Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Izuku Midoriya was eleven years old the first time he ever read fanfiction.

That day he had come home with tear streaked cheeks and hazy eyes.

Izuku had been suicide baited for the first time—Been told to slit his throat. Really, toeing off his shoes, he hadn’t even understood why he was so upset about it. It was nothing graphic, just a short sentence. In fact, the kids at his school would even tell others to kill themselves, albeit jokingly.

It hadn’t really felt like it was a joke though. Not to Izuku, at least. It was hard to see it as something so innocent when the boy who had uttered those exact words proceeded to shove him into a puddle of mud. Even if they had meant it however, it wasn't really too bad. He was just being sensitive again, wasn't he?

What else explained how Izuku had been able to handle fists to his face yet been unable to handle a mere sentence?

What else explained how it felt like there was something heavy lodged in his throat, threatening to choke him with every breath?

Izuku had never experienced that before, and if he was really that sad, then it was probably just him overthinking it all.

Right?

Hunched over his computer, Izuku realized that he didn't really know what to do to get rid of that awful feeling. In the end, after a bit of pondering, he decided to treat this emotion like he treated all his other negative emotions; distracting himself with his favourite hobbies. His favorite hobby had always been hero analysis, but Izuku felt so numb he didn’t really know if he could manage to hold a pencil, nonetheless write. So, he went on to do his second favorite thing, hunched over his computer. Scroll through hero forums.

And that was exactly what he was doing when he came across a post on one of his favourite forums. A fanfiction review.

Back then, eleven year old Izuku knew what fanfiction was. He just hadn’t really thought about ever reading one. After skimming over the review though, he was really tempted to read it. It seemed like a great fanfiction! Besides, maybe it would finally get rid of whatever was restricting him from properly breathing.

----

Izuku ended up loving the fanfiction.

It had been a soft one, stuffed to the brim with teeth-rotting fluff. Reader-centric fanfiction where Y/N was taken in by All-might as his sidekick.
And as a cherry on top, Izuku had felt like he could finally breathe properly at the end of it!

He didn’t end up sleeping that night, too fixated on all the other works he could find that contained the tags: “Parental All Might” and “Fluff.”

----

Izuku Midoriya was eleven years old the first time he ever read fanfiction.

He was also eleven years old when he found himself a new hobby to squeeze into second place of his favorite thing to do—Something he would end up doing everyday after he came home from school.

----

Izuku Midoriya was thirteen years old the first time he ever wrote fanfiction. 

He’d always liked writing novels and assignments for school, even if he had to dumb them down a bit so that he wouldn’t be accused of cheating. It was peaceful—his brain was always stuffed full with an endless supply of ideas, and there wasn't many things that relaxed him more than typing out the words his tongue felt too swollen to say.

That wasn’t the only reason as to why he finally wrote his first work though. 

Izuku had always had one, very annoying, problem.

Once he got an idea he just couldn’t let it go.

The idea would stay at the back of his mind, nagging and slowly conquering all of his thoughts until he could think of nothing but the idea itself.

That was actually why he started writing his hero analysis notebooks in the first place, as perceiving anything in action always had him immediately thinking: “How can I improve this?” That applied especially for quirks and heroes, seeing that he was a total nerd for both.

Either way, that was exactly what happened to him the more fanfiction he read. Reading so many good ones, most having slightly different tropes and details, he just couldn’t help but think: “What if I incorporated a bit of everything into one?" At first he had, against his better judgement, tried to ignore the idea.

Writing in general was time consuming and he didn’t even know how to write fanfiction—Judging by what he had read so far, fanfiction differed from his school assignments by quite a lot.

He had managed to hold onto that reasoning for about three days before he finally relented and spent two week writing his first ever fanfiction. It was a one shot—albeit a pretty lengthy one—That was about a middle schooler, Kibo, who met All Might at a convention. He was giving her his autograph when someone suddenly tripped and she immediately rushed to catch them, which piqued All Mights interest. They ended up chatting a bit after the convention had concluded when she accidentally let it slip that she didn’t think she could become a hero. She reasoned that it was impossible because of her weak quirk.

All Might, of course, told her that she could be a hero regardless of her quirk.

Really, it was probably just a reflection of everything Izuku ever wanted back then. To be told by All Might himself that he could be a hero.

All the way back then though Izuku had known, deep down, that it wasn’t really true. All Might himself saying it was great, but anyone believing in him, even a mere stranger, was all Izuku wanted. All he needed. Perhaps it'd even be a bit better; there was a bigger chance that the symbol of piece lied than a stranger who has nothing to lose by spitting vitrol.

Even if that was merely what the whole fanfic was though, Izuku’s delusion, other people seemed to enjoy it. He didn’t gain a hefty amount of traction, but he did gain eleven kudos. That wasn't even the best part though, for he had gotten two positive comments on his work.

Izuku had broken out in tears, sobbing loudly as he read them. They were short but sweet. Nothing special. One just said "Great fanfic, love the writing!" while the other one was a chain of heart emojies.

To Izuku, however, they were everything.

He would always remember the way his heart ached, seeing them for the first time.

His whole life he had never gotten encouragement from anyone other than his mother, which didn't really count. He was constantly being told that his dreams were unrealistic, that he was worthless, and that nothing he ever did was enough.

The comments, on the other hand, contradicted that. Knowing that two people out in the world supported him, felt ever so slightly happy because of something he, worthless Deku had created, was the whole world to him. Izuku knew that if they got to know his true self, not MightyDeku, but the quirkless teenager that was annoying and dramatic, they wouldn’t have gave such praise. He knew that, but he had always been more of the delusional type anyway.

Izuku Midoriya was thirteen the first time he ever wrote fanfiction.

It wasn’t the last time either.

----

Writing his first piece of fanfiction, Izuku Midoriya had no clue what that little one-shot would lead to.

He’d thought he’d write one piece and then permanently leave the author role, continuing with his indulgence in reading fanfiction. Really, he should’ve known better than to be so hopelessly optimistic. By the beginning of his third year he had written thirtytwo fanfics and was a well known fanfiction writer, mainly for his throat clogging angst and teeth rotting fluff, as well as how all characters he’d written had such beautiful depth to them. That being said, he’d rather light himself on fire than have someone know about his extracurricular activities. He had decided early on to take that secret to his grave, even if he was well known for good reason.

Even worse would be telling his readers his identity.

He couldn’t lose them.

Not when those comments were the only thing that motivated him to not slip off his shoes at the top of a roof instead of his gakuran sometimes. Izuku Midoriya doubted that he’d have any readers left if his quirklessness got out to those who praised him like he was some sort of god. Why would he?

It’s not like he was anything beyond quirkless.

He’s quirkless before he’s human.

Of course.

It’s not like he has any personality beyond being some fucking quirkless object.

Even though his mother swears that he’s more, because of course everyone he’s ever fucking met they realize he’s not all that great right when they hear that he’s quirkless. It has nothing to do with his status though, of course, because they’d never be quirkist. That’s just wrong, no… It’s all just a coincidence.

Except it’s not a fucking coincidence. They’ll all love him, call him precious and kind and adorable and perfect, until the moment that goddamn status comes out. Because that’s when they all suddenly think he’s disgusting, a waste of air, a waste of space. If that’s not what they think, then he’ll be nothing but someone to pity—Someone weak and disabled. He’ll never be Midoriya Izuku before he’s QUIRKLESS Midoriya Izuku. That’s how it’s always been, how it always will be. Even his fucking mother sees him more as quirkless than a person. She assures him she doesn’t, but really she just pities him.

Quirkless Midoriya Izuku really does love her, but sometimes she can simply be so infuriating. She thinks he can’t do a single fucking thing before somehow hurting himself, because he’s just an unevolved stupid goddamn thing. Anyone else might say that she hides it well. But they are all just mere stupid fools who like to think they’re the smartest in the room. And if they don’t, they certainly don’t even consider Izuku to fill that role. Why would they? Cause it totally makes sense that the lack of a quirk and the addition of some bone in his pinky toe somehow makes him retarted.

And the people that don’t leave him immediately simply aren’t aware that he’s quirkless. At the glittering surface he lkes to think that he at least has the luxury of being himself with those people, but he’s still anonymous, lying, isn’t he? He’s not fully himself. Will never be able to be Equality is impossible and his fate is carved in stone which Quirkless Midoriya Izuku fucking knows. He knows it, except he can’t help but absolutely hate it with every single goddamn bone in his fragile little body.

That rage is always there, pressing against his ribs, pulsing and scorching his very being. It’s blazing so fiercely inside, yet on the outside only visible as a soft glow. Something angelic and beautiful, instead of what it actually is; ugly and raw.

He always has to pretend he’s perfectly fine, happy and blissful, because Quirkless Izuku Midoriya would never be an angry person. He’s a pure, innocent, angel who cannot be taken seriously because he’s nothing but child with rose colored fucking glasses. 

Wait, no. He can't even be just that.

Because he’s a quirkless child with rose fucking colored glasses.

Yes, those nine letters really do make a huge difference to that sentence, don't they?

…

Wait a minute, where was I?

We were talking about Izuku’s knack for fanfiction, weren’t we?

So how did something this… deep shadow the whole plot? That’s not supposed to happen in the first chapter, is it? You’re supposed to slowly venture through that surface until you enter finally depths, not go from admiring the glittering surface to plunging through the darkest abyss in chapter one. That’s just… wrong. Now let’s get back on track.

That one-shot had somehow led to Izuku’s online fame, which also meant more pressure. And that pressure resulted in, well, exhaustion. Being a full on fanfic writer really did take a toll on him, especially his sleep, yet he hadn’t been this close to content in a long time. He’d like to think that the exhaustion was a great price for the following soft, not blazing, warmth that’d smoulder in him while reading those comments.

He’d be even more content as a hero, but Izuku knew deep down that it was impossible, unreachable. Really, anyone he’d ever confided his dreams in had felt like they needed to constantly drill it into his head that it's impossible, for his "safety". Was it really worth hoping, knowing that daring to fly would only make him crash harder in the end?

Chapter Text

The first thing Izuku does when he comes home is throw up, shaky hands clenching the toilet seat and lungs spasming.

Terrible, that's what he feels. And while it of course isn't a good feeling, it’s better than complete emptiness. Even though Izuku knows the emotion is only temporary, and the hollowness will inevitably engulf him once again, he relishes in feeling.

Okay, maybe that’s a bit inaccurate.

He’s not really relishing in the feeling.

It’s actually really hard to appreciate it when his skin feels too tight around his body, uncomfortable and restricting.

He wants to claw it off. Nerves would be on fire and blood would cake under nails, but maybe, for once, Izuku would be able to simply breathe.

Breathe in a way he certainly wasn't doing at the moment, as his breaths were nothing but tiny gasps fighting to break through the waves of vomit.

In a way Izuku had thought that throwing up would make him feel better, but seeing that what he threw up wasn’t food, but green sludge, he just ended up feeling even more nauseous.

He had certainly had an eventful day, hadn’t he?.

The moment school ended he had gotten suicide baited by his best friend—

Kacchan wasn’t his best friend, and hadn't been remotely close with him ever since they were four. Why was he still lying to himself? Was he that delusional?

Foolish. Dumb. Clingy. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid stupid stupid STUPID STU—

—And had then proceeded to get brutally attacked by a villain consisting of sludge—

Drowning, clawing, sludge scraping against raw throat, nose stuffed with– ‘heLP HELP ME SOMEONE WHY ISN’T ANYONE-’

It hadn’t been a very pleasant experience.

Well, at least he had gotten saved in the last second by All Might himself.

He’d emerged from the sewer grate and punched the villain with such force it ended up as nothing but bits of foul-smelling slime splattered across asphalt. And Izuku, of course, ever the desperate, selfish idiot, just had to cling onto All Might’s leg when he was clearly in a rush, thereby being the reason that the sludge-villain-stuffed bottle fell out of All Might’s pocket.

All for a stupid question.

“Can someone without a quirk… Become a hero like you?”
“Without power can one become a hero? No, I think not.”

For once, Izuku hadn’t felt rage. In fact, he hadn’t really felt anything. Just… hollowness. Like he was but a flimsy shell of skin and bones to contain an endless void, chipping away at his very being until he felt nothing but emptiness.

It was almost a bit reminiscent of that time when he had been eleven receiving his first suicide bait, with the numb fingers and clogged throat, except then he had still felt… something. Sadness, shock, whatever.

When met with All Might’s words, he couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, didn’t even know what he was doing. All he knew was that he had thanked All Might on auto-pilot, and didn’t really process the symbol of peace leaving.

The silence that laid over his conscience had been so much more deafening than any level of rage he would ever feel thunder through his core.

Standing on that rooftop, Izuku hadn’t kept track of time. He was unable to, with the way it felt like seconds, minutes, hours, were all just tumbling through twitchy fingers.

When did he stop being four years old? When? It never felt like he’d left those days before the diagnosis—He always continued being so hopelessly optimistic, dead set on being a hero. But he wasn’t four years old anymore. He was a quirkless teenager who had ventured too far into the clouds—It had been about time he got dragged down to earth.

Since the first time he heard about heroes, he knew he had to be one.

It was either being a hero or being dead.

…

Izuku’s eyes had been focused on the rooftop for a while now. On that railing. So close, so short. It would be so easy to just… slip off his shoes and climb up that railing.

His gaze trailed upwards. The sky was breathtaking, radiating waves of deep oranges and soft pinks.

Perhaps the view would be better up on that railing. And was it just him, or were his shoes itchy? Uncomfortable? Scratching against his feet?

He took off his shoes before approaching the railing.

Izuku wasn’t gonna jump.

A leg hooked over the railing.

Of course not, that would just be cruel towards his mother.

Another leg.

And his readers.

A hand tightly gripping railing.

Except would it really be?

A body heaving itself up.

It’s not like anyone would actually care.

The metal felt cool to his touch, like ice creeping up slender fingers.

His mother merely pitied him. She didn’t love him, hadn’t since he was four, and Izuku was nothing but a burden. Inko was constantly working, day and night, scraping together pennies for someone as useless as Izuku.

She’d be so much better off without him anyway.

A shaky exhale.

His readers didn’t know his true self—They’d hate him too if they knew the truth.

…

Izuku had climbed up that railing to be able to appreciate the rolling sky better, but his gaze just… wouldn’t raise itself.

It was fixated on the concrete far, far below him.

A stray thought wormed itself into Izuku’s head, shattering the silence.

Maybe, just maybe, he could finally allow himself to rest.

And for once Izuku listened.

Considered it.

It would be so peaceful….

No more disappointed glares, pitying eyes, no more spider lilies on his desk or scratched out slurs. No more burnt flesh, no more loud explosions and no more vitriol laced words.

So relaxing…

He’d follow Katsuki’s advice, and maybe, for once, the blond wouldn’t feel anger. He’d finally be relieved, seeing that Izuku, annoying quirkless Izuku, was finally gone.

“If you want to be a hero so badly, why don’t you take a swan dive off the top of a building and pray for a quirk in your next life?”

Yes, perhaps Katsuki would maybe, for the first time since Izuku was four, feel pleased with him.

The thought of eternal rest, of actually pleasing someone, lessened the hollowness. It let something akin to longing flicker inside him. Izuku leaned forward, taking another deep breath.

This was it. The end of his pitiful excuse of a life.

No more aching or all-consuming anger. Izuku Midoriya had always known that he’d either be a hero or dead. The first option wasn’t possible, so the second one would have to do.

His grip around the railing loosened.

He’d be nothing but another statistic. Another suicide. About forty percent of the tiny japanese quirkless population committed suicide before graduation. Ten percent committed after graduation. The other twenty percent got murdered by hate crimes.

…

Huh. Wasn’t that odd? Someone like Izuku, who had always vouched to be different, to go against the odds, ended up doing the exact opposite?

Nothing but another statistic indeed.

Knowing that this would be the last time Izuku would ever breathe on this earth, he decided to savor every last moment.

The sweetly tinted air, refreshing on his tongue. The wind is so subdued, yet having every last bit of it rip through green curls with its unforgiving chill creeping through a thin gakuran.

Hah. Wasn’t it a bit ironic? Out of all things Izuku related to, the wind was the one to take the prize—at the moment so muted and mellow, just like him.

Ironic indeed.

And so Izuku finally—

BOOM.

Izuku flinched, hand slipping, before he managed to grip the railing with white knuckles out of pure instinct.

Fuck.

He had been this close to death.

Izuku’s breath was coming out in quick bursts, his pupils were harshly dilated, he was trembling, and he was high on sudden adrenaline.

God, it felt so good.

Except Izuku couldn’t relish in the feeling long before he quickly forced himself to clamber off that railing. He knew that sudden noise like the back of his hand.

It was one of Kacchan’s explosions, yet so, so much bigger, so much… more than usual. That could only mean one thing; that the blond was in trouble.

And that was when the next thing in his already horrible day happened—Kacchans body being slowly turned into a meatsuit by the exact same sludge villain that Izuku had encountered just a… Well, sometime earlier.

Wide, terrified red eyes. Vulnerable. So vulnerable. ‘Someone heLP. WHY ISN’T ANYONE HELPING? HE’S GONNA DIE, HE’S GONNA—’ Legs moving, feet leading into fire, a sweet caramel scent—

“Take a swan dive off the top of a building.”

—and nauseating sewer stench—

(Choking, drowning, HELP, HELP, SOMEONE, PLEASE!)

—all mingling with each other like a horrid nightmare. Heat, heat, so much heat, so hot. POP. BOOM. Backpack. Eye. Screeching—

‘Look at what you did, Izuku. You don’t do anything but cause pain for others—

‘But I saved him, I-’

“I didn’t need your help, you fucking useless Deku. I never will, so quick looking down on me. You think you’re so—”

‘Hear that? Useless. That’s what you are. USELESS, USELESS, USELESS, USEL—’

‘Shut up, shut uP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!

Izuku was violently ripped out of his thoughts by sudden pain racking through his body.

Oh.

Oh.

He had somehow ended up on the bathroom floor with tear drenched cheeks and a twitchy body.

The first thing Izuku noticed, laying in a tangled mess of limbs, was the stench. The whole bathroom reeked of vomit. That wasn’t good, was it? Why did it even—

Breathless sobs, vomiting and clenching for dear life, trying to anchor—

Right. That.

Izuku pushed himself up on unsteady feet, not even bothering to flush the vomit pooled in the toilet before exiting the bathroom.

His throat felt raw and bloody, as if he had screamed his heart out.

It hurt.

He should probably get himself a glass of water, right?

Izuku stumbled towards the kitchen, clumsily gripping a glass with sweaty palms and not even bothering to wait for the water to properly cool before immediately chugging it.

The moment the liquid met his throat, Izuku’s nerves were set aflame, scratching and burniNG—

Explosions, searing hot pain, melted polyester clinging to burnt flesh and red eyes, menacing, murderous, hatred, hatred, best friend?, no, hatred haTRED HATRE—

CRASH.

The glass ended up as a million shards scattered across hardwood flooring, broken just like Izuku.