before all of this happened, but Sam just continued to pull away from them. She became spiteful and grim, and had a really hard time trusting anyone after that.

“And that’s why I never told you guys about my wealth and why you knew so little about me. I didn’t trust people anymore. It just seemed like people would only talk to me because they knew who my family was. I mean, we didn’t just get rich off of toothpicks. We have an empire.” Sam finished quietly. Then, she gave a small smile. “But I know now that I can trust you guys. We’ve been through so much in such a short amount of time. And honestly? I wouldn’t trade you guys for anything. I’d rather have two great friends than fifty so-called friends who only liked me for shallow reasons. Plus, after I decked Paulina, I was kind of blacklisted.” Her smile widened, pride beaming through.

“Wow. Sorry Sam, we didn’t know.” Danny rested a hand on her shoulder comfortingly.

“I know.” Sam rested her hand on Danny’s, causing both teens to go a little pink in the face.

“Wait wait wait. So you’re telling me there’s nude photos of you somewhere?” Tucker leaned his elbows on the table and clasped his hands together.

Sam rolled her eyes. “No, moron. They were photoshopped. I mean the skin tone didn’t even match, I don’t know how the school thought that was real. I think they were just so shocked anything like that could happen with 6th graders.”

Danny’s face turned more red at the thought of nude photos of Sam existing somewhere, fake or not. He was angry that someone would try to hurt Sam that way, but he was more embarrassed of himself because he was now picturing his best friend naked. His hand suddenly felt hot on her shoulder and he yanked it away quickly with Sam shooting him only a questioning look. He grumbled something under his breath and scooted his chair so his lap was more under the table. Now was not the time.

Tucker snorted. “Amateurs. I was better at photoshop when I was 5 years old.”

Sam laughed. “That’s exactly what I was thinking. Anyway, I guess Paulina’s parents switched her to public school for 9th. I guess the private school didn’t have a cheer squad or something,” Sam shrugged. “When I saw Paulina show up here on the first day of school, I was honestly shocked and a little terrified. Before anything could get out, I cornered her and we swore to never acknowledge that we even knew each other and to stay away from each other. I tried giving her benefit of the doubt, hoping she changed, but then she set up and blew off Danny at the dance to make a jab at me-”

“What?!” Danny exclaimed. “That’s why she ditched me?!”

Sam ignored him and continued, “and I just realized she would never change. She was always going to be shallow and petty, but I would let her start fresh at Casper as long as she stayed far far away from me. I’m too exhausted to care anymore. But yeah, people stopped hanging out with me and started calling me a freak, especially when I became goth. That’s why I hate it when my parents try to push pink and girly on me, it reminds me of that time. It was pretty lonely and I was starting to get self-destructive, until you guys came along.” She smiled softly at them. “You guys saved my life.”

Both boys had their jaws dropped, completely unaware that there had been that huge of a backstabbing backstory that clearly affected Sam way more than she cared to admit.

“You were hurting yourself?” Danny’s voice sounded broken. Sam was so strong now. He never would have thought that she could have killed herself before he even got to meet her. He was suddenly very glad he started talking to her in detention back in 7th grade.

Sam nodded. “Yeah, I kinda hate that I did that. I promise I’m better now. Between you guys and a lot of therapy, I feel better about myself than I ever have. It’s stupid,” she added, “because I really did find myself because of all she did to me, so in a way I should thank her…”

“Uh, no. I’m surprised you haven’t killed her yet. Especially after she tried stealing Dan-” Tucker shut his mouth after he received a swift kick to the shin. Apparently now was not the time to tease Sam about her crush on Danny.

“Yeah. You’re really so kind, Sam. You have a good heart. I know I would have handled that situation a lot worse than you did,” Danny disclosed.

“True. Our Sammy has a soft spot after all.” Tucker huffed as he received another kick for calling her by the nickname he knew she hated. Only Danny could get away with that one.

“Shhh. You’ll tarnish my reputation,” Sam said in amusement.

The bell rang and students in the cafeteria all stood at once, cleaning their tables and making their way towards their next class. When Paulina passed their table, Danny grimaced.

“I can’t look at her the same anymore,” Danny remarked.

Tucker nodded, “Same, dude.”

“Guys, please. This is all as much of a secret as Danny’s identity is, okay? I don’t want that drama coming back. I get revenge in my dreams. Just let her be, it’s not worth it.” Sam threw her spider backpack over her shoulder.

Tucker glanced at Danny before smirking. “Aww, Sam. Too good for this world. Too pure.”

Danny threw an arm around Sam’s shoulder as they walked to their next class. “Such a cinnamon roll.”

Sam groaned at the boys, “Stooooopppppp!” Tucker caught up to them and tried giving Sam a noogie, but his hand was slapped away swiftly. “No. None of that.” She pointed her finger sternly at him. Her head suddenly snapped towards Danny, who was smiling innocently despite the little tug he gave to her ponytail.

“Don’t worry, Tuck. Sam would never hurt us. She’s a softie inside, like a marshmallow.” Danny laughed as she shot him a look.

“I’m plotting both of your murders in my head, just so you know,” Sam grumbled.

Danny’s arm tightened around Sam protectively, pulling her a little closer as Elliot walked up to them.

“Hey Sam, I-” Elliot’s eyes widened as she pulled out a switchblade from her pocket and pointed it towards him. “Never mind!” He scurried away quickly, slipping in the process.

Danny stiffened and Tucker stared nervously at the knife. “Do you always carry that thing around?”

Sam smiled sickenly sweet, “Still soft?” Tucker shook his head. “That’s what I thought.” She closed the blade and shoved it back in her pocket, smiling because their teasing did cheer her up.

Danny gave her a soft squeeze before removing his arm as they entered the classroom. “Only the people who earned it get to know the real Sam, the one with the kind heart who’s also tough as nails. Right?”

Sam smiled back at Danny, “Exactly.”

#stephanie writes sometimes #danny phantom #fic #phic #phic phight 2021 #danny fenton #sam manson #tucker foley #paulina sanchez #sorry I had to make Paulina really mean lol

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sukiglycerin · 4 years

Text

it’s too cold outside for angels to fly || katsuki bakugou.

* pairing: pro-hero!katsuki bakugou x angel quirk!reader (gender neutral!)

* genre: fluff, angst, actually sfw (wow, luna's can do that?!)

* words: 8.1k (it’s a big baby!)

* warnings: mentions of trauma, reader is insecure but it's not their entire personality, therapy (not a lot of scenes with it), slight intoxication, mentions of throwing up (not much), like one suggestive joke, (light) cussing because bakugou

* original request: All I’m saying is reader with a angel quirk and the reader even has wings AND ANGST (but happy at the end 🥺) WITH BAKUGOU sounds so good 😔 but of course if you don’t want to do that it’s fine no pressure 💕

* a/n: hi 'nonnie! i hope you like you like this! honestly, it turned out longer than i expected (twice the length lol) but i'm proud of this baby. i'd like to note that enko, the nickname bakugou calls reader means 'halo' in japanese and can double down as a name, and an important reminder not to take any advice from the therapy in this fic. i am not a professional therapist, and please seek advice for situations specific to yours. the name of the fic is inspired by a lyric from ed sheeran's 'a-team,' but i promise it's not that dark. thanks so much to @toishi and the amazing feedback from @dylanxmin for beta-reading this! hope you enjoy!

* synopsis: you were your parents' perfect angel. you listened, and you followed. you didn't become a pro-hero, you stayed inside per your parents' request. it was okay if you couldn't fly; or, at least it was, before katsuki bakugou came along...

your grandmother loved pastries. that’s why you were here, trekking through the cold city in the tokyo winter. you shivered everytime your feathers came in contact with the frigid air, as if they, too, cowered under the looming shadows of tall buildings and bright lights.

so many people roamed the sidewalks, yet any bodily warmth was gone. you regretted not buying a cover for your wings - surely, it'd be an investment despite the price. wing covers were rarely manufactured for your size in japan, mainly aimed for small children just developing a quirk. the extra cloth needed for adult wing covers as well as shipping costs jacked up the price, making you hesitant to buy them. your wings were folded against the outside of your coat (putting them inside gave you cramps), nuzzling against your back subconsciously for heat. your wings were a pale cream colour, slightly more vibrantly mustard-coloured at the tips, and were the most visible part of your quirk.

according to the doctor, your quirk was "angel," but it felt nothing more than a pet name. there was a time in your life that you adorned a halo, but it no longer hovered above you when you looked up now. you weren't granted much power with your quirk; you were barely able to fly with your wings, but maybe you had a stronger moral compass than others? the wings, at this point in your life, were just accessories, as useless as the appendix. they could only cause you pain. you walked mindlessly toward the bakery, snow flurries dotting your hair. the bakery was a rundown, easy to miss place; you would've missed it if you hadn't gone there so many times. the faded yellow paint on the exterior was peeling, the poster on the window ripped and advertising for summer deals from years back. it had only a word-of-mouth reputation to rely on.

there was a worn sticker on the door, right at eye level, which said the name of the bakery in loopy letters: 'the flour road.'

you swung the door open with a jingle, greeted by the scent of baking bread and warmth. the bakery was your grandmother's favorite, specializing in rice cakes and dorayaki. she loved the pastries, for some reason - the baklava especially. she sent you on an errand to buy her some, giving you extra money to buy your personal favorite of dorayaki. to be exact, she pushed the money into your hands and forced you to buy a dorayaki for yourself. it was still warm when the cashier handed you your boxes, which you gingerly put in the bag.

you took a deep breath, bracing yourself for the cold, before you opened the door and found yourself back in the cold winter.

a hand roughly pulled you into an alley, and you found yourself face to face with a masked figure.

"give me your money." the figure pointed to your purse, tugging it.

"i don't- i don't-" you reach to take off your purse, not questioning it. there was simply nothing you could do; besides, the voice was young enough. what if they were simply going through a rough time in life? that was no cause to-

"OI, DUMBASS, WHADDAYA THINK YOU'RE DOING?!" a spiky haired man appeared suddenly, wearing what appeared to be melons on his arms. you suddenly recognized his getup of black, orange, and green; he was a pro-hero. what was his name? zero gravity? zero gr...ass?

"LADY, MOVE ASIDE." he looked you over. "FLY, OR SOMETHING."

"i can't-" but he was already after the thief. it took him less than 30 seconds to capture the thief; he was fast by himself, but was faster when propelled by his explosions.

"well, why are you here still?" he turned to you, the figure from before slung over his shoulder.

"i can't fly," you blurted.

he blinked. "then walk. besides, you literally have-" the figure moaned over his shoulder. "agh, nevermind, gotta take this douche to the police. go home."

the next you see of the explosive melon hero is at a supermarket. his arms are melonless this time, though, and you're not actually sure if he's the melon hero. you only recognize him by his hair and red eyes, but truthfully, it was probably not him. he was muttering something about "the spice not being spicy enough," and "stupid hair-for-brains nagging about the heat."

you felt a finger poke your wings. "hey miss, you have ugly wings." a stubby boy, no more than 5 or 6, looked up at you. smirking, he pushed his own smaller wings out, hands on his hips. "mine are teal-turquoise! yours are boring white."

"uh, okay-"

"mind your damn business, brat. where are your parents?" you could now confirm that the spiky haired man was indeed the melonhero by his voice and vulgarity. melonhero had turned to the kid, standing by your side.

the kid hmphed and walked away, to where his mother scolded him for straying from her.

"you again?" melonhero turned to you. "you really need to learn how to stand up for yourself."

"eh? i was handling it fine!"

"yeah, sure. what’s up with your wings, anyway?" he grunted. "can’t fly?"

"n-no. they're, uh, too weak." it was something hard to admit out loud for you. all winged people could fly, but you couldn't even hover, your wings just flapping up wind.

"too weak?! eh? is that even possible??" he poked one of your feathers. "they seem sturdy enough to me."

you turn your wings away from him, frowning. "it's not that easy. i-i never really had time to learn..."

"isn't that what all kids do in their free time, though? experiment with their quirk?"

"my parents thought it was useless..." you shuffled your feet awkwardly, eyes downcast.

"WORTHLESS?!" you flinched at his sudden volume. "it's your quirk, though, 'wings'?"

you rubbed the back of your neck. "well, not really... it's...." angel. the word echoed in your mind, under the spotlight on a stage. it stared at you in an empty auditorium. 'angel.' the word had negative connotations for you. to others, it was a sweet, innocent nickname, but to you, it meant more.

it represented the weight of your parents' expectations, the burden of your classes' assumptions. it became a ball and chain, reminding you of who you were, who you were supposed to be, and who you could never become. you were your parents' angel, your parents' little light. nothing else.

"'angel,' eh?"

"huh?" did melonhero suddenly manifest a mind-reading quirk? you look at him, but his gaze is above your head.

"halo."

"halo," you repeated, looking dumbly at the flickering ring above you.

"well then, enko, it's nice to meet you," he smirked.

"i'm not enko- i'm y/n-"

"enko’s better. i'm ground zero, the number one pro-"

"melonhero," you blurted.

"HUH?! what's that, moron?!"

"nothing, sorry, continue-" you apologized. what had gotten into you?

ground zero cleared his throat. "-number one pro-hero! ...it's katsuki bakugou to you."

"bakugou, i'm y/n l/n, nice to meet you! oh, and um- where are my manners? -thank you for the other day."

"don't go giving your purse to random men on the street, dumbass."

"it wasn't like that!" you protested. "i mean, what if he was going through a rough time? or, his parents kicked him out-"

"doesn't justify anything. you're so naive," he grunted. "didn't your parents teach you self-defense or anything?"

"w-well, no, not really..." you mumbled. you'd always just been their angel, delicate and thoughtful. you never wanted to disappoint them; always staying inside to clean or cater to their needs. their perfect angel. in their opinion, villains could never touch you if you never went out.

you recalled a time in your youth when deciding on a high school.

"i wanna go to ua!" you'd said. you knew a teacher willing to recommend you, so you didn't need to worry about much.

"honey, no, you can't be a hero..." your father started. "you're an angel, you're our angel, okay?"

your mom nodded. "it'll be dangerous, angel, and we can't have you getting hurt day after day," she added.

you simply agreed, not wanting to upset your parents. they were always right. being a hero wasn't worth it, anyway, you told yourself. it was an unstable job. you'd entered a private high school near the coast of japan, instead of ua.

"eh?! well, how are you supposed to fend for yourself alone?!" bakugou exclaimed.

"i'm... supposed to stay at home..." you confessed quietly.

"then why are you here?!"

"...i moved away from my family."

"and you didn't learn to protect yourself? get yourself some pepper spray, idiot!" bakugou grabbed your wrist, abruptly leading you to an aisle with pepper spray in it. he briefly paused, then picked one.

"it's on me. i can't have more morons like you to save when you could save yourself."

"thank you," you said. in all of his vulgarity, bakugou was semi-decent. you wondered why he was so on edge constantly; perhaps it was a trait from being a high-demand hero.

"HEY!" bakugou yelled, making you jump in place. "whatcha smilin' at?!"

you wiped the small grin that subconsciously crept on your face. "n-nothing."

"tch, so quiet, enko." he looked above you. "halo’s gone? fuckin' weird-ass quirk."

"could you... um... nevermind." you originally wanted to ask him to tone down the swearing, but thought better of it. the vulgarity reminded you of your uncle, and you a gagged at the thought of the disgusting man who'd occasionally crash at your family's home completely wasted.

"what? just spit it out," bakugou said. "i don't get offended, unlike deku or something."

"can you... cut down on the swearing?" you ask, then add more quickly when you see his face. "i mean, it's okay if you wanna keep doing it. i can't stop you. y'know, freedom of speech and everything."

"okay," he said with surprising composure. he didn't question the request, instead looking at you intently.

your gaze was set down, trying not to think of your uncle, and the horrors you'd gone through as a child because of him.

"i- um- sorry," bakugou forced out of himself. "i didn't mean t-"

"don't worry," you smiled cheerily. a fake smile, but you tried to convince yourself it was real.

"d'you-" he coughed, "d'you wanna talk about it?" he seemed to be going through something in his mind. "there's a park nearby - god, what did hitomi say? - we can, uh, talk it out? you can vent."

"oh no, it's fine, you're busy, a pro-hero." you said nervously.

"ah- yeah," bakugou seemed to be flustered too. "my therapist though- uh, she's really damn good- i mean, really good-" he pulls out a wallet from his pocket and sifts through cards. "here." he handed you a business card, advertising 'HITOMI YABUKI' in bold.

you blinked at him and accepted the card reluctantly. pro-heroes were really kind at heart, huh? "is she a pro-hero therapist?" you asked.

"her? no, she does other stuff. normal stuff, trauma, quirk stuff, erm- whatever you need. she's an all-rounder."

"oh." you put the card in your pocket. "okay, thank you."

he grunted, accepting the thanks. "need to buy anything else?"

you glanced at your cart. "no, that's all. thanks for everything, bakugou-"

"i'll pay," he blurted. "for it all." he looks surprised at himself, perhaps even angry. "oh, no thank you-"

"i'll do it. i mean it. you didn't even buy much," he muttered.

"o-okay," you said. he snatched your cart from your hand, walking to a self-checkout.

"weren't you gonna buy anything?" you asked.

"eh?!" he grunted while scanning items.

that was the end of the conversation. once he finished, he swiped his card and handed you a bag.

"make sure you use the damn pepper spray."

it was only once you got home that you realized he slipped his number into one of the bags.

you see bakugou again at hitomi yabuki's therapy lobby. he sat casually, earbuds on as he stared at his phone. you debated sitting next to him and decided against it, not wanting to bother him. you didn’t contact his number yet; your hands sweated at the thought. as much as you were tempted, you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself in front of a pro-hero.

you found yourself staring at the man, who was unusually calm at the moment. you stared at his eyelashes, his eyes, down to his nose and lips, and his firm set jaw. your eyes fell to the phone he’s clutching, to the curve of his fingers and uniform nails.

"l/n y/n?" a tall woman called your name. bakugou looked up at you, and for a split second you could see what looked like a genuine smile before it was twisted into a smirk.

"yes!" you stood up and followed her, glancing back at bakugou before he disappeared from your sight. after a short elevator ride, you walked out onto the third floor.

she led you down a short, carpeted hallway to the last door. it was an opaque glass door that said "hitomi yabuki" on a plaque.

"so, what brings you here?" she finally said once the two of you were seated. "um- bakugou?" you said.

she smiled and jotted something down. "is that so?"

"yeah. we met a couple times by accident, and uh, he gave me your business card."

the rest of the session was just introductions - prices, meeting times, and therapy that can be provided. still, you weren’t really sure if you needed the therapy - maybe it’d be suited more for someone else struggling more than you. you didn’t need to use your quirk much; flying wasn’t much your style anyway. what would your parents think if they found out you were taking therapy? they’d surely be hurt, assuming that they didn’t provide a good childhood to you. you could practically hear your mom asking you why you’d waste money on therapy. you took a deep breath as you re-entered the lobby. bakugou was seating in the same place you last saw him, still on his phone. you bid goodbye to the receptionist, thinking out your decisions. your insurance could cover much of the costs for the therapy, but you still wondered if you should spend the money. these thoughts trailed you as you waited on the sidewalk for a cab, watching your breath billow in front of you.

"hey, enko."

your elbow shot out by instinct, hitting the invader of your thoughts.

"woah, idiot, it’s just me." luckily, bakugou had caught your stray elbow, chuckling to himself. "so the angel does know self-defense, eh?"

you stiffened at the pet name, though you knew bakugou meant well. you could remember each distinctive voice in your childhood. your parents beckoning: angel. your nickname: angel. how everyone saw you: angel. you could never escape it, not with your halo or wings. it was so distinctive, your defining quality. whether he noticed the shift in your posture, he didn’t say. "how was it? hitomi’s great, right?"

you hummed in response, rubbing your wings together for heat.

"are wings supposed to get cold? aren’t they just... feathers?"

your wings ruffled at the comment. you sniffed. "they’re sensitive."

"weird," bakugou muttered under his breath. for a split second, you considered smacking him with your wing, but you stopped yourself before you could execute the instinct.

your cab pulled up by the sidewalk. "that’s my ride." you smiled and waved to him as you entered the car. somewhere during the 15 minute car ride, you mustered up the courage to finally text bakugou.

who knew he was so dirty-minded, anyway? you leaned back in your car seat, exhaling. thankfully, you didn’t text the wrong number or prematurely end the conversation. so, now you were friends with a pro-hero, or so you assumed (friends texted each other, right?). the you from 10 years ago would be jumping for joy at the prospect of befriending a pro-hero, and here you were. you finally booked a therapy session for saturday at 3pm. you checked into the lobby ten minutes early, just as your parents had taught you, and took a seat in the lobby.

when it was finally your turn, you found yourself back in hitomi's office, the familar scent of vanilla and fresh linen wafting in the air.

"i hope you don't mind the scent," she said.

you shook your head. "it's fine." the fragrance was almost reassuring in a way, but you couldn’t pin point it. this time, you allowed yourself to drink in your surroundings. hitomi’s office was spacious, a large window overlooking tokyo’s snow-covered cityscape adding onto the effect. the walls followed a vertical gradient pattern of mint green and light blue decorated with paintings, hanging plants, and wooden shelves yet not in a cluttered way. in the center, against a wall, was a white couch. it had an oddly calming aura to it, as if you'd stepped into a dream outside reality.

"would you like an apple? or some water?" hitomi offered.

you weren’t really in the mood for either, but accepted the water. she gestured for you to sit on the couch.

the meeting consisted of her asking and you answering, the topic changing from family life, to your quirk, to your feelings.

"so, can you explain your quirk to me?" hitomi asked.

"well..." you gathered your thoughts. "obviously, i have wings like an angel. they don’t really do anything, though, just get sensitive to the weather. i used to have a halo when i was young, but it’s faded by now. dunno why. let’s see...." you paused. "i guess i have an inclination to help others? it’s hard for me to say no to things, honestly."

"is it because of your quirk?"

"probably," you admitted. "i’ve always been like this, i think."

"can you fly with your wings?"

"no." you sipped your water. "i guess i never learned. i’d try, but i don’t think they can support my body weight."

"how do you feel about your quirk?"

you shrugged, but then regretted it. you didn’t want to seem insensitive to all the quirkless people who could only wish for a quirk. "it’s- it’s cool, i guess. it makes me unique..." you thought back to your parents’ words, how they’d praised you for such an amazing quirk. when you used to feel bad about your quirk, they’d always remind you that there were children who’d wish to even have a quirk at all, and that you were special. your mother’s quirk allowed her to shine small rays of light through her fingertips, while your dad’s quirk gave him a wing attached to his left arm. it was pretty much useless for anything other than generating wind, considering he didn’t have a right wing to balance him out. their quirks together worked out just right to create you, their perfect angel. hitomi jotted something on her notepad.

the more you thought of it, the more you felt broken. you'd been doing therapy with hitomi for months now, and it had gotten harder and harder to emotionally process. your parents, your family, your quirk; you now saw the things for what they were.

your parents had used you. you were their doll, their perfect obedient angel, and it disgusted you. your hands felt tainted, your wings heavy weights on your back. you were revolted by yourself; looking in the mirror, you couldn't help but gag, seeing not the you of now, but the you of the past looking back at you. you couldn't sleep; tossing and turning and ruffling your wings in frustration. you couldn't stop thinking about your parents, how they restricted you from everything.

you wondered how it'd be different if your parents were better. you wondered if you'd gotten into ua and strengthened your quirk. you wondered how your reputation as a pushover would change. maybe you'd be a hero right now, helping others instead of being so irreparably broken. you could hear the catcalls from your classmates like bullets beating your wings. angel, the goody-two-shoes who couldn't say no.

not once did you cry. maybe you felt too disgusted by yourself. maybe bakugou was becoming the best friend you'd ever had.

he was there for you. making spicy curry or those awful, equally spicy instant korean noodles - he was there for you, in the same way milk is there for you when eating a particularly spicy dish. he listened to you, and you did the same for him. you laughed and joked together. somehow, in such a dark time, your friendship bloomed. it was strange, really. his reputation as a hero made him out to be aggressive and careless - and while he could brash in word choice at times, you knew he had a good heart. at one point, you’d even opened up to him about your past.

"then deku just completely f- messed up the mission! i could’ve blown up the damn guy, but he had to play mr. goody-two-shoes and just tie him up. and he got all the interview time. what’s even up with that?!"

he talked about his friends a lot. he'd deny his relationship with them being something other than strictly professional, but the way his crimson eyes would deepen gave it all away. he mainly spoke of deku and red riot (though their names would be referenced in cruder ways).

"what if- what if i was a hero?" you asked suddenly.

bakugou lifted an eyebrow. "you'd be a damn good hero if you could manage your quirk. like hawks."

"you think the public would like me?"

"duh. you're pretty, kind, AND fight villains? pretty badass. hell, if i approve of you, anyone would."

you smiled.

"why, though?" bakugou asked.

"curious. i, um, used to want to be a hero. growing up."

"your quirk has potential." bakugou leaned back on the couch. "why didn't ya become one?"

"parents." you flinched as the word passed your lips. thinking about your parents was painful, as if you had to rip off a month old bandaid before you could even get their faces into your mind. "they just... worried," you said. you didn't say anything else.

"betcha couldn't come up with a hero name as damn awesome as ground zero." "i could barely remember it," you teased.

"though, i must say, i do like enko as a hero name. it's like i'm joining an idol group."

"akb48 has nothing on you though," bakugou said.

you flushed. "i-i don't think you've looked at them properly, then."

"nah, i have, ochaco's obsessed with idol groups. don't doubt me, enko~" his voice was dangerously close, but he hadn't moved an inch from his original spot. "you're prettier than all the idols combined. tch, how low do you think my standards are?!"

"they're idol groups, bakugou, they practically rely on visuals!"

"eh? who cares? you've beaten them in looks and personality."

the thing about bakugou was that he was always completely honest with his thoughts. his integrity always amazed you, but then again, he was a pro-hero. you were quick to change the subject. "um- then-- what time is it? it must be getting late. i should get home-"

bakugou frowned. "it's late, idiot. eat before you go. i have some leftover tonkatsu and rice, and i can whip up the miso-"

"n-no, it's fine bakugou, you don't need to-"

"idiot, i can't have you starve to damn death on the ride home. eat."

even if you wanted to protest, you couldn't. bakugou's cooking was always to good to pass up, alarmingly spicy or not.

"the rice is still warm in the rice cooker," bakugou finally said, turning towards the kitchen. he knew you'd follow him, and you did.

bakugou busied himself making some instant miso soup and reheating the tonkatsu. you prepared yourself for the spicy of bakugou's tonkatsu; you'd had it once before, and it was quite painful. finally done, bakugou sat to the side of you eating tonkatsu as well, seasoning his with extra chili flakes. he was positively crazy; how did he handle such spice?

you cut yourself a strip and brought it to your lips. the tonkatsu was surprisingly tame for bakugou's cooking; it could've passed for normal restaurant tonkatsu.

"thish ish good," you said in between bites.

"i know," he gritted out, but he looked proud. "would be better with chili."

you shook your head, smiling. "never in a million years."

it was often you thought of this moment. it was so happy, so complete. it was just you and bakugou, simply being. right now, a genuine smile was something you couldn't curl your lips into, no matter how hard you tried. when you did, the taste of something salty crept into you mouth.

something salty...?

you touched your face. it was wet. your head spun, and then it dawned on you: you were crying. you were crying? your eyes focused, and pain throbbed in your head. lights shone too bright on you, heightening your headache, and a foul taste lingered in your mouth. you were suddenly aware of something solid in your hand: a drink.

something else you were aware of was how much you wanted to go home. you could barely remember what led you to a club as you fumbled in your purse for your phone, glancing at the time and unlocking the screen. all you needed to do was go home. you really wanted to go home, but where was home? home was gone. home...

a fresh wave of tears glossed your face, and you ignored the person next to you's advances. you didn't even know why you were crying. you struggled to read your contacts, dizzy, and called the first one you can make out with your hazed vision.

bakugou.

yes, all you wanted right now was bakugou. you wanted him and his warm arms, his endearing words. you wanted him so bad. you wanted him, and his warmth, and his happiness. you wanted his scent of comfort, the smile that made you feel fuzzy. you wanted his voice to shelter you precisely at that moment, you wanted to feel like it was him and you against the world.

"dumbass? hello? where are you? why is it so freaking loud? enko?"

you hadn't realized that a low quality projection of his voice was speaking on your phone.

"b-bakugou," you said, though it came out hoarsely. "bakugou."

"enko? where are you, and why are you calling at ass o'clock in the morning?"

"miss you," you almost said, but instead it came out as "dunno, you," a mix between "dunno" and "miss you."

"eh? where are you?"

you shrugged. "come here."

"send me your location, moron, and stay where you a-"

you hung up to send him your location.

you yawned and rubbed your forehead. everything was loud, everyone was together. and you were alone. it made you sad. you wanted to have somebody. a voice in the back of your head told you that you had bakugou. did you? right, he was coming. did you tell him to come?

you pressed the call button again.

"what is it?" bakugou asked roughly.

"lonelyyyy..." you moaned. "pick me up, baku...."

"idiot, i'm on my way. why the fuck are you so far from where you live?"

"hmm mmmhm," you strung together sounds. "'m sad."

"don't be." he sounded mad. he always sounded mad.

"why are you always mad at me?" you pouted.

"i'm not, dumbass! i'm pulling in."

"hmmm...!"

bakugou almost tore through the door with rage. "ENKO, GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE."

you hopped toward him, wobbling a bit. the floor seemed to turn under you. enko! that was you! right?

"bakuuugoooou~" you cooed, flopping into his arms. "let's sleep."

he smelled nice. his scent enveloped you, a mix of vanilla and caramel that you’d grown so accustomed to.

he stiffened. "dumbass, i can smell the alcohol on you, we’re going the fuck home."

"don’ wanna," you whined. "lonely. wanna be with youuuuu..." you nuzzled more into his chest, finding comfort in his body warmth. you didn’t want to let go, ever. "tch, fine."

the car ride to bakugou’s place was uncomfortable. cars spun by you, lights making you woozy. you almost bashed your head on the dashboard. your seat was uncomfortable, the seatbelt itched you. despite all that, you stopped to stare at bakugou in your daze, all serious and set on the road. he had nice biceps, and his side profile was a sight for sore eyes (see also: your eyes).

"what, enko?" he grunted, glancing at you.

you said the first thing that came to your mind. "you know you smell nice?"

"huh?" he glanced at you, turning in to his driveway.

well, there was no going back now. "you smell like caramel... and vanilla... it’s nice..." you sighed happily, imagining the fragrance.

bakugou didn’t reply, instead parking and unlocking the doors. "get out, dumbass, it’s past your bedtime."

"but i don’t haaaaaave a bedtime," you slurred, stumbling out of the car. bakugou mumbled a complaint before hoisting you over his shoulder. it was probably not the best move, considering the blood rushing to your head made you feel sick. after entering his house, bakugou set you down on a sofa, sitting you upright.

"stay here."

you leaned back on the sofa, feeling suddenly empty. the buzz in your head had not quite left, but the weight of the world came crashing down again. therapy, your parents, your quirk. it struck you that you were probably bothering bakugou and disturbing his sleep; he was a pro-hero after all, lives depended on his health. but here you were, ever so selfish and probably taking a toll on his health.

"drink." you hadn't realized bakugou had put a glass of water in your hands. you simply nodded and gulped it down, hoping to sober yourself up.

you stared at the man glossy eyed, glass in your hand half empty. "bakugou."

"eh?"

"sorry."

"for what?"

"y'know... waking you up... bothering you... i know you're busy, and-"

"shut up, it doesn't matter. i'd rather you here than in the hands of some douche at the club."

"but still, how would i make it up-"

"by sleeping well. off to bed you go."

he started pushing you towards the hallway. "where will you sleep?"

"sofa."

"but bakugou-"

"go to bed."

"i feel sick-"

"hah?"

a rising sensation of bile emerged in your throat. the only words you could get out of your mouth was "bathroom," before you rushed in. it was not a pretty sight - you preferred to skim over the details when recalling it. the details you did not skim over, however, were that of bakugou's care; for being awoken at ungodly hours in the morning, he was surprisingly gentle with your vomiting state, soothing your stomach with warm hands and rubbing your back. after, he gave you a glass of water and forced you to take ibuprofen, though you swore you felt fine.

bakugou's bed was surprisingly comfortable. then again, bakugou did claim to have gone to bed at 8:30 sharp daily during his high school years, so it made sense he still valued sleep.

you were then reminded how you disrupted his.

and how you were now forcing him to sleep on the sofa.

you padded out of his room, wearing one of bakugou's old shirts that he'd graciously lended you, to the living room. he was laying on his back, feet sticking out of the sofa, eyes closed.

"what?" he asked, eyes still shut.

you knew he wouldn't let you feel guilty about intruding his sleep, so you settled upon saying the next best thing. it was partially true, anyway.

"'m lonely without you." your voice came out smaller than intended.

"huh?" he sat up, groggily looking at you.

"it's- kinda cold, and y'know, with your quirk..."

he grunted and obliged, walking toward his bedroom. you stood behind him, staring at his back; that was surprisingly easy.

bakugou slept with his arms around you, so you were nestled comfortably into his chest. this position felt strangely domestic; something lovers might do nightly. but you and bakugou weren't lovers, you were friends. image of you and bakugou involved romantically faded into your mind; coffee shop dates, cooking together, waking up next to each other. there was a sudden loss of breath in your chest, as if your heart had become weightless and was lifted by a thousand of butterflies taking flight. bakugou... romantically? it hadn't crossed your mind. still, you could see it so vividly in your mind; you, becoming his dumbass, his and his only. you could imagine how he'd look at you, full of love in his eyes, and how he'd gently kiss your forehead in the morning. was it so bad to want that? the more your thoughts indulged you, the more his body warmth drowsed you, his calm breathing adding to the effect. he was practically nyquil in human form. you found yourself nodding off in his arms, not before mumbling a quiet "what if i liked bakugou?" and clutching his shirt closer to you.

you were far too engrossed in the realm of sleep to hear bakugou's faint but hopeful reply of "i'd hope so, dumbass."

at your next therapy meeting, you told hitomi about bakugou. it was unplanned, spilling out of your mouth as soon as she asked why you looked so anxious. you couldn't like bakugou. you blamed your slightly intoxicated past self for planting such a thought in your brain, but you knew it just admitted a lingering feeling from in your heart. you spared her the details of the throwing up and the guilt that gnawed at you regarding how bakugou cared for you.

"it's... childish, right? like an old schoolgirl crush," you flushed, finishing your confession.

hitomi shook her head. "it's good to feel this way, actually. it's quite healthy for a twenty-something like you to harbour such feelings; it allows you to explore your feelings and relationships healthily."

even so, crushing was so damn frustrating. it's one thing to like a person; it's a completely different experience after admitting to yourself, yes, they're my crush. when you were younger, you very rarely developed crushes (as influenced by your parents) and even less were able to act on them. but now, as an adult, you had the freedom to act (or not, considering how your nerves constantly started to act up around bakugou). you decided to push the feelings down; you were just friends, and bakugou had no time to pursue a romantic relationship.

if having a crush was like an addiction, rehab was torture for you. gone were the days of seeing bakugou as platonic; you couldn't stop your heart from swelling whenever he recounted his day to you. bakugou had now become attractive, from his tight, bulging muscles to his hard chest. it did not help that you had to see him in his hero costume flaunting those features every other day on the news.

you convinced yourself bakugou harboured nothing but platonic sentiment for you, but he never failed to send your heart aflutter with discreet compliments he hid under rough comments. you started leaving early whenever the two of your hung out under the guise of other plans (that in reality didn't exist), and tried to always cut conversations short when you bumped into each other in public. he was ground zero, pro-hero, and you were just a civilian who could barely maintain their quirk.

you were just starting your quirk therapy, but you couldn't expect major changes a week in. bakugou had said your wings looked brighter, but you assumed he just said that to make you feel better. you could hover off the ground for less than a second now, but your wing strength lacked too much to be able to do anything requiring more strength. your halo was still absent, and you couldn't figure out how to make it reappear. there hadn't been much research done on the essence of halos; hitomi said not to worry about it regardless.

flap flap flap.

"oi, dumbass, you're gonna create a tornado in here."

flap flap flap.

"i'm practicing flying."

"well, you're going nowhere. d'you want me to call hawks or something?" flap flap flap.

you turned to bakugou, folding your wings neatly. he had the same expression as always, slightly disapproving and tired. your eyes meet his momentously; but they fall down immediately to his lips. lately, this kind of thing had been happening often. bakugou acted like he didn't notice you'd been different lately, but you could tell he wanted an explanation.

you acted on your impulse, your mouth opening and words tumbling from your mouth.

"bakugou- idon'twanttoruinourfriendshipbutijustwannasayitnow- ilikeyou."

"what?" why did you do that?

if this were a texting conversation, you'd leave him on read. if this was a tweet, you'd make your account private. if this was a video call, you'd end it.

alas, this was real life, so you resorted to the next closest thing: you ran. you ran faster than any shoujo girl and with more conviction than any shounen boy, and then you were lost. damn cities.

panting on the sidewalk, wings heaving up and down, you realized what you did. staring at the edge of the pavement, where the curb met the street, hands on your knees, it hit you.

you cussed and yelled at yourself mentally, and though a small part doubted bakugou even heard you, you didn’t allow yourself to have hope. it was game over. you let your feelings override rational thought, and you ruined what was arguably the best thing going on in your life.

you were interrupted by an itch in your feathers from being so cramped while folded. they ruffled against the cool air, distraught. you stretched them out, observing your surroundings and allowing yourself to cool down. the breeze was a satisfying sensation against your feathers, and you hovered just a moment when they flapped.

"mommy, wings!" a kid passes you on the sidewalk, pointing. his mother hushes him, but you smile at him.

the next few days were rough, particularly because you were avoiding bakugou. it was definitely not a good idea, but it was a temporary patch over the open part of your heart.

this was not one of your healthy coping mechanisms.

did he text you? did he call you? you didn’t know, because you turned off your notifications. you knew you were just making things more awkward, even more so if he hadn’t heard you at all. it gave you all the more excuse to ignore him longer.

now, with evenings to yourself, your mind wandered more. your thoughts drifted into a vast desert of tangled constellations in your mind, tightropes you’d tread that would lead you to a random destination. sometimes it led you to random memories - other times, it wasn’t as random, leading you to painful manifestations in your heart. these were the things you tried so hard to ignore, but rang so true.

you were reminded by the constellations in your mind that you were being terribly selfish to bakugou; not even considering his feelings. bakugou didn't deserve you. maybe stars twinkled in your mind, but the bluest ones burned you to the touch. you needed to get over bakugou.

that wasn’t to say it didn’t hurt, trying to get over bakugou. the stars in your mind dimmed, and perhaps, at one point, the constellations were reduced to thread; knotted, tangled, and hopeless.

maybe it was better when the string had been unkempt, because now it unraveled. you cried, and cried; in the shower, at your desk, doing chores. tears, hot and sharp like newly shapen diamonds, dripped down your face. your face was permanently marked by the wounds the diamonds left, and contrary to the stars, your eyes were red and hot. your thoughts unwound like string - there was a clear pathway now, but it was tainted by the shape of the knots there had once been.

everything hurt when you thought of bakugou. your swollen eyes became lifeless as memories of him overtook you. they controlled you. you missed therapy session after session, too scared to go to the place which bakugou had connected you to. sometimes, you’d sprawl across the ground, stare into your ceiling, and feel yourself vanish into something, a dark void of nothingness. he had cared so much for you - too much. why had he? why couldn’t he have left you, that one day you were almost robbed? why couldn’t you just have stayed the way you were? why did you have to find the truth in things? ignorance was a bliss you woke yourself from. ignorance, the dream which from you woke to find a nightmare, reality. why did he have to be him, the stupid pro-hero with a heart that bled kindness into yours? why couldn’t he have stayed a two-dimensional public figure, the careless and angry ground zero? why did he have to be in your goddamn life and ruin it, entangle everything into one big mess? you hated him. you hated him and his stupid endearing insults, him and his rugged smirk that pained your heart so, him and his eyes that held sparks and diamonds and you. deep inside, you knew it wasn’t true; hate was just a name for an indefinably strong feeling you had for him. you knew you didn’t hate him, you knew you couldn’t hate him. you told yourself you did to distance yourself from him. the distance between you and he only grew. your memories were tarnished with pain, his image blurry and wrinkled in your eyes. katsuki bakugou was just someone, no one.

this was the feeling of agony, this was the sight of pure hell, and this was the sound of you burning your heart. distance between you and the man named katsuki bakugou grew, as did your descent into pure madness.

until the distance between you and he was less than a metre.

you had not bothered to tame your hair; it was a bit overgrown and sprouted a couple split ends. you were dressed in a stained shirt, your face not even mentionable, and your heart was beating in your ears. you felt yourself dragged quite forcefully down to sanity, as if opening the door suddenly put gravity into effect.

because here he was, katsuki bakugou in all of his perfect glory, standing on your doorstep.

the little shit refrained from making a comment about your current state, but you could see the comment appearing in his eyes and vanishing as soon as it came. you watched his eyes go from the state of your face down to your unkempt attire. he, on the other hand, looked unaffected. he was sporting a t-shirt and jeans, hands shoved into his pockets. the only indicator, which was minuscule at best, that he had changed at all was the red at the corners of his eyes and slight eyebags. he looked shocked at the sight of you.

"y/n..." you almost fainted on the spot.

you weren’t not jumping for joy in ecstasy at the sight of him, and you didn’t feel like a shoujo protagonist at the moment. it was something different.

"again," but your voice was too hoarse to be heard. your mouth opened and closed, you coughed, and repeated yourself. "s-say it again."

"huh?!" it was nice to know someone hadn’t changed after all that time.

"my- my name..."

"eh? enko."

you sighed, your face indifferent. you weren’t exactly disappointed by his reply; it brought memories upon memories of happier times with him.

"well, what do you want?" you asked, rubbing the side of your face.

"what- what the fuck is going on?" he gestured to you. "i should be asking about you. what the f- what happened to you?!"

"i-"

"enko, i don’t get any of this shit. this relationship crap. what do you want me to do?! first, you act weird as shit- because of what?! i don’t fuckin’ know. you avoid me - don’t think i didn’t notice - and then suddenly you spew shit and leave?! i don’t see you for a goddamn week, you don’t answer your damn calls or texts, and suddenly i’m the damn villain and i’m supposed to give you time or shit to figure things out, and when i can finally fucking see you, you look like actual crap?! hell, i should be the one with deteriorating mental health with all of the bull you put me through! if you want something, if you don’t wanna be friends or shit, just goddamn say it to my face! i’m not good with people, enko, goddamnit! tell me what’s wrong!"

you stood in shock. relationship..? you shook his words away. you hadn’t realized how much this took a toll on bakugou, too. he looked away - something glinted in his eyes, but you couldn’t tell exactly what.

"god-fucking-damnit," he grumbled. "...are ya gonna let me in, or what?! it’s cold out here!"

you didn’t think about how bakugou’s quirk involved producing heat, and let him in unreluctantly, stepping aside. "sorry," you mumbled.

he took off his shoes, and you motioned for him to sit down on your couch.

"explain it to me," he demanded. "what in the goddamn world has happened tot you? did someone do this to you?!"

you refrained from saying technically, it was you, and settled on: "no." it was apparent he hadn’t heard you that day. "just- it’s nothing. i was being stupid, a-and i’m okay now." it was a lie.

"do you take me as an idiot?" he asked. gears shifted in his eyes. "sit down," he said, suddenly calm.

you did so, sitting as farthest as you could from him.

"closer," he gritted out. you scooted a centimetre. "closer." another centimeter. "clo-ser." he pulled you so you were sitting angled toward him, knee brushing his.

"baku...gou?" so many questions flashed in your mind.

"confirm something for me," he ordered. "what exactly did you say to me before running away?"

"i- nothing. it was nothing, i told you, bakugou."

"tell. me. i don’t care if you quoted freud, told me a failed joke, or what. tell me."

your mind was devoid of possible jokes you could use to lie.

you opened your mouth, forcing the words out with all your might. "i don’t remember the specifics," you rambled. "i don’t think i was in the right state of mind-"

"spit it out."

"i think it went something like ‘i like you’ or something?" your pitch rose with every syllable.

"tch," a smile was on his face. "thought so." his hand was suddenly on your cheek, and his lips were on yours. he tasted like caramel. your eyes widened, and you pulled away, sputtering.

"what? what d’you mean, ‘thought so’?!"

"idiot, i like you too. also, when did you last brush your teeth?"

"i- that doesn’t matter. bakugou... i don’t think that this relationship is good for us. as friends or whatnot."

"huh? why not?"

"look at me. look at you. i can barely handle my quirk, and you’re a pro-hero who uses his quirk to help people. i can’t really do anything."

he mumbled something under his breath. "enko, do you think i care about any of that? i don’t care if you have the strongest quirk in the world or none at all. you’re strong - and i don’t say this ‘cause i like you - you’re kind, you see the best in people." he paused. "people don’t give me the time of day ‘cause they think i’m too irrational. brash. careless. but you? you see past that, you don’t care. you work hard no matter what people say. people-" his voice caught in his throat, "people say shit to you, and you don’t care. you keep going."

he saw you... like that? your face heated up.

"don’t be gettin’ all shy on me," he grunted. "tch. come here." he pulled you in for a hug, his arms wrapping around you and narrowly avoiding your wings. you flushed, holding him tight and inhaling his caramel scent. you squeezed your eyes shut, wishing to hold him like this forever.

“hey, enko,” he whispered into your ear. you looked at him, who was currently looking up and pointing. “halo.”

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lazydoodlesandfanfic · 3 years

Text

Betrayed (Dick Grayson X Reader)

Characters: Dick Grayson X Reader

Universe: DC, Batman

Warnings: Homelessness, crime, violence, swearing, mention of death of parent, mention of hospitals

Request: Can I get a dick grayson x reader where when they were younger they were best friends and she didnt have anywhere to go so she was staying in the manor til Bruce realised she was the daughter of some villain and kicked her out, and Dick turned his back and let it happen. Then years later hes found her again and hes like "I'm sorry you were right" and shes highkey still pissed at him for what he did like sorry wont fix it, but eventually comes around and still pissed but will help

It had been literal years since you had seen Dick Grayson. You had been 12 when you had met the man and 15 when he turned his back on you because of something you couldn’t control and had nothing to do with, and threw you out on the streets. It had been 10 years since then, but still you knew his face when you saw it, so when he showed up at your door, you were in shock. Only for a moment though.

“Y/N-” The second he said your name you snapped out of it and slammed the door in his face as hard as you could. You were pretty sure the door actually hit him since you head thump and him groan from the other side, not that you cared. You locked the door and put on the latch. “Y/N please, I want to talk.”

“Well I don’t want to! Not after what you did!” You yelled over at him before you walked away from the door, going to the tv and turning it up as loud as you had to to block him out, and you sat on the couch to brood until he went away. Eventually he did. But then he showed up the very next day as you were walking home. This time you couldn’t just lock the door and block him out.

You saw him coming to cross the road as he had spotted you, and you ducked your head and kept walking hoping he’d lose you, but he didn’t. He grabbed your arm to stop you, and no matter how hard you tried, he wouldn’t let go. “Y/N, please. Five minutes.” He asked. You huffed, walking with him in silence until you reached your apartment, and you reluctantly let him come in, and you closed the door behind you. “Nice place.”

“No thanks to you.” You commented, crossing your arms and leaning up against the door. “Stop being nice and tell me what you want so I can tell you to fuck off.”

“Y/N, look, I’m sorry, but that was 10 years ago.” Dick tried to justify, and you started to laugh rather bitterly.

“Just 10 years right? 10 year since you threw me out of the only safe place I had.”

“Y/N, your father is a criminal-”

“A criminal that I’ve never met!” You retaliated, your voice angry, but you couldn’t stop your laugh. “It’s funny really, I’ve never met the man, in fact, I’ve found out he doesn’t even know I exist, yet he’s ruined every chance I’ve had for something nice. When my mom died before I met you, no family would take me in because of my dad, and they were scared I would be like him. No orphanage would take me in because of who he was.”

“...I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah…” You stood up, stalking towards him, as his head hung. “You wouldn’t. Because you didn’t let me speak. Neither you or your dad. He came charging in, yelling at me for something that I can’t control, and kicked me out. I tried to explain myself, but what did you say? ‘Just go. You’re not wanted here’... You.” You poked him in the chest as hard as you could. “Are just as bad as the rest of them. You’re a cruel, judgemental, piece of shit, and I’m sad that I ever considered you someone I could trust.”

“I’m sorry…”

“You kicked me out onto the streets, and by doing that you made me into the one thing you feared I’d be. I was 15, I couldn’t get a job, I had to steal. I had to listen to big scary men as they told me to do things for a few bucks to get by, or for the opportunity to crash on their couch at night. I spent many nights hooked up to an IV in the hospital because of hyperthermia and because I was dehydrated or starving. Do you want to know how long it took me to get off the street, managing to get a job and have enough money to rent this place? 8 years. 8 fucking years I was homeless, afraid, and being manipulated and used because you refused to listen to me and turned your back on me. I’m still in debt because of the hospital bills, and I’m terrified that some punks are gonna show up at my door and say I owe them or blackmail me.” You told him coldly. You could tell Dick was uncomfortable now, and feeling remorse, hell, you could feel his guilt radiating off of him.

“I’m… so sorry, please, let me make this up. I’ll pay off your medical bills, I’ll get in contact with Batman to make sure those thugs don’t bother you…” He listed.

“You can’t win my trust by sweeping up the broken pieces that you broke.”

“I know… but it’s a start, right? I promise, I won’t let you down again.”

After that he had left your apartment, and he actually kept up to his promise. He cleared your hospital bills, and just a few days later you got a letter from the courts saying that they were investigation the crimes of the criminals who had used you as a tool in their crimes, assuring you that you weren’t in any trouble and that they actually wanted you to be a witness when they’re found. You still weren’t sure if you wanted to go up in court to talk about that. Bruce himself actually came to your apartment to apologise for how he treated you, and took responsibility, and offered to pay your rent for a few years or help you get into a nicer place. You turned him down.

Things had been a bit quiet since then. Dick did come to check on you at least once a week and he sent you a few texts and he also called most days, but you didn’t really interact with him on your own accord. You still had a lot of resentment about what happened, and you knew you had every right to be angry with him still, and despite all of these nice acts, you still didn’t owe him anything, especially your kindness, especially since he was just fixing what he caused. Luckily it seemed that Dick understood that.

You were thinking about the court hearing and also how you could possibly consider forgiving Dick as you walked home from work. You felt safe doing so since the time you left work meant it was mostly quiet on the streets. That meant you heard the sound of a struggle in a nearby alleyway, and you went to investigate from a distance. Peering around the corner you spotted several figures fighting a single one. You were surprised to see it was Nightwing, and impressed that he wasn’t entirely getting his ass handed to him. However, he was taking a few hits. You started to sneak closer to get a better look, hiding behind some crates, when you managed to hear one of the men yell. “Is that all you’ve got?” He mocked, and you immediately recognised the voice. Looking at the men closer, you identified them. It was them. Those big scary men. You looked around you, finding a metal pipe from some broken plumbing, picking it up and without thinking, coming out of hiding and raising it, hitting the first man that you got to over the back of the head, knocking him out quickly. Another came at you, but you hit him under the chin with an under swing, before going for the next one. Was it a blind rage? A need for revenge? Or did you just want justice? You weren’t sure, all you knew was that they were here, and you weren’t a kid anymore. Before you knew it, you’d knocked the last man down. You stood over him for a moment, watching as he shielding his head, before you looked around and looked at the other men, other knocked out or withering in pain on the floor.

“Hey.” You turned at the sound of the male voice, seeing Nightwing. He carefully took the pipe from your hands, throwing it away. “I’ll take care of this now, okay? You go home.” He told you softly, rubbing your arm reassuringly. You nodded silently, sort of in a daze, as you startled heading out the alley, when you realized you knew his voice.

“Hey Dick.” You called back at him, and you saw his head shoot around at you. “Ever fuck me over again and that’ll be you.” You told him, pointing to him then the men on the floor. You got a smirk out of him, and you returned it before you started your walk home.

Hope you like it! If you have any questions, please send them in!

*Not my gif

TAGS: @theplacewhererobindied @rebellionofthecattle @courtneychicken @graysonmalfoy @bellero @originalpottervengerlock @supernatural-pan @esoltis280 @lena-stan-xavier @lady-of-lies @sebstanismylife @macbetheliza @mandywholock1980 @cdwmtjb8 @caswinchester2000 @determinedpines

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fellintotartarus · 4 years

Text

my brown-haired boy (3)

Summary: Reader has to navigate the difficult reality of having a crush on Spencer and trying to raise a kid with him. 6.5k words

A/N: This is it! Thank you so much for the support on the previous 2 parts and I really hope you guys enjoy this last part.

Warnings: explicit discussions of sex, angst, curse words, alcohol consumption.

part 1 | part 2

The first time Spencer asked you if Max could stay with him for the weekend, you nearly passed out on the spot.

“Y/N?” Spencer asked.

You blinked. There was no reason for him not to be able to, right? So why the hell did it make you so nervous?

“Um… yes,” you said hesitantly.

Spencer eyed you warily.

“Are you sure?”

You exhaled sharply, nodded, and said, “Yes.”

Spencer’s eyes lit up and he thanked you before running off somewhere, presumably to gush to someone or make plans.

It was November, four months since Spencer had met Max. They took to each other impossibly, Max always asking after Spencer and vice versa. On more than one occasion, you’d had to call Spencer over in the middle of the night to calm Max after a nightmare.

And then there was the issue of the palpable tension between the two of you. Nothing could just be what it was. Every phone call had to end with a longing sigh, every glance with a burning passion. You found your gaze lingering on his lithe arms when his sleeves were rolled up, on his jawline as he examined a crime board, on his hands (god, his hands) as they flicked over a page.

It had bled obviously into your work life, too, where, entirely too often, you had to be snapped out of a stupor by one of the girls.

You hadn’t told anyone, though. Your first and foremost responsibility was to Max, and you hardly wanted anyone thinking that you were going to jeopardize that.

Right now though, it was Thursday and you were wrapping up a case in Grand Rapids and you desperately wanted to be home with your son, who you had incidentally just handed over to his father.

The team had taken the news in stride. It was still incredibly strange to them (justifiably so, honestly), so they tended to avoid the topic so as to not accidentally bring up anything sensitive. This mistake had already been made once (your cheeks burned at the memory of Derek asking why you and Spencer showed up to work together so often) and everyone was quick to learn from that experience.

Your phone rang and you looked down to see your mother’s contact light up the screen. You excused yourself from the conference room and quickly answered.

“Hey, mom.”

“Hi, darling. Max wants to say goodnight,” she said, sighing and sounding slightly apologetic.

“No worries, mom, we’re in a lull anyways. Put him on, would you?” you appeased her.

“Mommy!” came a shrill squeal from the line.

“Hi, mouse,” you lilted. “Goodnight, baby. Sleep tight. I’ll be home tomorrow.”

“Is daddy there?” Max asked impatiently.

“I- yes. He’s right here,” you said, slightly taken aback, and walked back into the conference room. You walked up to Spencer and unceremoniously handed him the phone, shrugging when he looked at you inquisitively. He stood up and started out of the room, putting the phone up to his ear as he walked.

JJ glanced over at you and said, “What was that about?”

You frowned. “He didn’t even say anything, just ‘Is daddy there?’” You ripped at the corner of the page in the case files you were working on. JJ smiled sympathetically. “Henry went through the same thing. Honestly, he still prefers one of us on and off.”

You shook your head. “But I--” you sighed. “I don’t know.”

Spencer came back into the room a few minutes later, smiling apologetically and handing you back your phone

“What was that about?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

Spencer laughed softly. “He just wanted to tell me about that thing that happened at school.”

You looked at him expectantly. “Wh- well, what happened?” you asked.

Spencer looked at you confusedly and said, “He didn’t--” but he was interrupted by Hotch, who came in with a new directive in the case.

You were visibly sullen the rest of the day. JJ assured you it was normal, but you couldn’t help but think that Max was taking to Spencer more than he ever liked you.

You were short with Spencer, too, even though you knew it was through no fault of his own that Max asked for him instead of you.

Sensing your worry, Hotch came up next to you at the precinct’s coffee machine.

“It’s just because he sees Reid as more of a friend than anything. Trust me, as soon as he has to tell him to go to bed or eat his vegetables, you’ll have equal footing again,” he said with a small smile.

You reciprocated, nodding your head with a small, “Thanks,” desperately hoping he was right.

The case wrapped up rather quickly, and you found yourself avoiding Spencer on the jet home the next day. You could feel his eyes burning into the back of your neck and could see JJ, who sat across from you, exchanging nervous looks with him over your shoulder.

“Hey,” you interrupted her conspicuous staring contest. “Spence has Max for the weekend. Girls’ night?”

JJ’s eyes lit up (and you only later thought to realize it had been completely mischievous) and smiled.

“Sounds amazing.”

You grinned in response and your phone dinged.

Pen Garcia

Did someone say girls’ night at Y/N’s?!!

You stared at your phone, mouth agape.

Pen Garcia

I have an alert system any time anyone on the plane says girls’ night.

You blinked in disbelief.

“So it seems that Pen spies on us and is overwhelmingly ready for girls’ night.”

JJ nodded. “Oh yeah, that old thing. It scared the shit out of me the first time.”

You laughed, “You can say that again.”

The plane landed sooner than you would have liked, and you turned to Spencer as you were both getting off the jet and said curtly, “I’ll drop him off at six.”

His eyes caught yours and for a second you completely forgot you were feeling resentful toward him.

You hated it. It was like time froze and the only thing you could think of or focus on was him. It was pretty easily tunnel vision, and every time, your breath caught in your throat and your cheeks heated to an impossible pink. Each time, it became somehow easier and harder to snap out of it. The better you got at it, the less you wanted to. You tore your gaze from his and walked side by side back into headquarters.

Spencer looked slightly concerned for you. He walked a little faster to be slightly ahead of you and turned his head a little, the expression on his face clearly asking if you were okay.

You nodded softly, pulling him to the side. “Six, okay? And Spencer, you’re his dad. This can’t just be a fun sleepover.”

Spencer looked slightly confused, but agreed. “Y/N, I know that. Don’t worry.”

You smiled and thanked him before walking off to your car and driving home.

As soon as you put your key in the lock, you heard the little footsteps thundering toward the door. You managed to catch your son in a hug while kicking the door shut behind you.

“Hi, mouse!” you smiled and kissed his chubby cheek. “You’re gonna spend the weekend at Daddy’s. Does that sound okay?”

To say Max’s face lit up would be an understatement. He squealed excitedly, jumped up and down, and said, “Yeaaahhh!” in a way only a 5 year old could.

You giggled, said, “Okay, mouse, go get your toys packed up,” and walked over to the dresser in his room to pack a weekend bag.

You sighed, thinking of the way Max was clearly more excited to spend time with Spencer than with you. You thought of what JJ said, that Henry went through it, too. You hated to think it, but it was different. Henry grew up with both Will and JJ. You were Max’s only parent up until 4 months ago, you had raised him by yourself, and it was so painful to see someone who only showed up those 4 months ago take over your son’s life so easily.

You mentally scolded yourself. There was quite literally no way Spencer would have gotten involved sooner. Not only that, but you were the one who decided to involve him in the first place. You couldn’t think like this.

But everything about Spencer was infuriating. He was absolutely perfect around your kid, he was devastatingly attractive, and he didn’t fucking know it. He still acted as though Max wasn’t completely infatuated with him, he licked his lips and scrunched his eyebrows with such little care it almost seemed on purpose, and you were sick of it. You wanted to be able to make it through a day without having to exist so consciously around him, where you could just breathe and stop worrying about him being right there.

You shut the dresser just a little too harshly, snapping you out of your conflicting mess of festering emotions. Sighing, you finished packing Max’s things and led him to the car.

Spencer, for some god-awful reason, lived in DC proper, making your drive to his house overwhelmingly unbearable. The drive wasn’t long, but the traffic was awful and you wanted to poke your eyes out by the time you pulled up to his apartment.

Getting Max out of his booster seat and walking him up the stairs, you said, “Alright, Max, I’ll pick you up on Sunday, okay?”

Spencer was waiting at the open door and Max ran to him. You were suddenly choked up, feeling like the day a few months prior when you left Max at school for the first time.

After Spencer finished greeting Max and managed to pry him off of his legs, he said, “Say goodbye to Mommy, Maxie,” seeming almost worried that Max wouldn’t be enthusiastic about it.

Thankfully, however, Max walked over to you and gave you a squeeze and kiss on the cheek before saying, “Bye, mommy!”

“Bye, baby,” you said, breathing a sigh of relief. You nodded goodbye to Spencer before heading back down the stairs.

On your way back home, you sent a text to the girls’ night group that Pen added you to the day you started at the BAU.

You

Mine at 9?

You received affirmative texts from all the women before you even pulled into your driveway.

The next two hours were filled with tidying (your mom, like a saint, did a lot of the cleaning when she stayed, so all that was left to you was picking up and wiping down the occasional counter), picking up an exorbitant amount of booze, and, even though you were staying in, picking out an outfit that didn’t scream I’ve been a single mom for five years.

You let yourself dwell on your perpetual problem longer than you probably should have. Every time you thought of Spencer, your heart hurt. You didn’t know why you couldn’t just put these feelings aside and let it be a normal co-parenting/coworker relationship (as if there was such a thing).

You were snapped out of your thoughts (that seemed to happen quite a bit these days) by excited knocks at your door.

You put on your best face and opened the door to the three women standing on your front porch. Upon seeing you, all three of them cheered and pushed their way into your house.

“I have the movie picked. Tonight we will be watching After because it is the worst movie ever created based on the worst book ever written based on the most popular One Direction fanfiction ever, and I will have you know that I kept up with that fanfiction while it was being released and the movie does it zero justice,” Penelope said in one breath. “Not that there was any justice for it to be given in the first place,” she shrugged.

The other three of you were nearly in tears as she rambled, already indoctrinated on her severe opinions on the movie/book/fanfiction.

After one shot and one drink each, you hit play on the movie and let it play in the background.

“You know, Pen, I still remember in high school when you got caught writing lesbian Harry Potter smut on a library computer,” you said, inhibitions obviously already lowered.

Emily’s mouth fell completely open. “Penelope… please tell me this is true.”

Penelope looked completely betrayed, cheeks red and eyes wide. “Y/N, high school is off the table. Or did you want me to tell them about that one time I found you with your hand down your pants with a copy of Twilight?”

Screeching laughter echoed throughout the small house while your face burned red and you slapped a hand over Penelope’s mouth.

“Truce, okay, truce!” you yelled over the noise, laughing yourself and trying to calm everyone down.

After a few more drinks that left you all pretty incapacitated, the conversation strayed naturally to your sex lives. Because that was something you had as a single mother of a five-year-old.

JJ began, “Hottest sex Will and I ever had was at this fancy hotel room in New York before we had Henry. I tied him up and--”

Emily interrupted, “Woah, okay, that’s definitely enough detail.”

“Well, what about you?” Penelope said, poking Emily in the cheek.

Emily leaned back into the cushions and stared at the ceiling before saying, “It was with this girl back in the Academy. We were new recruits, so there was just something so hot and new and fun about handcuffs. Honestly nothing has topped that feeling since. I mean, there’s been better sex, sure, but nothing as all around good as that.”

Penelope went next. “I’m honestly surprised Kevin and I dated as long as we did, because the sex, even if it was adventurous, was wildly mediocre. Just aggressively okay. But the best sex would probably have to be with this old hacker I worked with. He was so rough and somehow caring at the same time? Anyways, him.”

Everyone looked at you expectantly and suddenly you could vividly feel every drop of alcohol in your system. The ceiling spun dangerously and you felt yourself opening your mouth and speaking before you could stop yourself.

“He soft dommed me. Told me shit like ‘good girl’ and ‘you take it so nice’ and held his hand around my throat and made me finish like four times. It was ridiculously good.” you sighed, only barely registering that you told them more about their coworker of several years than they would want to know.

Penelope said, “Oh god, that sounds nice.”

You sighed. “It was so nice. Haven’t had any since, though.”

“And what was the context of this?” Emily said, surprisingly coherent for the number of drinks she had.

“Oh, it was the one-night stand with Spence in Vegas,” you said as if they should have known.

SIlence. And then, “Oh, I take it back. I take it back,” from Pen.

Emily sat straight up. “Wait, you’re telling me Spencer, our Spencer, is a dom?”

You shrugged, nonplussed. “Maybe not as a rule, but for sure that night.”

JJ held her hand up to stop any more conversation. “No. I am done with this conversation. That man is my little brother and I cannot hear this.”

“Agreed,” from Penelope.

“Whatever. It’s not like I told you guys I accidentally maybe fell in love with him,” you chuckled, almost to yourself.

The air in the room sobered quickly.

Pen scooted over to you. “Baby. What?”

You looked over at her. “Oh, it’s not like it’s a big deal. He likes me back. We kissed. Once--” you held up one finger emphatically as if to prove your point (god you were drunk). “Only once. And it was just to get it out, you know? ‘Cause we can’t get involved like that. Not with Max.”

You giggled. “And it only hurts a little, right? Because Max likes him better than me now, but I raised Max by myself for five years and I think I deserve a little more credit than that! So Spencer is all of the sudden this perfect dad but there’s so much tension and I don’t know how much more I can take.”

A few tears slipped down your eyes and you broke into sniffles, all three of the girls quickly shuffling next to you and taking you in their arms. You leaned into Penelope’s ample chest and looked up at her through tears.

“Pen, these make a fantastic pillow.”

All of you laughed a little before JJ spoke. “Y/N, I know you think you’re doing right by Max by not being with Spencer. I know it. But, babes, if you let this tension continue, nothing good will come of it.”

Emily nodded. “I know both of you well enough to say that even if a relationship failed, you two are way too invested in Max to let anything come between that.”

You shook your head. “I know you guys just want me to be happy. But growing up without a dad sucks. And I don't want to put Max at the tiniest risk he could lose that now that he has it.”

At that moment, someone on screen said something incredibly stupid and the three of you burst into hesitant giggles, lightening the mood ever so slightly.

JJ pulled you up and said, “Come on, let’s get you ready for bed,” to which you nodded and smiled lazily.

“Thank you,” you whispered, nuzzling into her. She pulled the sheets back and wrestled you out of your pants before tipping you unceremoniously into your bed.

“Oh, Y/N. Thank me when this is resolved.” she sighed, pulling the sheets up to your chin as you fell asleep.

Sunday, you overslept and were in a massive rush to get Max from Spencer’s on time. You barely had time to shove a piece of toast in your mouth before jumping in your car and taking off nearly an hour behind schedule.

By the time you parked at Spencer’s apartment, it was definitely an hour past when you were supposed to pick him up.

You practically sprinted up the stairs and knocked frantically at his door.

As soon as the door opened, you pushed in, explaining yourself at the speed of light.

“I’m so sorry, Spencer, I slept in and lost track of time--”

“Woah, Y/N,” Spencer interrupted, grabbing your hand. “Have you checked your phone? Your mom came and got him to take him to the zoo.”

You gasped. “Oh my god I forgot about that. She texted me last night right before I passed out and--”

“Y/N, don’t worry about it. Seriously.” Spencer assuaged you.

You nodded, taking a breath, and noticed your hand in his. You felt your nerves come to life, every single groove of his hand being mapped by yours. You gulped, your eyes flicking up to his.

The air in the room was incredibly thick, and you could almost feel his pulse. God, it was ridiculous how much tension there was. It seemed like something straight out of a romance novel or--

His eyes dropped to your lips and your breath hitched. You felt your eyes fluttering closed and his breath ghosting your face before you pulled away suddenly.

“Spencer,” you whispered, tears playing at the corner of your eyes. “You know we can’t.”

His forehead dropped to yours and he closed his eyes, sighing. “I know.”

“There’s no good solution here, is there?” you asked.

Spencer chuckled emptily. “I don’t suppose there is.”

You pulled away slowly and completely, smiling softly, not really meaning it, and stepped out the door.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you said.

“See you tomorrow,” he replied.

And that’s how you ended up with JJ on your couch, the both of you sharing an obscenely large tub of ice cream.

“I just don’t know what to do anymore,” you sighed dejectedly.

JJ stabbed her spoon into the ice cream and left it there, taking your face in her hands and saying, “Y/N, it’s not healthy for anyone in this situation to keep repressing these feelings. You’re both too professional and respectful to let anything get in the way of Max.”

“I don’t understand why I can’t just let it go! It’s just a stupid crush and I’m letting get in the way of everything!” you ranted, letting out an exasperated groan.

JJ rubbed your back and said, “You know it’s more than that, Y/N. And that kind of thing is not something you just get rid of.”

“Just tell me what to do, Jayje,” you whined.

She chuckled. “Y/N, you know what I think you should do. But if you’re serious about getting over it, you have to stop acting like there’s something there. Stop putting yourself in situations that perpetuate your feelings.”

You responded by groaning again, this time into a pillow.

“Why does this have to be so hard?” you asked softly, turning your head over to JJ.

She just gave you a sympathetic look in return, saying “I know, babe,” and continuing to rub your back.

True to JJ’s advice, you stopped avoiding Spencer like there was anything wrong. Hotch had been right about Max equalizing once he realized Spencer was not just a friend, so at least you didn’t have to worry about that anymore. It was hard, but you managed to stop catching Spencer’s eye illicitly, the lingering touches and gazes.

If you were honest, it made it entirely worse than before. You felt like you were living a lie, especially since Spencer practically looked like a kicked puppy at the realization that you were detaching yourself.

You came up to him in the office one early December afternoon and said, “We should start planning Max’s birthday party.”

Spencer looked up at you. “Oh, there’s a ‘we’ now, is there?”

You looked at him confusedly. “Spencer, what the hell are you talking about?”

He pulled you into the copy room and flicked the lock. “So I’m just Max’s dad now, huh? Nothing else?” he said, coming dangerously close to you.

You squared up against him and said, “Spencer, nothing can happen between us and it would be stupid to keep up the Pride and Prejudice-style longing! It was a one-night stand and we are coworkers,” you nearly yelled. “Or have you forgotten the FBI fraternization rules, SSA Dr. Reid?”

“I’m not the one who shamelessly leaned in for a kiss three separate times, now was I?” he responded, just as harsh.

“That was both of us and you know it, Dr. Reid.” you said, your voice low.

“You’re punishing me for something that isn’t even remotely my fault! If you hadn’t begged a stranger to sleep with you, we wouldn’t be in this situation!” Spencer yelled.

“So now we’re playing the slut card, huh? Are you really suggesting my son is causing the problems right now? Let’s get one thing straight, Spencer if I hadn’t begged you to sleep with me you wouldn’t have a son. You wouldn't have the son that I raised for five years by myself! You don’t get to act like a bitch baby just because you can’t get in my pants again.” you snarled.

“You know that’s not what’s happening here. And you can hardly pin the blame on me, Y/N, you know full well there was no way of us getting in touch!”

“It was a mistake involving you in this.”

“It was a mistake fucking you!”

“How dare you fucking say that? You know what that means. You can’t get involved in my kid’s life for 4 months and then decide you don’t want anything to do with us! Fuck, you, Reid, fuck you.” You stalked out of the copy room, face stony, and sat at your desk, not noticing every single pair of eyes in the bullpen trained on you.

Your phone buzzed.

Pen Garcia

Y/N, I heard that all the way from the hallway.

Pen Garcia

Do you want to grab lunch and talk about it?

You sighed, looking around the room and seeing how everyone was purposefully avoiding your gaze. You were too numb to even cry. Every single moment you had at the BAU had been tied to Spencer and Max and it had culminated to this one awful tipping point.

You quickly scratched out a note to Spencer (look I’m not going to stop you from seeing Max but it doesn’t sound like something you want anymore. text pen if you want to help with the party. don’t talk to me unless it’s about work or Max.) and left it at his desk.

You walked up the stairs to Hotch’s office and poked your head in. He seemed to be waiting for you.

“That sounded bad.”

You sighed. “Yeah. I don’t know. I expected too much of him, I guess.”

You paused and looked at Hotch. He seemed sympathetic (or as sympathetic as he was allowed to be toward a subordinate that just disrupted the entire floor).

Finally he spoke up. “Why don’t you head out for the rest of the day?”

You swallowed and nodded. “Thanks, Hotch.”

You to Pen Garcia

Please.

The next week passed very uncomfortably. You and Spencer were just civil enough at work to not need a reprimand, but not enough that you didn’t make everyone aware that you two were very much still at odds.

He picked up Max for the odd sleepover with minimal interaction and Max could tell something was wrong. He didn’t say anything, but every time you or he brought up Daddy, the tightness in your face and voice was a dead giveaway, even for a five-year-old.

Everyone on the team tried multiple times to get you guys to make up, but there wasn’t even enough passion in the animosity. You would just stare at him and walk off.

It was fucking awful. Just when you were getting used to having someone around--someone in any capacity--he fucking ruined it. Sometimes, when you were trying to fall asleep, you’d lay in your bed and replay his words in your head.

It was a mistake fucking you.

You’d let the tears roll down your temples into your hair and ears as you imagined a world in which you hadn’t done just that. You imagined a world in which you were new to the BAU, no baggage, no complications, just your outstanding application and a new job. You imagined a world in which Spencer wasn’t this person ridden with so many memories and unfortunate connections.

But, god, for him to say that knowing that meant Max not existing? That’s where you took issue. You desperately wanted to move on and forget about it but that was proving impossible. Everything reminded you of him and what happened. But the worst part was that you still had feelings for him.

Before, you would glance at him and feel wistful, thinking of what could be but what couldn’t be. Now, it felt like someone twisting a knife in you. You’d see him, you’d wake up in the morning and think of him, and for a glorious second, it was all pure. A simple crush. Then it came crashing down. The things he said, the way he acted around you, and you would just collapse inside.

Spencer had come up to you a few times, but you were unclear on his intentions. For a second, it seemed like he was going to let you have it again, but then he’d see your face and his expression would soften and he’d walk away.

On more than one occasion, you had seen or overheard another member of the team going in on him. Apparently the contents of the argument were well known because you had yelled so loud. They all seemed to passively side with you, which meant Spencer must have really fucked up because they had known him for years and you for months. Derek pulled him aside and told him he was way out of line, Hotch demanded he make amends, and Emily just glared.

You took only a small comfort in the fact that the team had your back, because that didn’t change the fact that you and Spencer were not speaking. The day of Max’s party was quickly approaching and you were already exhausted thinking of all the pretending you would have to do. Your mom knew very little as to why things were tense and knew not to ask. It seemed that problems with baby daddies ran in the family now.

Max’s birthday was December 9th and the day you finally broke was December 7th.

The team was in the conference room working on a group consult. Preliminary deductions were made, leaving everyone in silence, glancing over the case files for more information. You glanced up a few seats over to see Spencer looking at you with so much emotion. You couldn’t place it, but you had absolutely had it.

“Dr. Reid, do you need me to transfer? Because I can’t do this anymore and I’m begging you to stop being such a fucking ass,” you seethed quietly, just loud enough for everyone else in the room to hear.

Hotch started to object, but you felt the tears welling in your eyes, so you calmly pushed away from the table and excused yourself to the bathroom, Penelope following closely behind you.

As soon as you pushed the door open, a sob escaped your throat, echoing throughout the bathroom. Penelope quickly pulled you in her arms as you broke down into tears.

“I just don’t know what to do, Pen, I can’t take this anymore,” you gasped through sobs.

Penelope, being the empath she was, cried with you, holding you close and rubbing your back. “Baby, I know. I know it’s hard. But believe me, you’re so strong. You’re the one that had a kid by yourself at 23 and you’re right, Spencer is a complete ass right now. It’s not your fault, baby, it really isn’t.”

“What am I supposed to do? This is my dream job, Pen, it would kill me to transfer but I just can’t take this anymore. And even if I transfer, I can’t just keep him from Max, Max loves him so much,” you cried. “Please, Penelope. I don’t know what to do.”

A knock on the door rang out.

“Y/N? Are you in there?” It was Spencer’s voice.

Penelope looked down at you in her arms. “Do you want to talk to him?”

You sniffed, collecting yourself slightly before nodding. “Yeah. I’d better.”

Penelope smiled softly. “I’ll be here if you need me.”

You gave her a watery smile in return. “The bathroom?”

“You underestimate my resolve,” she responded.

You shook your head affectionately, walking slowly toward the door. “I could never, Pen.”

You pulled the door open to see a fraught Spencer on the other side. He looked genuinely worried and upset, which caught you slightly off guard. He nodded toward the now empty conference room and turned to start in that direction. You followed closely behind him.

Once inside, he turned to face you again. “Y/N I’m so sorry.”

You waited for him to continue.

“I’ve never regretted anything more. I shouldn’t have said what I said, it was so… wrong of me. There’s no way on Earth I could ever regret Max, ever, Y/N, you have to understand that. I majorly crossed a line. There is literally no excuse for what I said,” he rambled, quiet tears slipping down his cheeks as he talked.

“Spencer. I can’t just forget it.” you whispered. “If this is what it’s going to be like every time we fight, I’m not going to be able to handle it. I care about you a lot and it hurts too much.”

You sat in one of the numerous chairs and continued, “And I was mean, too, Spencer. I hurt your feelings. I’m sorry. It wasn’t a mistake involving you. It was just a mistake ignoring these feelings and pretending they would go away. And then acting like children about it,” you added, chuckling dryly.

Spencer was quiet for a moment, taking a seat next to you. “I really want to make this work. Us,” he said, taking your hand. “This week has been hell, Y/N.”

“It has, hasn’t it,” you replied.

“Spencer, promise me, promise me that we won’t keep stuff from each other and let things explode like this. We’re in each other’s lives for good now, whether we like it or not.” you said firmly.

“Never again,” Spencer smiled.

The day of Max’s party rolled around and you were awoken by a very rambunctious (now) six-year-old practically jumping on your ribs.

“Oh, god, mouse,” you groaned. “Stop that, you’re hurting me.”

Max was very quick to settle after you spoke and he nuzzled in next to you and said, “Sorry, mommy, I’m just so excited!”

You laughed, still blinking sleep out of your eyes. “Happy birthday, mouse.”

Max shot up and said, “Thank you!” before getting up and running god knows where.

The rest of the morning was filled with preparations. Penelope came over with Derek and a full car, but wouldn’t let you outside to see anything she had brought.

Derek greeted you with a hug. “How’re you doing?”

You beamed. “A lot better.”

And it was true. You and Spencer spent the rest of the afternoon (or, really, as much as you could of it) talking. It was productive and you were genuinely hopeful. You started to think that maybe a relationship wouldn’t be as damaging as you had made it out to be.

Derek smiled and said, “Glad to hear it, Y/N.”

While Derek and Penelope set up in the backyard, you got Max ready for his party. He insisted on wearing all his favorite clothes that he had worn earlier in the week, so you had to do a load of laundry so he could wear them.

Max came meandering into the laundry room while you were putting the wet clothes in the dryer.

“Are you still mad at daddy?” he asked.

You turned to him, alarmed. “What makes you think I was mad at daddy?”

Max shrugged. “I don’t know. It was obvious.”

You sighed, contemplating what to say.

“Daddy and I had a fight, mouse. And I was mad at him for a little while, but we talked about it and apologized to each other, which is what you do when you hurt someone’s feelings, right?”

Max nodded.

“Well, we apologized to each other and now we aren’t mad at each other anymore,” you said, tossing the last of the clothes into the dryer.

“Yay!” Max exclaimed. “So you’re kissing now?”

“Wh- What?” you asked, extremely startled by the question.

“Mommies and daddies kiss,” Max explained simply.

You knelt on the ground next to him. “Yeah, mouse, some do. But Spencer and I aren’t like that. We don’t know each other very well, and normally, you only kiss people you know well.”

Max looked slightly dejected. “Okay.”

You poked him in the tummy and said, “Let’s go see how the set up for the party is going.”

Max perked up and followed you outside.

You stopped in your tracks at the sight in front of you. “Penelope. Oh my god. You’ve outdone yourself.”

The backyard was absolutely decked in decorations. Streamers hung from tree to tree, tables were set up with different kids’ games, and the goodie bags were concerningly large.

“Only the best for my Maxie!” Pen said, walking over to the both of you. You smiled and wrapped her in a hug. “Though Derek did most of the heavy lifting,” she laughed.

“Now hurry up and get ready, both of you. Your friends will be here soon!” she continued, shooing you inside.

True to Penelope’s word, as soon as you got Max dressed, his friends started pouring into the backyard. Other moms praised you on your decorating skills, which Penelope practically bullied you into taking the credit for (“single moms get enough shit as it is”).

As it was a BAU tradition to attend kids’ parties for reasons you didn’t quite understand but were entirely grateful for, the team began showing up shortly after the kids. Hotch got there first with Jack in tow, who took off for the games as soon as he saw them, while Hotch greeted you with a small hug. JJ showed up with Henry and exactly the same thing happened. Emily showed up sporting a bag that clinked too much for your liking and she winked at your questioning eyebrow. Your mom and sister were absolutely floored by the decorations when they showed, giving Penelope big hugs.

Finally, Spencer walked through the gate, and Max ran up to him at the speed of light. Spencer caught him and spun him through the air, singing Happy Birthday in a truly awful singing voice. His eye caught yours and you smiled from ear to ear.

After he dealt with Max, he walked over to you and wrapped you in a tight hug, saying, “I’m glad we’re okay,” into your ear.

You pulled away, watching all the kids run around your backyard with glee. “You know, Max noticed. He asked if I was done being mad at you this morning.”

Spencer laughed. “He’s a smart kid. I guess we’ll just have to never do that again.” “Agreed,” you chuckled. You thought for a second before adding, “He also asked if we’re kissing now. Because that’s what happy mommies and daddies do.”

Spencer glanced over at you. “Yeah?”

You bit your lip, rocking on your toes. “Yeah.”

You made eye contact that shocked you down to your toes. “It would be a big deal, Y/N. I understand that.”

You looked around before subtly grabbing his hand. “I think it’s worth it. I really like you, Spencer. You’re my kid’s dad. There obviously has to be something there with that. I want this.”

Spencer didn’t respond, just took your face in his hands and gently pulled it towards his. Your lips met and the world felt right again. You felt as sure of this as when you left Chicago for the BAU, as sure as when you’d made the decision to keep Max, as sure as when you’d first stepped into the hotel room with Spencer.

The kiss was short due to there being so many kids around, but you were still left breathless. You smiled at Spencer as your forehead rested against his. A voice to your left snapped you two out of your reverie.

“Yay, mommy and daddy kissed!” Max yelled.

Your cheeks burned and you nearly hid your face in your hands, but Spencer grabbed them, laughed and said, “Yeah, Maxie, we did,” and you just smiled.

And 12 years later, at Max’s high school graduation, you nearly hid your face in your hands when the tears started pouring down your face, but Spencer grabbed them, kissed them, and said, “Thank you.”

taglist:

@agenthotchner @mrs-dr-reid @rexorangecouny @mollygetssherlockcoffee @ellvswriting @blameitonthenight21

#criminal minds #criminal minds fic #spencer x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fic #bau fic #my brown haired boy

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saint-eridell · 4 years

Text

A Silent Prayer (Midoriya Izuku/F!Reader)

I… honestly don't know how this happened. The words just kinda came out. I didn't start out intending to write a slow burn saga, but that's apparently what my brain decided to do with it. Might continue the series at some point, to be honest; this whole universe has its hooks into me.

Collab piece for @lemonlordleah-shinzawa-kitten's Citrus Dome server collaboration. 15k, completed, proofread, no beta. Pairings: Dryad!Midoriya Izuku/Human!Reader, Human!Toshinori Yagi/Dryad!Midoriya Inko Prompt: Gods Content warnings: Background character death, non-con (very brief, not explicit)

Read on AO3

Quick Guide (ctrl-F to jump)

Prologue

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

---

Prologue

Your village's clearing, while spacious enough to afford room for a small population, is essentially cut off from the outside world by the dense verdant wall that circles it on all sides. One of two paths out leads toward a well-maintained temple where the locals (and rare traveler) leave offerings to the Fae that populate the forest, and one leads out to the nearest trading post… which lies a week's away ride on a speedy horse. This clearing of hand-built homes and ancient looking shops is the only thing you've known. Your studies as a temple attendant began young, before you could even comprehend what you were training to do, and have kept you attached to the village with zero chance of travel.

That has suited you just fine so far. From what the hunters talk about seeing in the forest… you'd rather stay alive than "sightsee".

The first thing you're taught in your village is to respect the forest. Even the youngest of your people know not to step in Fae circles, or follow strange sets of eyes in the dark, or listen to any voices that come trickling out of the treeline on quiet nights. The Fae could be immensely giving, but they're fickle creatures on a good day and absolutely dangerous at their worst. Contact with any roaming Fae, regardless of the type or how friendly it seems, has long been banned among your people. Your job as an attendant, despite a common misconception that you have direct contact with beasts and monsters, is to maintain the temple, greet travelers, and meditate among the many gardens built within the temple walls.

Worship is a part of your daily routine. Each season you place the fruits of your labor at the altar. Every day you pray. It’s human nature, seeking answers from the Gods.

But you never expected one to answer… much less three times.

---

Part 1

The first time is after a terrible fire that razes half of the village during your first year of training. A roaming wyvern tears through the fields surrounding its back half in a fury, razing an entire cluster of homes and over half of the summer crops already suffering through a prolonged drought. The village finds itself in disarray amid the smoldering remains: one half wants to burn the temple in retaliation, seeing the wyvern as an omen that some Fae lord is on the warpath, while the other seeks to gather what remained of the crops as one final beseechment to whoever or whatever they'd angered.

Having just been initiated, your young mind goes directly to one of your first lessons: true offerings are of the heart. In your barely school age mind, that means offering something that means a lot to you. After some consideration you narrow it down - your favorite doll, a gift from a mother you never had the chance to know - and take it to the temple. You find a quiet altar to lay the doll down upon, and as soon as you find your knees to begin praying before it you catch sight of a boy hovering behind the marble pedestal.

His head is wrapped in emerald linen, but it rounds off enough to suggest there's densely packed hair underneath. A single curl peeks out at the center of his forehead, somehow even deeper than the rich dyed fabric over it, its point resting between huge green eyes that seem to peer right down to your very soul. It would be eerie if he wasn't smiling at you with a gap where one tooth should be, a bright beam of sunshine in an otherwise rather gloomy marble-lined room.

"Is that a doll?" he asks, and his voice chirps with the same excitement of the first few birds that poke out of the melting winter snow. You nod, frozen with trained hesitation that wars with your naive curiosity - he doesn't look familiar, nor does he look like the child of anyone who had recently come through the village. But he doesn't look dangerous to you. He's barely as tall as you, and he smiles too nice to be a threat… right?

You open your mouth to call for your matron but the boy holds both hands up suddenly, his eyes somehow widening even further with a bolt of fear. "Wait," he whispers. "I'm not supposed to be here. I heard people praying and snuck away from my mother." He tilts his head. "Did you sneak away from your mom, too?"

You shake your head in response. "I live here," you explain quietly, matching his hushed tone. "I'll work in the temple one day. I came here to offer my doll so our fields will come back."

The boy's face splits into a grin. "Does that mean I'll get to see you again?"

You aren't given time to answer: a sharp voice echoes into the room from somewhere beyond the open door, growing louder by the second as someone approaches. You turn your head to listen until a quiet shuffling brings your attention back to the boy, who's moved around the altar and taken the doll in one hand. He quickly tugs off the linen wrap covering his head and thrusts it toward you. You struggle to grasp it, shocked by a pair of tiny antler nubs that poke through the curls on the top of the boy’s head... or Fae’s rather. There’s no mistaking the point of his upper ears. "Here," he whispers urgently. "It's my favorite, so be careful with it. Wrap it around some ashes from your burned crops and bury it in the middle of the field." He waves as he steps back with another one of those beaming smiles, your doll clutched tight to his chest. "I promise I'll keep your doll safe. Maybe we can play next time!"

You blink, and as quick as he appeared he's gone. Matron Elspeth, a short and round woman with more than enough years in the temple to justify her limited patience (and the woman in charge of your temple training), appears behind you the second he’s gone. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere,” she snaps as she grabs you by the upper arm and hauls you toward the door. “We’re convening the-

You dig your heels into the floor. “Wait!” you exclaim with all the assertiveness your tiny voice can muster. “I have something!”

The matron stops to glare down at you. You hold up the linen like it’s a prized tapestry. “A boy appeared in here and gave this to me. I brought my doll as an offering and he gave this to me.”

The matron’s brows knit deep between her eyes. “And you took it?”

You nod eagerly, but you aren’t prepared to see such a terrifying old woman blanch like she just witnessed a murder. She stops you both in the hallway, all sense of urgency abandoned, a wrinkled hand held to the wall as she breathes out a long, ragged sigh. “Oh, child,” she murmurs. “I don’t think you realize what you’ve just done.” She gives you a smile that’s softer than anything you’ve ever seen from her, and it’s disarming enough to have you stunned silent. Isn’t she supposed to be rapping you across the knuckles with her willow switch? “He was Fae, wasn’t he?”

You nod slowly, your excitement slowly twisting into pangs of dread. “I didn’t give him my name,” you burst out after a sudden realization - of course she’s worried, she thinks you just signed yourself away to the forest. What was the first thing she’d taught you? You wave your hands in front of you defenselessly, the scarf flapping back and forth. “I only said the doll was my favorite, and that I’d brought it as an offering. He said this headscarf was his favorite and that I should bury it in the field wrapped around some ashes from the crops and -”

“Eeeeeeasy,” Elspeth chides gently. She lowers herself to a knee to put herself on eye level with you, both hands wrapped around your shoulders. “You did the right thing. I wouldn’t have expected someone so small to learn our ways as quickly as you have.” She holds her hand out for the scarf and you hand it over. She turns it over gently, running her fingers over the seams with a pensive hum. “And you say he told you to bury it?”

“In the field, wrapped around ashes from the burned crops."

“And you absolutely did not give him your name?”

You shake your head fervently. “He didn’t even ask for it.”

Elspeth’s frown deepens. “Curious.” She rises slowly to her feet with a wince as both knees audibly crack under her shifting weight. You grab her arm to help her stay upright as she rests a hand on the wall once again with a low groan. “I’m getting too old for this,” she grouses. “You need to hurry up and grow already so I can hand off the robes.” Her wrinkled hand takes one of yours as she leads the way toward the temple’s main hall. “Tell me more about the boy.”

You go through everything you can remember - same height, pale freckled skin, lots of green curls, big eyes… “Oh, and horns,” you add on.

Elspeth stops you both at the end of the last hall. Several groups of people in various temple garb hover in the large foyer beyond, but your matron turns your back to them with both hands on your shoulders. She bends low at the waist to stare you down from only a few inches away. “Horns?” she hisses.

You nod, confused by the sudden change in her demeanor. “Tiny ones,” you reply. “Like when the young bucks grow their first set at the beginning of summer. I didn’t see them or his ears until after he gave me his scarf.”

Elspeth goes quiet for several seconds, her gaze averted to the throng behind you, and just as you open your mouth to question if she’s okay she’s steering you around and through the crowd with a purpose. “We need to speak to the temple Ascendant,” she urges quietly. “This is beyond both of us now, little one.”

---

Part 2

You hadn’t been approached by just any run-of-the-mill forest creature. If you really had experienced the entire moment (which the linen basically proved without a shadow of a doubt despite your own dumbfounded disbelief), you’d come across a young dryad. Or rather, he’d found you, which is an incredible occurrence in itself: dryads are known for being among the most reclusive of Fae, preferring to live in their heavily altered pockets of the forest where only their kind can survive. According to the ancient lore they’re protectors of a vast plane beyond the one humans live in, a vanguard of Fae hidden among life-providing vegetation and deceptively thick forest floor in wait for someone or something to come along and threaten their territory. The tomes in the temple library are filled with tales from “survivors” of attacks by wandering dryads, all telling of razor sharp teeth and sickly green skin and a heathenly worship of the old gods that on its own warrants avoiding them at all costs.

But in the whirlwind following your encounter with the young Fae, something becomes glaringly obvious: no one wants to talk about who had provided the linen that saved them all, despite it successfully bringing back their fields during a single earth-shaking rainstorm and assuring a solid harvest that would more than provide through the winter. All the villagers flock to the temple with offerings by the basket, but no one wants to acknowledge who had actually saved them. That reality sticks with you like a sharp thorn, as does the dryad boy’s hauntingly sweet voice as you grow older within the temple walls, your studies growing more intense by the year. By the time you reach adulthood, you’re actively involved with just about every aspect of temple life. You’ve grown popular among your fellow attendants and the temple-goers alike, even the ones who seem reluctant to be there at all. Your easy-going demeanor and disarming smile is able to diffuse even the staunchest of cynicism. You have, for all intents, and purposes, become the shining example of everything Matron Elspeth raised you to be. Nothing in this world makes you prouder than knowing you're on the way to earning her robes… and maybe, at some time in the future, the temple Ascendant's.

You remain faithful to your doctrine, but in the dead of night every full moon you pray that he’ll come back. You’ve had years to think about it: if you give him a “given” name, he’ll have to use that. It’s not yours, so he won’t own you. Dryads are attracted to beehives, presumably for the same reason pixies are attracted to berry bushes (an almost impulsive sweet tooth) so you’re ready with a clump of the temple’s finest honeycomb every time the moon reaches its largest point.

But despite your increasingly saddened prayers and offers over the years, no sign of him or any other dryads appear. There are rumors of the occasional peculiar looking traveler with big green eyes, but your temple work prevents you from wandering into the village unless it’s on a designated supply pickup day. Elspeth tells you to forget him and focus on your studies every time she catches you quietly moping: “We can’t have our future Ascendant being wooed away by some doe-eyed boy, regardless of if he’s human or not.”

On the evening after your confirmation and the following party, once you’ve returned from the village and gathered up your usual prayer supplies, you make your way to your favorite altar in the temple as the moon finds its highest point in the sky above. The room’s roof has been removed to give a full view of the sky for astral worship, but you prefer it for the way it allows moonlight to fill the center with a skirt of fading dark that swallows the edges of the room. It’s easier to focus here, to lay yourself bare before whatever force that lays beyond the clearing’s edge and let it speak through the beams of light emanating from above.

Elspeth disapproves of your “fixation”, but doesn't argue back when you request privacy for the rest of the evening. Your birthday this present is in the form of your matron keeping all wandering staff away from your prayer room, and that seems perfectly fair to you. You’ve already made plans to repay her empathy with a few of her favorite lemon pastries.

You lay out the contents of the basket hanging from your arm across the marble altar’s polished surface: green and gold candles, several lengths of high quality gold pendant chain, a large bowl of fresh, sticky honeycomb and an ornate goblet full of a rare winterberry mead you were given by the lead hunter’s son (“For the day you get free of that prison and decide to marry”, he’d boasted... his mistake, you’re keeping the mead and he can choke on the cork).

In the center goes a hand-sized velvet pillow upon which you set an emerald big enough to fill your palm. It had taken three years to save up enough for it, but in your eyes it’s the best thing you’ve ever bought. The moonlight dancing off the lines of the gem’s depths flicker and dance exactly like the Fae’s eyes had so many years ago. You pause to take in the sight, transfixed by the shifting planes that white themselves out before immediately shifting to deep green and then to inky black when you tilt your head.

A slight breeze rattling through the room snaps you from your reverie. You glance upward where the moon hangs directly overhead, a wide white circle set deep into an array of scattered stars and inky skyspace beyond. A vivid memory of pale skin dotted with freckles flashes across your mind’s eye and you have to force yourself to redirect to the present, shaking your head hard as the breeze fades away. “Focus,” you murmur to yourself. You don’t have long before the moon will move away from the center of the open roof.

Once the candles are lit, several cones of musky incense set into miniature cauldrons come next, wisps of pungent smoke permeating every dark corner of the room within seconds. You kneel before the altar once everything is in place with your plain white robes folding neatly under you. As you take your first deep breath, the incense fills your nose and drowns out anything beyond it; a hazy blanket hovers thick and heavy in your sinuses, even after you exhale.

This is an easy process for you. You've long mastered how to find your own meditative headspace through years of disciplined practice. You let the chirping of bugs beyond the temple echo around your ears, your breathing slow and light. You tilt your closed eyes up toward where you can vaguely tell the glow of the moon is strongest. "I have no crisis," you say in your head. "I seek no power, no glory, no riches. I only wish to see my friend again." A deep sense of peace radiates down to your bones as you let out a slow breath. The entire room comes to a standstill, even the wind seemingly reverent of your descent toward the lowest floor of your headspace. If you go any further, you feel like you could slip right through the floor.

"We're friends, eh?"

Your eyes fly open as a shriek tears through you, every semblance of calm shattered. You kick yourself backward and the cushion you'd been kneeling on flying forward to bounce off the ornate carving set into the front of the pedestal. You skitter in the opposite direction, prepared to take off running down the hall and find the first guard you come across, when you stop dead with your hands planted to the cold marble floor.

It's him.

The dryad boy is standing in the same spot he'd appeared in last time, smiling at you with that same beaming grin. Or… it looks like him, at least. He's taller now, but he still looks to be around your height, maybe just an inch or so taller. It's obvious he's been up to something strenuous: his tunic sleeves cut off around defined upper arms, where you can spot an array of thin scars set into his pale, freckled skin. He's dressed in emerald traveler garb, a linen wrap identical to the one he'd given wrapped loosely around his neck, and as you look further up you choke on a gasp.

You hadn't been hallucinating all those years ago. The tiny antler nubs he'd been sporting before have grown fivefold and now branch over his head in tall, proud spikes that circle his hair like a jagged halo. He seems to catch what your eyes lock onto and he dips his head, a scarred hand reaching to clutch at the fabric draped around his neck like he wants to throw it up over his head. "I'm sorry," he says quietly, and you're immediately floored by how achingly familiar the lilt of his voice is. You've heard it in your dreams enough to know it's him. "I didn't mean to scare you that bad."

You push yourself up to your feet with an indignant huff. "Scare me that bad?" you grumble back as you dust yourself off and right your robes.

He laughs again, light as air. Your anger slips away at the sound despite your best attempt to hold onto it. You're not some shrinking violet, dammit. "I had to take the opportunity when it presented itself," he replies through a fond smile. "Couldn't help myself."

You huff your disapproval, which gets you another chuckle. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry," he says as he takes a step forward with his hands raised in a show of surrender. "No more scares, I promise." He fixes you with another beaming smile. "Happy birthday. I'm here now."

Your heart flips sideways into your ribs. He'd really heard you. But if he could hear you tonight…

"Why didn't you come any other time I prayed?" you ask before you can consider the implications of your query. You slap a hand over your mouth. "I'm sorry," you say quickly from behind your palm. "I don't mean to say I expected you to listen or appear, I just…"

The dryad fixes you with a concerned frown. "You just what?" he asks back without a trace of anger, which catches you off guard. "I'm not gonna cut your tongue out or anything. You didn't offend me."

You let out your held breath in one hard burst. Thank every god in existence. You pause, waiting to make sure he really isn't angry and just playing head games, then proceed with only a tiny tremble: "I just hoped you would."

Something akin to pain dances across his face and you immediately regret your admission for reasons you can't quite figure out. "I'm sorry," you exclaim again, but he holds up a finger before you can try to babble through a reason why.

"It's not easy for my kind to survive here," he says with a solemnity that draws the entire room to a standstill. "The air is too dry for ones who haven't acclimated to it. I'll admit, the first time I tried I got incredibly sick upon returning home." His gaze flicks to the span of marble between your feet. "But I've been practicing. I should be able to stay a few hours now." He finds your eye again and the sincerity behind them smashes into you like a cannonball. How could anyone ever say his kind are hideous? Is it the antlers?

"If you'll have me, that is."

Oh gods above, below, and in gran's cookbooks. "Of course," you breathe back without hesitation.

His smile returns, wide and genuine, bright enough to narrow the room to just him alone. "I was hoping you would say that." He bows politely, his traveler's cloak brushing the floor as it sweeps back. "I'm sorry, I didn't have a chance to introduce myself before. May I have your name?"

A caustic jolt rushes up the length of your spine. Every hair on your body raises at the root as you cut a glare in his direction. Oh no no no, you didn't go through an entire childhood of Matron Elspeth's lectures to fall for his ruses that easily, no matter how hard he makes your stomach flutter. "No you may not," you say back with practiced ease. He sits up abruptly to give you another wounded look, but you're too on guard for it to work. "I'm sorry." You really aren't.

He huffs a laugh. "Fair play. I should have known better. May I have a name to address you by?"

You've trained for this your entire life. In no way is he going to get you. "No you may not," you say again. "But I was born under a sparrow's first nest." A meaningless fact that would at least lead him toward something you'll answer to without naming you directly. Elspeth is going to be so proud.

He hums, seemingly picking up your subtle lead. "Sparrow, then," he confirms. "It suits you."

You clear your throat as the collar of your robe shifts against your reddening neck. You can't hold eye contact and keep your flush contained so you opt for the former while your hands clasp respectfully behind your back. You're an anointed temple servant. You won't be reduced to a pile of girlish mush in your own temple. "Thank you," you reply with a polite bow. "And is there a known name I may refer to you by?"

"Deku," he chirps back. "You could have just asked. I'm not as picky with my known name as you humans seem to be."

You straighten up with a placid smile. "Can you blame me?"

Deku shrugs. "I mean, a little," he replies with an honesty that almost knocks you backward again. "I've seen the records humans keep on us. The way your "beastmasters" talk makes us sound like feral crypt monsters."

You catch the bitterness in his tone and squirm on the spot. You hadn't meant any insult. "We've had a lot of people killed by dryads over the years," you reply as gently as you can. "And even more that have disappeared around the same time one was seen. The people here are just fearful."

"Fear doesn't excuse ignorance." His jaw flexes and your frame draws tight with tension. He takes a slow breath as he pauses, and his anger visibly recedes. "But you haven't taken off running yet, so I guess it's safe to assume you're not as ignorant as the others."

Your voice drops to a murmur when you respond. "I remember what you did for us. We would have starved the winter after that fire if you hadn't brought our crops back."

"Thank my dad for that. It was his idea. He couldn't make the trip himself, so he sent my mom and I with instructions."

The pieces click into place with a weight that knocks the wind from your lungs. Deku watches you ponder as he steps around the altar and perches on its edge. "You didn't just save us. You risked your life to do it. But… why?"

"Because you asked me to-" He plucks the goblet and gives it an appreciative sniff. "-And you brought a worthy offering to go with it." He sips the mulled wine with a deep groan of approval. At least the idiot who'd been hitting on you throughout the entire celebration has good taste in booze. "Winterberries?" You nod, and he takes a longer sip before offering you the goblet. You take it with pride as he traces his thumb over his lower lip to catch a stray drop (don't stare don't stare don't stare don't stare). "Gods, this is fantastic. I hope your meadery has put in offerings, because they deserve whatever they were asking for."

You go to take a sip as he continues his praise, but another bolt of anxiety keeps you from raising the cup all the way to your lips. This isn't a directly outlawed interaction (you can't recall a rule that says you're not allowed to share an offering, as far as you can remember); however, something still feels… ominous about accepting such an offer. Or maybe you're just being paranoid. The lore books also said dryads instinctively kill humans on sight.

His features darken at your hesitation. "I can guarantee that I've already got a tolerance if you just tried to slip me something," he spits out with a mix of anger and raw hurt. The venom in his tone paralyzes you with fear and for a long moment all you can do is stare at him with wide eyes. You swallow around your dry tongue as you struggle to formulate a disarming response.

"It's not like that," you finally say back with the goblet held in both shaky hands. You raise it for a prolonged sip and make a display of showing that you actually took a drink, which seems to assuage his anxiety as much as it does yours, the mead warming your throat and chest as it settles in a warm ball somewhere deep in your core. The Hammerbar meadery doesn't mess around with the efficiency of their products, apparently. "See? If there's something in it now you'll know."

Deku shakes his head. "Then let's hope it's just mead. I'm sorry. I don't think you'd do that." He turns away to pick at the honeycomb and pops a corner into his mouth, which is received with another appreciative noise from deep in his chest.

The conversation is light and easy from the very beginning. He's young for his kind with double your lifespan ahead of him, maybe longer if he "ascends" (a term that has you both laughing in solidarity as you commiserate on your respective mentors). After a good hour of chatting a silence finally lapses between you, the buzz of cicadas filling the space as Deku picks up the last chunk of honeycomb. You sit at the altar's base, just within touching range of the leg he has dangling over the edge of the pedestal, his eerie green eyes trained on you with the sharpness of a royal blade.

He's ethereal in close range. The air around him carries a drift of something wild and feral, like an inaudible drumbeat that thumps in time with your heart.

"Do I make you nervous?"

That feels like a loaded question if you've ever heard one. He seems to pick up on your hesitation once again and tilts his head, his lips parted slightly around a faint smile that makes your heart skip a beat. "No," you reply, but it's a hollow projection. Deku raises a brow, a clear sign he caught your lie.

"Uh… maybe a little. You said it yourself, human understanding of your kind is apparently woefully inaccurate." Which bothers you a lot. You're one of the people responsible for interpreting every tome in the archive. How much else do humans have wrong?

Deku nods. "I know it's not very helpful, but we don't hate humans. The elders pity your lack of connection to wild magic, but that's a sentiment that's fading with the younger generations."

"And what do you think of us?"

The Fae pauses, his head tilted askew as he ponders your question. You have the urge to take it back before he replies suddenly, his teeth flashing in a grin that makes your stomach flip and promptly fall into your feet:

"I don't care about other humans. I care about you."

You swallow hard. You're completely unprepared for the weight of his tone. It's all you can do to remember to breathe normally as panic and excitement go to all-out war. You're vaguely aware that you've been warned about this: Fae rely on glamour magic to conceal their true selves while among humans. The closer you are to one and the longer you spend there, the more likely you are to fall for it. This isn't him, you say to yourself in a firm tone. You're seeing a spell. And yet you remain rooted to the spot amid the molasses-thick silence, his emerald eyes transfixed on you like he's trying to bore himself right down to your soul. Logic is no longer enough to make yourself move, to speak, to do anything but watch him with deep fascination. Part of you doesn't want to move at all, and you're vaguely aware that your lack of fear should probably be some kind of warning sign.

He suddenly pushes himself off the altar and lands on his feet, cat-like and eerily graceful, his hand extended to help you up as well. You take it and are immediately shocked by how rough his palm is under your fingers. He doesn't look old enough to have gone through years of hard labor, but his hands tell a completely different story. You frown at your palms where they're flattened together, his weathered fingers draped gently around the side of your hand. He radiates heat like a stone dock in summer. Even with a foot or two between you, you have to wrestle down the urge to step closer and draw yourself into the warmth that surrounds him.

He leans far enough to get your attention and flashes you another dazzling smile (you're not insane, he can't feel even warmer now how is that even possible). "I have a present for you," he chirps. A hand disappears into his satchel and reappears a moment later with a long piece of rich emerald silk. You can't help but beam until your cheeks ache: the delicate gold embroidery along its edges is identical to what is on the linen scarf you've held onto for all these years. The delicate silk threads are woven into a river of shiny deep green that pools around your fingers in feather-light ripples. It's clearly worth more than anything you've ever owned and everything you currently own combined, adding an extra level of surreal that has your head slightly spinning.

"I embroidered it myself," he says, pride radiating through his words. He holds it up with an encouraging nod toward you. "May I?"

It takes your brain a few seconds to catch up with what's happening, but when it does you nod slowly. He closes the gap between you in one slow step and oh, you aren't ready for the scent of earth and pine that radiates from him and the crackle of something intangible that hits you like a mallet once you're nearly standing chest to chest.

The scarf is draped over your shoulders in a single flourish. He secures it in an ornate knot at your throat, his knuckles dragging little brushes of electricity across your skin as you do your best to stay still. Gods, whatever glamour he's using is powerful because he's absolutely breathtaking this close. The freckles you remember from so many years ago are still there, softened by the slight tan of his cheeks but still a pronounced constellation under his soft eyes as he smiles down at you with a mind-nymbing warmth.

"Green is your color," he murmurs close enough for you to feel his breath ghosting across your throat. Your heart flies upward and, on a whim you can't wrestle down, you reach for his hand once again to deftly slide your fingers between his. Deku jumps, clearly startled, but he makes no move to pull away or retreat. In fact, he gives your hand a squeeze in return that makes every hair on your body stand on its end. He draws even closer, pressing out every bit of air between you. Your interwoven hands are guided to between your chests, the breeze and ambient noise from outside coming to a dead standstill.

"I never forgot you," he rumbles, eyes half-lidded from the close proximity. "Not for a second."

"I dreamed about you," you whisper back, and the last few inches between you are gone in an instant. You draw in synchronized inhales as a surprisingly strong set of arms wraps around your back. Your own thread around his waist to clutch at the Fae and keep him pressed close with a sudden flash of desperation. He seems to be of the same mind: he kisses you with a ferocity you've never known, demanding and insistent enough that your lungs' cries for oxygen go willfully ignored. When you finally rip apart it's with another unified inhale and a wonble as the world spins on its ear. You can feel yourself grinning despite the shock still numbing out your brain.

A Fae kissed you… and you kissed him back without hesitation. There's something unsaid in the room now and it hangs heavy in his stare, which has once again fixated upon you with trickles of gold dancing along the edges of deep green. You quietly gasp. You've never seen feral magic this close. Shouldn't you be afraid by now?

"Come with me," he breathes out of nowhere. Your knees just about give out from shock. What?

"I'm serious." He holds both your hands under his chin. "I can give you things you don't even know exist. Anything you want, I'll make it happen."

You gape back. It's the sort of dramatic offer you read about in children's books, but never in a thousand years did you think you'd really be offered something like this. "Deku…"

"I know it's a lot," he blurts out. "You've spent your whole life here and I would never want to separate you from the world you know, but if I can find you in the same spot twice I'm sure we can find a way to go back and forth -"

Something in you decided the second he asked. There's no question what your heart wants. You press in again while he's rambling to cut him off with another firm kiss. Deku grunts into it as he's forcibly quieted before a hand gently cradles the back of your head.

You pull away with less ferocity this time and hover in his space, hazy with giddiness. "I didn't say no," you whisper, unable to bring yourself to speak any louder. "But there are things that need to be done in the meantime. I have duties here, Deku."

"We can figure out how to do both," he replies with rapidly growing excitement. The thin gold veins around his irises have begun to overtake the emerald. Your heart thunders as his excitement edges on feral. "Please just consider it. If you want, I can come back this same time next year and we can figure it out from there."

A year seems long enough to your addled brain. "Sure," you wheeze. "One year from tonight."

"One year." Deku nods furtively, but as he lets go of you it's obvious you're not the only one who hates having to do it. He looks to the floor, then to the darkest corner of the room where he'd appeared, then back to you with a smile too heavy for the ones you're used to. "I'll be watching over you. The embroidery of that scarf is kind of powerful, so I'd be careful wearing it around anyone or anything that might pull it."

You look to the fabric tied around your neck and your frown deepens. "What's that supposed to -"

Too late. By the time you look up again he's gone, and the altar in front of you is empty.

---

Part 3

You hold his promise close to your heart and don't breathe a single word of it to anyone, even your mentor. Elspeth would have an absolute fit if she figured out you're planning on not only leaving the temple, but running off with a dryad of all things. And besides that, she doesn't deserve the disrespect of knowing all her years of effort might go to waste. You can't bring yourself to face that very real chance just yet.

You stick to your studies and daily duties as your matron's hearth declines through the year, and nearly a year to the day since Deku's last visit the inevitable comes. Matron Elspeth passes in her sleep with you at her side, holding her hand while humming her favorite hymns until you see her chest rise and fall for the last time. She lived to a blessedly old age, but that doesn't help the fierce tear of grief that rips you open when she's finally gone. Elspeth was essentially your mother along with being your mentor.

And beyond that, if it hadn't been for her, you would have never met Deku.

You head up the organization of her final ceremonies, as is your place. Her pyre is constructed along the edge of the clearing's small lake, a neatly organized stack of wood and highly flammable fabric from the temple with a gap in the middle for her remains. You make sure to include clippings from her favorite lavender box as a final personal farewell.

The pyre is set ablaze with your own torch. This is how it has to be. It's how she sent her mentor off, and it will be how your mentor sends you off as well. You can only hope you've given her the honor she deserves, every decision you've made considered.

You make your way back to the temple alone at sunset while the other attendants remain behind. You need time to think. You've spent every quiet moment that day crying alone. If you don't get a second of true isolation you're going to break in front of half the temple. Elspeth wouldn't like that. You're stronger than your grief, at least for the moment, so you make a beeline for your preferred prayer room and let your feet move in that direction on autopilot, emerald scarf drawn up around your cheeks. You hold it close and will yourself to remain calm until there's a door between you and the rest of the world.

You're running by the time you throw yourself into the altar room and shove the door closed behind you. It lands in its frame with a thunderous BANG that muffles the broken sob that cracks from between the hands you have clutched over your face, along with the shuffling of a second person in the room that had gone unnoticed while you were trying to escape everyone else. A boot heel slides along the marble floor and you whirl around, eyes wide as you peer through the strands of summer dusk that pour through the room's open roof. Your heart flies into your throat with a burst of excitement. "Deku?" you call out, shaking with the urge to throw yourself toward the person as he emerges from the darkest shadowed corner.

But it's not Deku. Elation flips to horror as the lead hunter's son appears with a lecherous grin. He's still a good ten feet away, but you can smell strong booze radiating odd him in nauseating waves. "Why are you here?" you demand. "Only temple attendants are allowed in the prayer spaces alone. You need to leave."

"Do I?" he asks back derisively. Ice floods your veins with his first step. You instinctively shuffle back toward the door. "Because I'm pretty sure I can do what I want. Your temple wouldn't have food without me."

"Without your father," you clarify in a sharp tone. All manners have already been abandoned: this is not the day, and you are not the attendant to bother. You don't want to deal with calling guards or causing a cacophony. You just want to be left alone with your grief.

Your comment makes him clench his jaw. "Without." He takes another heavy step forward, and as he draws closer it becomes apparent how much of a size advantage he has. "Me." He takes another heavy step as your bones ice over. You want to take off, but you're terrified that any sudden movement will just propel him toward you faster, and you're not strong enough to shove the heavy stone door open without a few seconds of effort.

"You're drunk," you point out in hopes of derailing his train of thought. You can feel your pulse thumping hard and fast in your throat. "Go home and sleep it off. I won't tell anyone you were here."

"You think I give a shit f'anyone knows I was here?" he slurs back with increasing volume. "You fuckin' demon worshippers are all th'same, so far up your own ass you wouldn't know a good offer if it kissed you right on th'mouth."

A realization hits you like a brick. "Is this about what happened at my birthday last year?" you ask, using his off-kilter focus to your advantage as you slowly begin to step backward toward the door. "You pushed yourself onto me and wouldn't let me go until I kissed your cheek, then you threatened to drop me off the roof if I didn't accept your marriage proposal on the spot. Do you…" You cut yourself off. Of course he doesn't remember. He'd been just as off his head back then as he is now.

"I was only joking!" he retorts. "Why would I drop m'future wife off a roof? Thasstupid. Y're nuts for thinking I'd actually go through with it."

You successfully baby-step your way to within reach of the carved inlet that serves as the door handle. Just keep him rambling. You can hit him with the door before you take off. "And you're nuts for thinking anyone would immediately accept a marriage offer from someone who reeks like the bottom of an ale barrel."

You know the second you shoot off your mouth that it wasn't a good move. He tenses on the spot, both hands drawn into club-like fists at either side, his stony features pinched with disgust.

"You sayin' you're too good for me, bitch?"

He rushes forward, too fast for you to get the door more than a crack open before he throws a massive shoulder against it to slam it shut once more. You scream as he grabs the front of your robes, praying it echoes down the hall with your heels dug against the floor in a fruitless effort to prevent him from bodily dragging you toward the empty altar. He's far too strong to break away from. Your nails digging into his wrists seems to not even register, even when blood wells under them. "Let go," you plead, wide eyed fixed on the pedestal as he drags you toward it clawing and kicking the whole way.

Nothing seems to faze him. He forces your upper half over the marble pedestal with enough force to knock the wind out of your lungs. You wheeze under the weight of a forearm that presses hard into your upper back, reinforced by extra weight that's too heavy to roll out from under. You struggle the entire time, unwilling to stop, with everything in you that isn't trying to escape screaming toward the Aether for someone, something, anything to see what's going on and intervene. You've spent your whole life serving this temple… why would the Fae abandon you now?

As you flail, a small brown sparrow lands on the edge of the open roof and peers down directly at you two. It chirps once, clear as a bell, and the sound hits something deep and instinctive in your chest.

You aren't given enough time to ponder. He grabs your scarf from behind without warning and the knot instantly digs into your windpipe as he yanks the garment back in an attempt to rip it off of you. You sputter and flail your hands to signal for him to let go, to warn him of the danger that lingers in your head with Deku's last warning, but it's not enough.

You hear a piece of embroidery thread snap somewhere in his closed fist. A gust of humid air blasts across you and the weight above you disappears immediately, followed by a nauseating crunch of bones breaking amid the shatter of cracked marble. You wail in fear, clutching to the warmth that had drifted through you with both arms over your head as you sob into the marble. You can't bring yourself to move yet.

Where are you? You said you'd be watching out for me…

You finally force yourself upright once you begin to lose circulation in your arms. You wipe your face, sniffling quietly as you turn. You nearly collapse as a petrified shriek rips itself out of your chest: the hunter had been thrown back against the marble wall next to the door with enough force to crater it inward. His unmoving frame is slumped over in the center amid a splash of red that drips heavily off the jagged edges around him.

It isn't the wall that grabs your attention, though: his tunic has been ripped with several round puncture wounds arranged in a rough circle, the apparent source of the blood pooling at his sides. You tremble from head to toe despite the summer breeze coursing through the room. The longer you stare at the hunter's chest wounds and the way they're arranged, the more they begin to look like…

"Antler wounds."

You smack a hand over your mouth like you'd just hexed someone. He really had been watching out… somehow. What kind of magic had gone into your scarf's embroidered edge? You run your fingers over it, seeking out the thread that snapped. The wind dies out in time for you to hear another set of feet shuffling in the room. It's almost too much; you nearly faint with the panic that latches around your throat. You sway back toward the altar to use for leverage as your knees once again threaten to buckle and are bolstered by a rough set of hands that press against your shoulder blades to keep you upright.

You're too strung out to do anything but gape as Deku - the real one, the same one from the year before with his antlers and freckles and big, terrifying green eyes oh gods he's finally here - steps around and immediately yanks you against his chest. You cling back with both arms circled tight around his ribs and let out another ragged sob into the soft fabric of his cloak.

"Are you okay?" he rumbles. You can only nod back and clutch him like he's keeping you anchored to the ground. You feel his head turn above yours, toward the cracked wall and what remains of the hunter, and a low growl vibrates through him. "I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I tried to get here as fast as I could." You feel his arms tighten around your upper half, boxing you in and insulating you from the sight behind him.

"You saved me," you manage to choke back. "You don't have to apologize for anything." You step back far enough to wipe at your eyes and clear your sinuses, trembling like a leaf in the circle of his arms. "What was that? What attacked him?"

Deku's mouth draws into a tense line. "I can't tell you," he replies. "But I know someone who can." You blink, confused by his ambivalence. "Have you considered what we talked about last year?"

…What? "Of course I have," you retort. Your head hurts. Where's that spiced wine when you need it? "But I hardly think this is a time to talk about-"

"No no no, think about it," Deku cuts in hurriedly. "I don't mean this in a threatening way at all, but the people of your village are going to get suspicious when someone turns up dead with a set of puncture wounds to the chest."

Your entire body numbs out with panic. He's right. Your gaze snaps to the top of his head, where a set of now fully grown antlers jut out of his wild verdant curls. You begin to count how many points they have, but shove the impulse away with disgust. You don't want to know. Even if you did, it's probably for the best to remain ignorant for now.

Voices echo through the open roof from somewhere beyond, possibly the temple courtyard. "I have to go," he says with a hint of genuine hurt. "They can't find me."

This is too much. The decision to leave was always supposed to be planned out. You've had an entire year to get everything ready, only to have your plans shattered into jagged chunks of broken marble by a drunk hunter and some creature powerful enough to kill him with velocity alone. You clutch yourself to his chest again as panic grips your throat with white-hot claws. "We'll find a way to come back, right?" you whisper with a silent prayer of hope to the entire cosmos.

He nods. "I swear it on my name." He pushes you gingerly by the shoulders so he can look you in the face again, his own tense with mounting anxiety. "We have to go now, my sparrow. Please… I'm begging you, come with me. I don't want to go back without you again." His hands tighten over your shoulders as tears well up along the edges of his wide green eyes. "Please."

It feels like your heart has been ripped out of your chest and flung out through the open roof. You open your mouth to blurt out some pained apology for making him assume you'd say no, the voices outside growing louder and clearer in the pause, but can only choke around a whimper as everything you want to say jams in your throat. Instead you simply nod, a single weak incline of your head.

That's all it takes for him to scoop you around the waist again and drag you both sideways toward the corner where he appeared. "You might be kind of shocked when we get through," he warns as he hurls you both toward the marble seam you're convinced is going to split your head open on contact. "Hold your breath!"

The command is sharp enough to make your lungs draw in a deep inhale without conscious thought. Your eyes snap shut as your forehead approaches the shadowed corner; it meets only an icy wall of air as the lights beyond your closed eyelids pitches black. You can feel Deku holding you around the waist, an anchor that keeps you tethered to your own sanity as he rushes you through the dark at breakneck pace. The icy rush whipping against your face seems to deplete the lungful of air you're still stubbornly holding onto and within seconds they're screaming for relief. Deku smacks a hand over your mouth just when you think you're going to break and try to take a breath, and a second later you're both tumbling across the stone floor of an unfamiliar but warm kitchen.

---

Part 4

The second your head stops spinning long enough to see again, you realize there's a woman standing between you and Deku. You weakly recognize the faded emerald of the hair she has trimmed neatly at her shoulders. You glance her over and realize with a jump that the skin you can see around her modest summer dress is a pale shamrock green.

"By the gods, who's chasing you now?"

You blink from where you've landed in a sprawl sprawl against an ornately carved kitchen cabinet, too dizzy from the rush of air that fills your lungs when you take a greedy inhale to answer immediately (even though the question was clearly directed at Deku, who landed upside down with his long legs arched over his head against a stone hearth in a corner of the kitchen). You take another breath, but the bottoms of your lungs feel heavy like they've been filled with a thick gas. Deku slumps over to right himself and immediately looks to you. You're beginning to breathe faster as exhaustion gives way to panic.

The woman turns, fixing you with a look of shock that probably rivals your own. She's a spitting image of Deku, down to the ear points that poke out of her silver-streaked hair and the way her eyes go impossibly wide with genuine emotion. "You're human!" she exclaims.

You nod back, too panicked to form proper words. "Oh… oh, you're human!"

She jumps into motion like she'd just been zapped by a bolt of lightning. She procures a large wooden bowl from a cabinet and fills it with a few handfuls of herbs snatched from dried bundles hanging over the hearth, then steaming water from a kettle that she carefully pulls out from its resting place in the coals. She mutters something in a lilt you can't follow as the bowl is set on the floor in front of you, the woman following suit to kneel on the other side. "Lean down and breathe through the steam," she instructs gently, tilting down to encourage the motion. "The air here is different from the other side. You need to coat your lungs before they start rejecting the pollen floating around."

You tilt forward with a choked noise of panic and take as deep of a breath as you can with the steaming water wafting up across your face. Relief finds you immediately: you can draw a breath all the way to the bottom of your lungs, which takes the edge off your panic enough to finally slow down your respiration rate.

"There you go," the woman encourages gently. She rests a small, comforting hand between your shoulders that's shockingly cold for how warm the kitchen is. "You should be fine now." She turns to give her son an exasperated look. "You brought a human back without giving her anything to prepare?"

"I didn't have a choice!" Deku pleads back. "It was that or risk an entire war on their side-"

The woman holds up a hand to stop him and Deku immediately obeys. "Hold on," she says slowly, turning back to look at you with both brows raised. Her gaze drops to your neck and freezes. "You're the temple girl, the one he's been going to see."

The room goes silent, spare the crackling of the fireplace and your own rapid heartbeat. The older dryad watches, still as stone as she takes you in with one long look before staring at the fabric around your neck once more. All you can do is nod back. something akin to pain flashes across her face and she sits up with a fond smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm sure you have a lot of questions, but I think it might be best if you let my son explain a majority of them over some tea. You look exhausted."

My son. "So you're Deku's mother?"

The dryad wrinkles her nose. "Yes," she replies stiffly. "Though I very much dislike his chosen name. It's undignified." She turns to Deku again. "You haven't given her your name yet?"

Deku waves his hands in front of him and goldfishes for a response before you cut in. "It's not his fault," you quickly counter. "I didn't want to offer mine. I was raised in a temple that had some pretty strict rules against that in particular."

"Understandable. Though I can't say I'm thrilled at the prospect of my own son having courted someone for nearly an entire year-" (Courted, what!?) "-Without even having offered his name."

"I did offer it!"

His mother chuckles. "I have to fetch someone who will be of much more significant counsel than I, but that will give you two some time to settle in."

You nod in acknowledgment, but her words don't really process in your brain. Now that you're breathing normally again, exhaustion has begun to creep into your bones. You'd been going on fumes before the hunter decided to ambush you, and now that you've quietly literally been flung through a Fae circle it's hard to do anything but lean against the cabinet. The dryad brushes her hand over your shoulder as she passes on her way out. "My name is Inko" echoes through your own head with the contact, jarring you into a sharp yelp, which only makes her chuckle in the same light-as-air way as Deku.

"Well… this is a hell of a way to meet someone's parents."

Said dryad has found his feet and is watching you with a sheepish smile, a hand absently scratching at the base of an antler. "At least it's over now?"

Your head thumps back against the cabinet. This is too much. You need to sleep. If you don't find somewhere to lay down soon, your body is going to give out. "Could we just…" You glance around the kitchen and into the room beyond, where another hearth flickers around a circle of ornately carved wooden den furniture. Perfect.

He follows your line of sight and seems to catch on without you having to finish your request. He moves toward you, arms extended to help you to your feet. When you wobble upon standing he immediately seams your sides up to take a gentle lead toward the sitting room. The furniture all looks hand-carved, the seats made up of soft animal hides that look older than both of you. He lays you down on the longest bench with a small blanket under your head for a pillow, the deerhide that's draped over the back of the sofa gently pulled across you for a proper blanket.

"We can talk later." He leans down to press a kiss to your temple. You groan as he turns to move away, an arm shooting out from under the hide to grab his tunic and hold him in place.

"Wait," you plead quietly, fatigue tugging heavily at your eyelids. "Please stay with me, at least until I fall asleep." You have no idea where you are or how long you'll be out. All you know is Deku being gone means you're here alone and you absolutely cannot bear that thought.

A soft smile breaks across his face. "Of course," he murmurs back. "Anything you need, just like I promised." You scoot to make room and he steps over to fit himself between you and the back of the sofa without prompting. This is what you really needed: a space heater behind you, a fire in front, and a strong arm draping itself over your midsection to hold the knotted ends of your scarf as you both drift off. If nothing else, Deku has more than proven he'll kill anything that comes near you… or at least has access to something that can.

He's still there when you come to. The lighting in the room hasn't changed when you open your eyes to peer around, and it isn't until now that you notice neither the kitchen nor den have any windows. The fire has burned down to a low pile of flickering embers, which means you were at least out long enough to burn through what had been there earlier. With no view of the sun, however, it's impossible to tell how long you were out.

Your stirring rouses Deku, who grunts in his sleep and pulls you back into his chest. The arm cradled under yours has turned an eerie cold. When it registers you sit up to face him, concerned until it snaps into another bolt of shock.

You yelp and fall off the edge of the sofa. Deku's skin has turned a shade of green identical to his mother's, his freckles standing out in sharp contrast. He bolts upright as well, looking around for the source of the panic before he spots you on the floor, half covered by the deer hide you'd accidentally tugged with you. "What's wrong?" he asks urgently, glancing around again.

"You're…"

He gives you a puzzled look, then glances down to where you're staring at his forearms. "Oh!" His hands rub absently at the opposite forearm as his cheeks flush ever so slightly. "Uh… yeah. I told you you might be a little shocked."

Shit. You did it again. You push yourself up to scoot onto the end of the sofa near his feet, and he respectfully folds his legs up to his chest to give you room without having to make contact. It's a gesture you appreciate, but not one you (or him) necessarily need. You sidle up to his shins, where you lean your side with your hands acting as a chin rest on his knees.

"Surprised is more the word," you clarify before poking your tongue out at him playfully. "A little advance notice would have been nice."

"Hey now," Deku chuckles. "I tried. We had a solid plan going there for a minute." He reaches a hand forward and, with a twitch of hesitation, shifts a lock of hair off your forehead and behind an ear. His fingertips are ice cold, a sharp juxtaposition to the warmth in his tone and the care with which he brushes across your skin. "I'm glad you're here, regardless of how it came to be. I've thought of you every single day since my last visit."

How had anyone mistaken dryads for monsters? If the others are a fraction as kind as Deku and his mother, then they've been handed a grave injustice when it comes to human comprehension of their kind. You lean your head toward his hand and he opens his fingers. Your cheek brushes against his weathered palm, eliciting a shiver that courses down your back as the temperature of his skin clashes against the warmth of the den. For a long moment you simply exist, anchored by the green stare fixed upon your own and the callused thumb that smooths over your cheek. Whatever it takes for you to keep this kind of tenderness around will be well worth the effort. You've already decided (long ago, you silently realize) that he is the only one you ever want to be this close to you.

"Do I make you nervous?"

You're taken back to the altar room for a moment as you recall the image of Deku sitting on the pedestal, bathed in pale light with the cicadas humming behind his ethereal laugh. "No," you reply truthfully, hushed and reverent in the slowly disappearing space between you as you both lean forward. Both your eyelids lower as you both lean closer. It's a chaste contact when Deku leans in to kiss you, as soft as his tone and the way he brushes the rest of your hair from the side of your face. Within a few seconds, the soft contact is enough to have you melting against his hand.

A deep male voice breaks the reverie from somewhere behind Deku: "Ah, excuse us…"

This time you both jump hard enough to nearly land on your asses. Deku pushes himself back until he thumps against the arm rest of the sofa as Inko enters the room, followed by what can only be described as a mountain of a man with wild goldenrod hair and deep-set sclera black eyes, their vivid contrasting pupils locked directly on you as he and the dryad approach.

"I hate to be a bother and intrude on such a formative moment, but Inko was insistent upon checking to make sure you're both still alive." He bows his head in deep apology. You're startled by how easily he seems to hold himself level with the massive antlers jutting out of his hair; they're taller than his head and several inches wider on either side. As you force yourself to not take count of the antler points, you vaguely wonder to yourself how he fits through doorways or in anything less than giant-sized.

Deku rises to his feet, and you quickly follow suit. "Ahh, this is my father," he says quickly. "I get the feeling you two are going to be fast friends."

"If you're willing to risk traversal sickness for her, she's got to be worth her weight in gold," the man booms back. He approaches with a hand the size of a serving platter toward you, the deep lines of his face bent around a beaming grin you recognize on the spot. "My name is Yagi Toshinori. Don't worry, it's safe to introduce yourself to me. I'm not Fae."

You twitch your head to the side but take his hand to shake it anyway, suddenly flummoxed. "But the antlers…"

"A by-product of the life I've found for myself." He lifts an arm as Inko steps up to his side and lays it over her back. It's kind of amusing to see such a small woman under the arm of a moving mountain, but the care with which he moves about her is heart-warmingly familiar. "All by choice, zero regrets."

The two of them take a seat on a smaller bench in the den, and you and Deku take your seats once they're both settled. "The drop in is rough, eh? That ice tunnel is awful."

You frown back. "How did you find this place?"

"I didn't find this place." He puts his arm behind Inko's neck, who leans into him with an appreciative hum. "I found my wife first. She's the one who brought me here."

You can't help but laugh, and mercifully the other three join in. "That sounds familiar," you reply through a chuckle.

"It happens less than it used to, but it's not unheard of," Inko adds. "I had a feeling my son would be following in my footsteps."

There's just enough flatness to her words that you squirm on the spot. "I hope that's not a bad thing," Deku says as he draws himself closer to your side. "Unless my logic is severely flawed, there wouldn't be a son to follow in your footsteps if you hadn't done it first."

Yagi lets out an undignified snort. Inko tries to frown, but it breaks around a smile as she nods in defeat. "All the same, I wish this hadn't been so sudden," she adds. "Not that I'm upset you're here now-" She holds a hand up quickly toward you. "-It was just rather abrupt. I wish we could have had time to prepare a proper welcome."

You glance down to your lap. "Deku saved me from something terrible," you respond quietly. "We didn't really have a choice in the matter." You look up again to offer the older dryad an encouraging smile. "Though rest assured he's been nothing but respectful the entire time I've known him." You bow your head politely. "Your hospitality is much appreciated. Thank you for giving me shelter."

Something behind Inko's eyes softens enough to make your heart twist. She watches you for a long moment, studying you as you do your best to not squirm. "The door has been opened for this place to potentially become your home," she replies to break the silence. "No need to speak of it as a foreign place. You already belong."

You feel Deku draw in a sharp breath. When you glance up to him he's hastily wiping his eyes on the back of his free hand. "Don't mind me," he chirps with a slight tremble. "This is normal. Been a crybaby since I was a sapling."

"You are not a crybaby," Yagi jabs back as he casually swipes a thumb under one of his eyes. "You have a heart."

And I wonder where he gets it, you think to yourself as you lean into Deku's side to comfort him.

The situation that brought Deku's parents together is so similar to your own it's almost eerie: Toshinori had been a well-known hunter from another village who found himself "lost" during an extended journey into the forest; in reality, he'd been lured away from the village so a team of rogues could take him out and claim his hunting grounds. He reached out for Inko, who'd already been coming around in a similar fashion to Deku responding to your meditation, and she answered by snaring the entire group in a wave of venom-thorned vines before sweeping him through a circle and away from the chaos. They were married within a year, and Deku came along a few years after that.

"It's oddly romantic, when you take out the death-by-murder-vine part," you offer to keep the mood light. All three of them laugh, especially Inko, who chortles behind her hand until her cheeks turn pink.

Something is digging at you, though. You can't let the entire moment go without at least trying to ask. "You said you're human," you repeat to Yagi. "But you also say the antlers come from magic. I thought we couldn't access magic."

"We can't," he replies casually. Thank goodness, you'd been incredibly nervous about broaching such a personal subject. "Not by default, at least. Humans haven't earned the right as a whole. However, sometimes things happen and the magic itself chooses someone who might be worth it." He nods toward the scarf tied around your neck. "Not just anyone can affect a connection through something like that. It takes something predetermined by forces beyond our control for that connection to be forged at all."

The air in your lungs evaporates. "So this was fate."

Yagi nods sagely. "Yes, as was me coming here. We aren't the first, and we won't be the last." He jabs a finger at Deku, who's taken to clinging to your side like a newborn bear cub. "His antlers, however, come from a direct blood connection to feral magic. He's full dryad, and it'll be even more apparent once he's eventually the most powerful one."

The world screeches to a halt amid Yagi's beaming pride. You feel Deku go very, very still next to you. "Um… I beg your pardon?"

"The Ascendant," Inko answers. "There is a thread of feral magic more concentrated than anything else recorded in our history. It chooses who it resides within, and whoever that force chooses is essentially the most powerful being in our charted world." She inclines her head toward her son. "And one day that will be him."

You look between the two of them, then back to Yagi. "So that means you're the Ascendant."

"For the moment. My time is coming to an end soon. I've served my purpose, so it's time for the next cycle to begin."

"You don't mean…"

Yagi's eyes go wide. "Oh no no no, I'm not going to die, dear," he booms. "It's time for me to pass along my power. I'm fortunate to have a successor in time, and it would seem like this little excursion is a good indicator he might be prepared for it."

"We don't know that," Deku cuts in, and it isn't until now that you notice how flushed his cheeks are. "It'll happen if it's meant to happen, right?" You lay a hand on his knee that's immediately covered by one of his own. He sags into your side in quiet gratitude.

Inko nods. "And it hasn't happened yet, so we won't fret about it for now." Her tone is soft, but there's a comforting finality ronit that effectively ends the subject for discussion.

You're given a tour of their house, which Deku fervently clarifies is not the place where he's lived for several years (Inko replies with a smug "And yet there's almost always a third plate at the table", which seems to be more than enough for him to take a back seat with his dad and let Inko lead them around). She walks you through the lower floor, where several cozy bedrooms are situated around a circular pit set into the floor. The center is full of a myriad of cushions and pillows in an eye-catching pile of patterns and colors all jumbled together in a space wide enough to fit at least three Yagis with extra foot room. "You can pick any of the empty rooms for yourself," Inko says to you sweetly before shooting a pointed look toward her son, who drops his head and shuffles anxiously on the spot. "But I ask that you remain in yours. I know you're grown, but this is my-"

Deku squirms harder. "Yep, got it," he confirms hastily. It's clear there's literally anything else he'd rather be talking about. "Can we start dinner? I'm starving."

Your stomach audibly rumbles at the mention of food. Yes, that's an excellent idea for more than one reason. When is the last time you ate? If you can't remember, it's probably been way too long. Yagi sweeps everyone toward the stairs with both arms stretched to herd them forward. You silently thank him with a smile as he squeezes your shoulder on the way past.

Four people working at once means dinner is made with a quickness, something you're intensely grateful for when you finally sit down to ea. Your stomach hurts from lack of food so much it almost hurts more to eat until you've got enough sustenance in you to level out. You see to the tableware afterward as Deku cleans what remains of the kitchen mess. The other two take their leave for the night with one last round of greeting, Inko's eyes trained on her son as she warns him about "straying past boundaries" on the way toward the stairs, her husband chortling the whole time.

You and Deku wait in silence until a door audibly opens and closes again. "Well," Deku chirps as he turns to face you with an equally cheeky grin. "I guess I'll bid you goodnight here as well. I'll show you where I live tomorrow, once we've both had a chance to sleep." He takes your hand and kisses the back of it with a dramatic bow. "Sweet dreams, my sparrow."

You snort and take your hand back, but not before giving his fingers a gentle squeeze. "Good night, Deku." His grin turns sly as he moves off to his own room, leaving you to find the smallest unoccupied bedroom for yourself.

---

Part 5

The next morning both Inko and Yagi see you both out, the former not allowing her son to leave the house before he's verbally promised to come by soon (and in a hushed whisper to keep you safe). It isn't until you're outside that the lack of windows is explained: the front of Inko's home is set underneath the roots of a gargantuan tree that juts straight up toward the sky in a massive straight line. You peer upward toward the canopy, but it's so far above the other trees the bare trunk is swallowed by the forest crown on all sides with no way to see beyond. The house sits at the head of a narrow trail with more angled trees visible down the road. "The sooner we get there, the sooner we can get settled," he reminds, offering you a bent elbow.

You smile and slip a hand onto his forearm. You take the short walk to his home in lockstep, Deku's skin cooler in the open breeze where it brushes under your fingers. The air is heavy with humidity and the chill of a light fog that hovers over the trail as you walk down it, bugs chirping and creaking from the grass on either side of the path. It's… idyllic.

Deku's house is almost identical to Inko's, but it's only a single floor and houses, much to your delight, a natural spring under the kitchen. He waves you toward it with a grin and something about a fresh tunic, but that devious little glint in his eye is back when he meanders off to change his clothes as you see yourself downstairs.

The hot spring is a deep pool in its own room with a shallow end that slopes up to the water's edge. The torch-illuminated rock wall behind it shimmers with a stream of water that runs down from somewhere above and down into the pool in a soft, trickling wall, next to a sitting area has been carved out of the rock to the right side of the pool. You dig out a couple of towels and a robe made of butter-soft material from a cabinet before ridding yourself of your dirty temple garb and every garment underneath it, your prized scarf folded lovingly on top of the pile before everything gets placed in a basket next to the edge of the pool. You can't bring yourself to leave the scarf somewhere out of arm's reach, and your robes are the last real thing you own.

The water is hot when you step onto the shallowest shelf, not enough to burn but definitely enough to pull a groan of satisfaction from you as you eagerly step in until you're submerged to your bare chest. Every muscle in your back begins to unclench themselves within seconds. You sink lower into the water, past your chin with a slow inhale and all the way down until your knees touch the stone floor of the pool. Everything goes quiet in a rush of water: it fills your ears and drowns out everything else but the odd bubble of warmth you've found below the water's surface. Your nerves balm themselves over for the first time since flying through the ring amid the trickling quiet. I's just you here, with no one else to drop another surprise on you. You stay submerged as long as you can before pushing back up to breach the surface with a satisfied gasp, your head clearer than it's been for days.

You wipe at your face to clear your eyes of excess water and the first thing you see is Deku hovering at the edge of the shallow bank, a towel slung low over his hips. You yelp and jump back amid a slosh of water, partially out of shock and partially to keep yourself from immediately staring at his bare torso. It isn't enough to stave off the newfound knowledge that he's built like a sprint courier and that he's very, very much naked under the towel. "Gods, you've got to quit startling me," you whimper as you swipe a wet hand over your face.

Deku laughs. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. To be fair, you were underwater when I opened the door."

You grouse back, but it has no heat. He's right.

"Can I join you?"

Your playful frown turns genuine. "I thought that was understood."

"You didn't say I could come close. You're vulnerable right now. If you tell me to stay out, I will."

"You're very polite for someone who's already stripped down."

His cheeks flush bright pink. "I was hopeful," he replies in an obvious attempt to be aloof, but it doesn't quite mesh with the way he keeps jerking his gaze away from the surface of the water (and, you realize with a bolt of mortification, a clear enough view of your naked form for him to definitely see). "But I meant what I said."

The urge to test him and see what happens flashes through you, but it doesn't seem worth the effort. At the end of it all, you do want him to come closer. You step toward him, willing yourself to keep moving as the water lowers enough to expose your chest. Deku seems equally dead-set on keeping his eyes raised, your flushes a matching shade of garish pink now and getting deeper as you come within arm's reach of him and offer a hand.

"Please?"

His hesitation snaps in an instant. Deku throws the towel aside and hurtles toward the pool, only giving you barely enough time to step aside and avoid the splash of water that cascades over you. He resurfaces and shakes his hair out before turning to face you, grinning from ear to ear. "Am I dreaming? Is this really happening?"

Given your own doubts, there's only one real way to tell. You take the initiative and glide toward him in two long steps and snake your arms around his neck. As soon as you're in reach he pulls you in by the waist and kisses the air right out of your lungs. You break away for a breath, but as soon as you've gotten it he tugs you again and the kiss quickly grows sharper with edges of teeth that clack together every time one of you readjusts your head. A hand pushes into your hair to cradle the back of your head; when you tilt into the angle of his hand he presses his tongue past your lips and all bets are off.

The delicacy with which he's touched you so far is gone. Deku kisses like he's been starved of contact for years on end. You give back everything you're given with enthusiasm until you're both struggling to inhale. A dam has been broken: every bit of excitement, fear, doubt, and loneliness that's eaten at you over the years rushes forth in a tidal wave and it's all you can do to cling to him and hope you're not going to wake up in your own bed at any second.

You finally separate with a wet pop. The both of you hover close enough to brush together as you struggle to regain some composure. Deku sighs quietly, his chest still rising and falling hard enough to disturb the water around him. "So I'm not dreaming," he says quietly. "Good. I dunno if I could have handled waking up without you again."

His admission wobbles around a thread of genuine hurt that has you pulling him into a tight hug, your arms wrapped around him tight. You circle your fingernails over the backs of his shoulders in lazy circles. "You don't have to," you murmur into his ear. "We're both here now." Which, wow that's a wild truth, but it's a truth nonetheless.

Deku clings back with his face buried in the crook of your neck. A silence lapses with only trickling water to fill the gap. There's no need for either of you need to say anything: there's a wealth of communication in the reciprocal drags of his nails, the tiny ghosting pecks he leaves under your ear, the little sighs when you drag your nails up toward his neck. You're more than aware of the fact that there's something hard pressing into your lower stomach that definitely isn't his abs, but your curiosity can wait.

He doesn't seem to agree. The pecks along your throat lengthen into full kisses as he settles above the thump of your pulse. A faint drag of teeth makes you jump and he muffles a laugh into your neck. "So jumpy," he purrs.

You give him a nip to an earlobe in retaliation. He jumps on the spot as you chuckle into his ear: "Who's jumpy?"

That seems to hit a switch. You're pulled up and out of the water in one unceremonious grab as Deku hauls you over a shoulder. Your yelp echoes off the walls but he pays them no mind, spare a wet smack to your bare ass. He doesn't leave you with any other real option besides being hauled out of the spring and up the stairs once again.

His room is somewhere deep in the house. It's impossible to ascertain exactly what anything looks like while you're slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, so when he shuts the door of a bedroom warmed by a crackling floor pit it's a bit of a shock.

You fully expect to be thrown down, but instead he braces you under the knees and neck to set you on an impossibly soft blanket stretched across his bed. He steps back, a look of apprehension on his features when they come back into view. "As much as I want this," he says as your sense of gravity corrects itself. "I won't touch you unless you want me to. That was rather… abrupt, and I apologize for it."

It takes a second for you to realize why he's even apologizing. The guilt twisting across his face is what makes it click: you hadn't told him to pick you up. It's your turn to frown as you lean toward him. "I'm not mad," you offer gently. "But I appreciate your apology. It's okay. I want to be here."

Deku's apprehension ebbs, but doesn't completely disappear. "You give me your word?"

You nod without hesitation. His smile returns immediately, radiant amid the firelight, and your stomach flips with elation as he eagerly closes the distance between you.

He settles low between your spread knees, a solid weight that keeps you in place without much room to breathe, let alone think. You're dizzy with the intensity, but you kiss him back with every bit of fervor you're given. Deku groans against your flattened tongues. "Can I taste you?"

You nod without opening your eyes and the weight above you slides downward. It's definitely for the best that you hadn't watched him move: a long, hot tongue drags up your slit and draws your back up off the bed in a graceful arc. He seizes you around the waist with a muffled groan.

He takes you apart with a ferocity that's almost scary. Sharp dives of his tongue punctuate the moments he's not wrapped around your core, alternating every time your wails start to get louder or shake apart. You grip at the blanket above your head for an anchor, but abandon it in favor of the verdant curls on top of his head when a cruel twist of his tongue has you pushing nearly all the way off the bed.

His name flying past your lips mixes with a weak moan from the juncture where his face is buried. "Watch the horns," he whimpers (gods, it shouldn't be so hot to hear someone's voice crack). "But do that again."

You tighten your grip obligingly. His head pulls ever so slightly against your grip when he returns to devouring you with a newfound focus. Something thick prods past your folds and you jerk your head up in surprise, but it's a critical mistake. You're afforded a full view of him with his tongue pressed flat to your core and two thick fingers burying themselves to the thickest knuckle and it rips you right over the edge before you can even draw a breath.

He coaxes you through it, drinking you down with your thighs wedged directly over his ears. When you can finally move them away, you're almost concerned you might have hurt him. But then he sits up, his chin shining in the dim light with a wet grin planted just above it, and there's absolutely no doubt he was just as into it as you were. Your own grin edges on feral. "You gonna stop there, or are you gonna take care of yourself as well?"

Deku snorts with an edge of derision that has you shivering. "You think I'm done with you?"

Oh.

He's back in position with one sharp swoop. This time he throws either leg over his own, splaying your knees wide around his ribs. A wave of self-awareness punches you square in the gut as he drags his eyes down the length of your exposed frame. "Incredible," he breathes. "I've never seen anything as beautiful as you."

You squirm, but will yourself to remain still. It's almost too much. There's so much tenderness behind the wild thrum shaking through him you're not sure how you even deserve it. Thankfully, his patience seems to run out just as your resolve to remain still snaps. He kisses you again as something thicker presses into you, drawing out a prolonged moan from both of you that breaks off when your laps settle together. "Hang on," Deku grunts hard against your lips. "N-need a second."

He's shaking under your arms where they're circled around his neck, but that could very easily also be you. "Yeah. Gods, Deku, you're-"

"Izuku."

The entire room goes still. He locks eyes with you, his own blown wide with only a ring of gold-flecked emerald left. Fear jumps across them while his throat bibs around a hard swallow. "That's my name. I just want you to have it. You don't have to give me yours."

Fear twists your heart for just a beat before it's replaced by a heavy warmth. You reach a hand up toward his face where it hovers just above yours, tentative and soft, the finger that curls his hair behind an ear ever so gentle. "Soon," you whisper back.

Izuku beams. "I'll wait as long as it takes."

Your lips crash together again, both of them curved upward around matching smiles. Izuku sets up a pace that keeps you close while still allowing him to take the lead and kiss the air out of your lungs, skin softly popping together with shallow thrusts without stopping. He has each hip in hand again with a grip that slowly increases with his breathing. Before long you're both panting into each other's ear, your head thrown back while he worries your throat with his teeth and grunts with barely restrained need.

"Won't last long," he rumbles.

You nod your acknowledgment. You've been a puddle since the second he laid you on the bed and took you apart like a prized garment. It's only fair he ends up just as boneless as you. You set your knees around his ribs to lift yourself into him, but both knees are pushed to the bed just as quickly. Izuku is watching where your bodies meet with a feverish focus. He doesn't seem entirely aware that he's got you completely splayed open but he thrusts hard and deep anyway, guttural noises punching out of him in time with the snapping of wet skin.

He finds an angle that seems to hit right up into your midsection and it's all over. He rips a wail out of you before your mouths are sealed together again, his pace unrelenting. You fall apart hard enough to make your entire frame quake under his grip, which has tightened enough to leave deep bruises where his fingers dig into your thighs. Just when it feels like you might actually have to tap out or risk going unconscious he thrusts in one more time with a sharp growl, then another, then a final one deep in his chest as he rolls himself into your hips and finally paints your insides white hot.

You're both trembling like leaves when he finally collapses on top of you again. You run your nails through the damp curls over his temples as he returns the favor along your hips, idle and tender despite the harsh bruises you can feel blooming along your inner thighs. Your breathing comes back slowly as you lazily kiss through the aftershocks, hands never ceasing in their wandering. It's a perfect feedback loop of calm and relief with only the fire to witness in the otherwise empty house.

As your breathing returns to normal you nudge Izuku up enough to meet his eyes. They've gone back to their normal emerald, the flicker of the fire catching hair-thin veins of gold. With the curved points of his horns looming overhead and flush-kissed shamrock skin, he should be some kind of intimidating. Instead, you can't stop staring at him. He's ethereal, more so than anything you've ever seen in any tome or heard in any story. He's real. He's flesh and bone and big, soft eyes and a heart entirely too warm for a creature who could take down minotaurs bare-handed.

And yet he looks at you like you're made of Faerie porcelain.

The corners of your mouth curl upward. You beckon for him to lean forward again and he does so, seemingly as transfixed as you. You pull him down so your lips can brush the shell of his ear and, after a ghosting kiss to his cheek, you whisper your name.

#midoriya izuku x reader #midoriya izuku imagines #bnha imagines #bnha smut #bnha server collab #citrus dome collabs #my fics

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