Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Aizawa Shouta was a man who prided himself on being selectively emotionally available. 

His husband? Shouta loved him to no end. Would commit murder if needed by him. No questions asked. 

His son? Shouta adored him to no end. Would commit murder if needed by him. Maybe one question asked, but still.

Everybody else could go ahead and fuck off. Nemuri is a good friend and Tensei was funny in his schooldays, but not close enough to deserve his unfiltered affection. 

The cuddles and soft kisses were reserved for Hizashi, and the head-pats and life-advice were for Hitoshi. Strictly nobody else.

So when his phone rang in the middle of movie-night, he was pissed off. As a hero, he was obligated to be available 24/7 by his agency in case of emergency, and the school only called when Nedzu had a good enough reason to do so.

After a loud groan and an eyeroll, he folded the blanket off of himself, and retracted his arm from around Zashi's shoulder. His other side was occupied by his son, who sat up straighter to allow his dad to stand up from the couch. Hizashi reached for the tv remote to pause the pre-quirk marvel movie they were watching.

Shouta reached the phone, and his irritation became more prominent when he saw the caller ID was blank, meaning that it was either a misdial or a telemarketer. He was tempted to just not pick up, but somehow he felt a pulling and a sense of obligation to answer the call. 

So he did. And as soon as he slid the phone icon in the green zone, and the caller spoke into the microphone on the other end he realized who it was.

“Well, it’s been a while since we spoke hasn’t it, Shouta?” The airy laugh that followed warmed something in his heart, a rare smile stretching across his face, reminiscing the memories he had with this man.

“Yes, it really has been. Why are you calling so late? Wait, what time is it at I-Island again?”

At the question both Hizashi and Hitoshi perked up a bit. He never chatted so casually over the phone with anybody besides them, so they got curious. Shouta covered the speaker with his hand and mouthed ‘Izuku’ to his husband, who, based on the silent ‘oooh’ he made with his mouth, got the message. Hitoshi was none the wiser, but seeing his pops relax made him even more interested.

“Dunno. Maybe 4 in the morning? But since I’m back in Japan, I’m not too sure. The airport limbo is still very strange I have to say. Oh, and have you heard? David–”

“Wait. Did you say back in Japan?”

The question sounded strange coming from his mouth. He could hear his own shock, and somehow even giddyness at the information. Like a child. How illogical. But at the same time, he hadn’t seen the man in over 7 years, so it was kind of understandable. Yes, they called occasionally, and the man sent him birthday presents and souvenirs, but an in-person meeting? He could still remember sending him off to the plane heading to I-Island all those years ago.

He heard Hitoshi whisper something questioningly to Hizashi, but his thoughts were too centered around Izuku to care. He’ll have to ask about it later.

“When did you get back? Where are you staying? Are you going back? Wait, did you–”

The hearty laugh on the other end of the line made him stop in his questioning, the rapid-fire dying down as his hand came up to his face to try and shield his blushing cheeks from the other two in the room. (He was unsuccessful. Hizashi found it very adorable, and Hitoshi grinned at the blackmail material he’s getting.)

“It’s good to see you still care about your old man! I’m glad. But, to answer your questions, I got back around…23 minutes ago? And I'm staying at…’Whatever Hotel’. Or the ‘The First Hotel I See’ on ‘Straight Ahead’ street. Take my chances.” Shouta could feel the man smiling in his own gentle way, the way he smiled at him so frequently in his childhood. The way he desperately wanted to see him smile again. He knew it was childish of him to still be so emotionally attached to his dad, but…he just was. And he was not ashamed of it. The man singlehandedly did more good to him than all of the other people in his life combined (Not counting his own little family of two.)

Just as he was about to offer his dad the option to come stay with them, he realized that he didn’t exactly tell his dad that he was married and had a son. Albeit adopted, but nonetheless. At first he was afraid that the man would be weirded out or disgusted by him being gay, but after a couple years he just…forgot to tell him.

Izuku left for I-Island 8 years ago, when he was 22. Him and Hizashi got married at 24, and then adopted 10 year old little Hitoshi just after they hit 25. Now, being 30, Shouta realizes that keeping it all a secret might have been a pinch over the top, but all the same, it was more of an in-person topic. 

“Still the jokester I see. Be safe out there. Musatafu is not the best in that regard, but well… UA’s close and everything so…Meet me tomorrow?”

Now he could see Hitoshi’s jaw hit the floor. He could accept him talking casually on the phone with this mystery-person, but his dad willingly and on his own accord, suggested meeting somebody? Outside? The world is over and all hope is lost.

“Sure! I would love to see you. Is that Cat Café still in business? The one with the magnificent cinnamon buns?”

Shouta let out a fond snort at the man’s antics.

“You and your sweet tooth. Yes they still exist. But they changed locations and are now on the xxx avenue. Where the florist used to be.”

“Aah, I remember where. Okay, then…9 am? Tomorrow’s a Saturday so you should have a free day right? If I remember correctly, school let out on… june 27th? So you only have hero work for at least two more weeks and you always have Saturdays and Tuesdays off for some reason…”

He did have Tuesdays off because it is the only day his and Hizashi's schedule aligned and they could spend the whole day together. And he had Saturdays off to be with Hitoshi, who had school during weekdays, and because Hizashi had Sundays off for the same reason.

“Works for me. See you then. Bye dad.”

“Goodnight, Sho.”

After ending the call and placing the phone on the counter again, both his husband and son erupted in questions and other sounds of confusion.

“When did he come back?”

“‘Dad’?! As in your father?!”

“Where is he staying?”

“Who is this man and why haven’t I heard of him before?”

“He could come over tomorrow, I could call in sick to the radio station–”

Shouta let out a frustrated sigh, looking fondly at the two of them. Holding up his palm, prompting them to stop talking so he can answer their questions.

Once both Hizashi and Hitoshi sat back down on the couch, looking at him expectantly, he pulled his legs under himself on the carpet before the couch, sitting down on the material, thinking about what to say exactly.

“First of all, the man who called is my adoptive father, Izuku Midoriya. He…Honastly, he’s the reason I’m here today the way I am and my guardian since I was 9.”

This was mainly for Hitoshi, since his husband already knew the man, having been over at their house quite a number of times, and also being taught by the man himself in UA.

“Izuku was the one who saved me when my mother tried to kill me after a nasty breakup she had that was due to my ‘villainous quirk’.” Hitoshi gasped, not having heard this story yet. “He took me in after realising that the foster system was not kind to people like me.” He looked up to see his husband caressing Hitoshi’s hand, trying to ease the bad memories. After all, Hitoshi himself has been adopted by them due to a particularly bad placement when he was 10 years old. Now, 5 years later, the nightmares have calmed, and he had more good days than not, but sometimes the trauma still made it hard for him to accept love.

“When I told him I wanted to be a hero, he trained with me, preparing me for the UA entrance exam. In the end, the robots made it impossible for me to use my quirk, but he told me to try during the Sports Festival. The endless support and encouragement helped me through it all, and when I won, he looked at me with such proud and loving eyes, I cried.”

“He really did. It was adorable. Izuku was so confused, arms flailing in panic, because he thought he said something wrong.” 

Hitoshi looked at his pops, looking at the fond and loving smile, a kindhearted laugh lacing his voice. The soft look in his eyes. The way his dad, his coldhearted dad, the same dad that was so supportive towards him, staring into nothingness in front of him, reliving the memory that shaped him to be the way he is. 

“He became a teacher at UA my first year, when I was fifteen, and held the position for 5 years, two years after I graduated.”

“What did he teach?” Hitoshi asked, a thing he allowed himself around the two. A sign of trust and relaxation. Shouta was proud of the boy.

Before he got to answer, Hizashi took over.

“Well, all sorts of things, really. He was our Foundation of Heroics teacher all throughout our schooling, but he was also Homeroom Teacher to the year below us, and he taught the Support Course Coding 102 and Engineering 101, all while having Maijima– erm, Power Loader as an intern. Not to mention how, being an informant, he worked on cases with the police during this 5 year duration.”

“Dang. And here I was thinking you guys were working a lot. This guy is insane.”

Both adults laughed at that, agreeing with the statement, but still finding it somehow funny. Throughout the years they studied under Izuku, he never seemed overworked. He was always lively, smiling like sunshine, ready to help anybody who asked for it. He would set up study groups, lead circles interested in analysis, a hobby he had for as long as Shouta could remember. He was the first one in and last one out of the school, available all day any day.

And even then, he never neglected Shouta for work. He was always there for him, and he felt loved and cared for even when the other was not in close proximity. He made him bentos every morning, hugged him every night and helped him with homework, life, and everything in general. He had time to take him, and sometimes his friends, to places on weekends, spending the whole day with them, buying them food and little gifts, laughing and never superficial.

He was a good father, a wonderful teacher, and a better human than any adult he knew.

Even after growing up, finishing school, starting hero work, his father has been a constant in his life, an unmoveable pillar that helped him during difficult times. A pillar he could lean on if shit hit the fans. Somebody to turn to  when he was not in a great headspace. Especially after Oboro died. 

“Okay, that’s it for introductions, you’ll meet him soon enough. When did he come back?”

“Like…an hour ago now? He called me first thing when the plane landed. He's searching for a hotel right now. The old apartment got sold a while back, There was a leakage problem.”

“He could have stayed with us. We have an extra bedroom, you know.”

Shouta looked to the side in shame, earning a questioning eyebrow raise from his husband.

“Shou.” The firm voice of Hizashi reminded him of why he never argued with the man. He was a weak, weak man, always giving in to his husband.

“Well… I may or may not have forgotten to kinda tell…well, you see, I wasn’t sure if he’d…”

“Shou!”

“He doesn’t know we’re married..” It was quiet, a very quiet confession.  

“I kinda forgot to tell him.” 

“You WHAT??!?!” Hizashi almost activated his quirk, but even after Shouta erased it, the exclamation was still loud.

“How could you simply ‘forget’ to tell your dad about being married?!? Does he know we have a kid? Who am I kidding, probably not. Shouta, this is serious. He comes back after eight years and knows nothing about your life?”

Hizashi was now pacing back and forth on the carpet, having stood up sometime into his rant.

“It started with not being sure if he’d accept me being…well… gay and all, but then I really just forgot to bring it up. I talked about you and what we do, like programs and such, but I never explicitly told him what our official relationship is.” He was now also standing, bringing his husband into a loving embrace, his hand finding its way into Hizashi's hair, caressing it in a soothing motion. 

“And I’ve told him about Toshi too. Maybe not our exact relationship, but I’ve told stories of him and you and us together.”

Hizashi looked up at him, staring into his soul with sharp eyes, still a little angry but calmer. 

“I’m meeting him. In fact, we’re all meeting him. Tomorrow. Together. And you tell him or so Nedzu help me I will.”

“We arranged the meetup at 9 am tomorrow at the Nomiho Cat Café.” He could hear Toshi’s quiet ‘yesss’ from the couch. “I promise I will tell him.” 

“I’m coming with. And after revealing the location, do you think I can talk Hitoshi out of joining?”

“No he cannot!” Grinned Hitoshi, folding his arms over his chest in satisfaction.

Shouta huffed fondly.

“Didn’t even dream of it.”

Hizashi called his radio station, telling them that he’ll be away tomorrow because of a family emergency.

They went to sleep after deciding it was too late to finish the movie, Shouta’s mind swirling with scenario after scenario on how the talk could go. 

After a while, he willed his thoughts to stop, hugging his husband and promptly passing out. 

Tomorrow will be a long day.

For all of them.

Chapter Text

Hizashi was up and moving by 7 am, too excited to go back to sleep. He made breakfast for all three of them, brewing coffee for his son and husband, making tea for himself in addition to the little sandwiches. He started on sorting out topics for his next radio show, when Shouta rose from the dead, at least by the looks of it. He handed him his mug, guiding him to the dining table. 

After receiving a soft kiss as a thank you, he sat back down, continuing on with the ideas. Not long after, around 8 am, Hitoshi also awoke, sitting down next to the plate with food still on it. He was always more awake in the morning than his dad, but honestly that was not a hard task at all.

It took approximately 17 minutes to get to the Café, so they all got ready by 8.30, and set out almost immediately. Maybe due to the nerves, the walk there was quiet, Hitoshi listening to music, and him and Shou just walking next to each other in silent support.

When they arrived in front of the place, it was still 8 minutes earlier than the agreed upon time, so they decided on choosing a booth near the back, where the quiet cats gathered.

Hitoshi wandered off towards the bundle of cats the moment he plopped his bag on the cushion of the seats, leaving his parents to wait at the booth. 

After a minute or two of silence, the bell above the door rang, and in walked a gentleman with impeccable style. Given the summer heat, he wore only a short sleeved light blue shirt, seams pressed, seemingly ironed. The collar was bent at a perfect angle, his dark blue tie laying on his chest in a perfect knot, silver tie-pin keeping the ensemble in place. His long linen pants were a darker shade of brown, buckled up by a dark brown leather belt. His shoes, leather, elegant, black and stylish, knocked in rhythm as he approached the counter, placing his order after a brief look at the menu. 

His dark green eyes scanned the interior, nodding in satisfaction. He brought one arm up, scarred skin and muscle stretching deliciously, fingers combing through the short dark green curls. 

The man, who looked just as he did eight years ago. Izuku Midoriya. Now that Hizashi thinks about it, he looked like this since their first meeting almost 15 years ago. Strange. He still wore the same stylish old-school pieces, with the same aura of refinement. Of calmness. Of Wisdom.

He truly missed the man. He didn’t look a day over 40, his height a little over his own, maybe 6’2”, 6’3”. After receiving his order of a cinnamon bun and a cappuccino, he paid with cash and then politely thanked the teenager behind the counter, sending her one of his gentle, blinding smiles.

He turned on his heel, effortlessly balancing the drink and pastry in one hand, holding his leather bag in the other, making his way towards their booth with a smile on his face.

Hizashi saw Shouta wave to his dad as he approached, both of them snickering at the older man's attempt to wave back with both hands full. 

As soon as the two plates got placed on the table, and the bag sat neatly on the seat opposite to the two of them, Izuku turned towards Shouta, gesturing him with his palm in an inviting upward wave to stand.

“Shou, I missed you so much! Come here.”

Bringing his arms up, wrapping them around his son. Due to the height difference, Shouta was nearly enveloped by the man, head peeking out from just above his shoulder. Strong arms holding him tight, one palm patting his back, the other securing them together as Izuku rocked a little back and forth. 

“God, you've grown so much. I remember you being just this tall, so cute and eager to learn about the world!”

Hizashi snickered at the man leveling his hand at hip height, a fond look in his eyes. His husband on the other hand was almost blushing, the pink spreading down his ears. 

Once the younger man had enough of being cradled like a child, he pulled back, Izuku letting him escape his hold.

“Haa, still not the touchy type I see…” Izuku sounded fond, if not a little disappointed, but full of love nonetheless. His eyes wandered to Hizashi, looking at him expectantly.

Hizashi sighed, an honest smile on his lips. He loved the hugs the man gave. Being taller than him in his childhood and even now, he adored the feeling of being enveloped in his secure arms. And Izuku was a magnificent hugger. He always asked first, even if just with his eyes, always pulled back when the other wanted him to, and never before it was prompted. It felt genuine and good.

Hizashi all but melted into his hold, reminiscing this feeling of safety.

“It’s good to see you back, Midoriya-san.” Izuku hit his head lightly, a dissatisfied click of tongue along with it. 

“Now, I remember telling you to just call me Izuku, dear. We’ve known each other for so long, it feels weird to still be addressed so formally.”

Even if Shouta’s dad was an old-school guy, he was an avid first-name basis believer, letting anybody and their mother call him ‘Izuku’. Hizashi has only met a handful of people who either refused to call him that, or the man hated them enough to rid them of the right to do so.

“Got it, got it.” He let out a little giggle, somehow feeling like a teenager near the man. It must be how he hadn’t changed a bit. Like he was frozen in time entirely.

Shouta grumbled on the side, patting his husband's back gently.

“Okay, enough of this. We’re here on business. Sit down. Your coffee is getting cold.”

Izuku whipped his head up, a devastated look on his face.

“Oh shit.” It was soft, and almost inaudible. But the voice hero heard it loud and clear, being close to the man still and all. He giggled, letting Izuku go, sitting back down into his seat. It was rare to catch Izuku swearing, he never talked profanities in front of them as teenagers. 

Izuku plopped down on the cushions of the seat, taking a sip of his cappuccino, a relieved smile on his lip as it was still hot enough.

He took a bite of his cinnamon bun, savouring the taste, eyes closed. 

“Hmm, just as I remembered. Thank God they still have this.” Hizashi nodded along, he too liked that specific pastry. 

“So, what business were you referring to earlier?” Izuku asked Shouta, placing his bun back down on its plate, swirling his spoon in his drink.

Hizashi looked at his husband anxiously, seeing the same nerves mirrored in his eyes. His face was as stoic as ever, but he can tell. And apparently Izuku can too, because his face becomes laced with worry, sitting up straighter.

“Wait, is it that bad? Talk to me Shouta. If it is something I can help with–”

Souta shot him down halfway through that sentence.

“No! No, god no. Nothing’s wrong, nobody died, no, it’s just…well…”

It was painful to watch. Hizashi grabbed his husband's hand under the table, grounding him and supporting him silently. 

“Lay it on me. You know I will love you no matter what, so bring it on. Who did you kill?”

Shouta snorted, a little laugh escaping his lips. 

“What? No! I’d never!” Izuku always did this. Made the nerves go away somehow. Hizashi exhaled, feeling himself relax a little.

“So?”

“Well, I kinda got married.”

“I see, I see..” 

A pause. 

A beat of silence.

Izuku stopped swirling the spoon. 

The spoon dropped on the plate.

“..wait what?” 

Shouta looked to the side, a shameful look on his face.

“I got married.”

“When did this happen?!” Hizashi could hear the devastated tone in his voice, and it made him feel awful.

“Almost 6 years ago?” It was more of a question, the raven still not looking at his father’s face.

“Shouta. How could you? Not even inviting me to your wedding? All the years I spent preparing for the day I walked somebody down that aisle for nothing??” He sniffed “I even touched up on my ballroom dancing for our dance, you know..”

He blew his nose in the napkin he got for his bun, wiping his tears away on the edge of the paper.

“So, who’s the lucky guy? Is it Hizashi? God I hope it is… He’s been smitten ever since that Sports Festival.”

Both Hizashi and Shouta bluescreened at that, mouth agape in his case, and Shouta just sitting like when Nedzu announced that he hired All Might. Not responsive. At all.

“How’d you know?” Hizashi mustered up the voice to ask, shocked and relieved at the same time.

“What do you mean? It was so obvious, and honestly very cute how neither of you noticed until second year. I was worried, in fact. It seemed like you got quite popular with the ladies towards the end there, and I was afraid that your stupid and dumb teenage self would just go chasing skirts.”

He folded his napkin neatly, placing it on the table.

“But based on that reaction, I feel I worried needlessly. I wish you happiness, but I really am disappointed that I wasn’t even informed about this progression.”

Hizashi felt even worse now. Shouta worried needlessly, but this predicament might actually put a tear in their relationship. He doesn’t want that. Especially not like this. Not due to this. 

“We apologize. Shou thought that…he was afraid of your reaction, let’s just say. But after a while, in all honesty, he just forgot.” Hizashi glanced at the man by his side, soul slowly coming back into his body. “I have already scolded him for it, so you really don’t have to. I was under the impression that you knew, he only told us about his…faliure to inform you yesterday after your call.”

Izuku nodded along, but that last sentence made him freeze once again.

“‘Us’? ‘Us’ you say?”

Shouta chose this very moment to regain consciousness.

“Well, do you remember Hitoshi? The kid who I always talk about?”

“Absolutelly. He’s such a good artist, I’ve a printed copy of the photo you sent me of his drawing of that Cheshire cat. It hangs in my office on I-Island. Even David praised it, you know.”

“So the thing is—”

“Hey, pops, can we get a drink? I feel like I’ll die if I don’t get caffeine very soon…”

He looked back and forth between the unfamiliar man and his parents. How his dad looked out of it, face buried in his hands, and how his pops seemed to be almost relieved he interrupted.

“...wrong time?”

Chapter Text

“...wrong time?”

Hitoshi was honestly not sure about what to think of the mystery man sitting in their booth. 

His vibes were of an ancient book, like he knew everything about everyone, like he was around for longer than anybody else could ever imagine. His face looked to be around 40 years old, his face still smooth of any wrinkles, but…he just felt wise. 

Hitoshi couldn’t explain, he just felt the man was safe.

Hitoshi glanced at his pops again, silently begging him to do the talking.

“Izuku, this is Shinsou Hitoshi. We adopted him…5 years ago now?” Hitoshi nodded, confirming the time period. “He’s fifteen now, and he’ll start at UA next semester.”

“Oh really? What course?” 

The man turned his whole attention towards him, making him a little squirmish under the intense gaze. 

“The hero course, sir.” Hitoshi saw the man frown, his thoughts spiraling the millisecond it splayed across his lips. 

‘Is that bad? Does he not like heroes anymore? God, will this start a fight? It’s because of me again. How could I be so–’

“Kid, please. There is no need for this ‘sir’ bullshit.” He waved his hand dismissively in front of his face, looking to be lost in thought for a second. 

“After all, this basically makes us grandpa and grandchild!” He seemed very excited after realizing this, standing up faster than lightning, grabbing him under both arms, lifting Hitoshi up effortlessly, gently spinning him around while he was still in shock.

“Let me take a good look at you! Since Shouta never sent me a picture of you…” He shot a nasty glance towards said man, who looked away in shame. “You look healthy. Good. But I’m afraid the hero course will need a little more muscle than this.”

He pulled him closer, enveloping him in a hug. His legs were dangling under him, tiptoes barely reaching the ground. Just how tall is this man?

The hug felt good, and after getting over the initial shock of being manhandled, he shyly hugged back, fingers curling around the fabric of the man’s shirt.

“God, I’ve always wanted a grandkid. Hitoshi, you say? I see you kept your family name. Good call. It’s safer this way.”

The man put him down, bringing a hand up to ruffle his purple hair. It felt identical to how dad did it. Affectionate and safe.

“So. Hero course, huh? Very nostalgic indeed. You got in on the first try? Must’ve been hard, mental quirk and all. How did you fare with the robots? Oh, did you figure out the hidden point-system? Pray tell, is Nedzu still principal? How—”

He looked around, confused as to why all three of them looked at him in confusion, tilting his head to the side in a silent question.

Shouta was the first to break the silence.

“I never told you about his quirk.”

And then it hit Hitoshi. How did he know he had a mental quirk? He had assumed his dad told the man, but now?

“Oh, quite simple really. Look at him! It shows just like your crush was obvious on Hizashi, darling.”

When nobody seemed pleased with his answer, Hitoshi heard him let out a sigh, accompanied by a silent ‘children these days..’. He doesn’t know how his parents were supposed to be children, but well.

“Why did I even bother teaching you both analysis back in the day… Pay attention, I’ll only say this once. Not you Hitoshi, darling. I’ll teach you however many times you need me to.” He patted his head again, eyes filled with adoration and love. Hitoshi understood why his dad cried after the Sports Festival.

“He shows no obvious sign of mutation. Could it be hidden? Seems unlikely. His weight is roughly around a normal teenager, muscle density and weight distribution normal, stronger than average, but still not strong enough to withstand a strength enhancer or a speed booster quirk. That leaves us with emitters and the quirkless. Now, I ruled out quirkless because of the rasp in his voice. It’s the same low frequency sound that Hizashi over here has, a clear sign of a quirk that is related to sound or voice. In Hizashi’s case, his entire voice is the quirk, so the hum is constant when he speaks, but you only have it when asking a question. That leaves us with, again, two possible conclusions: either it’s a question-activated mind-control quirk or a question-activated other emitter quirk.”

He cleared his throat, placing his fists on his sides, standing tall and proud of his freakishly accurate analysis. 

“See? Quite simple.”

Hizashi shook his head sharply.

“No, sense– Izuku, nothing about it was ‘quite simple’! What do you mean by ‘a rasp in his voice’? I’m supposed to be the voice hero here, and I hear nothing! Rien! Nada!”

The exasperated questioning was interrupted by the hearty laugh coming from Izuku. 

“I sure hope so! It’s not supposed to be heard at all!”

“Then how do you know?” This time Shouta asked his father the question.

“Oh, because my heightened senses allow me to. I can sense the frequencies of an emitter quirk when activated, and after enough training, I became able to identify them later on, meaning that I could tell it was Hizashi even if blindfolded, just by the sound of his emitted frequency. It really is just a low hum that is unique to every person.”

“Wow…”

Hitoshi gawked at the man still standing beside him, looking up in awe.

“So, was I right?”

Hitoshi nodded, not trusting his voice right now.

Izuku grinned like a child on Christmas, and Hitoshi felt the need to shield his eyes from the brightness. It was even brighter than his pops’. And that’s hard to achieve.

“Now. Let me order you all something to eat. What do you want, darling?”

Hitoshi was confused at first, not sure about who the man was talking to, but when nobody answered and Izuku kept his gaze on him, he realised that he was the addressed person. 

“Erm…coffee?”

“Come on, Toshi. Don’t feel bad about the price. This old geezer has enough money to last him two lifetimes.” His dad supplied, picking the menu up from the holder in the booth, scanning for something delicious.

“Ha ha ha, your dad is quite right actually. This old man has nothing he couldn’t afford, so let me spoil my grandchild a little, please?”

Hitoshi thought about it a little, but after realising that he didn’t have to pay either if his parents or grandpa bought him food, he just gave in and sat next to his dad, reading through the menu.

“Hizashi-kun, don’t be shy. Let’s get all of you something to bring home with you. What do you want?”

Pops wasted no time, the exclamation loud and clear on his lips, sounding childish the way only an older person can make you feel.

“Cinnamon Buns!” Both he and Izuku burst out laughing, dad smiling fondly and Hitoshi confused as hell.

After they all chose something to eat and drink, and ordered 3 cinnamon buns to go, they sat in their booth for an hour, just talking about mundane things. Izuku asked about what they did this summer, and they inquired about his time in I-Island. 

“No way!! That is so cool!”

Hizashi was thoroughly impressed. 

“It is indeed cool. It took some time to perfect this new technology, but the end result is worthy of all the all nighters.”

Izuku stated, proud of his invention. He was describing the product and support technology breakthrough he achieved during his 8 year stay at the Island.

He developed a method to code the support item or hero suit to a person's quirk-factor or DNA, making its activation require the specific person it was intended for. 

This new technology also takes hero suit making to another level. Now, if a person has a full-body transformation or an emitter quirk that would be stopped if the body is covered in normal fabric (e.g. Midnight), this new fabric development would make getting around it possible. 

“Say, Nemuri-san, she has that sleeping-gas quirk right?” He waited for both pro heroes to nod. “She has to rip her suit open to access her quirk, thus forcing her to have a very thin fabric, with zero support or reinforced parts for protection. It is extremely dangerous, not to mention uncomfortable.”

Hitoshi watched Izuku shudder at the thought. He himself was also extremely uncomfortable just thinking about the heroine’s costume. Curse you, society built on sex appeal!!

“With this technique, she could have thicker fabric, armor or even full body coverage, because the fabric itself would have a similar quality to her skin, letting the gas through on will.”

That did sound very much an update to her current attire, Hitoshi noting how both pro heroes at the desk look at each other in awe and amusement.

“Izuku, this is revolutionary. When is this new method being released?”

The man seemed to be thinking about it, hand placed under his chin.

“Not sure. I did the research, wrote up the proposal and presented it to the Island Commission, and procession time can last up to two weeks. But!”

He held the silence for suspense, finger held up to gather attention.

“As the publisher and discoverer, I have the right to it all. I can use the method before the publication itself!”

He turned the upheld finger and pointed it towards Shouta.

“Meaning: I can process your capture scarf and link it to your DNA, making you the sole user to be able to wield it as intended.”

Hitoshi watched as his dad’s eyes widened, a small but excited smile stretching on his lips, perking up a bit in his seat. 

“Can you really?”

“Just gotta ask Maijima for an extra scarf and I can start working on it as soon as tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

The next day was a blur of boxes and trains, Hizashi persuading Izuku to come and live in their guestroom, Izuku packing up his hotel room and stuff he brought with him from I-Island, and arranging everything to fit in the small room.

Izuku was glad to be back. Even after almost 400 years of living, Japan was still his favorite country. Sue him, he had a special connection to his birthplace.

Once all boxes were shoved in a corner, and all the furniture he needed was ordered online, he turned his laptop off, and plopped down on the bed, arms splayed out on both sides, thoughts swirling in his head.

He was still kinda mad at Shouta for not telling him about his family, it pained him greatly to not be trusted with his sexual orientation, but he can get over it. It’s not like Shouta was the only child he ever had, even if he was one of his most favorable ones. During his life, his long and infinite life, he had his share of different families, partners, dynamics. He explored everything. 

But as the years progressed, and as he got bored of life, he stopped with most of it. He gave up on the concept of mourning the dead. He gave up on finding partners for life (their life, at least), gave up on settling down, on being a prominent part of any community.

Due to his immortality, Izuku could not die. Any and all injury was healed by his quirk, disease was nullified, aging was stopped. He was stagnant.

When he first discovered his quirk, it was still punishable by death to have one. The knowledge of quirks in its entirety was not public, and the government hunted down all quirked individuals. It was easier with mutant types, identifying the ‘sinner’ and executing them. Mental and emitter types were trickier, but they usually got caught as well. 

The word ‘Quirk’ was not even invented yet.

Izuku, on the other hand, was neither. Not that back then they had terms to differentiate these, but since quirks became mainstream, after the first quirk wars, technology started using the terminology developed to describe the different types. 

Mutant types are the ones with physical quirk aspects. They can either call upon a transformation, or have it permanently. It can come with borrowed attributes from the object of the transformation, such as speed and strength in animal types, occasionally with the special attributes of said animal (e.g. echolocation with bats).

Emitter types are the ones that have a quirk that enables them to create things that are not a part of their body. Quirks with a physical proof of quirk activation. Emitters can have activation time limits, intake requirements.

Mental types are the ones with a quirk that originates from the body, and has an effect on another subject entirely, often tied to an activation requirement, like eye contact or verbal response.

All types can suffer from quirk exhaustion, and in case of methodical overuse, they all can evolve in specific cases. 

Of course, over the centuries, these definitions became broader, and included more cases of exceptions, but the original classification system was based among these lines.

Now, if we circle back to Izuku, his quirk does not align to either one of these definitions, having attributes from each of them, some more than others, but still.

When his quirk manifested, he was a teen, maybe 17, 18 years old. He broke his arm during his part time job, but before he could call for help, his broken bones snapped back into place, leaving him stunned and terrified. He had heard the tales about the people taken away because of a power that was unexplainable by logic, medicine or technology. 

When he got home that afternoon, he locked himself up in his room, telling his concerned mother to not worry, he’s just tired after work, and really thought about what’s next. He decided against telling his mother. It would just make her guilty, and he didn’t want to burden her with his newfound…well. This.

After a while, he grabbed the box cutter on his desk, and pricked the skin on his finger. He watched in horror and fascination as the blood droplets almost…rewound, gliding back into the wound, just for the cut to be healed in under 15 seconds. After a couple more experimental cuts, he concluded three things:

One, that he could heal external wounds. After inspecting his previously broken arm, he added internal ones to this point too.

Two, that the healing process was a rewind of the injury in itself, having the visual aspect of a video playback.

And Three, that this healing did not consume any energy from him. He did not feel sleepy or hungry after healing himself over 30 times in an hour.

And this is when it hit him. He did not feel tired…at all. That is weird. He had a long day today, and he hadn’t eaten since lunch and he was not hungry. It was almost 10 pm.

He decided to leave this new discovery for tomorrow, and plopped down on his bed, pulling the blanket over his head, trying to drown out the world around him. 

Tomorrow came with even more surprises. He discovered that even after not eating for almost 20 hours, he was completely fine. He ate breakfast with his mother, and then retreated back into his room. Given that it was Saturday, he decided that today was the day to experiment more. 

He grabbed an empty notebook from his school supplies, not titling it to avoid suspicion from his peers and mother. It’s not like he can write ‘My newfound strange ability that resembles the ones that are executed by the government’ in bold letters on the front page.

So he wisely leaves the title page empty.

After writing about the discovery itself, he turned the page to a blank one, writing ‘experiments’ on the top. Under that, he detailed his findings about the cuttings and rewinding, detailing the time between cut and heal, how the deepness or shallowness related to time difference, how the blood being absorbed in tissue played out in the rewind part. 

On the next page, he wrote ‘sensations’. He wrote about how the pain was still there, but somehow muffled, almost like the numbness after sitting on your leg for too long. He wrote about not being hungry or tired, how the sprained wrist he nursed since a week ago was not hurting at all, and functioning perfectly fine.

After this, he continued on with his day as if nothing had happened. He talked and laughed with his mother, did the groceries, cleaned up the apartment while his mother cooked, and ate his usual portions, even without feeling the emptiness in his stomach. 

That night, he tried not sleeping. 

He was perfectly fine the next morning.

During the school-week, he skipped breakfast, didn’t eat lunch, and ‘ate in his room’ when dinner rolled around. He was fine. 

He noticed how he got stronger. Not outwardly, he was still the same lanky teen he was a week ago, but he could now lift boxes he couldn’t even move before. He could jump higher and greater distances than before. Punch harder, kick harder. His aim got better. He could throw stones onto the can he placed out almost 200 meters away without problem. He could count the stitches on his clothes, see the little brushstrokes on the wall that seemed flat just a week ago.

He was thrilled.

And scared.

Terrified.

If this somehow got out, if the government somehow found out…He and his mother would be taken in an instant.

So he kept it a secret. 

Only he and his notebook knew about what transpired since that fateful Friday afternoon.

The months passed. He found out new aspects of his power. He grew accustomed to handling the strength and heightened senses. Learned to ignore the sounds he knew he was not supposed to be able to hear. It helped that he did not need sleep, because getting the hang of not hearing everything all the time was a difficult and long process. 

Years passed.

His mother died in an accident.

He grieved, depressed for a couple of years. He tried to end it all.

It was unsuccessful.

He gave up

He grew older.

When he hit 50, he realized that he didn’t actually age. 

His exterior changed, sure, but no typical aging happened. His joints were fine, his sight was 20/20 still, no cracking of bones, greying of hair, nothing. During these 30-something years, he was not sick once. There were times when he forgot to eat or sleep for months at a time.

And then he realized.

It was never a healing ability.

He was immortal.

Chapter Text

That revelation did fuck him up a little.

One night, he went to sleep (he did that sometimes. Just to have that sense of normality) wishing to go back to before he was cursed just to be able to end it all.

The next day he got up in his 17 year old body. 

He was still in his apartment, the newspaper was saying the correct date, but his body changed. 

Responding to his wishes.

He experimented with this newfound aspect the whole week. Wishing really strongly to change something on his body while sitting in front of a mirror. 

It worked.

He could change his appearance. Or more like a shift between the ages he has been before. He could choose to be 10, 4, 48, but not a 100. He has not lived to be a hundred yet. 

He wished he didn’t have to.

But…this was a pleasant discovery. This meant that he could just…start anew every time something went wrong. 

His next couple of years…he is not proud of. 

He has had enough of life, and decided to just…do whatever.

He changed his body to be around 22, and went haywire. Parties, drugs, sex, alcohol, crimes, all of it. 

He was never caught. 

He was never even suspected. 

After all, the police searched for a ravenette (painted) youngster, and he was a respectable gentleman in his 60’s. Nobody would connect the two.

But then…

He had accidentally killed one of his flings. They both overdosed. He got up. She did not. 

He decided that this has to stop. So he up and moved cities. 

He started anew as a 30 year old florist in downtown Yokohama, living peacefully for a good decade.

Then he got bored again, so he went abroad for the first time. He decided that since he knew English pretty well, America was the way to go. He moved to Michigan as a 20 year old university student to study medicine. He had time, and it’s not like he needed sleep. Med school sounded like a good time-kill.

After his…not so innocent second twenties in Japan, he got rather good at forging legal documents so nobody would get suspicious of a 20 year old having an ID from almost half a century ago. This came in rather handy, giving him the option to just ditch whenever.

It got weird when he (for an experiment) cut his arm off, just to see what would happen. As it turns out, the ‘rewind’ process with bigger, no longer attached pieces is different. As soon as the cut off arm hit the table, it all but evaporated, leaving slightly black dust behind. The wound on the other hand, like some b grade movie plot with aliens, sprouted blood that somehow stayed in the general area. After about 10 seconds of that, the blood started to gather, forming bones first, then muscle, veins, fat, tissue, all a continuation of his remaining arm, his fingers coming in last almost a minute later. When the ‘interior’ was done, skin covered the newly grown limb, completing the process.

It was a weird experience, but the weirdest part was being able to name the parts as they were growing back. Medical name and all.

After finishing med school and becoming a surgeon, he practiced for 20 years, loving the change of pace compared to the peaceful life of a florist. He was on his feet rushing 24/7, operating left and right, training new interns, going up the corporate ladder, and after a particularly nasty case of power harassment and a chief surgeon getting arrested later, he found himself in the black leather chair on top of the building, the nameplate in front of his office reading ‘Dr. Izuku Midoriya, Chief Surgeon and Medical Director’.

After one more year of this, he faked his own murder and fled to New-Zealand.

He got married to a woman he met during his stay in the Maori region, had a child, and was happy. He lived with them for almost 50 years, having met the woman in ‘their’ twenties.

When his wife died, he mourned and grieved with their son, who already had his own wife and daughter by that point. He made sure to ensure their monetary happiness for at least a decade and then ‘died of old age’.

He toured Europe, spending a year or two in every country. In some he enjoyed the wild night-life or had a lover as a 20-something year old, in some he enjoyed the peaceful days as a middle-aged gentleman.

He found that changing his gender was not within the capabilities of his quirk. 

He found that drugs and alcohol had no lasting effect on his body.

He found that he learned quicker than anybody else. His brain could process information at light speed, and was capable of storing and recalling infinite amounts of info. He learned over 50 languages, and spent years reading through the biggest libraries in the world. 

He was just killing time at this point, since killing himself was not an option.

Sure, sometimes it was fun. Sometimes he forgot about the cruciating truth of having to do this eternally, sometimes he felt alive in his skin that was supposed to be dust in the wind by that point, but it never lasted. 

When quirks became more common, but still frowned upon, he decided to return to Japan. The world was in different stages of accepting these inevitable changes, every country having their own new laws, movements, hate crimes, and new government offices, but Japan was particularly bad in this field. The ‘quirked’ were oppressed, publicly shamed, denied opportunities, jobs, education, service, food, love.

Orphanages were filled to the brim, homelessness hit an all time high, and underground movements formed into an army to destroy the current government and bring liberation to the ones with a ‘meta ability’. 

Izuku hated seeing his home distorted from the peaceful country it once was. 

He did not want the war to take place. Had no intention of opposing it either. What he did want was a safe place for all to refuge in. For the quirked and for the quirkless all the same. 

So with the accumulated wealth that he gathered in over 200 years, he used to build a center. 

He purchased the territory on a smaller mountain, and had a big refugee center built in the middle of the forest covering the land. Had a wall drawn up, to protect the ones residing in the building, the ones who came in hopes of shelter and protection.

Once it was done, he went underground and gathered the people he deemed safe to bring inside the walls of his new establishment. The ones he deemed not to cause havoc around other quirked individuals. He was very clear on what he allowed on the premises and what he did not. The people who decided against following his rules got kicked out, never to be let on the grounds again. 

When the first Quirk War broke out, he gathered all civilians and got them to safety inside his halls. He made sure to give the people with meta abilities a secluded wing that was off limits for the normal person, but they could leave any time. He did not keep prisoners. 

During the 200ish years he lived, almost all humanity left his body. He did not grieve anymore, death was a constant, the only constant thing in this cruel world, and he welcomed her like an old friend. 

Izuku made sure to supply his wards with food and water, even if he himself didn’t need any. He made sure to keep them updated on the proceedings of the fights, even if he himself did not care anymore. He did his best to entertain everybody, set up teachers to teach the kids, the medical experts to tend to the ill and elderly, and in general, he tried to give them a sense of normality.

When the War was over and the government reached an agreement with the leader of the resistance, Izuku opened the gates and helped the civilians settle back into the half destroyed city.

It was hard on the people. The ‘normal humans’ and ‘meta people’ had to live together now, overcome prejudices and fear, and work together in order to restore the lives they had before. Both parties were afraid of what would happen in case of another war, so they set aside their differences. 

New laws passed ensuring the equal rights of the meta people, abolishing previous discriminations, penalizing hate speech, public discrimination or targeted seclusion. And after a decade of testing the waters, the public all but forgot that they had a problem with each other completely.

Izuku stayed in Japan all throughout these events, making sure that everything proceeded without issue. The refugee center he built was transformed throughout the years, more and more people coming to him, saying their thanks and paying their respects to him once their lives got on the rails again. 

People brought their children to him, introducing the next generation to the man that singlehandedly protected the country’s citizens during dire need. The sole reason Japan could get back up again after the war.

The Nation's Hero.

Izuku felt…nice. For the first time in over a century there were people who looked at him with more than fleeting affection or empty praise. 

So he decided to stay.

To be there for the people. His people.

He transformed the center to a place where the next generation could prosper under his guiding hand, an environment free of judgement, be it from quirk discrimination, identity or background, a free school for all children in Japan.

‘Unity for All’

UA

For the next generation of Heroes.

Chapter Text

As much as he enjoyed his time as the principal of UA, loved teaching and guiding the next generation, he realized that this recognition meant that after his reasonable ‘lifetime’, he needed to leave for at least  the current generation to forget him or die out. 

So after almost 40 years of office, he decided that it was time to pass on the title of headmaster and reach his ‘natural end’. As the paper owner of the premises, all staff, even the principal, were his employees at the end of the day, meaning he paid them from his private bankings while he was ‘alive’, but after realizing that that would leave a lot of questions if continued, so he instructed his successor to have students start paying tuition. That would cover the wages of the teachers and staff, as well as the principal, and after some time, it would accumulate under his name, as, again, he was the owner of all of UA.

It was a little weird. Having to leave that is. For the first time in who knows how long he left because of need and not want. 

But well.

After his funeral, he left for America. For nostalgia’s sake. He lived another 20 years traveling through the states, investing in startups, working odd jobs here and there, just enjoying life.

He got bored again.

Decided, back to Japan it is.

After finding a good bar that seemed like an adequate place to gather information on the current ongoings of the country, he met Zen. Zen Shigaraki. At the time he did not realize how important and prominent this meeting and budding friendship was.

They met, hit it off instantly, became what only could be called friends, but viewed each other as more of comrades. 

Zen talked about his brother a lot, though he never introduced him to Izuku. 

Izuku talked about his stay in the states, though he failed to mention how long ago each story was.

They got along.

In 5 years, the bar they met at became their go to spot, spending countless hours in and out of the place together, enjoying each other’s company.

At the 10 year mark, Izuku decided it was time to do something else. He checked in on UA, made sure everything was running good and smoothly. He bid farewell to his friend and left.

He wanted to climb Mount Everest. He did. It gets ridiculously easy once you realize you don’t need to worry about eating, drinking, oxygen, and the cold all together. But the view was phenomenal. 

He went into more extreme sports after that. Izuku was no adrenaline junkie, but he could appreciate the fine art of risking your life for an amazing experience.

Even if that aspect was meaningless to him.

Izuku skied, freeclimbed canyons, scuba dived in the mariana trenches, bungie jumped, surfed, a to z he did it all twice and then some. Toured the world again.

After 30 years, he wanted something slow again. To rest. 

So he went back to Japan. He was kinda sad, he realized that Zen was probably dead now. Or at least a very very old man.

But, just for old time’s sake, he went to the bar they used to frequent, as his 50 year old self, the same age they were when they separated..

But lo and behold, Shigaraki Zen sitting at their usual booth, not a day over 40. 

He was glad of course, his friend was alive and kicking, but you can imagine how shocked he initially was.

Izuku decided to just fuck it and walk up to the man like the 30-something years apart didn’t happen. It was worth it. The shock on Zen’s face after realizing he responded to him on reflex and ascertained who it really was is a memory he holds dear to his heart to this day.

They talked.

Really talked.

Zen told Izuku how he was around since before the first War, that Yoichi was dead, and that his quirk made him able to take and give quirks from others. How he secured himself an imperfect immortality quirk during the War. Izuku almost immediately asked him to take his (without naming it of course), just to see what would happen. It turns out, his quirk cannot be taken. 

He was expecting this much, but it still hurt a little.

Zen also talked about his quest on collecting his brother's quirk that apparently got passed down to another ‘holder’. Told him how he was a prominent figure in the underworld, how he committed heinous crimes during and after the war, out of anger, of grief. 

Izuku could understand. He did some pretty fucked up shit during his younger days. Not that anybody needs to know. Not that anybody alive remembers them.

When Zen asked about Izuku, he decided to go with half truths. 

Told him he was not aging like the rest of humanity, that he has lived for over a century, and that he can heal wounds faster than normal. He showed Zen the age-shift thing, just to get it over with. Always changing to a 50 year old to meet him seemed like a bother. 

Really, it felt nice to finally tell someone, even if he did not tell the whole truth. 

Even if he didn’t reveal the ‘immortality’ aspect. 

Even if he didn’t tell him his true age. (The date suggested 265, even if he himself was not counting anymore. It got tedious and unimportant.)

Even if he didn't tell him about the additional features and physical improvements caused by his quirk.

Even if he failed to mention his ownership of UA. 

It felt nice to have his friend again.

And now, he could leave again without feeling bad, and with the knowledge that his friend was just as eternal (well, not to the t but close) as he was. That there was a constant now, who knew about him, who waited for his return.

So, like always, he left. He had an idea he wanted to make. 

During his stay in Japan, he came across a scientist who got kicked out of his laboratory due to his ‘unconventional’ ideas. He wanted to develop a cuff. A cuff to suppress quirks temporarily. 

He had a brother who was a police officer, and he heard the tales of criminals using their quirks to escape from jail or avoid arrest all together. He got the idea of these cuffs while speaking to him about work and it stuck with him. But to his coworkers and boss, it seemed like he was just a quirkist asshole, trying to put the quirked in jail. 

So when Izuku heard his tale, it started something in him. An idea. A plan.

After all, he had time. He had money.

Might as well, right?

So he bought a patch of…well, ocean.

And built an island on it.

An island for the wild.

Indomitus

An island for the ones who follow their passion.

Insequor

An island for the ones devoted to their field.

Insto

An island for the ones hardened by age. By the world.

Inveteratus

An island for the hated and despised.

Invisus

An island for the inventors.

Inventor

The I-Island