Chapter Text
"What the Actual Fuck, Hizashi?"
The morning was supposed to be as normal as can be.
Shouta Aizawa expected to wake up to the scent of coffee and the distant sound of his husband's off-key singing in the kitchen. He expected to be force-fed breakfast before he even had the chance to sit down properly. He expected Hizashi to drag him out of bed before his alarm even had the chance to alarm clock.
Instead—
His alarm had blared obnoxiously for a full minute before he groggily reached over to shut it off. No scent of coffee. No annoying voice calling him Shou, get your ass up, you damn hibernating cat! Just... silence.
That alone was enough to put him on edge. Worming himself out of his sleeping bag, he trudged toward the living room, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
What he saw made him stop dead in his tracks.
"Hizashi," he called, voice dangerously calm.
His husband was sprawled across the floor, painstakingly drawing something onto the wooden boards. Intricate lines and symbols looped together, forming what could only be described as an occult summoning circle.
Discarded scrolls littered the room, and in the middle of it all, Hizashi sat cross-legged, humming to himself as he dipped his brush into a container of deep red ink—
Wait. Aizawa sniffed the air, his stomach sinking at the distinct metallic tang.
"...Is this blood?" he asked, his voice eerily level. Lifting the container to his nose, the scent of rust and iron hit him full force. "What the fuck, Hizashi. This is blood."
His husband—his absolute menace of a fully grown adult husband— beamed at him like a child caught stealing from the cookie jar.
"Yup!" Hizashi chirped. "Not mine, though!"
"That's not the point!" Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose, already feeling a migraine creeping in. His morning routine had derailed so catastrophically he wasn't even sure if he was still awake. Maybe this was some fever dream caused by his caffeine withdrawal.
He cautiously stepped closer, avoiding the symbols drawn onto the floor. His eyes landed on a thick-ass brown tome, nearly two feet tall, sitting open near the center of the summoning circle.
The cover read in what he could only describe as suspiciously unhinged handwriting: "How to Summon the One Who Will Grant All Your Wishes!"
His stomach dropped.
"What. The. Fuck."
"Language, honey."
Aizawa whirled around to glare at his husband. "Hizashi. Why the fuck are you trying to summon a demon in our living room?!" Hizashi blinked at him like he was the idiot in this situation.
"Demon? Nah, babe, I'm summoning the one who can solve all our problems." he said while quoting in the air.
"That sounds like a demon to me."
"Nope! This is different!" Hizashi waved a hand dismissively before pointing dramatically at the open tome.
"The book says this person can grant any wish, no contracts, no soul-sucking nonsense, just straight-up wish fulfillment! It's foolproof!"
"Foolproof," Aizawa repeated blankly.
"Mhmm!" His eye twitched. He turned around, walked straight into the kitchen, and grabbed every type of coffee within reach.
Because if he was going to deal with this, he won't deal with this sober, he needed his regulated substance. As the coffee brewed, he pulled out his phone, checking for an update from the orphanage.
Still nothing.
He exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face.
He took a sip. Good.
Another sip. Better.
Another— A cold breeze slithered through the apartment.
Aizawa stiffened. The wind picked up, growing stronger by the second.
Then—
The ground trembled. Aizawa barely had time to put down his coffee before the tremors knocked the cup right out of his hands. The mug shattered against the floor.
"WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING IN THERE, 'ZASHI?!" he shouted, grabbing his capture weapon from the couch as he rushed back into the living room.
The scene that greeted him made his blood turn ice cold.
The summoning circle glowed. An ominous golden light pulsed from the floor, tendrils of energy crackling through the air. The symbols Hizashi had drawn in blood burned bright, twisting unnaturally, shifting—
And in the center of it all, something was forming.
A silhouette.
A humanoid shape slowly materialized from the blinding light, the glow outlining their figure. Aizawa's instincts screamed at him to move, to grab Hizashi and get the hell out of there.
"HOLY SHIT, SHOU, IT WORKED!" Hizashi cheered.
Aizawa barely had time to yank his dumbass husband behind him before the light exploded— And then, just like that, it was over. The energy dissipated. The room fell silent.
And standing right in front of them was— A kid.
A very confused, very normal-looking blue-haired kid.
The boy blinked at them. Aizawa tightened his grip on his capture weapon. The kid took a step back. Both of them spoke at the same time.
"Who are you?" Aizawa demanded.
"Where am I?" the boy asked, voice laced with panic.
Hizashi? Beaming like an idiot.
"MR. GENIE, PLEASE GRANT ME A WISH!" The kid visibly paled.
"U-umm, sirs," he stammered, hands raised in surrender, "I think there's been a mistake! I-I'm not a genie or whatever! I'm just a kid on my way to school!" His voice rose in distress. "I don't even know how I got here! One second I was walking, and then—BAM, I fell through the ground, and now I'm here!"
Aizawa narrowed his eyes, watching the way the kid's breathing grew more erratic. His hands trembled. He was panicking.
Shit.
He slowly lowered his weapon.
"Okay. Okay." Aizawa spoke gently. "Calm down, kid. We're not going to hurt you."
The boy nodded rapidly, chest rising and falling too fast. "Good. Now, inhale," Aizawa said, voice steady, "exhale."
The kid tried to follow his instructions. His breath hitched, then evened out slightly. "Inhale," Aizawa repeated, "exhale. Focus on my voice. You're safe."
The boy took another shaky breath and nodded again.
His fingers curled into fists at his sides, but the tension in his shoulders slowly loosened. Aizawa exhaled through his nose. Crisis averted—for now.
"Now, let's start from the beginning," he said, rubbing his temples. "Who are you?"
The boy straightened up as much as he could. "M-My name is Iruma. Suzuki Iruma. I live with my grandpa and Opera-san, and I have two best friends, and I really need to get to school or else I'll be late for class and Kalego-sensei will kill me!"
Aizawa frowned. "Right. And where exactly is your school?" Iruma opened his mouth—then promptly froze. His eyes went impossibly wide, his face draining of all color.
"Uh," he squeaked, voice suddenly very, very small. Aizawa's stomach dropped.
"...Kid. Where the hell were you before you got here?" Iruma swallowed thickly.
"Um. So... about that..." He laughed nervously. "I'm... pretty sure I was in Hell."