Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

17 years prior

Aizawa Shouta sits in a bar, drowning his sorrows in some cheap whiskey. He’s a coward, truly.

He was going to finally confess his feelings to Hizashi, then the blonde had rolled in with some guy on his arm (Shouta thinks he remembers the guy from UA, possibly in his general studies course before he transferred to heroics), and announces that they’re dating, Shouta felt his heart snap in two; he swears it. He gave Hizashi a half assed excuse about being called for a patrol; he didn’t even catch the guy's name and fled, found the next bar he could and plopped down on a stool to start drowning in whiskey.

He’s sitting there at least 5 drinks in, thinking “if you weren’t such a fucking coward, Shouta and just confessed it would be you on his arm, not some rando whose name you don’t even know!” God, he’s pathetic. He signals for another drink when he feels a light tap on his shoulder. He looks up, and his eyes meet a rather pretty set of purple ones.

“Hey there, you look a little lonely, mind if I join?” The purple-eyed woman asks, he simply shrugs and gestures for the chair next to him, noting that her hair and eyes are the same colour, “pretty,” he thinks

“I’m Fumiko, what brings you to this place?, I’ve never seen you here before.”
Shouta finally speaks to her, “First name, huh? That’s a bit informal, don’t you think?”
“I’ve never been one for formalities, I fear, no fun that way,” she winks
He just grunts, “drowning my sorrows like every other sack of shit”

She looks at him with a strange softness he’s not quite used to seeing. Most of the time, people are intimidated either just by looking at him or knowing what his quirk is, but he doesn’t seem to mind it, though

“And it’s Shouta, since we’re being informal,” he turns to take a sip of his drink
“Shouta, huh? I like it, so tell me, why are you a sack of shit?”
He sighs, swishing his drink around the glass and pointedly not looking at Fumiko.
“Well, it’s a long story, but I was finally going to confess to the love of my life, but then He waltzes in with someone on his arm, calling him his boyfriend. I am a sack of shit for not confessing years ago when I realised I love him.” He simply sighs and rests his head on the bar

“Well, Shouta, love isn’t a linear thing; sometimes there are bumps and snags, but I’m sure in turn it’ll work out right for you. I suppose all you can do is wait.” The purple-haired stranger rests her hand on his shoulder and smiles when he finally turns to look at her.

“Yknow what, Fumiko, I suppose you’re right, I’ll just wait for the love of my life to break up with his boyfriend, and I’ll be there ready to jump in,” he deadpans at her. She just smirks at him and plucks the glass from his hand, downing the rest and placing it back on the bar.

“How about some company for the night? Take your mind off this guy, just for a night?” She asks, looking down at Shouta, who is looking at her with wide eyes. He closes his eyes, takes a breath, and sits up, looking at her fully.
“Fuck it, why not?” It was probably the whiskey making that decision, but that, he’s decided, is a problem for tomorrow’s Shouta.
The pair gets up and walks out of the bar toward Fumiko’s apartment.

They don’t see each other again after that night, but months later, cradling her baby, Hitoshi, with purple hair and eyes to match hers, watching the news, running a story about the pro hero “Eraserhead” taking out a group of villains, she simply sighs and hugs her baby closer.
It’d ruin his life if he knew he had a son; it was a one-night stand, nothing more. He doesn’t need to know he has a son.
“God, Fumiko, you’re a terrible person.”

Present Day

Shinsou Hitoshi sits under a tree, playing with a loose thread on his uniform pants.

Since his mom died 3 years ago, he’s been bounced from home to home, beaten and muzzled because he’s a “villain” with a dangerous quirk, but alas, the system pays more for people to take on the “dangerous youth.”

But Hitoshi knows he’s not a villain, he’s going to be a hero no matter what! Not like his “Dad” though, whenever he asked his mom about him, she’d always deflect, never giving him much details about the guy other than the fact he was a pro hero. But what kind of hero doesn’t even acknowledge he has a son, or reach out after his mother dies, letting him go through homes and homes suffering abuse?

Whatever, screw that guy. Hitoshi is gonna be a way better hero than that sack of shit anyway, and he has his chance too, Aizawa Sensei the hero “Eraserhead” (Hitoshi’s favourite hero) is training him so he can join the hero course, and he has a good chance too with a spot opening up after the grape was expelled for trying to put cameras in the girls locker room.

Hitoshi was gonna do it; he was going to be a hero.

Chapter Text

Hitoshi walks out of Principal Nedzu’s office absolutely ecstatic; he’d done it. He was joining 1-A in the hero course, and he could not be happier in this moment. He bid Aizawa Sensei goodbye with many thank yous and bowed out in the hall. His teacher simply ruffled his hair and said, “You'd better bring your absolute a-game to training tomorrow,” with a chuckle and walked away toward the teachers' lounge.

Hitoshi carried this good mood all the way back to his foster home, the Tanakas’ house.

There were two young kids there. Twin girls, Airi and  Himari, also foster kids, they’re only four, and their quirks haven’t developed yet, but they’re not scared of Hitoshi and his “villainous quirk.” Although he’s not allowed to speak at home, he taught the girls some JSL whenever their foster parents weren’t home.

Unfortunately, in his good mood, Hitoshi slipped up and said hello to Airi when she waved at him from the kitchen table.

“DID YOU JUST FUCKING SPEAK IN MY HOUSE, BOY!” Mr Tanaka roared, slamming his newspaper on the table. Hitoshi’s blood ran cold, and he froze, unable to move; just staring, wide-eyed at Mr Tanaka. Hitoshi’s mouth dropped open, then snapped shut, and he bowed his head, staring at the floor.

He felt a rough, calloused hand grip his hair, and he yelped in pain, yanking Hitoshi’s head up to look him in the eye, “You know what happens when you speak in this house, boy.” Mr Tanaka spat in his face before dragging Hitoshi toward the basement. Tanaka shoved Hitoshi to the ground before getting the muzzle out of the locked box by the basement door. He grabbed Hitoshi by the hair again and clasped the muzzle to his face. He then shoved Hitoshi through the basement door, causing him to tumble down the stairs and hit his head on the floor. He groaned in pain but didn’t bother getting up.

“No dinner, and you’re not going to that stupid hero school tomorrow.” He said before slamming the basement door and locking it.

“Fuck” Hitoshi thinks, he’d gone and fucked it up this time. He wasn’t going to be able to show up for training with his Sensei tomorrow. Hitoshi hadn’t slipped up like this in so long. Aizawa Sensei was going to be so disappointed in him, “good fucking going dumbass, there goes your fucking spot in   1-A, good luck being a hero now.” Hitoshi thinks to himself as he drags himself to his feet and over to the crusty mattress in the corner. He flops down, and just as the tears start rolling, he feels his pocket vibrate,

Oh my god, Mr Tanaka forgot to take his phone when he threw him down here. He pulls out his phone to see a message from Midoriya.

Broccoli Boy🥦

Shinsou, I overheard Mr Aizawa telling All-Might that you’re taking Mineta’s spot in our class!?!?!?

Broccoli Boy🥦

Oh my god, you’re gonna do amazing in our class!!

Hitoshi just groans and rolls onto his back, staring at the leaky ceiling

“Well, not for fucking long, I’m not,” He thinks

Hitoshi and Midoriya had become somewhat friends after the sports festival, after Hitoshi had gotten over the fact that he lost to the green-haired ball of joy. It was nice having a friend. Too bad Hitoshi wasn’t gonna be in their class anymore.

God, he wishes he had his teacher's number so he could text Aizawa and pull some excuse to maybe better his chances at not completely fucking everything up. Too bad Hitoshi is a failure in every fucking way.

Hitoshi just sighs and rolls onto his side, closing his eyes. He hopes desperately that Aizawa believes whatever bullshit excuse he comes up with when he goes back to school.

Hitoshi obviously does not get any sleep overnight; being an insomniac doesn’t help, but being on a mattress in a cold basement with no blankets certainly wasn’t gonna make it any better.

He spends the next day just lying down, regretting ever being born. His phone goes off all day; he knows it’s probably Midoriya asking why he isn’t at school, so he doesn’t bother checking his texts.

At around 7 pm, Mr Tanaka opens the basement door and waits for Hitoshi to climb the stairs. Hitoshi stands still, looking at the floor, as his foster parent removes the muzzle and puts it back in the box.

“Did you learn your lesson, boy?” Mr Tanaka asks, yanking Hitoshi’s hair up so he looks the man in the eyes. Hitoshi tries not to gag at the smell of whiskey on his foster father's breath as he speaks. Hitoshi just nods, then goes back to staring at the floor when the Man releases his hold on his hair.

“Good, because next time you won’t get off that fucking easy, now go clean up, you are a god damn mess,” Tanaka grumbles as he stomps back toward the kitchen.

Hitoshi walks to the bedroom and grabs whatever stuff is necessary for a shower, and goes to the bathroom. In the hall, he sees Airi and signs a quick “sorry” before going into the bathroom and locking the door.

Looking in the mirror, Hitoshi notices some bruises forming over his nose and cheeks, from where he hit his face on the floor with the muzzle on

“Great, now I’m gonna have to wear makeup for a week,” he thinks, sighing and running his hand through his mangled hair

Hitoshi has a quick shower and rushes straight to bed. He spends the night trying to think of excuses to give Aizawa Sensei tomorrow when he sees him.

In the morning, Hitoshi is as silent as possible and quietly rushes out before the Tanakas wake, heading straight for UA.

He reaches the school and heads straight for the teachers' lounge, ready to accept his fate and just get this over with. When he gets there, he sees Aizawa Sensei chatting in the corner with Yamada Sensei, the pro hero “Present Mic”

Hitoshi clears his throat and taps a knuckle on the door frame. The two heroes stop their conversation and look toward the noise, both locking eyes with Hitoshi.

“Um, sensei? Could I possibly have a w-word with you?” He asks Aizawa, who just looks at his coworker, says something Hitoshi can’t hear, and walks toward him. Hitoshi steps out of the teachers' lounge and into the empty hall, when Aizawa closes the door, Hitoshi bows and says quickly, “I am so sorry, sensei, I w-was sick! And I wasn’t able to come to school and training, and I had no way of reaching you to tell you any of this. I am so sorry, I completely understand if you wanna kick me out of the hero course and stop training me, I-“

“Kid” Aizawa says, cutting him off. Hitoshi looks up at his teacher with wide eyes

“Shinsou,” his teacher continues, “it’s okay if you were sick for one day. We may be heroes and heroes in training, but we’re still human. You’re allowed to miss one session, and I’m not going to kick you out of the hero course for that, although I do not expect you to start slacking, understand?” His teacher asks

“Y-yes, Mr Aizawa sir! Again I am so sorry it will not happen ever again I promise” Hitoshi says, Bowing again “give me your phone” Aizawa says holding his hand out “um yes sir” Hitoshi answers handing his phone to his teacher, Aizawa Taps away on the screen and hands the phone back, having entered his number “save it as something different, don’t need the problem children in my class knowing you have my number. We’ll resume training after school this afternoon, and you’re joining my class today, so don’t be late.” His teacher says before walking off, presumably toward class 1-A

Oh.my.god

Hitoshi has Eraserhead's personal phone number; his head is going to explode, he’s sure of it.

He saves the number as “CatMan🐈‍⬛”

He knows his teacher loves cats, and he has cat stickers on the water bottle he brings to training.

Hitoshi heads toward a vending machine. He needs coffee, desperately. He’d only managed to turn one corner before he heard stomping and “Hey Eyebags!” From behind him, he turns around to see Bakugo behind him, stomping toward the purple-haired boy with his hands stuffed into his pockets

“I heard that you made it into 1-A Mindfreak, how’d you fucking manage that shitface?” the blonde snaps at him. Hitoshi just rolls his eyes and replies, “With my devilishly good looks, blasty, how else?”

Bakugo just growls at him, “tch, whatever, I don’t fucking care, just don’t think you’ll ever surpass me cause you fucking won’t.” he all but yells and starts stalking off toward his class, the blonde calls over his shoulder, “AND DON’T FUCKING CALL ME BLASTY YOU MINDFREAK FUCK, I WILL KILL YOU.”

How this kid has two loving parents amazes Hitoshi. The purple-haired teen just chuckles and starts making his own way toward 1-A

The class is already in with the door closed when he gets there. He waits outside the door as his Sensei had told him to earlier.

After a few minutes, Aizawa pops his head out the door, “Come on in, kid.”

Hitoshi walks through the now-open door to stand in front of the class. Some looked shocked. Midoriya, specifically, is smiling so hard he looks like he’s about to pass out, and Bakugo just looks Hitoshi up and down once, scoffs, and looks away.

“Class, this is Shinsou Hitoshi, some of you may remember him from the sports festival, as him being one of the few to make it to the finals. Unlike most of you,” Aizawa sensei says with a deadpan, before continuing,

“Shinsou is going to be taking the now-empty spot in our class left by Mineta. I expect he will be treated with the utmost respect. He aims to be a hero, as do you, so I expect you’ll treat him as such. Now discuss special moves amongst yourselves until class ends,” Sensei says before crawling into his yellow sleeping bag and rolling over, facing away from the class.

Hitoshi takes his seat, practically not even hearing the barrage of questions thrown his way. The purple-haired teen is way too caught up in his own head.

He was finally in the hero course; he was going to do his mom proud and prove that his so-called dad is nothing but a sucker

Whilst Hitoshi starts answering everyone’s questions and getting to know the class, Shouta dreams of a long-ago memory of purple hair and eyes, and a pretty laugh.

Chapter Text

Two weeks have passed since Hitoshi officially joined class 1-A, and he's loving every minute of it, apart from Bakugo. The hot-headed blonde has been quite hostile toward Hitoshi, somehow even more hostile than he normally is, which is saying something considering Bakugo is always hostile. 

Hitoshi has decided that today he's going to confront Bakugo, because, quite frankly, he's sick of the blonde's bullshit. Hotishi waits until Aizawa releases them for the day after hero training class, he slips into a janitors closet just past the boys locker room and waits, Bakugo always leaves last after changing, Hitoshi hears Midoriya and Kirishima leave, talking and laughing together "there is for sure something going on between those two" Hitoshi thinks to himself as he listens to the boy's voices fade. After a couple more minutes, he hears the familiar stomp of the angry blonde, right as the footsteps reach the closet, Hitoshi opens the door and yanks Bakugo in, closing the door again.

He has to duck the fist Bakugo throws his way in retaliation."WHAT THE FUCK BRAINFREAK, I COULD'VE KILLED YOU DUMBASS," Bakugo yells at him, smoke emitting from his palm. Hitoshi just rolls his eyes, "Cool it, boom boy, I just want to know what the fuck is going on with you." 

"What the fuck do you mean? What's going on with me? What's going on with you brainfreak?" Bakugo snarls at him, baring his teeth. Hitoshi just looks at him, dumbfounded. "he's finally lost his mind and blasted his brain away" he thinks. Hitoshi sighs and rubs his palm down his face. "Blasty, why the fuck do you think there's something wrong with me?" Bakugo looks somehow more mad at that, "You're the one who freaked out at the sports festival when they had me strapped up to the post, do you think I'm weak or something, huh? I'll fucking kill you, I'm not weak!" 

Hitoshi freezes, the sports festival. He'd seen Bakugo strung up and muzzled in front of everyone, and it had freaked Hitoshi so much, seeing that, seeing his teachers allow that to happen. He had ended up having a panic right then and there in front of the whole first year, and Hitoshi wasn't aware that Bakugo actually knew about that. He'd assumed that the blonde had no idea; clearly, he was wrong.

Hitoshi throws his hands up, in hope of calming Bakugo down, "I didn't know you knew about that," he says frantically, "I freaked out for other reasons, I do not think you are weak." 

"Well, why the fuck did you freak out then brainfuck?" Bakugo asks, lacking his usual hostility, but still far from calm. Hitoshi panics at that, "don't, don't worry, it had nothing to do with you,i-im gonna go now, sorry for bothering you, boom boy." He stumbles out before fleeing the closet and taking off before Bakugo can even realise he'd left, "fuck fuck fuck fuck, this is bad. Blasty CANNOT find out about this shit," He thinks as he runs. Hitoshi turns the corner and runs face-first into Kirishima's chest. He smacks back and falls ass first on the floor.

"Oh! Sorry, Shin-bro, I didn't see you there," Kirishima chuckles as he reaches out a hand to help Hitoshi up. Hitoshi takes his hand and is pulled to his feet." It's alright, Kirishima. I was the one running through the halls." The red-haired teen chuckles, "You left the locker room first. What are you doing back here anyway?" 

"Oh, um, I just forgot something, had to run back and get it." Hotishi lies, hoping that Kirishima doesn't question it. "Ah! Me too!" Kirishima laughs, slapping Hitoshi on the shoulder,  "Anyway, bro, I gotta go grab my charger, Izu-Midoriya! is waiting for me, good to see you, Shin-bro bye!" Kirishima rushes out before turning beet red and rushing away with a quick wave. "Oh yeah, there's DEFINITELY something there," Hitoshi thinks as he chuckles to himself, and continues toward the gym, where Aizawa Sensei is waiting for him.  

Chapter Text

Hitoshi makes his way toward the gym, still kind of internally freaking out about the whole Bakugo knowing about his freakout at the sports festival thing, and considering the way he fled the conversation with Bakugo, he's sure that'll come back to bite him in the ass.  "I'll figure out a lie for that one later," He thinks as he reaches the gym. Aizawa Sensei isn't there yet. "thank god I'm not late, I really don't need more questions right fucking now."  

Hitoshi puts his bag and other things down and decides to stretch until his mentor arrives. He's sitting down, stretching his legs out when his teacher arrives at the gym, he's not in his hero costume for once, he's just wearing a plain black workout outfit, albeit his capture weapon is still around his shoulders, as usual, and his hair is up in a bun. 

"Afternoon Sensei" 

"Shinsou, I've told you it's fine to just call me Aizawa when we're training," His teacher says as he places down a duffel bag. "I know, Sensei, but it just feels wrong, y'know?" Hitoshi replies bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck."What's in the bag?" Hitoshi asks, getting up and walking over to his teacher. Aizawa kicks the duffel over to him. "It's for you.” The purple-haired teen picks up the bag and opens it, revealing a capture weapon identical to the one strung around his teacher's shoulders. Hitoshi picks it up out of the bag and holds the bundle in his hands, looking up at his mentor. "Wow, um, thank you, sensei. I really don't know what to say." 

"Let's just practice getting a feel for how it works. We'll start by getting used to the feeling of throwing and wrapping the end around a pole."

They train for a while. Hitoshi sucks. It takes him at least an hour and a half to get to the end to wrap the pole, and it's only for a few seconds before it drops. He's surprisingly sweaty by the end, and without thinking, he wipes his cheek with the back of his hand. Neglecting to remember the makeup he has on covering up a particularly nasty bruise from the muzzle, he freezes when he sees the smudge on the back of his hand, but it's too late, his teacher saw the bruise. "fuck" he thinks. 

"Shinsou. What is that from?" Aizawa asks, voice laced with concern. "Oh, uh. It's just from sparring. Copped a punch from Midoriya." His teacher quirks his brow, seemingly unconvinced. "That's a nasty bruise, doesn't seem like that problem child to hit that hard." 

Hitoshi chuckles nervously, "I guess we got a little out of hand, huh?"

"Just be a little more careful next time, sparring shouldn't result in a bruise that bad."

"Yes, sir, we'll be more careful next time." 

Aizawa just gives him a look. "We'll leave it there today. I have some things to attend to." 

"Of course, Sensei, I'll see you tomorrow." Hitoshi gets up and grabs his stuff, turning toward the exit.

"And Shinsou." Aizawa calls, "You know you can always tell me if something was wrong, at home or at school."  

Hitoshi puts on his best fake smile, "Of course, Sensei, see you tomorrow," and with that, he turns and leaves the gym.

Shouta decides he is definitely going to look into the teen's home life, because something just doesn't feel right to the hero. 

Shouta gathers his things and leaves, heading back toward the teachers' lounge. He's gonna at least check out Shinsou's file, just to have a look. He arrives at the room, finding it empty; everyone else has probably left for today. Shouta grabs a coffee from the machine on the counter and sits at his desk, opening his laptop and going into the school's student database, searching, "Shinsou Hitoshi" and clicks his file.

SHINSOU, HITOSHI

QUIRK: BRAINWASH

DOB: JULY 1ST 20XX (AGE: 17)

PARENTS:

MOTHER: SHINSOU, FUMIKO (DEC)

FATHER: UNKNOWN

Shouta drops his mug, coffee splashing on the floor. Not even reading the rest of the file 

"Fumiko?" he asks, dumbfounded. "Not that Fumiko? Surely. If I had a kid, I would know, right?" 

Then it hits him. The hair. The eyes. 

He does the math; the first of July, roughly nine months after that night. 

"fuck." Shinsou is his son, and all this time didn't know. 

"What am I going to do?"