Okay,but picture this. IzuHina childhood friends AU where Hinagiku would always defend Izuku from Bakugou. She'd have tons of injuries from his quirk,but she'd never complain. And Izuku would always cry because he felt bad that she got hurt because of him.
hmmmmmm
That sounds a mote too similar to Hinagiku and Takuro’s canon backstory for me to be comfortable with it
How about this: Hinagiku’s parents and Inko are in fact friends much like how Inko and Mistuki are friends, so every so often Izuku was brought over to the Tamano household to play. Anybody with eyes could see the damage Bakugou had been doing after all, so even Mitsuki probably relented long ago in keeping them away from eachother when they could, so Hinagiku became Izuku’s primary playmate around this time.
Hinagiku is brash and loud and loves to roughouse, but the problem with all of that is Izuku’s just a little too young to properly tell the difference between roughousing and a normal beatdown so he cries when she first tackles him to play. No one is more surprised than him when Hinagiku pulls away and asks if he wants to play a board game instead. Because the thing is, with her experience with Takuro, Hinagiku can tell when someone’s been bullied a lot. Takuro hates roughousing too.
Hinagiku offers to find his bullies and beat them up for something a stupid as him not having a Quirk, but Izuku kinda begs her not to.
She only crosses paths with Bakugou once, and that’s when they were both at one of Izuku’s birthday parties once, it was a year Bakugou was settling down a bit and everyone thought that meant he’d grown out of his phase. He makes an offhand comment about how he’s surprised anyone showed up to Izuku’s party at all, and wonders how many kids are here just because they pitied him.
Hinagiku only fights Bakugou once in their shared history and it’s on this day. She shoved his face into the slice of cake he was going to town on, and then it was on. Explosions could set plants on fire, but if he can’t open his hands then it’s useless. They took the fight outside before Inko could end it, and IN a stunning turn of events, Hinagiku makes quick work of him, without even using her Quirk. She tackles him and just starts punching. The explosions that singe her hair and burn the grass around them don’t feel like anything.
When Izuku cries after Bakugou is brought home and Hinagiku’s parents are called to come pick her up, it’s not for feeling bad, it’s for being honestly moved that someone would defend him like that.
Hinagiku doesn’t remember the day honestly, she got in a lot of fights in a lot of places defending a lot of friends. She’d even beaten a few kids up for Giving Momoko a hard time about her dead mom, so one birthday party brawl wouldn’t really sink in as anything momentus.
But Izuku never forgot. Newly turned twelve, cheeks still wet with tears as she grinned at him around the soot on her face, insisting that it didn’t hurt and if he ever gave him trouble again to just tell her.
Unfortunately the two of them were about to be separated, Hinagiku as well as her own school friends Yuri and Momoko, were going into Anduin Academy for Junior high, and Izuku and, unfortunately Bakugou were going to Aldera Junior high, They kept in touch when they could, but communication is hard when you’re a kid and the whole world revolves around school.
Hinagiku was real damn proud when she saw that bush of green hair in the sports festival, but they don’t actually reconnect until Magic returns tot he world, until Hinagiku as well as Yuri and Momoko have been coerced into transferring to UA, with the red armbands classifying them as social outcasts for their magic, He knew he had to try and talk to her again.
Because that day three years ago, his twelfth birthday, watching Hinagiku relentlessly attacking Kacchan for no reason other than his defense, though he hadn’t had the vocabulary to understand it back then, that was the day he’d fallen in love with her, and he could not let the opportunity die again. It was stupid of him, to cling to the memory of one day, to cling to the idea of human kindness from the heart of someone who was quite literally an angel, but even if she doesn’t remember him at all, he’ll remember her.
So here he was, standing in her doorway, he was always standing in her doorway, wasn’t he?
Uchiha Madara is many things—powerful, enigmatic, alluring.
He has a wide range of talents, and has never met a challenge he hasn’t overcome.
That is, until his little brother and his cute wife must leave town on short notice, leaving him the only available candidate to watch over their twin preteen daughters.
He is not in the habit of backing down.
This, however, makes him think about it.
✧✧✧
“It’ll only be one day, Madara.”
“You know what else happened in one day? The fall of an entire nation, Izuna.”
“That was decades ago. It’s time to move on.”
“People don’t forget,” Madara whispers forlornly, curling his fingers and surveying the smooth curves of his fingernails, each with its own dainty crescent indent.
“Regardless,” Izuna huffs, exasperated. “Please take good care of them.”
Madara rolls his eyes, knowing his brother knows he’s done so. “Of course. Have a safe trip. Tell Hinata hello for me. Don’t forget this time, Izuna. Your lack of follow-through is at times unspeakably rude.”
Izuna sighs over the phone, and the line cuts off.
“He hung up on me,” Madara says to himself, clucking his tongue. “His manners are atrocious.”
✧✧✧
Fifteen minutes since Uchiha Madara stepped through the chipped, dusty doorframe of his little brother’s home, he finds himself sitting in the living room with two eleven year old girls on either side of him. There are teen magazines spread around them, nail polishes in several striking colors lined up in front of him, and two dainty hands resting against his knees.
Surprisingly enough, none of these occurrences take the cake for the strangest, most startling development in Madara’s life.
The conversation at hand, however, does.
“Listen, Mayumi. There are approximately three hundred and seven different reasons why silk sheets are superior to,” and here, Madara pauses to swallow some bile down, “cotton.”
“But uncle, what are they?” Michiko asks, peering up at him with her wide-eyed gaze. So young, he thinks, with so much to learn about the world.
“All in due time, Michiko. For now, just know that the atrocities your father has inflicted upon you will be rectified swiftly.”
“What’s an atro—atrossy?”
“For starters, your hair,” Madara admits pitilessly. “Not to mention the décor in this place. You both have been starved of fine living. I’m surprised at your mother, though this is typical of your father.”
“I want black nails,” Mayumi says easily, gesturing to the black nail polish. This particular shade is one of Madara’s favorites, even amongst the armada of polishes he brought over to share with his nieces from his place. Madara gives her an approving look, and picks the polish up with deft fingers. He turns it in his hands and reads the label on the bottom, eyebrows raised.
“This might look black to you, but it is in fact much more. It’s obsidian.”
“Right,” Mayumi agrees smoothly. “I want it on all of my nails but the thumbs.”
“I want it on my thumbs,” Michiko states, “but a different color for the rest.”
Madara hums as he moves the tiny brush meticulously over his first niece’s nails, not getting a single smidge of paint on her skin. “And the other color, Michiko?”
He watches her from the corner of his eye, sees her lift a specific polish, seek its label, and read out, “Crimson Rain.”
“Extraordinary choice,” Madara praises, beaming at her. He finishes painting Mayumi’s nails, excluding her thumbs, and surveys his work with a critical eye. Pleased with his exactitude, he nods to himself and shifts to start on Michiko’s nails. He treats them with the same careful precision, and finishes with a wide flare of his brush over the center of her pointer nail.
“You’re so good at this,” Mayumi points out unnecessarily. Madara very nearly rolls his eyes. Of course he is.
“Of course I am,” he reiterates aloud, casting a speculative glance her way. “Experience is key. Practice is integral. Understand this, and you’ll nail it.”
His pun flies straight over their heads, and his stomach drops. Strike one, he thinks solemnly.
“Mom’s good at it too. Dad gets some paint on my skin sometimes, but he’s okay.”
Madara cringes. “He does?”
“Yup,” Michiko asserts, blowing on her nails and shimmying in her seat.
“Abominable.”
“Like the snowman!”
“Perhaps,” Madara allows, but truth be told, his mind is still clouded with his brother’s apparent failures. Getting nail polish on the skin—what is Izuna, a barbarian?
“There,” Madara announces, when he’s applied the appropriate amount of coats for their nails to really stick and shine. They coo over his work and his ego is properly bolstered, his chest swelling with pride. He flips his hair over his shoulder, careful to keep it out of their hands. Upon walking through the door, his hair had been the first thing they’d wanted to touch, as always.
And, as always, he had denied them.
That was before he realized that he finds their company bolstering, and even quite refreshing.
They have swift learning curves, and are incredibly receptive to his words and actions—this is certainly genetic, on their mother’s side. They retain the lessons he’s deemed acceptable to offer them, and they seem to share several of his key interests. They did immediately understand the difference between mahogany and pine, and that this difference is life-altering.
This is still not enough to change his mind.
“Uncle, have you heard of coconut oil? And how it can help with split ends?”
Madara turns to Mayumi slowly, suspecting a trap. She’s all wide-eyed innocence and open curiosity, wondering at his answer. He’s an impeccable judge of character, and she seems legitimate.
“Coconut oil, you say?”
Michiko nods, climbing over to kneel by her sister. “Yes! Mom uses it and it works really well.”
“What’s the brand?”
Michiko’s expression pinches. “I don’t know.”
Strike two, Madara thinks, as he reevaluates his initial high opinion of his nieces. The fact that they seem unbothered by this does not deter him, or make him think differently. He wonders if this is really the time for another lesson to be learned, along with some pointedly disdainful undertones so that his nieces understand their deficiency in this regard.
“Well,” he says, deciding to move forward without that disdainful remark. They are still rather young, after all. “So tell me. It’s effective?”
The twins have more to say about coconut oil than Uchiha Madara had ever expected to hear in his life, and he is better off because of it. Already he has brand names running behind his eyes, producers and makers in countries around the world that have the capacity and capability to do coconut oil right. He’s already planning communication channels and shipping delays when Mayumi drops another heavy, but welcoming, blow.
“Uncle, have you heard of restorative hand cream?”
Madara doesn’t know how long he sits in front of his nieces and listens to them share their self care secrets for his benefit, but by the time they finish, the moon is in the night sky and there is an owl softly hooting somewhere nearby. His lips have been pursed in concentration for who knows how long by now, and his brow is a knotted, furrowed line of tension.
Even still, he has never felt lighter.
Hinata has been holding out on him, it seems, though he doesn’t blame her. Much. She had probably been distracted trying to convince his travesty of a brother not to wear socks with sandals again, or, God forbid, two different shades and patterns of plaid at the same time.
“Interesting,” Madara says for the umpteenth time, equally sincere as the first.
“Uncle,” Mayumi pauses, expression just this side of expectant. “We know you have connections in other countries.”
Madara sits up a little straighter at this, eyeing his nieces blankly, giving them no sign of his true feelings in the matter. “Hm?”
“Well,” Michiko joins, dragging the word out. “Our shampoo is bought from the supermarket.”
Madara doesn’t breathe for a solid minute; when the air is finally forced into his lungs, it’s through his teeth.
His voice is a roar, deep and thunderous; he says, “No.”
So much betrayal from his own blood, he doesn’t even know where to begin. The least of it is obviously how the twins have just efficiently played him, though he’s already debating forgiving them, simply because they share his tastes. And he finds them interesting. Maybe they had played him, but truly, their intentions are sound; they merely desire the best, just as he does. They just so happen to need him as a middleman in order to receive the best.
He is only too happy to oblige.
The betrayal he cannot let slide, however, comes as it so often does, from his little brother.
The supermarket.
Madara had thought certainly that he had raised Izuna better than this. This deficiency is in no way related to him, but it pains him to wonder if it may in fact be due to Hinata. She is the person he finds most interesting in the world, an amalgamation of cool, calm introversion with the potential of a dangerously manipulative side if threatened. He’s never felt anything but avid respect for Hinata, but if she is to blame for this supermarket fiasco, he may have to reevaluate her, as well.
His brother, however.
Madara is without a doubt going to have words with Izuna.
“Well played,” Madara finally admits to the twins, noting the calculating gleams in their wide eyes. He gives them appraising looks, wondering for only a moment if he would be overstepping his bounds should he foster that manipulative nature into something worthwhile, something treacherous. Their mother would never approve, but he’s fairly certain that Izuna would quietly side with him on this.
Perhaps another time, then. He requires a plan for such fastidious, underhanded work.
“I’ll have the same shampoo and conditioner that I use, imported from Jordan, in your hands by this Wednesday. It’s only a few days away; as such, I suggest not washing your hair until then, not when your only other options are so horrific. The natural oils in your hair are good for it.”
“Understood,” the twins chirp simultaneously, and turn to flick through some of the magazines spread around them. Madara goes to work putting all of his Louboutin nail polishes away in his travel container, careful not to chip any of them with careless handling. Not long after he’s sealed the container, he finds the twins turning their attention back to him, visibly curious.
“Uncle,” Mayumi starts, before Michiko picks up where she left off. “Can you teach us more?”
“Rather vague, Michiko.”
Michiko, apparently already well-learned in the art of self-preservation, does not roll her eyes. However, it seems a close thing.
“Can you teach us,” she repeats, “about ‘fine living?’”
Madara unashamedly brightens like a sunrise, and stands to his full height. He gestures for them to follow him over to the couch, waits for them to sidle up to him, and points derisively at the cushions.
“First lesson,” he begins. “These cushions are an abomination.”
The couch is only the first victim of Madara’s sharp eye, with countless others to follow. Now that he’s been given free reign to do a few of his favorite things—criticize Izuna’s taste (or lack thereof), and display his expert knowledge on all things upper class—he rambles on endlessly, leaving no cheaply glued frame or dusty flower vase without criticism.
In the future, Madara will remember this day fondly—not only as the first true day that he saw the raw potential for elegantly-inclined scholars in his insightful nieces, nor the first day that said nieces pulled out what would ultimately become a tome of Madara’s finely-honed knowledge of the world, but as the first day of an indomitable alliance between he and his nieces.
An alliance that would lead to immeasurable future victories over Izuna, who at that point in time, twitched and began to feel as though something ominous was moving over him.
Mayumi’s pen pauses in her detailed writing, Michiko peering over her shoulder at the words, and when both of them look back up at him expectantly, Madara smiles.
He doesn’t stop talking for the remainder of the night, not even when they’re tucked into their beds and their eyelids droop.
He has a great deal of knowledge to share, after all.
✧✧✧
“Welcome back, Izuna. Hinata. I trust your trip went well.”
“It went,” Izuna huffs, letting his backpack drop to the tile beside the front door. Madara eyes the bag with repulsion, going so far as to cringe away from it.
“You took a backpack, Izuna?”
“Yes? I only needed to carry a few things.”
“Hi, Madara-san.” Hinata greets, moving around her husband to press a kiss to Madara’s cheek, before heading deeper into the house to greet the twins.
Madara remains staring incredulously at the bag on the ground in front of him—is that a hole?—as he addresses Izuna again.
“Izuna, what happened to the carry-on items I gave you for Christmas? They’re designer, and far more practical than that disaster you have there.”
Izuna scowls. “The bags you got me were too big for this trip.”
“Extra space, Izuna. What if you had required more?”
If possible, Izuna’s scowl deepens. His shoulders bow exhaustedly, and there are deep-set lines on the corners of his lips.
“It doesn’t matter anyways,” he says in response, his words coming out quicker than his mind can keep up. “We don’t have them anymore.”
Hinata, who had just appeared in the doorway behind them, gasps. Izuna looks up and sees the expression on her face—knowing, pitying—and looks to Madara and flinches.
“Pardon me,” Madara says slowly, tone utterly glacial. Chills race down Izuna’s spine; the last time he’d been the target of that particular glare, he’d almost lost an arm. He’s fairly certain his only offense, then, had been wearing glow in the dark flip flops. This, it seems, is far worse. “Did I just hear you say that you got rid of the Versace carry-on bags I got you three Christmases ago? The same ones that I had hand-made with real leather, velvet linings, and gold accents, and were imported from France?”
“Madara,” Izuna puts his hands up defensively, abruptly backtracking. He assumes his most placating tone, expression shifting into something downtrodden simply in an attempt to touch at any heartstrings Madara has left in him. It doesn’t really seem to work all that well; Madara appears a step away from murderous.
“You come into my house,” Madara cuts him off, smooth and derisive, even if he is in fact currently within Izuna’s house. “You insult my fine tastes.”
“I didn’t mean to insult you,” Izuna appeases.
“Oh, and I suppose the Greeks never meant to insult the Trojans, Izuna.”
“Are you really equating this situation to the downfall of Troy?”
“Seeing that I feel thusly betrayed,” Madara snarls petulantly, fingers curling into fists at his sides.
“They’re just bags.” Izuna tries again, tone this side of pleading.
“And hell is just a sauna, Izuna.”
“I never even used them!”
“Deception,” Madara begins to sing lowly, tone rumbling. “Disgrace. Evil as plain as the scar on your face!”
“What? I don’t have a scar on my face.”
“Uncle,” Mayumi suddenly says from his side, tugging lightly on the hem of his shirt. “He won’t know that one.”
Madara’s anger, suddenly girded, becomes a passionate display of disappointment. He turns away from Mayumi, back to Izuna, and says, “You’ve never seen The Lion King, Izuna?”
“No?”
“This is,” Madara states sincerely, not blinking once, “The worst day of my existence.”
“Oh, please,” Izuna rolls his eyes, and Hinata cringes over Madara’s shoulder. “Don’t be so dr—”
“Madara-san!” Hinata interjects swiftly, moving around his shoulder and smiling kindly as his eyes flick to her face. “We happened to see this fabric store on our trip, and one of the signs in the window implied the possession of imported silk. I thought you might be interested.”
Madara allows himself to be deterred, refuses to even think about the road Izuna had so clearly been heading down, and turns to Hinata with an appraising expression. He purses his lips, says, “Signs? In the window? A hideous promotional technique.”
But he considers it; there are not many places near his home that sell large quantities of silk, which are specific to his needs. He has hobbies, after all. And no matter how many strongly worded letters he writes to the local Silk Shack (the most detestable of names, certainly, but their silk stock is second to none in this country), they keep refusing to connect him with the general manager.
His last letter had been especially strongly worded, so much so that he had gotten his very first actual response. Their unremarkable deflection attempt was pitiful, he remembers, and their assumption that he would give in so easily to their laziness a far greater offense. He can still remember how heated he’d been while writing his rejoinder, the tip of his quill very nearly piercing through the parchment (imported from Venice) when he wrote,
Madara doesn’t know how many letters he’s going to have to write before they understand that he doesn’t simply want to speak with the general manager, he wants to follow through with a crafty and stylish coup d’état, and assume his position at the helm of the company. That way, he can really do right by the silk industry in this nation, and spread the wonders of silk throughout the lands.
If he really puts his mind to it, he can probably obliterate the entirety of the cotton market.
Madara’s smile is a switchblade’s transition, all sharp edges and full of bite. “Hideous promotional techniques aside…Hinata, do tell me more about this place.”
As Hinata guides him away from the front room and, coincidentally, Izuna, she chatters on about the details she’d managed to catch from their trip past this mysterious silk shop. Madara raises a brow when she mentions its proximity to the post office, and finds himself opening up more and more to the idea of taking over not one, but two silk shops.
He notices Izuna move past him to head for the twins standing in the doorway, dropping to his knees to hug both of them. His little brother coos softly over their painted nails, and smiles patiently while they recount several of the lessons that Madara had ingrained in them in their short time together. Izuna’s shoulders hunch when they mention flip flops and the term “atrocity” in the same sentence, but Madara swells with pride. His lessons, it seems, were not taught in vain.
He thanks Hinata graciously for her information she offered on the new silk shop, which she tells him is called Fine Comforts. Simple, if a little tasteless.
“Well, as it seems, my duties here have come to an end.”
Instantly, the twins both groan and ask him to stay a little while longer. While he admires their passion, he clucks his tongue at their lack of self-control.
“I have a cell-phone,” he allows, after a considering pause. “Feel free to use it.”
“Please do,” Izuna nearly begs, and Madara turns to him with a deadpan expression.
“Do not pretend you don’t enjoy our chats, Izuna.”
Izuna looks pained, and Hinata laughs behind her hand.
“All you do is reference movies and books I’ve never seen and read, and complain about fashion and home décor.”
Madara scoffs. “What else is there to discuss in life?”
Izuna purses his lips, sounding hopeful. “Anything else?”
“Call me when you come up with something substantial,” Madara turns, opening the door and stepping over the threshold. “Oh, and Izuna? Expect a package on Wednesday.”
“Do I even want to know?”
“It’s nothing uncouth,” Madara promises with a haughty sniff, glancing over to Hinata with a nod. He turns his heavy-handed stare to the twins, considering. After a long moment of weighing their successes versus their failures, he decides that their alliance can only truly be sealed with an act of genuine, powerful trust.
As such, he kneels over the threshold of Hinata and Izuna’s front door and gestures for them to come over to him. Izuna watches with wide-eyed curiosity, lips parting in surprise.
“Mayumi, Michiko, I am going to offer the both of you an extremely rare gift. Cherish it properly, and understand it’s significance, and you’ll be more likely to receive exposure to it again in the future.”
“A present?” Mayumi asks, and Madara rolls the thought of it around in his mind for less than a moment before saying, “Yes.”
He re-situates himself until he’s kneeling, and wraps an arm around each of his nieces, pulling them in close. He hears twin gasps in his ears as their cheeks press against his, and their noses touch his hair. Izuna’s gasp, however, is the loudest of all. Madara hugs them close, though not too tightly, and whispers, “If you play your cards right, girls, our alliance will prosper. In all regards.”
The twins hug him tightly, careful not to touch his hair more than necessary, for which he is eternally grateful. He pulls back first, standing to his full height and patting their heads dotingly. When he glances up at Izuna, his little brother is openly gaping.
“You hugged them?”
Madara stares at him with his typical deadpan expression.
Izuna stutters, even when Hinata comes up to his side and rests a comforting hand on his shoulder. She looks a comical blend of amused and pitying.
Izuna blurts, “You only hug me once a year!”
“That is true, yes,” Madara nods, tilting his head at his little brother. “You haven’t yet earned a higher quota.”
“How in the world did they earn a higher quota? What have you done, Madara?”
If Madara had not been so scornful of Izuna envying his own progeny, he would have smirked outright.
“Poor form, Izuna. They’re your daughters.”
“Yeah,” Izuna agrees coarsely, all rough edges and narrowed eyes. “And you did something dangerous, didn’t you?”
“Dangerous for whom, I wonder?”
“Madara.”
“Afraid not, Izuna. Afraid not.”
“Madara, don’t walk out that door without answering me.”
Madara turns, flipping his hair over his shoulder and basking in the way the breeze causes the ends of it to flutter. He’s certain that, in this moment, he looks just the same way that Pocahontas had when she was standing at the cliff’s edge, gesturing farewell to John Smith, hair blowing in the wind.
His gaze lands squarely on Izuna’s, and his lips curl at the edges with devious commitment. With one parting remark, spoken sharp and true as any declaration of battle, so does Madara initiate the Uchiha Brother War.
So I was thinking about your BnHA/magical girl crossovers,and two ideas popped in my head. Izuku/Hinagiku,and Todoroki/Yuri. They haven't really gone anywhere yet,but I thought I'd run them by you anyway.
Damn Hinagiku just snatchin up every nerd.
I wanted to do a doodle for either of these because those arehella ideas, I personally want to keep Takuhinastrong in my own fic, but I sure as hell can appreciate that Izuhina,and i’ve yet to decided on whether Yuri and Yanagiba should remaintogether or not granted how Sir Limone’s being portrayed, buthere’s a drabble instead because my hand isn’t obeying me.
His mother was the first relative Todoroki introduced her to.They’d been meeting for a couple of weeks now, mostly in secret dueto his relative fame compared to her need to stay in the shadows, butin preperation for the inevitable outing of their relationship,they’d decided to be the first people to tell their respectivefamilies.
Yuri had offered for his visit to the Tanimia household to befirst, since from what he’d told her, his family was a stressfulbunch, but he’d insisted.
More as a comforting mechanism than any sense of threat, Yuriclenched her Sacred Liner in her hand, the rapidly warming goldenwand a comforting presence. Shouto nodded at her when the nursebefore the two of them began to lead them in the direction ofTodoroki Rei’s room in the psych ward.
Yuri felt severely underdressed. Shouto had shown up outside thenews room at Gondor—conspicuously close to yet not standing withBakugou as he waited for Momoko to come out of the darkroom—and hadannounced that they were visiting his mother on this day. Needless tosay Yuri didn’t even have time to go home and put on something morepresentable, so her checkered black uniform felt completely againstwhat she should have worn to such an occasion.
Shouto was watching her from the corner of his eye, the electricblue surrounded by dark scar tissue of a wound of a decade previouspeering into her as she began to fuss with her hair with her freehand. She wasn’t sure if he thought she couldn’t see him in her ownperipheral or not, but it wasn’t really helping her anxieties.
“Your shoulders are shaking.” he noted, blunt as ever. Yuriyelped and glanced back at him fully then. At the loosening of herhand, the strands of blonde hair she’d been fussing with fell back tothe side of her head.
“Sorry… I’m rather nervous, you see.”
“Why?”
“Well… She’s your mother! I want to make a good impression,yet I’m woefully underprepared. I haven’t brought a gift of somekind, nor am I in proper attire for meeting one’s parents, and…”She paused, eyes darting back to the linolieum floor as they came toa stop before her room.
“What if she doesn’t like me?”
Shouto thought for a moment, turning to face her fully then. Hisexpression unchanged, but something brewing in his eyes that Yuricouldn’t quite name.
“She will.” He stated simply. Then, before she could protest,reached upward and straightened her headband. Another small lock ofhair fell from its usual place, adding to the bits along the sides ofher head.
Yuri took his hand while it was still near her, and Shouto gaveher one of those rare, lovely grins, before opening the door beforethem.
–
“Does your family know?” Angel Daisy glanced at him only amoment before her gaze returned to the skyline.
“Of course they do.” She looked uncomfortable, but sheanswered all the same. “After Magi and the magical underbelly ofthe world became known, I had to tell them. It was the only way Iwouldn’t get transferred to Shiketsu or UA or any of the Hero Schoolsthat started ‘opening their doors’ to Magi.” she used airquotes toemphasise her point and Deku felt his hackles raise a little at hisown former highschool being referenced with such derision.
“Hey, that was pretty big of UA, after all the stuff that hadhappened to their hero classes that year–”
“I know what school your from Deku, you think Magi don’t watchthe UA Sports Festival when there’s nothing else on?” Her eyes werecovered by a sort of green winged visor that otherwise matched herhair, but somehow he could feel the teasing in her tone. “I didn’twant to wear those stupid red armbands and get my passion derided asbloodsucking muckraking tabloid bait.”
Those words weren’t pulled from thin air, Kaminari had been on PutYour Hands Up recently and said something of the same vein. It hadgotten him into some trouble back home if his whining texts about howunfair Scarlet was being was any indication.
“You’re a Journalist?”
“I wanted to be. Then we had to go public and the only placethat would hire me was the place where my parents were the bosses.”
He never knew what to say to any Magi he ran into on patrol. Theyalways seemed so sad when he ran into them. So tired. Most of themhad never wanted to be heroes. They had aspirations and dreams thatthey had to give up to fight the good fight. Deku, Uravity, Ingenium,Combust, they all got to be heroes. Sailor Moon, Mew Cinnamon, CureBright, Wedding Peach, they had to be soldiers.
“I’m sorry.” he settled on. “People don’t respect otherpassions like they used to. I mean, I’ve loved hero work since I wasa child, but one of my friends married a woman who loves photography.Like, old school darkrooms and shutter lenses and film cannistersphotography.” Daisy began to smile, and Deku honestly didn’tunderstand why, but he kept going. “Her and her friends used to doa school newspaper when they were all teenagers, and they actuallyhelped advertise our classes shows every cultural festival. But theyweren’t well respected anywhere outside their own school. Kids fromother classes would call them some pretty mean things behind theirbacks because of how the press tended to be viewed in our school.They were great girls. I even had a crush on one of them.” Daisy’shead darted up again to stare at him. “But because they were lookeddown upon just because their lives didn’t revolve around some part ofHero Culture.”
“Which one did you like?” She chuckled, her hand covering hermouth “Don’t tell me you liked your friend’s wife before they evengot together, that’s some real sappy shit.”
Deku could at least laugh at that. “No, no, it was her friend.She had hair kind of like mine, but lighter green. She was theirarticle writer, and she was just…” She was something else, thatwas for sure. “She was fun.”
Angel Daisy stood straighter then, her mask keeping her unreadablebut her stance seeming almost, defensive.
“Have a nice night, Hopeful hero Deku.” a flurry of feathersand flowerpetals wipped through the air, and when it cleared AngelDaisy had sprouted a pair of large wings.
“You too, Angel Daisy.”
She jumped from the side of the building and was gone.
Funny, Hero work had been a bit of a whirlwind for him, he’d kindof stopped thinking about his former crush for the past three yearssince his debut.
He wondered what she was doing now. Was she still working in herfamily’s flowershop?
Actually speaking of flowers he still needed to get some forUraraka’s birthday tomorrow. Maybe he’d drop by Tamano Florists andsee for himself tomorrow morning.
Who’s the first to wake up in the morning: Izu. He’s a light sleeper/doesn’t sleep a lot.
Who’s the one to make breakfast: Izu, to distract himself. He also seems to enjoy doing things like this for her.
Who’s the one to serve the other breakfast in bed: See above.
Who would suggest a quickie in the morning before work: Neither, it just happens when it happens.
Who suggests they both ditch work to lay around all day: Hinata, loves being lazy with him.
Who chooses the movies: Both, they may even debate it out throughout the day.
Who initiates kissing during the movie, thus distracting the other from the movie all together: Both, just to tease the other ..(depending on who won the debate).
Who orders lunch: Hinata, often something they end up sharing
Who steals food from the other’s plate without asking: Hina.
Who curls up next to the other and falls asleep due to a full tummy: Hinata
Who distracts the other from trying to work at home: Hinata, but often fails (Uchiha men are stubborn). Ending up laying around watching what he’s doing and offering to help.
Who asks to go get ice cream like a five year old: Hina
Who takes pictures of their partner eating ice cream: Izu
Who makes a sexual joke about the dripping ice cream on their partner’s face: Hina, though she’ll blush while doing it.. as will he.
Who cooks dinner: Both together.
Who cleans up the kitchen afterwards: Both, but Izu will try and get her to relax.
Who stays up until 2 reading: Both, to each other or tangled up together
Who stares at their partner while their sleeping: Both.
Title: I Thought You’d Never Ask
Fandom: Haikyuu
Pairings: IzuHina
Characters: Izumi Yukitaka, Hinata Shouyou, Kageyama Tobio
Rating: Teen
Warnings: None
Summary/Prompt: Rarepair Week Day 4: Childhood - "Shou-chan, when we get older, you should marry me."
Notes: None
The first time that Izumi Yukitaka proposed to Hinata Shouyou, they were both eight, playing catch in Hinata's backyard.
It was a hot, midsummer's day, the sun harshly beating down on the children as they tossed the baseball back and forth between themselves. The cicadas chirped loudly, creating a short repetitive song between them all. The redhead threw the ball at his friend, letting out a cry of shock and displeasure as it flew straight over Izumi’s head and landed in the tree behind him.
“Ah! Sorry, Izumin!” Hinata called out to his friend. He ran over to the tree, standing next to the brunet as they both stared up at the ball. It was lodged between two large branches that were about 7 feet off of the ground. There was no way that either of them were going to be able to reach it. They both sighed and moved over to sit on Hinata’s porch.
The pair sat side-by-side in silence for a few moments before Izumi looked over at the redhead. He opened his mouth to say something but hesitated and then shut his mouth again. He turned back towards the wide yard in front of them, letting out a small sigh.
“What’s wrong, Izumin?” Hinata had heard the other boy’s sigh and was the one to turn towards Izumi this time, his head tilted cutely to the side and his face filled with curiosity. He let out a small gasp and then his expression changed to a troubled one. “Is it cuz I threw the ball into the tree? Are you mad at me?”
“No! No, it’s not that, Shou-chan!” He replied, shaking his head furiously.
He turned back to Hinata and their eyes met. He opened his mouth again, his jaw trembling as he paused again before finally quietly stuttering out what he wanted to say. “Sh-Shou-chan, when we g-get older, you should m-m-marry me.”
“Oh, is that all?” Hinata asked nonchalantly, a blinding grin spreading across his face as he realised that his friend wasn’t mad at him. He grabbed the brunet’s hand with both of his own and clasped it tightly. “Yeah, let’s do that!”
“Eh?” Of all of the reactions that Izumi had been expecting, the one that he received was not one of them. However, he supposed that he should have expected it, considering his friend’s positive reactions toward most everything else that the brunet suggested to him. The redhead seemed as though he was always happy to do anything that Izumi wanted to do. “Are you sure, Shou-chan?”
Hinata suddenly stood up, pulling the other boy along with him.
“Yeah! Now, let’s go! I hear my mom! Maybe she’ll be able to get the ball for us!”
The second time that Izumi Yukitaka proposed to Hinata Shouyou, they were both 22 years old, lying together in a hotel room only hours after the redhead won his first olympic gold medal.
The pair were in the hotel room that Hinata was sharing with Kageyama, lying on their backs on the middle blocker’s fluffy bed, their hands linked together between them. The hum of the air conditioner was the only thing that could be heard in the room aside from Kageyama’s soft snores as he slept in the other bed.
“Hey, Shou-chan?” Izumi’s soft, hesitant voice cut through the silence. The sounds of sheets rustling filled the room as he turned towards the redhead, finding his citrine eyes staring back at him curiously. The brunet felt Hinata’s thumb begin to run up and down the side of his hand in a loving manner.
“Hm?”
“Do you remember that time when we were little? When I asked you to marry me?” He asked, his voice quivering slightly as the words passed through his lips. His eyes were still locked with the other male’s. The sound of sheets rustling hit his ears once again as Hinata also turned onto his side, his face mere inches from Izumi’s.
“Yeah,” he replied simply in a hushed tone. He pulled their linked hands up, placing them between their chests. The air conditioner in the room suddenly shut off, letting humid air permeate the room.
“If I asked you again, would your answer be any different?”
Hinata rolled over again, pressing his back to Izumi’s chest. The brunet wrapped his free arm around the redhead’s waist and pulled him even closer, burying his face in the back of his childhood friend’s neck.
“I don’t know. Why don’t you try asking me again?” Hinata asked softly.
Izumi repositioned his head slightly, placing his lips directly next to the middle blocker’s ear. He whispered his proposal so softly that, had there been any noise in the room at all, Hinata would have completely missed it.
“Shou-chan, will you marry me?”
There was a soft giggle from the redhead before he gave his answer.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
The brunet peppered kisses over the back of his now-fiancé’s neck before freezing at the sound of a low grunt from the other bed. They both looked over and found annoyed blue eyes peering at them from underneath the pure white comforter.
“Fucking finally. Now will you two go the fuck to sleep?”
The ship is my: One of my top ships for Hinata. Both our modern and founders AU. All of this will be about the modern though.
I consider this ship’s feelings: Mutual | Mixed | Strange | Awkward | Platonic | Sibling-like | One-sided | They don’t really like each other
I’d consider the relationship: Healthy | Awkward | Abusive (not to each other technically, but it’s not stable due to what they run from.) | Doesn’t work properly | They’d never get together |
Children: No | Yes | They’d think about it (but agree it’s not possible anytime soon)
General Opinion: I wouldn’t typically ship this, but you’ve been around for a long time. They’ve interacted as friends for a long while earlier on too. This wasn’t just a sudden ship, this took time. She watched him experience heartache, watched him battle himself, get locked away, self harm, and more. He watched her remain alone, and become isolated, stalked, tormented by her family and past.. They both have plenty to run from, and run they have. I always enjoy how on the edge these two can be.
