Chapter Text
Chapter 2
Shouta had always known that Hizashi wanted kids.
Not that it was anything unexpected - Present Mic’s fondness for children was public knowledge, the Hero having ran countless fundraisers dedicated to helping youths in need. And Hizashi’s love for kids was also well-known amongst their circle of friends, all of whom he would happily offer up babysitting services to; his silly man was already the honorary uncle of one Iida Tenya at the ripe age of sixteen.
Or it could be evident from his husband’s drunken ramblings, when they reached home after a crazy night out with Nemuri two years ago.
“Shou-chaaaan,” Hizashi had slurred, pressing a happy, sloppy kiss on his cheek while Shouta tried to undress him, “I want a faaaaamily!”
Shouta couldn’t deny that his heart had skipped a beat at the imagery that formed; a tiny child with Hizashi’s playful green eyes and Shouta’s toothy grin sandwiched between the both of them. He had to take a shower to organise his thoughts, hyperaware of the (now) snoozing man in the other room.
But both men had later talked and agreed that they were too busy, and their jobs too hazardous to justify having a child. Shouta was able to get over it quickly, but it had been a bitter pill for Hizashi to swallow.
There were times where Shouta caught his husband looking through pamphlets from adoption agencies, his green eyes wistful. His heart clenched every time he saw that forlorn expression; he wanted so badly to take Hizashi’s sadness away, but there was little that they could do.
Perhaps in another life where the world isn’t as dangerous, when they have all their time to themselves, he mused wryly.
Fortunately, working at U.A. took much of the sting away, as Hizashi was surrounded by his ‘little listeners’ for half his walking hours. Teaching added plenty to his partner’s already heavy responsibilities, but Shouta couldn’t deny that it made Hizashi into a more vibrant, happier person. It was well worth a bit more exhaustion, and Shouta was content.
And then Hitoshi came into their lives.
Shouta had reached out to the kid after his performance during the Sports Festival, impressed by the kid’s moxie and determination. He found himself quickly growing fond of his protégé, something that Hizashi poked fun on him about.
“Talking about Shinsou again? You’re particularly invested in this kid, Shou-chan,” His partner had teased over dinner one day, when Shouta brought up the possibility of passing down his binding cloth technique to the kid.
“I’m asking for advice, ‘Zashi. He needs a long-range weapon, and I have trained extensively with this particular long-range weapon. It’s only logical.” He rebutted calmly, chewing on a mouthful of Donburi.
Of course, it wasn’t as simple as that – there were numerous options that Shouta could’ve suggested, all of which would have still suited Hitoshi.
However, the selfish part of Shouta yearned for a protégé to pass his teachings to, and Hitoshi was special. It wasn’t just their similarities – even though it was eerie how much the kid resembled a younger Shouta – but the kid just stirred something deep within him, beyond the usual care a teacher had for the students under their wing.
It was more personal and protective, an almost instinctive need to grab ahold of that boy and never let go. Shouta made sure to not cross any boundaries, but he already knew from the moment they’d met that Shinsou Hitoshi would become someone incredibly important to him.
Judging from that chuckle, Hizashi understood; Shouta could never hide anything from his partner. Hell, his husband probably knew him better than himself.
“Whatever you say, Shou,” Hizashi said, looking at him indulgently, affection shining in his gaze. “I want to get to know the little listener a bit better. To properly meet the young man who has left such a deep impression on my surly prince.”
Shouta felt his ears turn red at the familiar English terms; fifteen years later, and his partner still had such a visceral effect on him.
“I’ll ask him what he thinks. Just make sure not to scare him away, though. You can be a bit much.” Shouta said dryly, hiding a smile with a piece of beef as Hizashi squawked. His partner’s words and request persisted in his head, though, and Shouta had ended up inviting a befuddled Hitoshi out for lunch with Hizashi the following week.
(It was the same day Shouta had spanked Hitoshi, and it wasn’t a proper invite, rather a, “just stay for a bit, Hizashi is bringing food.” But what were details?)
His husband adored all of his students, yes, but even Shouta was shocked by how fast his protégé endeared himself to Hizashi. The boy wasn’t even trying – he was simply being his polite and somewhat snarky self – but his husband was enamoured.
“He’s your clone, Shouta!” Hizashi had crowed, after Shouta dismissed Hitoshi for the day, “how could you have kept him away from me for so long?”
Hizashi immediately invited himself to their training sessions, under the guise of ‘helping a fellow voice quirk user’. The both of them gradually grew closer, Hizashi working himself past Hitoshi’s unsureness and hesitancy.
Then came an average Tuesday afternoon, where the three were training in U.A.’s Gym Gamma.
Shouta remembered it vividly; Hizashi was explaining the basics of voice projection to Hitoshi, his arms flailing with excitement. The kid was listening intently, taking notes and occasionally asking questions.
It was when Hizashi pulled a bashful Hitoshi into a tight hug and congratulated the kid on getting the technique down that realisation hit Shouta. Perhaps it was the pride in Hizashi’s voice, or Hitoshi’s shy but pleased smile. Or maybe it was Shouta’s own, immense affection for the pair.
But what truly mattered was that Shouta recognised that during those few, precious, after-school hours, they were with all intents and purposes, a family. And for the first time since that talk with Hizashi, Shouta allowed himself to hope.
When the incident happened, both teachers wasted no time in calling in the right favours. No discussion was necessary; Shouta and Hizashi already knew it was a given that Hitoshi was coming home with the both of them.
“We’ll do our best, Shouta,” Hizashi had promised, when Shouta paced around their room, terrified that they would screw up like the kid’s other adults did. “It’s a learning process, and things will be difficult. But we will make sure that Hitoshi gets the loving home that he deserves.”
It took weeks to help the kid adapt into his new living arrangement, and Shouta was glad that he finally seemed to be settling down. But the one thing that hadn’t changed was how soft Hizashi was for Hitoshi. Shouta was concerned that he would have to step in if his husband ended up spoiling the boy.
Which was why he nearly dropped the soap when the unmistakable sounds of Hizashi’s scolding echoed throughout the house; it took a lot to anger his husband, and for Hizashi to be directing his vitriol at Hitoshi… Their kid must have screwed up very badly. Shouta sped up his shower, intent on getting to the duo as soon as possible.
And then… sudden silence.
He quickly washed out the remaining suds in his hair, hastily throwing on a shirt and shorts before striding into the living room.
Shouta hadn’t known what to expect when he had walked out into the living room, but it definitely wasn’t the sight of a brainwashed Hizashi and a near-hyperventilating Hitoshi. He was worried about how worked up the kid was, but it was paramount for the boy to deactivate his quirk.
“Hitoshi. Release Hizashi from your quirk. Right. Now.”
To Shouta’s relief, Hitoshi didn’t fight him; his eyes glowing with power as he gazed at Hizashi, releasing him from the mind-control. The kid quickly went to the side, keeping a safe distance from both teachers.
Shouta immediately strode over to his husband, systematically checking him over to ensure that there wasn’t anything out of the norm.
“You okay?” He asked, pushing away the blond bangs. To his relief, Hizashi looked fine; save for some mild disorientation which was already wearing off.
“Just a little taken aback, but it’s all good!” Hizashi reassured him.
Relaxing slightly, he crossed his arms and looked at his partner imploringly. “Right. Can you explain to me what exactly happened?”
Shouta listened as Hizashi gave a rundown of the situation, his eyebrow raised. It was rare to see his partner so agitated. But he could understand; stealing was a very serious offence, and Shouta felt his own disappointment bloom at Hitoshi’s actions.
“Anything else to add, kid?” He asked sternly, turning to their miscreant. The naughty kid had his chin tucked into his chest, although he peered up hesitantly when Shouta addressed him.
The boy’s breathing had thankfully evened out, but that appeared to be the only positive. Hitoshi’s eyes were red-rimmed, with tear tracks on both cheeks. He looked shattered, and it didn’t take a genius to understand how the kid was feeling right now.
Guilt, definitely. Especially from the unwarranted use of his quirk on Hizashi. Shouta knew that the kid has a lot of mixed feelings about his quirk, the moniker of ‘monster’ standing out the most.
His actions likely brought these poisonous thoughts back to the forefront, and they needed to be rectified instantly.
“Listen to me, Hitoshi,” Shouta placed a hand on Hitoshi’s head, gratified when the kid leaned in. “You did something really severe, kid, and you will be suitably punished for it. But your actions do not diminish your worth as a person, do you understand?”
Hitoshi stared at him; eyes wide. Shouta could see the gears beginning to turn as Hizashi came beside him, taking and lightly squeezing the kid’s hand.
“Shouta is right, little listener,” His husband said softly. “I am very disappointed with your behaviour, that is true. But that does not change how I much I adore you, kiddo.”
“And I promise you that everything will be back to normal after your spanking, okay? Nothing will change how Shouta and I feel for you.” A few more tears slipped out of violet eyes as Hitoshi nodded, the boy rewarded with a heartfelt hug.
Their kid froze up in Hizashi’s arms for one tense moment, before relaxing and letting out a sniffle.
Shouta’s heart swelled with fondness for his husband. Typical Hizashi, always having a way with words.
Hizashi hugged Hitoshi for a little longer before reluctantly pulling away, his normally cheerful face pulled into a grimace. “Well, I guess that there is no point dragging this out any further. Hitoshi, let’s move over to the couch.” He said, sighing.
“O-okay, Mic-sensei.”
Shouta made himself comfortable in a nearby armchair, content with his role as an observer. It didn’t take long before Hizashi guided Hitoshi to stand in front of him, hands unbuckling the kid’s belt and tugging his slacks to his knees. His briefs soon followed, eliciting a distressed whine.
Their naughty brat actually tried to grab ahold of his waistband in a foolish attempt to retain his modesty. Shouta’s own hand itched to reach out to smack the kid for his gall.
Luckily, his husband wasn’t having any of it; he pushed Hitoshi’s hands away before laying a light swat on his exposed thigh.
“This is not meant to humiliate you, kiddo” Hizashi explained seriously, over the kid’s yelp of protest. “I need to make sure that I won’t injure you by accident. This is going to be rough, Hitoshi, and I have to be careful.”
Hizashi then guided a now-silent Hitoshi over his knees, making sure to situate the kid’s torso and legs comfortably on the couch. He then placed a throw cushion into Hitoshi’s arms, a silent invitation to use it if the kid wanted to.
It is so like Hizashi to be thoughtful, Shouta thought fondly. Not that the child lying across his lap would appreciate the gesture much.
“I know that Shouta has taken you over his knee before, and the procedure is more or less the same with me, kiddo. But just in case, do you need me to run through things again?” Hizashi asked kindly, smoothing the back of Hitoshi’s wrinkled school shirt.
“I-I think I’m okay, Mic-sensei,” Hitoshi stuttered out, face pressed into the pillow. “You can p-proceed.”
“That’s a good boy, kiddo,” Hizashi praised, “thank you for letting me know.” His husband looked up; forehead creased and lips downturned. Shouta knew that if they were visible, those enchanting green eyes would be scrunched up with torment.
He gave an encouraging half-smile to Hizashi. His husband gave him a resigned grimace back, before flattening his lips into a thin line. Shouta could empathise.
They were both great at putting personal woes aside in the line of duty; their newfound parental duties included.
(He would be lying if he claimed that his heart didn’t flutter at the reminder of being Hitoshi’s parent. Because regardless of whatever convoluted thoughts the boy had in his head, Hitoshi belonged with them; their student, their ward, their son.)
Shouta watched as Hizashi raised his hand, snapping it down on Hitoshi’s left cheek. It elicited a slight jolt from the boy as he tightened his grip upon the cushion. The swats picked up in pace, coming down in an outwardly careless manner.
That was the impression Hizashi gave to students and fellow teachers alike – spontaneous and easy-going when it comes to punishment. As far as Shouta was concerned, these people didn’t know what they were talking about.
There was a reason why U.A. seniors and alumnus always cautioned juniors to be wary of pissing off ‘Mic-sensei’. Not ‘Vlad-sensei’, or even Shouta himself. He knew first hand just how effective his husband was in making the miscreant feel punished; the man’s spanking technique was top-notch.
This was evident by how Hitoshi’s pale bottom was already picking up colour, identical pink blotches painted on both cheeks.
“As I have previously said, of all the things that you could have done, stealing is perhaps one of the worst.” Hizashi started lecturing, his hand never stopping in its ministrations. “As someone who wants to be a Hero, you are supposed to behave in a manner that is befitting of the community that you will be serving. Not betray their trust by taking their things; things that doesn’t belong to you.”
Ouch. Shouta winced. Hizashi wasn’t pulling any punches today; his husband was going straight in for the kill. The courses they had attended and his own hands-on experience had taught Hizashi how exactly to spank in order to elicit the most sting with minimal damage.
However, it was his husband’s well-crafted lectures that made even the most stubborn, unrepentant child feel chastised and apologetic. The disappointment in the man’s usually upbeat voice was the cherry on top.
Indeed, it seemed to have a visceral impact on Hitoshi; the boy whimpering as he pushed his face further into the cushion. His ears were tinged with red, and if Shouta could see his face, he would bet that the kid’s eyes would be scrunched shut in shame.
“Even if you aren’t a Hero-in-training, you do not steal from other people, period.” Hizashi scolded after a brief silence, punctuating his words with sharper spanks on Hitoshi’s already-dark pink bottom.
Hizashi’s hand continued to fall in swift, rapid waves, Hitoshi crying out softly with every smack. Shouta knew that it wouldn’t be long before the tears restarted. And he was right; barely a minute passed before the boy let out his first, wet sob.
Hizashi’s face crumpled, and Shouta’s chest ached in solidarity when he saw his husband instinctively reach out to comfort the kid. Fortunately, his partner pulled back in time, but the lines of distress on his forehead remained.
Shouta made a mental note to check in on Hizashi after everything was over; as a fellow disciplinarian, he knew that punishing kids was mentally taxing, and Hizashi always took things hard. His man deserved all the TLC he needed, given how hard Hitoshi was pushing.
But right now, they had to remain strong.
“Tell me, Hitoshi. Will you continue taking things that you have no right to?” Hizashi questioned as he recollected himself. His partner ended up having to lay a few more spanks in response to the kid’s sudden, stubborn silence. “I asked you a question, little listener.”
“I-I can’t!” Their kid burst out, sobbing loudly and frantically. “’m sorry, I really can’t!” Shouta’s concern amplified. He understood crying from guilt and regret – Shouta shivered recalling his disciplinary sessions with Nezu – but the despair and loathing in the kid’s words were troubling.
This wasn’t a case of defiance, or their kid being unable to differentiate between right and wrong; there was something deeper at work, and it was eating at Hitoshi from the inside-out. “Hizashi, wait,” Shouta said, walking over to the duo. “Hold on for a moment.”
Hizashi appeared to have been of the same thought, his (definitely sore) hand already resting on the kid’s lower back. His other hand pried the soaked cushion from Hitoshi’s grip, giving Shouta a clear view of his face.
Hitoshi looked absolutely pitiful, his clothing askew and bottom an angry red. All those, and his swollen eyes plus tear-stained cheeks made up a heart-wrenching picture. But what truly tugged at Shouta’s heartstrings was how distressed and confused he sounded.
Shouta powered through, refusing to let himself get distracted. There would be time for comfort and reassurances later; it was more urgent to get a full understanding of the situation. He squatted down so that he was eye-level with their kid, patting his cheek to draw his attention.
“Deep breaths, kid. Like the way I’ve taught you.” Shouta encouraged, miming the motions for Hitoshi to follow. Hizashi was also trying to calm the kid as much as possible, rubbing his back in a calming motion. Luckily, Hitoshi seems to be settling down, his wheezing slowing down to something approaching normal.
“Hitoshi,” He beckoned gently, “what do you mean you can’t?”
“I-I can’t help taking stuff, Sensei. I f-feel like I need them, otherwise I would be left with nothing. I know that you and Mic-sensei have been providing for me, and I think I trust you, but the urges are t-too strong. I’m s-sorry!” The kid gasped out.
Guilt churned in his gut. Shouta couldn’t help it; both of them had completely missed out on this very important point. Kids Hitoshi’s age normally got allowances from their parents, and while Yamamoto Souma and Haruka had refused to spend a single cent extra on their ex-foster child, he at least still had money from his part-time jobs.
The same jobs that Hizashi and Shouta insisted that he gave up during the finalisation of the paperwork. Hitoshi had objected vehemently, one of the rare times his protégé dared to speak out against Shouta. But unlike the previous times, it wasn’t from Hitoshi feeling comfortable; his unhappiness with the situation simply surpassed his wariness at crossing the adults.
Shouta didn’t think twice before turning down the kid, never mind how Hitoshi’s distress had upset him. They didn’t want the kid stretching himself too thin, and figured that Hitoshi was just embarrassed about having to rely on his teachers.
He could slap himself; they should have considered that his jobs also provided a sense of security, especially for a teenage boy who never had anyone to rely on.
“We apologise for not realising this earlier, kid,” Shouta started, unable to help the self-reproach from rising, “both of us should have tried harder to understand where you were coming from, and how insecure you have been feeling. Hizashi and I have been too focused on getting the administrative stuff done and ended up neglecting your other needs, and that is unacceptable.”
“B-But you guys shouldn’t have to deal with this. I’m damaged goods, Senseis. There’s something wrong with me – AHHH!”
“Self-flagellation is not allowed, young man. You are not damaged goods; you just need a little assistance.” Hizashi reprimanded, as he gave another devastating wallop upon Hitoshi’s sit-spots. “Keep it up, and you will find yourself writing me a five-hundred-word essay about how wonderful you are, in full English. This is my warning to you, little listener.” The frantic nodding mollified Hizashi, his husband lightening his tone and leaning his head in.
“And I promise that we will be getting you the help you need, Hitoshi. U.A. can hook us up with qualified health professionals, and I have plenty of other contacts if they aren’t enough. We will not let you deal with this alone, you hear?” He said gently.
“O-Okay, Mic-sensei. I-I’ll try.” Shouta could hear the truth in Hitoshi’s words, and the uncertainty in his gut that persisted ever since Hitoshi had remained stubbornly tight-lipped about his intentions finally eased. The minute relaxing of Hizashi’s posture showed that his husband was the same.
“I am very happy to hear that, Hitoshi. However, taking things without permission is still wrong, and I intend to ensure that this lesson sticks with you for the long haul.”
“Shouta, babe,” Hizashi said casually, as he made quick work of the pants around Hitoshi’s ankles before folding them up, “can you get me the wooden spoon, please? The one I have washed this morning.” Shouta winced in sympathy, once again reminded as to how unforgiving Hizashi was as a disciplinarian.
Hitoshi didn’t seem to agree with Hizashi’s idea. “N-no, don’t! A-Aizawa-sensei, stop -”
Crack! Shouta almost jumped at the resounding smack upon Hitoshi’s left thigh, not expecting that at all.
“You do not get a say over how you will be punished, little listener. Keep ordering us around, and you will earn yourself more swats with the spoon. Is that what you want, young man?”
“No! I-I’m sorry, I-I didn’t mean that!”
Shouta had to suppress a shiver down his spine, as he watched how terrifyingly efficient Hizashi was in wrangling their kid. “Stop being stubborn, Hitoshi, and settle down.” He advised as he got up, making his way to the sink, “you’re only making things worse for yourself.”
It didn’t take long before Shouta found the implement in question; it was on the counter, and the same wooden spoon that Hizashi had used to fry their eggs this morning.
Seems like it is about to do another type of frying, Shouta thought, both parts amused and sympathetic.
The sounds of spanking and crying got increasingly audible the closer he was to the living room, and Shouta was mildly dismayed to see a stern-faced Hizashi in the middle of an intense flurry of swats. The brat evidently did not heed Shouta’s advice.
“Here you go, ‘Zashi,” Shouta announced, his reappearance causing the kid to cry harder. He handed the tool over, before taking a proper look at the kid’s bottom.
It was red and blotchy, and Shouta knew it burned and stung awfully. But it would still be able to take a bit more punishment.
“You’ll be getting twenty with the spoon, young man,” Hizashi said firmly, with no room for argument. “Ten for the stealing, and another ten for misusing your quirk.”
Hitoshi continued to beg for mercy, and Hizashi caved, giving a light squeeze to his nape.
“I’m not doing this because I want to hurt you, little listener. In fact, I hate causing you pain. But I’ll do it, because I care way too much about you to let you throw away your future like that. The spoon is to serve as a reminder for you to never repeat your mistakes.” Hizashi said softly, visibly upset at the intensity of Hitoshi’s fervent pleading.
“But I will never go past your limits, Hitoshi. Please trust me on that.” The minute nod from the purple head was telling, and the tension in Hizashi’s shoulders loosened. “Thank you, kiddo. I’m starting now; it will be over before you know it.”
Smack, smack!
The spoon fell hard, and Shouta winced at Hitoshi’s shriek of pain; knowing that the brief pause only made the smacks sting more intensely. And Shouta knew from personal experience that the spoon hurt.
“Stealing is never acceptable.” Hizashi proclaimed, some of the sternness returning to his voice. “You have only stolen necessities, but even the most hardened of criminals have started off doing petty crimes. I care too much about you, to allow you to ruin your career even before it begins.”
A few more smacks landed, and Hitoshi struggled; more apologies expelling from his mouth.
“And you stealing something of mine not only upsets me, but it also makes it harder for me to believe you in the future.” His husband chastened. “Stealing erodes trust, little listener. I fear that I will end up second-guessing everything that you tell me, just because your actions make it hard for me to trust you.”
Shouta saw the exact moment the words hit Hitoshi, “I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to betray your trust!” The kid blabbered tearfully, sounding broken.
“Shh, shh, we will be okay, kiddo. I’m just illustrating what can happen if you continue your behaviour. But I know it wouldn’t, because you are learning your lesson, aren’t you?” He coaxed.
“U-Uh-huh,” Hitoshi whimpered, absolutely worn out. “I’ll be g-good… so good.”
“I’m glad to hear that. And Hitoshi, you’re going to return that protein bar you stole back to the store and apologise to the owner for what you’ve done. Do you understand me?” He scolded.
“Y-Yes, Mic-sensei!”
“Last ten, Hitoshi,” Hizashi said, voice gentling a little. “These are for using Brainwash on me, kiddo. I know that it was due to stress, but you need to have a proper handle over your quirk at all times.”
The spoon fell again, and Hitoshi let out another agonising wail. “You have been blessed with a great gift for Hero work, kiddo. It will be so useful in calming civilians down, and subdue villains without the need for battle.” Hizashi said, gripping the thrashing kid tighter to prevent him from falling off.
“You owe it to yourself to harness it properly, and use it for good. Not because you wanted to get out of punishment. You are an amazing and kind young man, and capable of so much better.” The spoon landed twice on each thigh, painting it ruby red.
From Shouta’s looks on things, sitting was now a distant dream for Hitoshi. The kid himself was no longer able to form words; only broken wails and incoherent blubbering.
“Almost done, kiddo. Just two more, okay? You’re doing so well, I’m proud of you.” Hizashi didn’t bother waiting for a response; his husband looked desperate to get the spanking over and done with. Shouta watched as the spoon was raised for what they all hoped would be the final time.
(The savage side of Shouta couldn’t help but wonder, how Hitoshi would feel about having meals cooked with that particular kitchen utensil in the future.)
The final two were the hardest of them all, and Shouta couldn’t help his outward wince of sympathy. The cracks echoed throughout the living room, and Hitoshi screamed; bursting into a fresh round of sobs.
Shouta watched as Hizashi immediately dropped the spoon, his husband looking absolutely heartbroken. His partner shakily reached up to remove his sunglasses, folding and setting it aside before looking towards Shouta.
His eyes met glassy green, and Shouta gave his partner a reassuring smile. You did good, he silently conveyed. Be sure to take good care of him.
Of course I will, his husband mouthed.
Shouta returned to the kitchen, content to give his two most beloved people some privacy. Besides, he was sure Hitoshi would appreciate having some food and drink after such an intensive spanking.
If Hell existed on earth, Hitoshi was certain that this was it.
Everything hurt. His ass was stinging and burning terribly, and every jostle sent shockwaves to the tender area. The hysterical part of him wondered if the spoon had somehow turned into a flaming pitchfork, because his bottom certainly felt that it had been raked and then set on fire.
If he had thought that his first spanking with Aizawa-sensei was horrible, the one he had just experienced with Mic-sensei was brutal.
He continued to wail into the sopping wet cushion (they definitely needed to wash it after this), flinching badly when he felt his underarms being gripped.
“It’s okay, Hitoshi. I’m just helping you up.”
Hitoshi felt the legs beneath him shift as he was lifted up. The world seemed to turn, and then there was nothing but ache. He cried out, instinctively squirming to relieve the painful pressure upon his sore ass, but strong hands held on tight.
Mic-sensei is an awful monster, Hitoshi lamented. Even Aizawa-sensei had made sure to keep his sore butt off of his thighs; his English teacher seemed to have gone out of his way to make sure of the opposite.
“Stop moving, little listener. You’re going to sit down quietly and listen to me.” Mic-sensei scolded, tapping his cheek. Hitoshi could only sob, scrubbing at his rapidly falling tears as he avoided his teacher’s gaze. He didn’t dare to look, partly out of shame and partly because he was afraid of what he would see there.
Thankfully, Mic-sensei wasn’t insistent on eye contact, only nudging his hand away when he was rubbing too hard. Hitoshi was slightly mortified at his resulting whine.
“Quit that, little listener. You’ll end up hurting yourself.” His teacher clucked. Hitoshi back-pedalled, muttering a small, garbled ‘sorry’. Mic-sensei hummed before continuing to talk.
“You need to know that I did not enjoy spanking you, Hitoshi. In fact, it was one of the hardest things I ever had to do.” The man admitted softly. “But there was no way I would have let you gotten away with stealing, kiddo. Because as much as I hated disciplining you, I abhor the thought of you getting into legal trouble and destroying your future even more.”
“I u-understand, Mic-sensei.” Hitoshi whispered, feeling two inches tall. He wasn’t deaf to the honesty in the man’s words, and it was a difficult pill to swallow.
“Great. Look at me, kiddo.”
Hitoshi obliged, wet purple eyes meeting determined green.
“The next time you think about doing something this thoughtless, do remember how much your bottom aches on my lap right now. Because if you ever pull something like this again, I will make this spanking feel like love-taps. Are we clear, Shinsou Hitoshi?”
Mic-sensei’s serious threat – no, promise – combined with the use of his full name and the horrible burn in his bottom coalesced into a huge, choking cloud of misery, and Hitoshi found himself choking in fresh tears as he struggled to answer.
“Yes sir. I-I’ll be better, I-I promise. ‘m sorry Mic-sensei, so sorry…” Hitoshi promised brokenly. His throat felt dry and scratchy from overuse; he did yell a lot during the spanking, much to his embarrassment.
“Then, I guess we’re done,” Mic-sensei’s face cleared, his stern visage making way for a familiar, crinkle-eyed smile. Hitoshi sobbed harder at the sight of it, overcome with relief. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, kiddo. It’s all over, c’mere.”
Hitoshi was then braced against Mic-sensei’s chest, his head pressed against the crook of his English teacher’s neck. His tears felt sticky against the man’s leather jacket, but he couldn’t summon the energy to feel bad; glad for the reprieve after the terrible afternoon.
He was struck by a sense of deja-vu from his previous spanking with Aizawa-sensei. Both men delivered severe punishments (although Mic-sensei’s is definitely worse by miles, he hazily concluded) but then they made sure to … hug and console Hitoshi afterwards.
This was something that he was starting to expect from his teachers; proof that they didn’t just deem discipline as an obligation, but also an act of doting; something done to help Hitoshi become better.
Yet, there were differences. While Sensei had kept his hugs loose enough for him to shift around, Mic-sensei had no qualms crushing Hitoshi against his chest, almost melding him with the man’s body. It would have been constricting, if Mic-sensei hadn’t loosened his arms slightly when he wriggled.
“Sorry, kiddo,” the man grimaced, “I’ve been told that I can be too enthusiastic when it comes to hugs. Is this better?”
He nodded, and was rewarded by a gentle squeeze at the nape. Hitoshi took a deep breath, taking in the man’s aftershave. It was a mix of vanilla and cinnamon, the pleasant scent soothing him even further.
Hitoshi gradually relaxed in the wiry arms, even as loud sobs continued to bubble up his throat. It was as if he was once again a child, powerless against the adults around him. But instead of the distress that usually accompanied such a thought, all Hitoshi felt was a weird cross of exhaustion and peace.
It was as if he was free to let himself go, and someone would be there to catch him. And that person was his English teacher.
Because if Mic-sensei was lying about liking Hitoshi, he wouldn’t have bothered hugging him, right? He would have simply sent him to his room, or handed him over to Aizawa-sensei.
And Hitoshi was tired; no longer wanting to overthink things and second-guess his English teacher’s intentions. He just wanted to be held and soothed, and allow himself to be cared for.
“Aww, kiddo, it’s okay. Just cry it all out, you’ll feel so much better after. Hizashi’s here, okay?” His teacher soothed. The fingers scratching at his scalp felt heavenly, and so was the warm pressure on his back. Mic-sensei continued to whisper platitudes and praises into his ear, and he couldn’t help but listen closely.
“Hey, sweetheart. It’s all over, and we forgive you. You’re okay, ‘Toshi-chan.”
‘Toshi… chan? Hitoshi didn’t realise that he had asked out loud, until his teacher was looking down at him with a sad smile. “Yes, Toshi-chan. People give their loved ones nicknames all the time, as a term of endearment. Especially parents, kiddo.”
Nicknames? Parents?
Both were concepts that every child would’ve understood by the time they could comprehend the world around them, but to Hitoshi they were simply that: concepts. He had barely any memories of his birth family, and the bits he’d remembered only brought him grief.
Perhaps things would have been different in another life; in one where he wasn’t born with his curse of a quirk.
Hitoshi wanted nothing more but to look away from Mic-sensei, but something in the mesmerising green eyes held his tearful ones captive. It was perhaps the understanding, or the abject tenderness within them; as if he had assessed Hitoshi and deemed that yes, this boy is worthy of my love.
He knew that this was one of those defining moments where his relationship with Mic-sensei would shift irrevocably, but found himself helpless in stopping it.
(He wasn’t sure he even wanted to.)
Mic-sensei carried on, blissfully unaware of Hitoshi’s thoughts. “I know that you believe that I am only taking you in because I have no choice, little listener. Either because Shouta is my husband, or maybe you thought it was because I felt sorry for you.”
“None of that is true, ‘Toshi-chan.” Mic-sensei said firmly, as the man wiped Hitoshi’s tears with a handkerchief. “Nobody can guilt me into doing anything I don’t want to. And this includes taking in a kid, no matter how much they need a place to stay. Nothing is stopping me from finding them another family, little listener.”
“But you’re different, sweetheart.” He continued. “It is true that we have only gotten closer after Shouta took you under his wing, but it didn’t take long for me to grow fond of you. You’re intelligent, sassy and so kind, kiddo. Not to mention that you’re a mini-me of the love of my life.”
The last part was said as a joke, but there was no mistaking the adoration in his English teacher’s voice. His teacher gave him a small, sweet smile; one completely different from that of his Hero persona, before pulling Hitoshi even closer.
“Listen to me. I want you, ‘Toshi-chan. I’ll be happy to have you as part of our family. And even if you don’t decide to stay with us, that’s also okay. It will not stop Shouta and I from caring about you.”
The words were enunciated in clear Japanese, but Hitoshi could barely comprehend them. “But why me?” he asked tearfully, completely bewildered, “I don’t understand, there are so many better kids out there, so why…?”
“Oh, sweetie,” Mic-sensei exhaled, squeezing him tighter, “you don’t need a reason for love. And what nonsense; you’re more than enough for Shouta and I, sweetheart. We love you so very much.”
That did it.
Hitoshi full-on bawled, grasping tightly onto the man. The pounding in his head was near-unbearable in its intensity, but Hitoshi felt weightless. It was as if the chains of hesitancy that kept him from getting close to Mic-sensei finally broke, leaving him free to bask in the truth that yes, there exists a place that truly wants Hitoshi for who he is, and it is right here.
For the next few minutes (or hours, he couldn’t tell), Hitoshi simply allowed himself to be rocked and soothe like a contented babe. He was drifting in and out of sleep, before the rumbling of Mic-sensei’s chest startled him into consciousness.
“Hey, Shouta.” His teacher called out quietly. “Welcome back, what do you have for Toshi-chan?”
“Just a drink and some snacks, if Hitoshi is up for them.” Sensei answered, coming closer.
Oh right, Aizawa-sensei. Hitoshi had forgotten that the man was also in the room, after all the chaos surrounding the spanking and subsequent lecture. He pushed himself upright, face scrunching up at the pulsing ache.
God, even small movements aggravated the pain in his ass. Hitoshi was utterly horrified; he had no idea how he would sit through his classes tomorrow.
“How are you feeling?” Sensei asked gruffly, passing him a Pocari Sweat. Hitoshi immediately grabbed at it, glad for the relief for his dry throat.
“I-I’m okay. Pre-pretty good, actually.” He said, after chugging down half the bottle.
And weren’t that the truth. Despite the awful ache in his bottom, Hitoshi had never been so at peace.
Both his teachers had their own approaches to discipline, and Hitoshi marvelled at how they both made him feel secure. Even when they were upset, their anger was controlled and they were careful to not cause Hitoshi actual harm.
It still felt unreal, this level of safety. Not to mention how loved he felt.
(Because even though love was intangible, and it was something Hitoshi had never experienced – he thought that the sheer bliss of being cradled in Mic-sensei’s arms with Sensei ruffling his hair came the closest.)
(And it was a wonderful, precious feeling to have.)
“I’m glad.” Sensei said, the man’s face relaxing minutely. His mentor placed a calloused hand upon Hitoshi’s hair, and he leaned in, soaking up the affectionate gesture. While it was true that Aizawa-sensei had been very tactile with him, every touch still felt as heart-warming as the one before; he could not get enough.
One did not simply undo a decade’s worth of damage in a few months, and Hitoshi was finally beginning to accept that that was alright; he was permitted to take as much time as he needed.
“We’ll get you the help you need, kiddo. You’re no longer alone, alright?” Sensei said, his normal serious grey eyes alight with promise. Hitoshi nodded, flushing in pleasure.
“I know, Sensei. I-I have you and Mic-sensei with me now.”
The twin smiles he received in return made his heart soar. Mic-sensei in particular gave an exaggerated sniffle (which earned him an eye-roll from Aizawa-sensei) before standing up, cradling Hitoshi closer.
“Now that we are all feeling better, what do you say we work on your apology, Toshi-chan? I’ll help you.” Mic-sensei asked, as the man led the way into Hitoshi’s room. “I think you can start with …”
Hitoshi hummed, giving a few suggestions of his own as he snuggled in closer. Even though the idea of returning to the store made him feel abashed and small, Hitoshi couldn’t bring himself to worry.
After all, things will work out; he had his teachers – parents – backing him up.