#shinsou too. shinsou who is so alone in the world. who’s never had a sincere touch in his life and you show him light

[candleshopmenace]

ask no questions [hear no lies] | day thirteen: dislocation

SUMMARY

“Do you like to fight, Hitoshi?” the therapist asks, and Hitoshi thinks of bloody knuckles and split lips and how fucking tired he is of always having to bite his tongue.

Do you like to fight, Hitoshi?

“Yeah,” he says. “I do.”

—

Nobody ever talks to him, but everyone talks about him. He can hear them, see them, pointed fingers and flashing teeth. They always shut up, though, when they notice him watching. 

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[ao3 link]

[discord server]

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He hasn’t stepped outside in three weeks. The world is big and wide and bright - at least, that’s how he remembers it. Maybe it's changed in the time he’s been holed up in the white-walled room. He wants to know if everything's the same, but he doesn’t know how to make the blinds over the window go up, and the people who visit him never talk to him. They never talk to him, but they talk about him. He can hear them, see them, pointed fingers and flashing teeth, Is that him? The kid who -

They always stop when they notice him watching. 

Nobody ever answers his questions, not even the silly ones, not even the really important ones, like the ones about his parents. He hasn’t seen them in a while. Are they okay? The last thing he remembers before waking up in this place is being strapped into his seat in the back of the car, being driven to preschool because his mother thought he was too young to walk there himself. And he remembers asking something stupid, insignificant - he can’t even recall what it was - and then there had been a jerk and a jolt and a sound like ripping metal, and he’d shut his eyes, and he’d woken up here.

Without anything to do besides listening to the steady beep-beep-beep of the machine with the green zigzag line going across its screen, the hours drag. And he knows that they’re hours, because, the day before what he now refers to in his head as The Mystery, his teacher showed him and his classmates how to read a clock. He wonders if she’ll be upset that he’s missing so much school. He doesn’t know how he’ll explain to her that it isn’t his fault.

Days pass.

Nobody comes.

His name is Shinsou Hitoshi and he’s alone.

His social worker is a pretty lady with a tired smile, and she tells him to call her Kanagi, Ka-na-gi, beautiful, lovely, calm. She also tells him that he just needs to find his place, like he’s a puzzle piece lost in the world, waiting to find a bigger picture to click! into. She sounds so sincere every time that she says it that he doesn’t have the heart to tell her that she’s wrong, that he doesn’t want to find his place, because he already knows where he belongs and all he wants to do is go back to it. 

All he wants to do is go home.

After Kanagi takes him to the doctor and the doctor tells him what his Quirk is, the kids in the group home start being mean. 

For example, when he tells Hinowa - his best friend, or so he thought - the news, she tries to push him off of the highest part of the climbing frame at the playground, and then when she gets out of time-out she tries to do it again, and again, and again, and so Tokiatsu - the lady who runs the home - tells him to stop playing with her. 

Hitoshi listens, but then he sees Hinowa whispering to Yuusou, a boy three years older than him, and, later that night, when Hitoshi asks to have a turn on the game, Yuusou shoves him to the ground hard enough to make him hit his head. 

He calls Hitoshi a freak. 

He calls Hitoshi a witch. 

He calls Hitoshi a monster and a mutant and a demon and tells him that he’s never going to get adopted, ever, because no one would ever want a future villain as a son.

Tokiatsu lets him stay in her room that night, and, when she thinks that he’s asleep, she calls Kanagi. She talks to her for a long time, in hushed tones, and says, They’re trying to hurt him, Kanagi. She says, I don’t know what to do. She says, and she sounds like she’s about to cry, Get him out of here.

And so Hitoshi ends up with Marai, who has a mean smile, a bad temper, and a fridge full of yellow-blue cans that Hitoshi isn’t allowed to touch. 

And so Hitoshi starts elementary school with bruises on his arms and bruises on his chest and bruises on his throat, and he doesn’t know how Kanagi finds out but she’s at the front door a few days later, dropping down to her knees and pulling him into her arms. “It's not your fault,” she tells him when he apologizes and apologizes, face buried in the crook of her neck and hands balled tight in her shirt. “It's not your fault, I promise,” and, once again, Hitoshi doesn’t tell her that she’s wrong.

Hitoshi is sitting in the waiting room of a doctor’s office for his yearly check-up when the question hits. He pauses in the middle of coloring in the lines of a printed-out picture of All Might and looks up at Kanagi. She’s not looking at him, is leaning back in the rigid plastic chair with her eyes closed, and so he clears his throat to get her attention. She gives it to him without a complaint.

He says, wording it carefully so she has no reason to get mad like Yuusou, like Midai, “I think that you’re very nice to me.” He turns back to his crayons, gripping the purple in one tight fist, avoiding her face. “I think that I wouldn’t mind if you were my new mom.”

“Oh,” Kanagi says, and then falls silent. She doesn’t speak for a long, long time, but when she does, all she says is, quietly, “I’m pretty sure that All Might’s suit is blue, Hitoshi.”

“... Right,” Hitoshi says, and switches out the colors.

He doesn’t bring up the topic again.

Kanagi doesn’t love him, he realizes later. She only cares about him because it's her job. He’s only ever a job to people, a burden.

He feels stupid for not figuring it out sooner.

“Shinsou Hitoshi.”

In the man’s mouth, Hitoshi’s name sounds like a death sentence. The man slams Hitoshi’s personal file down on the desk and watches him, waiting for a flinch. It doesn’t come. 

“He’s a good boy,” Kanagi says. She’s sitting in the chair beside Hitoshi, her hands in her lap. “He’s very clever, very polite. I’m sure that he’ll cause you no trouble at all.”

“Are you sure? I can’t take in a child who will end up being an embarrassment.”

I don’t want him, Kanagi is saying. Take him.

I don’t want him any more than you do, the man is saying. Keep him.

Hitoshi stares down at his hands, clenches his fists in his lap. He says, “I’ll be really quiet.” He looks up at the man, who is staring at him with newfound interest. “You won’t even know that I’m there. I promise.”

“What, boy? Afraid of being last?”

It's a test, it's a test because everything is always a test, and so Hitoshi bites his tongue and doesn’t answer.

The man looks at him, watches him, and then nods once, sharp, and glances at Kanagi.

“I’ll take him.”

He watches the door to his room creak open later that night, and the only thing he’s able to think is, Ah. So that’s why he wanted someone who knew how to keep their mouth shut.

Hitoshi learns to pack a bag fast and run away faster - when things go wrong, he climbs out the window and is gone before Kanagi shows up to tell him that he has to leave anyways. They always drag him back, eventually, because he’s seven years old and seven-year-olds aren’t all too good at playing hide-and-seek, but one time he manages to disappear for five days before someone finds him. Back then, he counted it as a win in his book, that he managed to elude capture for so long.

Now, though, he wonders if they were even looking.

His foster mother of the month takes him to the science museum when he’s nine and a quarter, and he’s been there exactly twenty-eight times since - kids under twelve get in free, and so do kids with a lockpick. That first time, he holds his foster mother’s hand all the way until they make it to the space exhibit, and then he breaks away, darts this way and that for three full hours and ignores the overhead announcements calling his name. 

Kanagi shows up on the doorstep on the evening of that very same day, but the disappointment on her face is worth it, he thinks, to be able to look at the stars.

“There’s a word,” Hitoshi says to his teacher one day, lingering after class in an attempt to get the bitter taste off of his tongue, “for something that’s just slightly out of place.”

She tilts her head, thinking. She’s young, new, fresh from college, not yet used to the bustle and clamor of Hitoshi’s current middle school, and it shows in the way that she’s taking time out of her own lunch period to answer the strangely-structured question of a back-row student. Finally, she offers, “Askew?”

Hitoshi rolls the word around in his mouth, tastes it. He shakes his head. “No, that’s not it.”

“Askance,” she tries. “Awry. Amiss.” Then, when Hitoshi shakes his head again, she’s silent for longer than before, quiet. And then she says, “Dislocated.”

Hitoshi stares past her, out the window. Seeing things that aren’t there. “Yeah,” he says, after a long, long moment. “That sounds about right.”

You’re one of the lucky ones, Kanagi tells him one day, in the space between a group home and another family as fake and manufactured as plastic. 

He’s riding in the front seat, too tall at the age of thirteen to have an excuse to do anything else. Being in the back would make it look like he was avoiding her, and while he wants to, sometimes, he doesn’t want to alienate the one person that he can count on to treat him like he’s worth anything. 

Alienate. 

That’s another word he’s learned, scouring through the dictionary that someone in the home gave him as a Christmas present, probably as a joke gift, but he appreciates it anyways. It's a way to pass the time while he’s waiting to be placed with another new mother or father,

Anyways, Hitoshi looks at Kagani, wary. I don’t get it.

You’ve got a chance to change the world.

He’s a monster, an example of how Quirks could define lives, could plan them out without the user’s input. He is thin and sly and quick on his feet, a villain in the making, sharp teeth in a shark’s grin. But he’s pretty, Kanagi tells him, when he smiles. People like that, having a kid they can show off in public, that can sit still and sit quiet and sit like a prop in a show, a pawn, a china doll on a high shelf. 

And so, she tells him, he should smile more. 

She tells him about how he should always be presentable, always be polite, always be nothing more than a boy painted as a statue painted as a boy, anything to increase his chances of being picked. Like he’s a dog in the kennel of a pet shop. Like he’s a slab of meat.

She tells him all of this and more.

She tells him a lot of things.

She tells him, there in the front seat of the car, You can prove that people with mentalist Quirks aren’t always bad. You can raise the standard for kids like you. You can change the world, Hitoshi, don’t you want that?

No. He doesn’t. He doesn’t want to change the world. He just wants to be enough. But nobody listens when he says no, and nobody cares, and so he just shrugs and watches the world blur past outside. 

Yeah, he says. Sure.

He’s out of the foster home by the end of the week, and it's not his fault, but it is, because it always is.

It's his fault that his foster mother’s real son, six years older than Hitoshi, had grabbed his hair and dragged him off the couch, cooing, Look at you, you’re so adorable. 

And it's his fault that he thought about how one of his old classmates leered at him a while back and said that he was probably going to get a job as a street walker, so he might as well start practicing now, and how he had shut up when Hitoshi broke his teeth in with a blow that split his knuckles open wide.

It's his fault, it's his fault, that’s what he was told when his new foster brother was flat on his back and there was broken glass on the floor and people were screaming at him, your fault, your fault, why can’t you ever fucking do anything right? Why can’t you listen? What is wrong with you, Hitoshi, we’re trying to do you a favor and you’re just spitting it back in our face, get out, we don’t want you here.

Kanagi had shown up in the flash of ambulance lights, had shaken her head when the police officer unlocked his handcuffs and shoved him towards her. What did you do this time? she asked. Never, What happened this time? 

What happened and what he’s done are two completely different things.

I defended myself, Hitoshi spat back. He was dragging me by my fucking hair.

You could’ve asked him to stop.

Right, because everyone always reacts so well when I ask them a question.

She hadn’t answered, and Hitoshi had gotten into the car, silent, seething.

You can change the world, Hitoshi.

Yeah, right.

He can say whatever he wants in here, it won’t be repeated. Unless he says that he’s going to hurt himself, because then it will be repeated and repeated and repeated until the right person is found to make him cut that out.

There is nothing between his chair and hers. It's an open space. He doesn’t open his mouth. She talks him through the protocol, the legal obligations she has, the terms of the contract. 

She says that Kanagi says that he has problems with anger and problems with control and problems with socializing properly and he has more problems than he should have but, oh boy, can he throw a punch. 

Do you like to fight, Hitoshi? Do you like martial arts? 

Her voice is kind and neutral and way too fucking nice. 

A mental evaluation is not what he agreed to, but it's what Kanagi agreed to, and she makes the rules. She should be the one answering all these questions, he thinks, but he knows that this is a requirement if he’s ever going to be accepted into Yuuei.

Do you like to fight, Hitoshi?

“Yeah,” he says. “I do.”

“Fists up, stance lowered, feet apart.”

Hitoshi stumbles, caught off-guard, and barely manages to dodge a blow that whistles past his ear a bare inch away from his face.

“Watch out for your blind spot. Watch out for your opponent’s blind spot.”

He doesn’t move fast enough to completely avoid the second strike, and it glances off his shoulder hard enough to make him wince.

“Don’t stand still, keep moving, make yourself a harder target to hit.”

He throws a punch of his own, but all that Aizawa does is catch him by the wrist and force his arm down. “Don’t telegraph your movements,” he says, and Hitoshi huffs and slaps at his hand until he lets him go. He has no idea how Aizawa manages to talk and fight at the same time, but it's irritating, how little effort it takes for him to render him immobile.

As if sensing his frustration, Aizawa sighs. He drops back into a crouch, raises his fists in front of him. “Feet apart,” he repeats. “You need a steady base.”

Hitoshi mimics him, frowning. “I don’t know how I’ll remember this in the middle of a fight,” he says, honest.

Aizawa’s lips twitch like he’s trying not to smile, but it somehow doesn’t feel malicious. More like he’s amused by Hitoshi’s complaints rather than Hitoshi himself. “You’ll remember if you get knocked on your ass enough times,” he says, and, yeah, that makes sense, but it sounds like a pretty painful way to learn a lesson. Hitoshi says so, and Aizawa snorts a laugh. “Tell me about it.”

“Feet apart,” Hitoshi mutters to himself, trying to commit it to memory. “I need a steady base.”

“There we go,” Aizawa says, encouraging, and then lunges forward. Hitoshi’s expecting it this time and he pivots to the side, blocks a blow, and lands one of his own on Aizawa’s arm. He barely even flinches, but he knows he has to feel it because the spot that he hit is steadily turning red. Aizawa moves like he’s about to try to aim a hit at Hitoshi’s ribs and he shifts accordingly, then sees what’s about to happen a second too late.

Aizawa sweeps his legs out from under him and sends him crashing to the ground.

The impact knocks the air from his lungs and he lays there on his back for a good minute, gasping for breath. When Aizawa crouches down beside her, probably checking to see if he’s being dramatic or if he’s genuinely winded, Hitoshi glares half-heartedly at him and hisses, “This is child abuse.”

Aizawa raises an eyebrow. “You’ve got to watch for the feints, Shinsou,” he says, and straightens up, holds out a hand to help him off the plasticky blue mats of the training room. 

Hitoshi takes it, letting Aizawa pull him to her feet, says, “Yeah, I noticed.” He rolls his shoulders, feeling an ache resonate bone-deep through them, and takes a deep, steadying breath. 

Aizawa tracks the motion, frowns. “Are you tired?”

“Oh, please. This is easy.”

Aizawa laughs, long and loud, and Hitoshi smiles.

[secondhand-trash]

Good People

@shinsoubowl​ Week Day 4 (Prompt: Hero+Villain)

A/N: Out of all seven days, this is probably the hardest to write for me but I did succeed in slipping a Fleabag reference in there again so it’s all good. I’m just hoping and praying that this turns out ok.

(Also, Tumblr has been acting strange and not letting me add more than 5 tags recently so the exposure is greatly limited and I'm petty about things like that because I do work hard on everything I put out so reblogs are greatly appreciated qwq)

Pairing: Shinsou Hitoshi x villain!reader

Description: You had lost your hope that there were genuinely good people in the world a long time ago. So no, just because this hero was nice and didn’t want to fight you could not convince you anything.

Word count: 3125

Playlist:

Me//The 1975

Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked//Cage The Elephant

Something Has to Change//The Japanese House

-

If you got to start all over again, you would have never gone down this path in the first place.

It started off as minor shoplifting in convenient stores when you were a kid. You knew that it was wrong, but the wall of candy was too tempting and there was no way you could ask you parents for money when they were struggling to put food on the table each day. Your father got into heavy debt after his business partner took all of the company’s assets and disappeared from the surface of earth one day. The salary he earned was barely enough to keep the family alive, spending a large portion of it to pay off the loans.

You never got caught, not even once, and it only prompted you to keep going. You slowly moved onto pickpocketing and stealing cash from registers when the shop keeper wasn’t looking. It made you even more money but it also started forming this empty pit of guilt at the back of your head and yet you never stopped.

By then, you father had entered eternal slumber and something about the sigh of relieve from your mother when you handed her the cash pushed you to keep going back. There were times when she looked like she wanted to say something before you sneaked out of the house ‘for work’ but she never said anything, silently pulling back the hand that attempted to reach for her child.

Then there came the time when snooping around for inattentive by passers could no longer fulfill that urge in you.

Hiding in a dark alley, you gathered your breath as the security guards of the shop you just broke into ran past the spot you were hiding at. Checking that there was no one around, you pulled out that heavy gold bracelet from the pocket of your belt. You did not need the price tag on the display to see that you could make good money out of it. Inspecting it carefully under the flickering street light, you sighed in pity that the intricate carving on the gold would soon be gone when you handed it to the dealer.

Sometimes, you were afraid that you had started to enjoy what you were doing instead of treating it as nothing but a line of work like you convinced yourself to be.

“Pretty valuable stuff you got there but I’m almost certain that it’s not yours. Mind if I put it back to where it belong?”

You immediately went into high alert and shoved the bracelet back into your pocket when you heard the voice from above your head. Snapping up, you saw a man with a black mask looking down on you from the lamp post.

Great, a pro-hero.

A long piece of fabric extended towards you and you jumped to deck from the attack. You had heard of this particular pro from other people of your kind. He was new to the scene, making quite a name for himself with his skillful tactics and overpowering quirk.

“You’re not going to answer me? How rude.” the man clicked his tongue as he leaped from where he stood and made another attempt at trapping you with his scarf. You pursed your lips tight, avoiding even the smallest of responses towards the man. You remembered what they told you about him, one word and he had you under control, and you had been struggling on this path you went down for far too long to be captured now.

A villain, that’s what they called you, to which you only scoffed. Perhaps you were a villain, but if you were a villain, what were the people who turned you to this side of the moral compass? Were they good people? And this hero who was here to give you the punishment the society thought you deserved, was he a good person under that mask and the costume?

People did not overrate his ability in combat. You were having a rough time fending him off while resisting the possibility of a slip of the mouth, but you could tell that he was new to this. He knew what he was doing but none of his punches were lethal. He was holding back.

In a perfect world, he would be respected for having mercy on you, the villain. But the world was not perfect and most of the time, it was far from being good. Hesitating could be a great flaw.

Spotting one of the hero’s weakness in defense, you took the chance land a punch right at his stomach, forcing him to bend down no matter how fast he could react under physical reflectiveness. By the time he recovered, you had already gone out of his sight, leaving him alone in the dim alley.

Sliding in through the unlocked window, you frowned at how the light of the living room was still on. Living room, you silently laughed in bitterness at the thought, like you weren’t living in a tiny flat that was split into rooms by thin curtains hanging on the ceiling. “Mom? Why haven’t you gone to sleep? I told you that there’s no need to wait for me.”

The woman on the couch was already drifting into sleep when you called for her. You knew that she hadn’t been feeling well recently and you had tried to tell her to get more rest but it seemed that you got your stubbornness from her.

“I can’t sleep without knowing that you got home safely,” she smiled and you could see the wrinkles at the end of her eyes. When did those start to appear? For as long as you could remember, there wasn’t a time when there weren’t any lines on her forehead, an effect of furrowing her eyebrows together too often. “How was work?”

You felt bad for lying to her but you could not say it out loud. You could not say it to her face that her child was a villain who stole things for a living, even when you were almost certain that she already knew. After all, mothers know best.

“It went alright,” you tried to force a nonchalant smile even when your stomach was twisting together in guilt and lifted the curtain to where you slept, “I’ll just go to bed now. You should get some rest too, you’re looking really pale.”

You had long accepted the fact that you were no perfect human being and most of the time, you were certain that you could not even touch the line of being good, but lying to your mother would never stop making you feel like the worst person alive.

You kept running into the same pro-hero who you met in the alleyway from that night onwards. Where ever you were, he was there waiting already. It was starting to get tiresome and rather creepy, if you would be so bold to say.

For the first few days, a fight would inevitably break out between the two of you and it always ended the same way with you escaping by a hitch. Then he stopped trying to capture you through battling and it was worse, because he started talking to you.

If fighting him was a pain in the ass, than this new method of his was straight up torture.

It started off as him trying to irritate you into responding with jabs or insults but he soon realised that it was not enough to get you to talk as you would just rolled your eyes and threw punches at him. Looking back, you wished it had stayed that way because he somehow managed to make the whole thing even more annoying. He would block your only route of escape and started talking to you like he was just talking to a friend about his day. There were times when you were so baffled by the sheer stupidity of the whole thing that you almost gave in and yelled at him. Needless to say, it took a lot of self-control to bite your tongue when all you wanted to do was get him to shut up.

Still, you would at least tried to hear what he had to say each time before finding a way out. It would be a lie if you say that there wasn’t something stupidly entertaining about the hero rambling on about the random things that happened in his life when he could be fighting you instead. You almost anticipated him to show up each night and just started talking when you never gave him any responses other than exaggerated facial expressions at all.

If he wasn’t here to arrest you, you might actually take a liking towards that man.

You already had one leg hanging off the barricade as you were about to make a jump to the ground from the balcony when the hero showed up tonight. You stopped and turned to look behind you where the hero landed, raising a brow towards him.

“Sorry that I’m a bit later than usual, had to chase down this other guy who was robbing a bank.” he laughed when your eyebrow only arched at his statement, “Don’t look so shocked, you’re not the only one I’m trying to capture.”

You nodded in amusement. You weren’t sure when this whole process felt like less of a competition to see who break first and more like two people genuinely hanging out. “Although it really doesn’t feel like I’m even trying to capture you anymore.”

You grinned and tilted your head. You would love to believe that it was the case and he was just here night after night because he wanted to talk to you but it was never wrong to stay alerted. “Can you just say something? It feels like I’m talking to myself here! I promise I won’t use my quirk on you.” the hero pleaded but you doubted its sincerity due to the smirk on his face and you shook your head, the smile never left your face. “Come on! I know you want to!”

He wasn’t wrong, you did want to but your survival instinct override this childish desire. You were a villain and he was a pro-hero, you two weren’t meant to be friends and simply wouldn’t happen no matter how much you wanted to talk to him like normal people do.

Smirking, you turned your back to him and was about to leap down when his voice caught you by surprise.

“Fuck you, then.”

You snapped back, entertained beyond measure by his response. You had to purse your lips to prevent the laughter that was threatening to escape and gave him a look as in to ask him, “Really?”

When you lie on your mattress with your eyes closed, it was the amused glimmer in the hero’s purple eyes that kept showing up in your head.

You fell asleep with a smile on your face that night.

You shouldn’t get attached, it’s dangerous, but you had become way too fond of the strange hero who talked to you every night at this point to back out. The two of you were standing on the balcony where you would for sure past by each night. Leaning against the fence, you put your chin on your hand with one elbow supporting it on the fence as the hero standing next to you rambled on.

You wondered if you two would have become friends if the circumstances were different. It was a stupid move that could wash all your hard word down the drain but at that point, you didn’t care. This had been bugging you since you met this guy and despite better judgment, you weren’t really sure how long you could keep this in.

“Why are you still here talking to me?” the hero’s eyes widened as he heard your voice for the first time. “You’re a pro-hero, I’m a villain. You’re supposed to fight me, not hang out with me.”

He paused for a while, “I don’t think you’re like other villains.”

You snorted in bafflement and didn’t say another word. He sighed, seeing that you didn’t trust him enough to actually respond to him. “I’ve been keeping a record of what you did since I met you that day. You never steal from small businesses, only big cooperation or rich people.”

“And that’s how you decided that I’m not like other villains?” you replied, basically taking a leap of faith to see if this person you had been talking to for the past weeks was actually as decent as you hoped him to be. A rush of relieve washed through you when you could feel that your body was still under your own control.

“You’re not doing it just to cause chaos or hurt people like a lot of other villains and, I don’t know, I guess there are chances that you might be a good person.” he said with an earnest that left you unable to react. A good person. How long had it been since someone called you that? “I saw the way you fight, put it to good use and you might actually save the world-”

“Why do I want to save the world when the world never saved me?” you turned to look at him in the eyes and felt yourself stiffen at the look in his eyes. He would not get it, you bitterly thought to yourself. “I did not choose to be like this but when no one came to save you, you might just be isolated for long enough to become a villain.”

This was a waste of time, ‘villains’ weren’t supposed to confide in heroes and it was naive of you to even think that he would understand. Climbing over the fence, you stared at the hero before you escaped into the darkness.

“The world isn’t good. Trust me, I’m a villain.”

You were sure that it was the universe playing a joke on you to prove just how bad it could be when you woke up the next morning to find your mother collapsed on the ground. The sight was something out of your worst nightmare and you could not breath properly until you held her wrist to sense that she was still alive. She was burning with a fever so high in temperature that you were starting to fear that the day you were truly on your own would come sooner than you detested.

You tried everything you know, every medicine you could get your hands on but there was no use. She was still unable to even move when the night arrived and you were worried sick. It was the first time that you cursed yourself for having a lifestyle that was everything but legal. You could not take her to the doctors because hospitals keep record on everything and it would not take them a lot of time to find out what exactly you were up to. If this was about you, then you would just take the risk and turn to somewhere shady but it was your mother, and you would rather trade your soul than to put her in harm.

You knew what you should do the moment you stepped out of your house that night.

Shinsou was almost unsure if you would show up. You seemed to be quite pissed off last night and he wasn’t sure if you would still want to see him after that. It started off as an attempt to lure you into activating his quirk by accident but he had come to quite enjoy those late night conversations. He immediately perked up when you climbed onto the balcony.

You walked straight up to the hero and grabbed the scarf circled around his neck. His body tensed up at your sudden action but his mouth hang agape in shock when he saw you took it and wrapped it around your own wrist.

“Here’s what you’re gonna do,” you took a deep, shaky breath and said, “you’re gonna hand me over to the police and tell them that you captured me.”

“What? Wait a sec-”

“I’ll tell you where I hide everything I’ve ever stolen,” you sounded so calm it almost frightened him, “there’s a woman there, a really sick one. I don’t know how but please god get her somewhere better than that-”

“No.”

You stopped when you heard him. “What?” you yelled in disbelieve. “I am making your job easier for you, what do you mean ‘no’?”

“You’re not making any sense! Is something going on?”

“Yes!” you threw your hands in the air. You could feel tears forming in the corner of your eyes as you screamed in frustration, “My mother is dying because I’m a fucking villain and I can’t get her any help!”

“And your way out is to hand yourself in?”

“Well I don’t know what else I can do and if there’s someone who have to profit off of my misery I want it to be you because you talked to me and made me laugh and even if you might not turn out to be a good as I think you might be but at least you are a decent person and a decent person is fucking hard to find.” you said it all in one breath and gasped for air as you gathered your breath. “So please, I beg of you, just help me out and do as I say.”

Shinsou wasn’t sure what he should do but you looked like you were about to break down and that hurt him way more than it should. Although his movements were a bit stiff, he sighed in relieve when you didn’t protest as he wrapped his arms around you. “Told you, you are a good person.”

You sniffled and mumbled against his shoulder, “You have really low standard for ‘good’.”

“Let me help you,” he pulled away and wiped a thumb one your cheek to dry the tear that ran down your face, “I won’t hand you over but I’ll help you if you let me. That’s what heroes are supposed to do, right? We help people.”

You let out a broken laugh. You weren’t sure why you believed him but that look in his eyes was all too convincing. And for the first time in a really long while, you truly believed that perhaps there were good people in this not-so-good world after all.

No one had ever saved you, not until Shinsou Hitoshi talked his way into your life.

[deromium]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead/Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead & Shinsou Hitoshi, Shinsou Hitoshi & Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic Characters: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, Shinsou Hitoshi, Shinsou Hitoshi's Mother (Mentioned), Shinsou Hitoshi's Father (Mentioned) Additional Tags: Dadzawa, Dadmic, Angst with a Happy Ending, Age Regression/De-Aging, Little Hitoshi, AU, Nightmares, Past Child Abuse, Not Beta Read, Author's doing their best, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead is Shinsou Hitoshi's Father, So is Hizashi, Shinson, Family Fluff, Sorry if it feels rushed?, i needed to vent just alittle, Please enjoy!, How Do I Tag

Henlo! Please enjoy this o3o I’m doing my best

It was on the rare occasion where Yamada was home when Aizawa, his husband; wasn't. Aizawa had taken an extra patrol and wouldn't be home until later in the dark night. (In reality, it would be 30 minutes, but he doesn't know that now does he?) So this left Yamada home with his 5 1/2 years old son Hitoshi; who they recently adopted a few months ago.

Yamada, with the time to relax in bed for once, was finally going to start reading the novel he was lent so long ago. At least, that was what was supposed to happen. He was going to read, Hitoshi was in bed, and his husband was out working. Only 1 of these 3 things was actually going to happen for a small period of time.

Yamada, getting ready to read; was interrupted by the master door being opened. 'There is no way Shouta is supposed to be home by now,' Yamada puzzled. 'Is it... Hitoshi?'  The door now opened wider, indeed reveled the small figure of his son.

"Dada...?" His sons voice sounded weak, broken, and on the verge of tears.

"Toshi? What are you doing up so late? Is everything okay...?" He set down his book and slided out of bed, getting up and taking steps towards his son.

"Dada..!" Little Toshi cried out and ran towards his father, and clutched his legs, his face full of tears. Yamada scooped him up and held him close.

"Shh... Dada's got you... It's okay little one," Hitoshi buried his face into his father's neck, gripping his little hand with dear life on his father's shirt. "Do you wanna talk about it...? You can tell me Toshi, it's okay." Rocking his son in his arms, trying to find out what caused his son to have woken his son up and upset him.

Between broken words, and having his father's shirt in his face; Yamada was able to piece together what happened.

"The o-orphanage, you and daddy n-never came! T-They put the m-muzzle on me! They called me a villain and l-locked me away! You weren't there! You didn't save me Dada!" His little voice shrieked full of sorrow. Having explained the in the best way a panicked toddler could.

Hearing this broke Yamada's heart, Hitoshi was in the orphanage for only a little more than a year before they adopted him, and in the small amount of time he was there (compared to some others), they had putted fear into young Hitoshi's mind. Even though Yamada knew he couldn't do anything about it; it still made him furious.

"Shh... Shh... It's was only a nightmare, I'm right here." Calmed Yamada, but Hitoshi was wailing, no matter how much Yamada soothed him. This resorted to plan B; grabbing Aizawa's old capture weapon.

Hitoshi LOVED the fact that his parents were heroes, and the fact that one of his personal heroes was his dad? Ecstatic; but also being too young to realize the dangers of having heroes as his parents. The danger of heroes having children isn't the topic now, right now. He needed to find Aizawa's capture weapon. Well, the old capture weapon, the old scarf that hasn't been used fro hero work since U.A. People say that children find comfort in items that are like their parents, this for Hitoshi, would be Aizawa's capture weapon. Yamada grabs the old but not completely destroyed one from the closet, and wrap it protectively and comfortly around Hitoshi's neck. Hoping it would sooth his a bit more.

Hitoshi tiny little hands gripped the scarf like it was the end of the world and it was his life-line, it only helped a tiny bit truthfully. Yamada would hear his son cry out to him and Aizawa, to which he would hold him even closer as much as he physically could. With his son now buried into his neck and crying his head out, he did his best by giving him kisses and soothing words; sometimes though, in a situation like this, it was best to cry it out.

At one point in this moment, Aizawa came home. He entered upstairs to the master to find his husband and son, who was whimpering and sobbing. Yamada nodded for him to come over, he much obliged, seeing his son in such distress. Now having sandwiched their son in between their bodies, Aizawa had an arm wrapped around his husbands middle while one was comforting and petting his sons wild untamed hair.

"D-Daddy...?" Hitoshi breaks in between sobs, slightly looking up at his other father. Aizawa now just hearing how broken his son sounds; his own heart breaks.

"What's wrong kiddo...?" Hitoshi tried to form words to reply, but none would come out.

"He... He had a nightmare hon', came in for comfort," Yamada sighed. "It's was... about the orphanage..." In Hitoshi's eyes, which were usually full of life, was replaced with sad, tired, despair fulled orbs.

"Toshi... It's only a nightmare, we're right here. We're... We're never gong to leave you..." Aizawa promised. Logical? No. Full of emotion? Yes.

"W-Why did they leave...? Why did my Papa and Mama not want me?! Why would they leave me!?" Hitoshi sobs and rambles in anger. God, this is the question they wanted to avoid, at least for a little while longer, Hitoshi knew his birth parents weren't coming back, but now it was the question of why? But Hitoshi was still to young to understand, at least in this situation.

"Oh my favorite little listener," Yamada starts. "We... we don't know why they wouldn't want a wonderful child like you..." Finishing his sentence, the bitter taste of the lie felt horrible, but Hitoshi needed comfort, not more reason to hate himself for something he couldn't control.

"Toshi look at me..." Aizawa requested, to which Hitoshi weary did so, face mostly sideways on his father's chest, face full of snot, with dry and wet tears. "We love you, we always will, and don't forget it. We are never going to abandon you, you... you are the best things that's happened to us Hitoshi. We care about you so much." Aizawa sincerely said, with the rare soft typical fatherly voice and an even softer smile he saves for his family, and only his family.

In between hiccups; Hitoshi finally starts to calm down. "D-Daddy... D-Dada! I-I love you t-too!" They rock in the comforting hushes and soft words.

"C-Can I sleep with you...? I-I don't want to be alone!" Begs Hitoshi.

"Of course... Let me get ready; Zashi... Can you tuck him in?" Asks Aizawa giving a small kiss to both his child's head and husbands face.

"Yeah, you got it love. Now let's get you out of that Toshi; It's all messy now..." Yamada responds while separating from Aizawa, going to take Hitoshi and putting him into one of his old radio shirts, that fits him like a dress.

A few moments later, everyone ready for bed, Hitoshi now sandwiched between them in a bed, was now all tuckered out from his meltdown. His young eyes were drooping, breath evening out and growing heavy. He still had one final request.

"Dada...?"

"Yea Toshi..?" Yamada softly replied, petting his sons hair.

"Sing...? Sing to me?" Quietly requests the sleepy Hitoshi. He gets a small laugh in response.

"Anything for you Toshi!" Yamada smiles. "What do you want me to sing...?"

Hitoshi ponders for a bit. "You pick... Too... Sleepy..."

"Hm.. Okay little one..." Yamada starts singing:

"Hush little baby don't say a word. Dada's gonna buy you a mockingbird

And if that mockingbird won't sing, Dada's gonna buy you a diamond ring

And if that diamond ring turns brass, Dada's gonna buy you a looking glass

And if that looking glass gets broke, Dada's gonna buy you a billy goat

And if that billy goat won't pull, Dada's gonna buy you a cart and bull

And if that cart and bull fall down, You'll still be the sweetest little baby in town"

Finishing the song, he looks over, not only was little Hitoshi asleep, but so was his husband, Yamada lets out a content sigh, the night have being a long one. He kisses his son on the forehead, the son he wouldn't trade for the world; and his husband who he loves with his whole heart; and falls asleep with the rest of the family.

tumblr hates me, it really does, and I hate it back