Chapter Text
Hitoshi drums his fingers along the kitchen table, tapping a steady rhythm on the mahogany wood with his pencil. He glares at the papers in front of him, the words blurring in and out of focus as his frustration grows.
The homework isn’t even hard. It’s not, it’s nothing compared to general studies classes, but Hitoshi still finds himself stuck on one stupid sentence. He can’t drudge up what he learned during class, can’t apply it in any way because he doesn’t understand. He’s just too stupid to -
“Need any help, little listener?”
Hitoshi jolts at Yamada’s voice and whips his head toward the source, finding the man sporting an apologetic grin as he stirs a pot of soup. “Sorry, kiddo, didn’t mean to startle you. It just seems like you’re having some trouble there.”
The teen forces himself to swallow the bitterness clawing up his throat and rolls his eyes, feeling the wood of his pencil start to splinter with how tightly he’s gripping it.
“No,” he mutters gruffly, “I don’t need your help.” His words have more of an edge to them than he’d intended, but Yamada shouldn’t be asking that in the first place. Hitoshi has never needed help before, so why would he now? Besides, while Aizawa may have raised a brow if that tone was directed toward him, Yamada just furrows his brows in concern.
It’s annoying.
“Are you sure, bud?” He puts down his spoon and shuts off the stove to walk toward Hitoshi’s seated form, drying his hands on a dishtowel with his lips turned down in the corners. Hitoshi turns his gaze back to his homework, clenching his hand into a fist on his lap. He can feel Yamada step up behind him, settling a hand on his shoulder, and he has to resist the urge to relax or lean into the touch. It’s frustrating, and it’s his fault, anyway.
“Hmmm… well, I could definitely help you with this. English is kind of my area of expertise, kiddo,” he laughs quietly, but there’s something questioning and hesitant beneath the amusement coloring his voice. Hitoshi feels his anger build. Aizawa is one thing, but Yamada is supposed to be the hands-off and laid-back one. Hitoshi’s homework isn’t his business while they’re at home. “If you’re having trouble, you can always just ask for-”
“Go fuck yourself,” Hitoshi spits, wrenching his shoulder away. Yamada pulls back with a certain wideness in his eyes, his shock glaringly obvious in the thin line of his mouth and the way his brows draw together, like he couldn’t believe what he just heard. Hitoshi feels something like guilt and dread pool in his stomach and almost backs down, but he forces himself to keep his head up, even with his gaze fixed on the wall.
Whatever. It’s not like Yamada is going to do anything about it.
“I’m not dumb,” he hisses instead. “Maybe if you were a better teacher-”
“I wouldn’t finish that sentence if I were you,” Aizawa’s icy voice cuts through the red haze of anger, and the teen feels the blood drain from his face, making way for pure and overwhelming panic as he hears muted footsteps approaching. Hitoshi’s head snaps toward the tall man with wide eyes, and the guilt suddenly returns with a vengeance and its army of butterflies, making a wave of nausea pass through him. He suddenly feels vulnerable in his seat, unable to run away or avoid the fallout of his words.
Shit. He can’t believe he just said that. Aizawa might actually kill him.
The man grabs his bicep firmly once he’s close enough, and Hitoshi feels his heart stutter in his chest, fruitlessly tugging against his hold. Paying him no mind, Aizawa hoists him up with a strong grip, and Hitoshi knows what’s going to happen before his mentor half-bends him over his left arm.
Even with all the muscle that he’s built up during their training, Hitoshi still has practically nothing compared to Aizawa, and he squirms restlessly when the hand on his back pulls away, knowing what’s coming next. “Aizawa, wait- ”
Smack!
Hitoshi cuts himself off with a yelp, though he tries to stifle it, the stinging pain of the slap landing sharply on his ass. His foster father’s hand lands again to his sensitive sit-spots, and Hitoshi gasps in a breath. Even over the protective barrier that his jeans provide, the onslaught of swats that follow still smarts like crazy, and Hitoshi feels humiliated by the tears that spring to his eyes.
Aizawa thankfully lets him go after a few painful moments, and Hitoshi wastes no time in springing up and allowing his hands to fly protectively behind him as he backs up a few feet, just out of range. It may be childish, but Hitoshi can’t even bring himself to care, face splitting into a scowl and turning beet-red. He bites his tongue and breathes slowly, not wanting to show how pathetic he is with his shuddering breaths, though they probably know from the obvious dampness and irritation in his eyes.
The ensuing silence is deafening, even with the soft sound of Eri’s cartoon playing in the background. Hitoshi dares to glance over at her, muscles stiff and shaking with lingering nervous energy, finding his sister peaking curiously over the couch at them through the darkness of the living room.
She must have heard him say that. And she just saw him get his ass smacked like a little kid. Shit.
“Well?” Aizawa drawls after a few moments, and Hitoshi’s attention snaps back to his foster father, stern and unmoved as ever. “Are you going to tell us what your little tantrum was for this time?” Hitoshi feels himself blush darker and turns to stare at the pot of soup that Yamada had been making.
He knows that he’s been more difficult lately, but Yamada never even does anything about it. He knows it’s cruel and ungrateful, but it’s hard to remember that while Yamada may be more fun-loving and hands-off, Hitoshi’s other parent will never hesitate to discipline him for taking advantage of that leniency.
“I-I’m sorry, Aizawa-sensei. I was just frustrated. My reaction was uncalled for.” He just barely chokes the words out, bowing his head a little and peeking up through his bangs, but his teacher still doesn’t look satisfied.
The teen’s muscles are wound tightly enough that he thinks they might snap, and his still-stinging ass alongside the unamused look on his mentor’s face certainly doesn’t help matters. The humiliation of being punished in front of Yamada and Eri stings even worse than the pain, though, and he feels himself flushing to the tips of his ears, refusing to look anyone in the eye. At least Aizawa had the decency to let him leave his pants up, but it was still embarrassing.
“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to, kid,” he says evenly, and Hitoshi bites his tongue, narrowing his eyes at the floor.
Hitoshi moves his hands from where they’d been folded behind him to stuff them into his pockets, a sort of kiddish stubbornness rising with those words. Huffing a bitter breath that tickles his nose, he manages to bite out an apology, nothing more than a short, “Sorry, Yamada.”
“Uh- it’s alright, bud,” Yamada reassures, though his voice is laced with something that Hitoshi can’t decipher. The guilt increases by a tenfold, and the teen finds himself wishing he’d been more sincere in his apology.
He really did mean it on some level, but Aizawa’s expression is still hard as he crosses his arms over his chest. “No one here thinks your dumb. What you said to him was completely inappropriate, Hitoshi, and he did absolutely nothing to warrant it,” he mutters quietly, and the teen’s bitterness becomes something even more brittle and regretful, cracking just a little under their weighted stares.
Nodding stiffly, Hitoshi looks back down at the floor to hide the way his eyes are becoming blurrier with each passing second.
Aizawa seems to take pity on his inability to talk, probably hearing the start of his pathetic little sniffles, and Hitoshi listens to his deep sigh. “Go to your room and wait for me, kid. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Hitoshi’s stomach drops.
The teen glances up again, eyes darting between his foster parents, but Aizawa’s gaze gives nothing away. He opens his mouth, a protest on the tip of his tongue, but Aizawa raises his brow and takes a purposeful step forward, and that’s all the incentive that Hitoshi needs. He bolts to his room in three seconds flat, accidentally slamming the door shut much harder than intended.
He holds his breath as the sound seems to echo in his ears, even while knowing that Aizawa isn’t about to storm in with guns blazing because he closed the door too loudly. The ringing in his ears dies down slowly, and when he hears hushed voices from the kitchen, he flops onto his bed, groaning quietly.
He shouldn’t be nervous. Aizawa has proven to him time and time again that he would never really hurt him or cause too much discomfort or embarrassment, and while getting his bottom smacked like a five-year-old in front of his little sister and Yamada wasn’t ideal, Aizawa has always kept his promise and never punished him without a rational reason.
But Yamada has never lost his cool with him at all, despite living with the man for three months now and being less-than-agreeable in the past few days. It’s weird, and it’s oddly frustrating, because Hitoshi doesn’t even know what to expect from him. He’s spent so long waiting for the other shoe to drop, it’s just so easy to maybe…
...give it a little nudge.
Aizawa watches the kid practically flee to his room, not that he can blame him. He didn’t exactly go easy on him with those warning swats, and while it was definitely well-deserved, Hitoshi is probably humiliated and nervous. Whether it’s because of his behavior or getting smacked in front of everyone, Aizawa isn’t sure, but he hopes it’s the former.
He hadn’t really meant to embarrass the kid, but he couldn’t let that level of disrespect go unchecked. While Hitoshi’s morals are fairly sound and well-adjusted in spite of all he’s been through, he never had decent role models until moving in with them. Keeping this in mind, Aizawa allows some slip-ups when his quick-wit crosses a line.
However, his little “slip-ups” have begun looking less and less accidental.
“You need to be tougher on him, Hizashi,” Aizawa sighs, turning away from the hallway that Hitoshi had run down and toward his husband. “He’s just gonna walk all over you if you keep putting up with this.”
Hizashi doesn’t respond, face pinkening, and Aizawa would call it cute under any other circumstances.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Hizashi says instead, looking past his husband. Aizawa turns around to take in the little girl standing nervously in the doorway. Damn it, he hopes that seeing him speak and act so strictly didn’t scare her at all.
“Mhm,” she hums, looking more concerned than a six-year-old should be capable of looking. She shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot before she opens her mouth. “Is Big Brother in trouble?”
Smiling a little, Aizawa crouches down in front of her and settles a hand on her head, smoothing his thumb over her horn in an attempt to soothe her. The nickname is still new, and it seems that both Eri and Hitoshi were quicker to accept each other as siblings than Hizashi and himself as their parents, but Aizawa could deal with that. They both got out of traumatic and abusive situations relatively recently, so having anyone to trust and relate to could make their healing processes that much easier.
“A little bit, Eri,” he tells her softly. He didn’t want to lie to her, and she needs to know that her brother’s behavior was not at all acceptable. Similarly to Hitoshi, they’ve been trying to set an example for Eri, since her past so-called “guardians” did absolutely nothing to guide her in the right direction. Physically punishing him in front of her may not have been a good idea, but she doesn’t seem scared, so perhaps knowing that nothing dire can come out of misbehavior could be beneficial for her.
“But I’m going to talk to him, and he’ll be forgiven and eat dinner with us soon. Sound good?”
Eri nods, gripping the ruffles of her skirt tightly and smiling shyly, more relaxed and reassured. Aizawa can tell from the look on Hizashi’s face that he’s about to melt into a puddle on the floor, so he scoops her up himself and settles her back in the living room, ignoring how the last of his frustration drains out of him at the sound of her giggles.
“Do you want to work on your puzzle, or would you rather watch TV for a few more minutes?” he asks quietly, recalling from the parenting book (that he most definitely does not own) that he needs to give her choices to help her develop properly. She wordlessly holds up one finger with a shy smile, and Aizawa can’t help the upward twitch of his lips. “Alright, Eri. Yama and I need to talk about something first, but then he’ll be in here to help you.”
She nods again, and Aizawa guides Hizashi into the far corner of the kitchen.
“That’s the third time this week, Zashi,” he says quietly, watching his husband’s lips twist and eyes narrow, glancing to the side. Aizawa knows that Hizashi loathes to put his foot down with kids - especially his kids. That’s why they’d decided that Aizawa would be the main disciplinarian before taking Hitoshi in, keeping in mind that he’d most likely have some minor behavioral problems.
Hitoshi is a really sweet and generally well-behaved kid, but he has very little sense of self-worth and self-preservation and a tendency to act impulsively on misplaced anger. He’s gotten better since moving in with them, with just a little more optimism in his voice and color in his face, but it took lots of boundary-pushing and firm reassurances to figure out what’s best for him and build up to the level of trust that they have now.
It seems like now it’s Hizashi’s turn.
“You need to be more assertive with him. You’re not some fun-loving step-parent, Hizashi. You have the right to punish him.”
His husband leans back against the counter, tightening his pony-tail with a soft sigh. “I know that, love. I’m just not as strict as you are with a little bit of mouthing off. It really doesn’t bother me-”
“Mouthing off?” Aizawa cuts in incredulously. “Hizashi, you know that’s not just mouthing off. No parent in their right mind is going to let a kid get away with telling someone to go fuck themselves, especially for just offering to help them with homework. You know that’s unacceptable. Regardless of whether or not it bothers you, he needs to know that he can’t speak to people like that.”
From the grimace on Hizashi’s face, he knows that Aizawa is right, but doesn’t want to admit defeat just yet.
How frustrating.
“He’s just a kid, Shouta,” he stresses, and Aizawa has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “Kids make mistakes once in a while, and Hitoshi has probably been hearing those things all his life. He’s just… he’s been through so much. I’m just trying to give him a little break.”
Aizawa sighs, dropping his head onto his husband’s shoulder with a muffled groan. Hizashi’s hand comes around to rest on the small of his back as he laughs quietly, rubbing his thumb gently along the exposed skin.
“But he’s sixteen now, Hizashi,” he mutters into his shoulder. “You know he’s doing this on purpose. No matter who’s influenced him, he’s old enough to control himself.” Aizawa brings his arms up to wrap around Hizashi’s torso, breathing out into the cotton of his T-shirt.
“I’m… a little worried about what’s going to happen when I have to leave to help the new trainees tomorrow,” he admits quietly. “I’m not going to be around to play bad cop, Zashi. I’ll be gone for most of the break.”
Hizashi lets out a sigh of his own, smoothing a hand up his back. “It’ll be fine, Shou,” he soothes. Aizawa wishes he could believe him. “He’s a good kid; chances are he’s not going to try anything anyway. And if I really have to, I’ll… I-I’ll be assertive. I can just ground him or take away his phone or something for a couple days, right? And that’s only if worse comes to worst.”
Despite himself, Aizawa feels his lips twitch and buries his face further into his husband’s shoulder, hoping Hizashi could at least sense his eye roll.
“Your optimism is astounding,” he says dryly, “but considering he was bold enough to tell you off with me in the other room, I doubt that he’ll be taking any liberties while I’m gone.”
Aizawa can just feel Hizashi’s pout even without looking, and he frowns a little, pulling back slightly from the embrace. “But how many liberties will you be taking with him?”
Hizashi’s pout deepens.
“I can do it, Shouta,” he promises, probably trying to sound firm, but it just comes out as a desperate whine. “I may be a little easier on him, but if he really does something over-the-top, I swear I’ll punish him.”
Aizawa knows his skepticism must show on his face, but he only sighs, pulling back completely and glancing down the hallway. “I better go talk to him before he runs himself up a wall. We should be done by the time dinner’s ready.”
Hizashi nods reluctantly, glancing to the side. “Should I, uh, put a cushion on his seat?” Aizawa finds himself smirking at that, turning to make his way down the hall.
“No,” he calls over his shoulder. With any luck, Hitoshi will hear him. “I don’t plan on spanking him, but if it’s necessary, he’s going to sit on that chair and feel it.”
Hitoshi leaps away from the vent that his ear had been pressed up against, throwing himself onto his bed and ripping a book off his nightstand. He just manages to cross his ankles and crack open the novel before there’s a quiet knock on the door, but his face is still burning from listening to his foster father’s words.
Being granted the privacy and patience of knocking is still hard to get used to. It’s always nice when Aizawa doesn’t storm in or act unexpectedly. It’s… different.
“You can come in,” he calls quietly, trying to keep the nerves out of his voice. His stomach has been twisting itself in knots since he was sent to his room, but strangely enough, they settle a bit when Aizawa walks in. There’s a stern furrow between his brows and an angry downturn of his lips, but it’s still Aizawa. And no matter what he does, Aizawa means safe.
But some of the anxiety lingers, and Hitoshi feels the page of his book tear a little between his fingers as Aizawa’s dark eyes bore into him.
“Hey, Sensei,” he says, though it comes out at a much higher pitch than usual. Hitoshi clears his throat, glancing down at his book through unfocused eyes, boiling-hot shame making his fingers twitch.
“Eavesdropping?” Aizawa-sensei drawls lazily, and Hitoshi stiffens minutely.
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” he says evenly, years of conditioning keeping a question from fully formulating on his tongue.
When Aizawa only rolls his eyes, Hitoshi feels himself relax slightly.
He gestures toward his cheek, and Hitoshi blushes madly, tracing the indentations of the air vent imprinted on his face. “Oh,” he says softly, unable to meet his mentor’s eyes. “I was just… I didn’t mean to-”
“It’s fine, kid,” Aizawa cuts him off, still strict but sounding almost amused. It was that sort of fond look that the teen always basks in, even though it’s embarrassing. People never used to look at him like that.
It’s gone quickly enough, though, and Hitoshi shrinks a little when the man eyes him critically, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. “And a word of advice? If you want to make yourself look busy, it’s a lot harder to read upside-down.”
Hitoshi glances down to find that his book is, in fact, upside-down. He’s sure his face is crimson when he sets it back on his nightstand, crossing his arms and scooting to the edge of the bed. He shifts forward until he’s staring dejectedly at his socked feet. “Dammit,” he mutters.
Remembering himself after a moment of silence passes, Hitoshi glances up at Aizawa in a brief burst of panic, but the man’s lips only twitch at the corners.
He approaches the bed with nothing more than a deep sigh, settling down next to him and resting his elbows on his knees, rubbing his hands over his face. Hitoshi’s anxiety stirs to life and he swallows, trying to fight the sudden impulses to either lean away or against his mentor. It makes no sense - he’s in trouble, so he’s supposed to be scared. He’s not supposed to want comfort, especially not without being punished first.
“Um,” Hitoshi starts quietly, aching to fill the stifling silence. Aizawa glances over at him. “You said… you’re not going to punish me?” His voice falters at the upturn of the question, but Aizawa has the decency not to comment.
“I don’t plan on spanking you this time, no,” he says after a moment. Hitoshi glances away, frustration bubbling in his stomach at the use of that word. “But I need you to know that your behavior back there was beyond unacceptable.” Aizawa’s voice is firm and disappointed, and the teen’s anger doubles.
The scolding has him shifting uncomfortably, frustration starting to boil over, a sneer painted across his features. “Yamada should learn to butt out of my business then,” he finally snaps, shifting his gaze from the floor to glare at the man’s chin, crossing his arms tightly. “I told him that I didn’t need help, but he just had to keep pushing- ”
Hitoshi cuts himself off with a yelp when a firm hand snags his wrist and his world tilts, and he’s suddenly sprawled out on Aizawa’s lap with his face smushed into his dark purple sheets. Before Hitoshi can even think of protesting, the man wraps his arm around the teen’s waist and brings his other hand down to the seat of his jeans with a resounding smack!
Hitoshi gasps at the sharp and sudden pain, squirming in Aizawa’s hold. His foster father had just said he wouldn’t discipline him. “Hey -”
Smack!
“I think you’re the one pushing it right now, kid,” his mentor says firmly, and Hitoshi bites his lip with a muted whine as the brisk swats continue to fall. “You can either act like the mature teenager I know you are and discuss this rationally, or we can lose the jeans and let my hand get the message across. It’s up to you, Hitoshi.”
The teen squirms in his hold, and the sounds of the hard smacks seem to reverberate off the walls, even with his pants still in place.
“Aizawa-” he grunts at a particularly harsh slap, but the man is unrelenting. “Aizawa, please. They’re- They’re gonna hear you.”
Hearing his foster father hum disinterestedly, Hitoshi kicks his legs a bit. “You said you wouldn’t spa- you wouldn’t punish me for this,” he tries to bite out, but his voice comes out more pained and whiny than he’d intended, a touch of betrayal coloring his tone.
Aizawa swats him once more, hard enough to make Hitoshi yelp, before he stops and rests his hand lightly against his stinging ass - an obvious warning.
“I gave you a choice, Hitoshi,” he says firmly. “I hadn’t planned on doing this, as I told you, but if it’s necessary for you to act respectfully and stop blaming others for your own choices, then I can continue.” He pauses for a moment, long enough to make Hitoshi squirm and his resolve to flicker, until the hand leaves his ass.
“Is it necessary, Hitoshi,” he asks sternly, the threat of his hand coming back down against his butt still looming over him.
“No,” Hitoshi gives in, wriggling his torso from where he’s trapped by Aizawa’s arm. “I get it, I was disrespectful. It’s n-not necessary, Aizawa.”
He holds his breath after the words leave his mouth, tacking on a “please” for good measure.
“Good choice”, his teacher says, still firm, and Hitoshi jumps a little when the hand moves to his arm rather than cracking down on his ass. Aizawa guides him back to sitting, and even though it was short and hadn’t hurt all that much, sitting gives him that itchy and uncomfortably hot feeling of putting pressure on a freshly-smacked butt.
Hitoshi’s face heats up all the way down his neck and to the tips of his ears. He turns away from his foster father, shame and anger and regret swelling inside of him. He feels stupid now, knowing how bratty he’s been. He’s just an ungrateful little shit, isn’t he? After everything they’ve done for him, he just throws it back in their faces and mouths off.
“Ow,” he yelps, caught off guard when Aizawa slaps the side of his thigh. “The hell was that for?” Aizawa raises a sharp brow, unimpressed, and Hitoshi feels a sweeping chill go down his spine, rubbing at the spot with averted eyes.
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” the man mutters, turning toward him with a serious look on his face, and Hitoshi sags his shoulders, too desperate to care about hiding his relief. “It was because I know you, kid. I don’t ever want you to feel embarrassed or ashamed because I punish you. If you want to feel that way, be embarrassed by your behavior, not the consequences of it. That’s not doing anyone any good, and I don’t like wasting time on something useless. Got it?”
Hitoshi could feel the heat on his face as he nods before remembering that Aizawa likes verbal responses.
“I understand,” he mutters, his voice coming out choked. “Sorry.”
They’re both quiet for a moment, Hitoshi refusing to look up from where his eyes are glued to the floor. The teen jumps a little when Aizawa’s hand settles on his purple curls, but he allows himself to be pulled to his foster father’s shoulder.
“I’m glad,” Aizawa says, uncharacteristically tender as he lightly scratches his scalp. Hitoshi nearly shudders at the warmth of the gesture, gingerly wrapping his arms around his teacher’s torso as his eyes burn. He almost apologizes again, but just barely stops himself, instead burying his face into the soft black cotton of the man’s shirt.
“I don’t know what’s been going on with you, kid,” Aizawa mutters, and if it weren’t for the soothing circles being rubbed on Hitoshi’s back, the teen would tense up again, “but I need you to behave for Hizashi while I’m gone. He’s a good guy, and how generous he’s been with you does not give you the right to walk all over him.”
Damn. Speaking of feeling ashamed.
“I don’t want to get home and have to punish you. That’s not fair to anyone, and I know you understand that. You’re a good kid, Hitoshi. You’re better than this.”
No one used to say things like that to him. It’s still hard to wrap his head around.
“Yes, sir,” he says into Aizawa’s chest, pretending his voice isn’t choked and watery. “I-I’ll try.”
Aizawa is right. Hizashi is a good person - a great person, really, and he doesn’t deserve Hitoshi giving him shit for no reason. It doesn’t even matter that he could get away with murder while Aizawa is gone, because Aizawa will always find out, anyway. Besides, he’ll only be gone for three days, right? What could he possibly do in three days that would be worth telling on him for?
Right, Hitoshi thought to himself, breathing in the scent of Aizawa’s laundry detergent, it’s only three days.