Work Text:
It took a week for his coworkers to host an intervention. Shouta had honestly thought it’d be less than that—he and Nezu had a small betting pool between them. Shouta had bet two days; Nezu bet four. Nonetheless, he had seven days of a blissful peace. Of course, his coworkers muttered about his eating habits—mostly Hizashi—and his sleeping schedule—again, Hizashi—and didn’t hide their displeasure at Shouta’s lack of a caregiver.
Littles could exist and live without a caregiver, contrary to popular belief. It was a difficult pill to swallow for most of the population, used as they were to Littles not being too far from their caretaker. Shouta remained caregiver-less for a variety of reasons: his career, his dislike of orders, his dislike of punishments, his dislike of people in his space . . . and the list went on.
He had a routine, and he had a system. It worked for his needs even if others would be both appalled and insistent that he wasn’t taking care of himself. Shouta was; it just looked otherwise.
Shouta cancelled his blocker prescription. If he hadn’t, if he showed up without a scent, he knew there’d be an outright riot from the rest of his coworkers now that they were aware of his classification. But he hadn’t masked how he lived, either; he continued on as he always did, much to others’ (read: Hizashi) dismay.
(Hizashi also made it clear he’d slotted himself in the position of Shouta’s caregiver, but Shouta strove to ignore that until he couldn’t.)
Beams of early evening floated through his apartment. His phone beeped with missed calls and unread messages, but he didn’t have to look at them to know they were from Hizashi. The other could never understand that Shouta wasn’t, and would never, be a morning person. The warmth of his body heat and covers wrapped around him, and Shouta lightly drifted in and out of sleep.
He could hear murmurs of life from his neighbors and the outside world. Shouta never interacted with the others on his floor much, but by the amount of people who dropped by to ‘check up on him,’ he knew they were aware of his classification.
He heard distant footsteps encroaching his door and sighed heavily. It was probably Mrs. Shimizu, an elderly woman who liked to give Shouta homemade jams she made from her windowsill garden, or the college twins who lived down the hall that were adamant Shouta would drown if they didn’t pester him with random questions.
A series of rapid knocks on the front door jolted him out of his daze. He muffled his annoyed groan with his pillow when a cheerful, “Shouta~! It’s Hizashi!” floated through the door.
So much for peace.
Shouta knew it wouldn’t last.
“Go ‘way,” he growled out as he attempted to chase the fleeting dredges of sleep left. There was a brief pause, enough so that Shouta stupidly thought Hizashi had given up, and then his phone rang in that obnoxious tune Hizashi set for his number. A disgruntled whine slipped out of his mouth as he reached for it, knowing that Hizashi would keep calling until he picked up. “What.”
“Afternoon, Shouta!” Hizashi chirped from the other end. “Care to let your bestie inside?”
Shouta sniffed. “Go home.”
“Nope,” Hizashi responded. “I have a few things for you! Come on, baby, let’s hang!”
Shouta didn’t want to ‘hang.’ He wanted to—wait one fucking minute. “How did you find my apartment, Hizashi?”
While he lived in a studio apartment with one bathroom, Shouta had never let anyone inside. Nor had he given anyone his address, no matter how many times they begged. For one, he didn’t have much room for company given his lack of furniture. For another, he knew people would ‘lose their shit’ if they saw his living space.
Ugh.
There was the headache.
“Oh!” A slight rustle could be heard. Did Hizashi buy groceries? “Nezu gave me your address!”
That sneaky, meddling little rat—
“Ah! Found it!”
Shouta burrowed back under his covers. Perhaps this was a dream. “Found. What.”
“Your spare key,” Hizashi responded in a light tone. Shouta was tempted to throw him down the stairs. “Also, you really put it in a flowerpot?” Hizashi clicked his tongue. “That’s so obvious, Shouta!”
Shouta huffed. A few choice words begged to drop from his mouth, but he knew Hizashi’s stance on vulgar language. He was already on thin ice. “You’re being noisy.”
Hizashi hummed under his breath as the key turned in the lock. Shouta hung up the phone, knowing the other would step through the door within seconds, and basked in the precious moments he had left in the dark of his apartment. The door swung open with Hizashi’s typical flourish and enthusiasm, and Shouta nearly hissed at the sudden flood of light.
“Whoa, s’pretty dark in here, baby,” Hizashi commented as he toed his shoes off in the genkan. Shouta grumbled something under his breath. “I’m gonna turn on the light, ‘kay?”
Shouta murmured a quiet whatever and pulled his covers around him. The light switched on moments later, and Hizashi’s sharp inhale followed a half second later.
Ugh, he thought. What now?
“Sh – Shouta!”
Shouta pulled his covers down to his nose and glowered. Again, no effect as he smelled like sleepy baby. “What?”
Hizashi stared at his apartment with wild eyes. “Why didn’t you – why didn’t you tell someone?” Hizashi burst out; the worry in his scent nearly clogged Shouta’s nose. “Oh, no.”
Shouta’s brow pinched together in confusion. “Tell you what?”
“That you were robbed!” Hizashi cried out. Some items from the groceries hanging from his arms nearly tumbled out of the bags. “Shit, they took everything!”
“Zashi,” Shouta sighed and sat upright. He briefly mourned the loss of warmth needed to deal with his idiot of a best friend. “I wasn’t robbed.”
Hizashi wasn’t listening, and a stream of mutters poured out of his mouth as he tapped out a message. He resembled more of Midoriya than the energetic Present Mic. “Hmm – Thirteen’s good with thrifting—.”
Shouta rose his voice. He’d need to nip this misunderstanding in the bud before his apartment was overrun with protective doms. “Hizashi.”
“Yes?” Hizashi managed to split his attention between his phone and Shouta. His eyes brightened with a thought. “Oh! Are you hungry—?”
“I wasn’t robbed.”
“Wasn’t—?” Hizashi paused from where he had been tapping out a slew of frantic messages. He blinked over at Shouta. “What?”
“No one robbed me,” Shouta repeated in a patient manner, as if Hizashi were a student who struggled with a learning concept. “You can stop panicking. Everything’s fine.”
“Then . . . where is your furniture?” Hizashi asked him slowly. There was a pause as Hizashi observed him; Shouta didn’t bother to hide the way he worried his bottom lip or didn’t meet Hizashi’s gaze. “Weren’t robbed . . . that means . . .”
A brief quiet floated in the room as Hizashi digested the rest of the apartment. Shouta knew what he saw—there wasn’t much, material wise, to where he lived. Shouta had a futon (a very comfortable one, but that’s beside the point), he had a coffee table where he ate and graded, he had enough utensils, plates, and the like for one person, and he had a functional bathroom.
In terms of electronics, Shouta only had his phone, laptop, and a tablet where he had a few mindless games. He kept any of his Little items in a duffle bag near his small bookshelf.
Overall, he lived a pretty spartan lifestyle. It worked for him. He liked it as he despised clutter and unnecessary objects. There were less things to clean, after all. Less things to steal, too.
“Shouta.”
His stomach twisted at Hizashi’s tone. He tried not to sound bothered, but his voice cracked as he responded, “Y-Yes?”
Hizashi set the groceries on the countertop, and then made his way to Shouta, who wished he, in fact, stayed near the door. A tense silence floated between them as Hizashi kneeled by the futon.
“You know this isn’t right, Shouta?” Hizashi started; his voice and eyes were warm, but Shouta sensed an underlying firmness that made the Little part of him whisper watch your words; tread carefully. “You can’t —.”
“Hizashi,” Shouta frowned. “It’s fine—.”
“No, it’s not,” Hizashi interrupted in a firm tone. He didn’t sound like a cheerful best friend or a peppy radio station host. He sounded like the caregiver that he was; a stern, protective one who disapproved of how Shouta, as a Little, lived. “You can’t live in these conditions, Shouta.”
Indignation bubbled forth. This was why Shouta had worn blockers for so long. “You didn’t care before,” Shouta snapped out; frustration dripping from his tongue. “None of you cared before. Why are you acting like my behavior is the end of the world—.”
“I do care—all of us care, Shouta,” Hizashi responded. “And while, yes, you’d block us out—.”
Shouta bristled. His hands clenched into fists. His scent soured and flared. “Don’t fucking blame me—.”
Hizashi cut him off with a quiet voice that made Shouta hunch his shoulders slightly. “Aizawa Shouta, you know very well I’m not blaming you at all.” Hizashi’s eyes narrowed in slight anger, and he looked half a breath away from sending Shouta into a corner. “And I’d appreciate it if you watched your mouth.”
Or what, Shouta wanted to challenge. You’ll spank me?
He knew the answer. He stayed quiet.
Tension pulsed between them as they stared at each other. Shouta brimmed with a variety of things he’d like to say, but swallowed them down. He knew the consequences if he said what he wanted.
He clenched his jaw and exhaled. Something hot pressed against the backs of his eyes. Ever since his blockers worn off, arguments and strict tones from his colleagues made his emotional.
“Just go home.” Shouta sniffled and turned to face the wall. If the argument continued, he knew the tears would start and Hizashi wouldn’t leave. “I don’t need furniture. I don’t need—.”
His stomach growled. Loudly. Heat brushed across his face.
Hizashi chuckled warmly and reached over to rub his back. “Let’s get some food in you, hmm?”
Shouta huffed. He knew their conversation was momentarily shelved, and he wasn’t looking forward to it continuing. “Not hungry.”
“Mhm. Your tummy says otherwise~.” Hizashi moved into the kitchen and swiftly unpacked the groceries. “How does Zashi-patented ramen sound?”
“Sure,” Shouta muttered as he untangled himself from his futon. Hizashi wouldn’t let him sleep anymore. “Gonna shower.”
“Mkay! Let me know if you need help, okay?”
He wouldn’t. “Uh huh.”
The warmth of the shower melted his residual irritation. He stayed a bit longer than he usually would and relaxed beneath the spray of the shower head. He dressed in a pair of his comfortable sweatpants, soft and fuzzy socks, and worn, cat-printed shirt once he finished.
Hizashi set the bowl of ramen on the coffee table when he stepped out of the bathroom. “There’s my squeaky-clean baby!” The voice hero grinned. “And just in time for some food!”
Shouta flushed and rolled his eyes. Hizashi had folded his futon and comforter, placing them in the corner neatly. “Thank you,” Shouta said as he took a seat by the coffee table. He had manners, but he chose to not use them. Mostly.
Hizashi pressed a light kiss against Shouta’s forehead. “It’s no problem, baby.”
The ramen was warm and soothing as it poured down his throat. Hizashi played some pre-quirk anime on Shouta’a tablet while they ate. It was something about cards and a high schooler-turned-magical-girl. He got about halfway through the meal before Hizashi absentmindedly reached over and wiped his mouth with a paper towel.
Shouta didn’t even know he owned paper towels.
Two more episodes passed when he set his chopsticks down with a decisive clatter. Hizashi, who had already finished and had been sending him small glances as he ate (either to make sure he actually ate or didn’t choke, Shouta didn’t know), hummed and said, “Good?”
Shouts nodded and, although a part of him wanted to, didn’t fuss when Hizashi wiped his mouth again. Ramen was a messy meal, Little or no. Contrary to popular belief, he knew when to pick his battles.
“We need to talk,” Shouta said as the protagonist unleashed a series of furious attacks on the main villain.
Hizashi dipped his head in a nod and gave Shouta his full attention. His genuine gaze made Shouta want to either meet it or look away. “We do.”
Shouta played with a lock of his hair. It was a nervous habit of his, one of the less destructive ones, at least. He didn’t want to have this conversation. He wanted to bask in the warmth of a full stomach. He wanted a nap.
But – first.
Boundaries.
“If you’re serious about being my – my caregiver, then we’re going to set boundaries,” Shouta said in his typical brusque manner. “I’m Little, yes—but I’m still an adult. Don’t insult me with constant baby gloves. Little does not mean incompetent.”
Nezu wouldn’t have let him anywhere near a teaching position if it did.
“That’s – fair,” Hizashi conceded, a pensive tilt to his lips. “And I’m sorry if I made you feel that way.”
“Apology accepted,” Shouta said. The ending credits to the episode rolled. “As I said before, I’m an adult and, therefore, don’t appreciate it when – when my space is being overrun. I understand that many don’t like minimalist lifestyles, but it suites me.” Hizashi tensed as if to interrupt, so Shouta propelled forward. “I don’t like mess, or clutter, or unnecessary furniture. I’m barely here, given the number of hours spent at UA or on patrol . . . I don’t need anything else, especially since my place is small enough.”
Hizashi pursed his lips in clear disapproval. Shouta stared at his tablet instead. “Alright,” Hizashi groused a moment later. “But – I don’t like it.”
Sounds personal, Shouta nearly said. He only sighed.
“Can I get you a TV, at least?”
“Fine,” Shouta replied tiredly. Again; picking battles. “Nothing too obnoxious, Hizashi.”
“Okay~.”
Shouta sighed. He didn’t need Sir Nighteye’s quirk to know he’d be getting some sort of advanced tech pretty soon. “With that said,” Shouta murmured as he opened his laptop and opened a new document. “Let’s talk about rules.”
Shouta didn’t know what he hated more: rules or punishments.
At least it’s Hizashi, he thought. If it were a caregiver other than his best friend, Shouta knew he’d have kicked them out already.
“You’re getting a bedtime.” Never mind. Shouta’s going to kick him out post haste. “Don’t give me that look, baby,” Hizashi laughed at Shouta’s disgruntled frown (read: pout) as he typed. “You need at least six hours.”
“I have night patrol.”
“Only three nights a week,” Hizashi shot back. “I know you cut your patrol hours ever since USJ.” Damn it. “When you don’t have patrol, I want you in bed by midnight. On patrol days, by three.”
His tone brokered no argument. Shouta typed the times in the document and ignored the fact that he was pouting—but he couldn’t deny the benefits that came with a good rest. He doesn’t say anything about sleeping, that mischievous part of him pointed out.
“And I mean in bed, Shouta. As in, asleep or in the process of it,” Hizashi followed up. Shouta tried not to look disappointed. “Not play on your phone or watch cat videos until your alarm goes off.”
Gross. “Fine,” he muttered and added that bit in. “What else?”
“You’re going to eat—actually eat—three meals a day,” Hizashi instructed. “They can be prepackaged or frozen meals, I don’t care, but you’re not going to just eat granola bars and jelly packets.”
“But I like eating those things,” said Shouta, mostly unwilling to give up that food group.
“Shouta.”
He sighed and added the rule. “You don’t need to make a rule about hygiene.”
Contrary to what people might assume whenever they saw his disheveled appearance, Shouta was strict with his personal hygiene. He just didn’t care about his facial hair aside from the occasional trim. There were all sorts of health problems that arose when one neglected their personal hygiene, and Shouta already had a slew of health problems to deal with. He didn’t want nor need any more if he could help it.
“I know.” Hizashi tapped his chin and hummed. “Hmm. What else?”
They hashed out and debated over rules and expectations for a good hour. Once they were satisfied with what they had, Hizashi proposed a snack break. They watched another episode while they cuddled and snacked on cubed watermelon.
Shouta knew it’d came with Hizashi’s groceries. He never looked twice at fresh produce. They spoiled too quickly.
He finished and washed his hands. Watermelon made everything sticky. He hoped, though, that Hizashi would momentarily forget the other part of their discussion.
“Shou.” Unlikely. “I know you don’t want to, but we have to go over discipline.”
Shouta really didn’t want to. He started a new section in the document, nonetheless. Over the years, he’d come to realize that while Hizashi behaved as what many called a ‘relaxed, modern’ dom, Shouta knew he held traditional opinions on a lot of things when it came to Littles.
Namely: discipline.
“T-Timeouts?” Shouta suggested once he rediscovered his voice. He tried to sound unbothered. “Lines?”
Shouta fucking hated lines.
“Yes, to both.” Hizashi wiped his hands on a damp napkin. “How about this—we have a tiered system, of sorts . . . Like, for example, infractions on this level have this punishment, and so forth.”
Shouta nodded and typed that information. He bolded level one in red. They discussed what types of infractions belonged in levels one and two. Shouta’s nerves spasmed as they wrapped up level two and approached level three.
Essentially, Shouta had three chances to improve his behavior. The first warning was just that – a notice that his behavior wasn’t tolerated. A timeout or a short nap would follow a second warning. Third warnings might include a longer timeout or lines. Depending on what Shouta was being scolded for, there might be a warning swat here and there.
Even before Hizashi opened his mouth to talk about what happened after third warnings, Shouta knew the end would mean an uncomfortably sore bottom. He didn’t want to think about what’d happen if his behavior didn’t improve after that.
“I’m aware that I can be – traditional when it comes to discipline,” Hizashi started quietly, and held Shouta’s gaze. “But are you comfortable with spankings?”
Shouta took a moment to think and sighed. “I don’t like them, but I don’t mind them,” he said after a pause. “But I am uncomfortable with . . . anything other than a hand or – or a brush.”
“That’s perfectly alright!” Hizashi used a bit of his quirk, and Shouta rolled his eyes.
He poked Hizashi’s thigh with his foot. “I have neighbors, Zashi.”
“Oops!”
They take another break, because talking about boundaries and rules and punishments were exhaustive, and Hizashi made Shouta some formula. He hadn’t even noticed that the other cleaned his bottles and pacifiers, a task that Shouta had been putting off for nearly seven weeks.
They finished their discussion by the time dinner rolled around. Hizashi wordlessly volunteered to stay. Shouta wasn’t as annoyed as he thought he’d be, especially when Hizashi whipped up a spicy stir-fry dish for dinner.
They watched compilations of hilarious cat videos and those pre-quirk vines for an hour or so after dinner. Shouta graded a bit and tweaked his lesson plans here and there, pressed against Hizashi’s warmth as the videos provided background noise.
“I’m gonna head out,” Hizashi informed after the Ms. Keisha vine ended. “Gotta get ready for the show tonight! Is my favorite listener gonna tune in?”
Shouta rolled his eyes. He always listened to Put Your Hands Up radio show. “Get going before you’re late.”
Hizashi agreed in English. “Don’t forget—midnight curfew,” he added after he pecked Shouta’s cheek. “I’ll be checking~.”
Shouta made a shooing motion. “Uh huh.”
Hizashi grabbed his keys and phone and slipped on his platform boots. “You sure you don’t wanna live with me, baby?” Hizashi tried one last time as he surveyed Shouta’s apartment.
Shouta snorted in response.
It took a month for the novelty of their relationship to wear off, and a month and a half for Shouta to, for lack of a better word, test Hizashi’s stance on discipline. There were moments he didn’t even realize what he was doing until Hizashi scolded him. Shouta was a logical person. He approached every situation he could with a list of reasons, of facts, and acted upon them. But the Little part of him was, for lack of a better word, an utter shit.
He started small, of course, to see how Hizashi reacted, to see if he’d abide by their rules and boundaries. He had, much to Shouta’s relief, and would double-check that Shouta was okay and comfortable when the punishment ended.
“Aftercare is important,” Hizashi would always say. “And it’s not just for sex, you know!”
His punishments hadn’t gone farther than a few warning taps. Shouta was still apprehensive about the prospect of being over Hizashi’s lap, but he was aware it’d happen soon. Hizashi had been very perceptive and observant to his behavior lately.
Shouta had slipped. For the past few days, he’d ignored curfew and lied whenever Hizashi asked if he’d gone to bed on time. He mostly fell into old habits, falling asleep an hour to two before his alarm went off. He had the irrational insistence that Hizashi wouldn’t know of his disobedience because Shouta lived by himself.
Hizashi was suspicious of his adherence to the rule. He’d cornered Shouta once classes had finished on Wednesday. “You sure there’s nothin’ you wanna tell me, baby?”
“No,” Shouta had said.
“You’re lookin’ mighty tired,” Hizashi had pointed out with that sharp grin and those knowing, perceptive eyes. “You’re getting those six hours, right?”
“Yes,” Shouta had lied like the liar that he was.
“Those eye bags of yours are singin’ a different song, honey.”
Shouta had been saved by a third year who wanted to talk to Hizashi about some assignment, and he’d escaped to his apartment. Though Hizashi had texted him an ominous we’re not done talking that nearly made Shouta give in and list out his transgressions.
Shouta, like a fool on death row, left Hizashi on read.
His quiet disobedience built up to this moment:
Shouta liked and retweeted a tweet (a montage of cats being in places they shouldn’t be, and just acting like general beings of chaos and cuteness). His heart slithered to the ground a few seconds after he pressed the icon, and thought, oh, wait, it’s four am.
It was four. His curfew was midnight as he didn’t have a night patrol on Saturday nights. And Hizashi received all of Shouta’s twitter notifications. He hoped, briefly, that Hizashi wasn’t prepping for his morning show. If he was, then he’d see the notification. If he wasn’t, then Shouta would be safe for a few more days if he didn’t check his notifications when he woke.
Of course, luck had never been Shouta’s friend.
His anxiety fluttered in his chest when his phone lit up with Hizashi’s profile picture; an unflattering candid of Hizashi mid-sneeze.
Shouta wrapped the covers around him tighter as he answered as if they’d be a good enough shield. “Hi – Hizashi?”
“Shouta.” Hizashi didn’t sound cheerful. Shouta’s stomach gnawed with cold nerves. “What are you doing awake.”
Because Shouta loved to make life for himself difficult, so he arched an eyebrow and quipped, “What are you doing awake?”
“Shouta.”
Oh. That wasn’t a nice tone. “I . . . I couldn’t sleep,” Shouta murmured. His fingers twisted in his comforter.
“Just like you couldn’t sleep for the past week?” Hizashi questioned in an upbeat tone, but it was false and dripped with danger. Shouta needed to tread carefully. “Baby, do you think I’m an idiot.”
Shouta exhaled. “I didn’t say you were.”
“Mhm.” The rustle of paper floated from Hizashi’s end. Ah. He was prepping for his morning show. He’d never grade so early in the day. “Tell me the truth, honey. Were you really struggling to sleep?” An edge, though amused, sharpened Hizashi’s voice. “Or were you deliberately disobeying our set rules?”
“I . . ..” Shouta’s voice faded. He exhaled again, and his anxiety flashed caution signs in his mind. Might as well get it over with, he thought and added, lowly, “. . . The last one.”
Hizashi’s heavy sigh crackled through the receiver. Shouta wanted to burrow in the ground. There was a distant murmur from someone else, possibly an employee, and Hizashi answered them briefly, removing his mouth from the receiver as he did so.
You fucked up, Shouta’s anxiety said. You fucked up!
Shouta told it to be quiet.
“. . . I’ll be there in the morning, Shouta,” Hizashi informed him in a quiet, even tone. “We’ll talk more about this then.” A faint whine of displeasure threatened to spill out of Shouta’s mouth, but he stamped it down. “Go. To. Bed.”
Shouta’s voice was barely audible. “Yes.”
“Yes, who?”
“ . . . Yes, sir.”
Dawn rose too quickly and, with it, Shouta’s metaphorical death sentence. His stomach twisted in a complicated string of knots and designs as he puttered about his apartment. While he’d fallen into a fitful rest, he woke around nine and distracted himself by cleaning.
His colleagues had learned the state of his apartment from Hizashi (no surprise there) and pooled together to give him furniture despite his insistence otherwise. Along with Hizashi’s promised TV, he had a small entertainment center for it and a loveseat couch. Inside his kitchen, he had a few appliances—a toaster, rice cooker, and kettle—as well as a small circular table and two chairs.
He didn’t have room for a typical bed, but they had purchased a new futon and comforter. His back didn’t hurt as much as it used to when he slept on his old one, so he didn’t complain too much when a cheerful Vlad King handed him the gift.
Midnight had given him pictures and other things to hang on the wall. Hound Dog gave him a potted plant he didn’t need to water. Ectoplasm littered his fridge with magnets and inspirational quotes. Nezu gave him a variety of small pillows and blankets as if he weren’t at least half the cause of the chaos, and Recovery Girl helped update his medicine and first aid cabinet.
A key turned in the lock when it neared ten. Shouta had finished his bought of stress-cleaning and had settled down to work on a few gradings. His heart stuttered in his throat. His fingers trembled against the keyboard of his laptop. He had tried to — actually, Shouta didn’t really know what he was doing. The door opened. Hizashi was quiet as he slipped off his shoes.
“Good morning, Shouta,” Hizashi greeted as he dropped a kiss to the crown of Shouta’s head. Shouta shivered at the dark smile on Hizashi’s face.
“M-Morning.” Shouta twisted his fingers and tried to breathe. “Do you, um, want any tea? Or water?”
“I don’t.”
Shouta didn’t meet his gaze. There was a curious stain on the wall. Was it mold? “How . . .,” He swallowed. “How about—?”
“Shouta.” Hizashi folded his arms over his chest. It was such a small action, yet it made Shouta feel so tiny. “Please stop stalling. You know why I’m here.”
His stomach rolled. “I — sorry.”
Hizashi took a seat in the middle of the couch and took a breath. “Baby, can you tell me what our first rule is?”
Shouta swallowed and cleared his throat. “T-Take care of yourself.”
Hizashi was adamant the rule existed, given Shouta’s history of — well, doing the exact opposite of the rule. Since the beginning, Hizashi made sure there no misunderstandings that if Shouta had broken the rule, then it’d be a fast track way to land over Hizashi’s lap.
“That’s right,” Hizashi nodded. His silhouette cut a foreboding figure, and Shouta wondered why he felt warier now than when he’d be surrounded by villains. “And, tell me, Shouta, does disregarding our curfew fall under that? Does getting two hours of sleep mean you’re taking care of yourself?”
Shouta worried his bottom lip and didn’t respond. He felt small. He felt . . . Little. But it wasn’t a bad thing. He didn’t feel uncomfortable or unsafe. While he was apprehensive, it had more to do with the conversation leading up to his first punishment from Hizashi.
Hizashi’s voice was firm. “Answer me, Shouta.”
“No,” Shouta whispered. “It isn’t.”
“How long have you broken curfew?”
Shouta didn’t dare lie again. He knew Hizashi would know, and he was firmly entrenched in the danger zone as it was. “F-Five days.”
“I see.” Hizashi’s entire posture screamed displeasure. Shouta already felt the hot press of budding tears, and nothing had even happened. They were just talking. “Can you tell me what the agreed punishment is for breaking this rule?”
Something in Shouta bristled. “You already know what the punishment is,” He snapped. “Are you losing your memory already?”
Sharp pain bloomed across Shouta’s behind as Hizashi reached over and swatted him twice. “I’d watch your tone, little one,” he said, tone cooler than half of Todoroki’s quirk, over Shouta’s gasp. “You’re on thin ice, baby. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”
Shouta’s throat burned as his gaze landed on his knees. “S-Sorry.”
Hizashi hummed. “Tell me the punishment, Shouta.”
“I . . . The punishment is . . .,” Shouta swallowed around the ball in his throat. Tears prickled the edges of his eyes, but he was not going to be that Little who cried right before they were punished. Band-Aid method, Shouta. “I get spanked.”
“Correct.” Hizashi motioned for Shouta to move. “Over my lap, baby.”
He froze. His breath caught in his throat as he stared, wide eyed and anxious, at the man who resembled more of an unyielding and stern caregiver than the bubblegum rocker he had known for half of his life.
“Shouta.” Hizashi’s voice cracked through the air. “It won’t be nice if you make me get you.”
It’ll be over soon, Shouta assured his anxiety as he rose to his feet and shuffled closer. It’s just a spanking. It kind of felt like the end of the world. But Shouta knew that was his anxiety, making a mountain out of the smallest of pebbles.
He settled over Hizashi’s lap and shivered as the other adjusted him to a more comfortable position. Hizashi rubbed soothing circles on his back to calm him. “What’s our safe word?”
Shouta licked his lips. “A-Apples.”
Hizashi pulled Shouta’s sweatpants down in a smooth manner with little warning. Shouta’s breath hitched in response. They hadn’t even started yet, but anticipation and anxiety erupted into a war deep in his bones.
“How’re we doin’, baby?” Hizashi asked quietly. He pressed a grounding hand on the middle of Shouta’s back. “Comfortable?”
Shouta hummed and gripped the edges of Hizashi’s pants. He didn’t really know where to put his hands. Maybe—? He jolted and made a quiet noise in complaint when Hizashi lightly tapped the seat of his pants to gain attention.
“Verbal answer, Shouta.”
“I’m – I’m comfortable,” he responded and then sharply inhaled as the first swat of many landed. “A – A little warning, Hiza—ow!”
Shouta couldn’t remember the last time he’d been properly, thoroughly spanked—but he didn’t remember it hurt this much. ‘Just’ a spanking, my ass. And his ass started to feel as though it were being lovingly raked over hot coal.
The sound of sharp smacks rose in the air as Hizashi peppered Shouta’s bottom with swats. His face burned at the fleeting thought of his neighbors overhearing, of them knowing that Shouta misbehaved so much to warrant such a punishment. Shouta shifted at the uncomfortable heat, whimpers and disgruntled whines bubbling in the back of his throat. He swallowed back the few tears that threatened to fall.
He wasn’t going to cry.
He wouldn’t.
“We have rules in place for a reason, Shouta, and I expect you to follow them. They exist for your health and well-being,” Hizashi lectured, voice as intense and biting as the swats he laid on Shouta’s ass. A few high-pitched whines Shouta couldn’t swallow slipped out of his mouth. “You need to take care of yourself, baby—and that means, going to bed by curfew. It doesn’t mean be in bed by midnight and play on your phone or scroll through Twitter.”
Hizashi shifted his attention to Shouta’s upper thighs and sit-spots. A few tears dripped onto the couch as Shouta choked down a sob.
“I understand it if you have trouble sleeping, like with insomnia or you’re having a nightmare,” Hizashi continued, ignoring the increase in Shouta’s cries as he alternated between Shouta’s sit-spots and other areas of his behind. Shouta’s vision blurred. “But deliberate disobedience is unacceptable, Shouta. I expected better from you. You insisted on being treated like an adult, and I respected that choice and gave you that freedom—but your recent behavior and disregard for your personal health and well-being makes me think I made the wrong decision.”
Shouta whined low in his throat. His eyes burned. Ouch.
The swats were sharp and unrelenting, set in a rigid pace that didn’t ease. Hizashi doesn’t give Shouta time to recover from the biting pain between swats. Shouta could only lie there and accept the punishment as Hizashi offered it. His breath hitched and sputtered in his throat as the pain flared to a degree where keeping quiet were nearly impossible. The sound of his cries floated in the air alongside the sharp blows of flesh-to-flesh contact.
He dug his toes into the couch for purchase. He shuddered as he breathed in quick, watery gasps. He tried to move away from the swats, but Hizashi had a firm grip that kept him immobile. His whines sputtered into sobs that carved open his chest. His thoughts whirled in his mind, but Shouta felt too scattered to pay attention.
“I want to take care of you, Shouta,” Hizashi said in a rough voice. “I also want you to take care of yourself. I understand it can be difficult for you to believe that there are others who care about you, but there are. There are.” The merciless rain of swats continued, and Shouta was certain the entire complex had a front row seat to him getting his bottom spanked as if he were a naughty child. “It upsets us when you don’t take care of yourself, baby, or when you think your destructive behavior doesn’t matter—but it does.”
Shouta’s breath stuttered as Hizashi quickened the assault; the blows were harsher, now; the heat was nearly unbearable. He didn’t know how he’d be able to sit down. The echo of his cries rose to the ceiling; the couch did nothing to keep them smothered.
“There are people who care about you, Shouta.” Warmth dripped off Hizashi’s tone even as he laid a series of unforgiving spanks on Shouta’s sit-spots. It took all of Shouta’s self-control to swallow back the persistent wails that begged to be released. His neighbors would really be aware of his punishment if they slipped through. “I care about you, Shouta,” Hizashi’s voice dipped into a whisper, but it crackled in the air as if he used his quirk. “I care so much. I love you so much, Shouta, and I refuse to see you treat yourself like this anymore.”
Another whine slipped between Shouta’s teeth. His cheeks were damp with his tears as he stopped holding them back. It took too much energy, too much focus. They stained his couch in a dark puddle. He skimmed his toes against the cushions in an attempt to lighten the pain, but it was futile. The blows fell and landed on sore areas without pause as Hizashi painted his bottom a dark, weeping red to drive home the message.
Shouta buried his face into his arms and wheezed. His shoulders trembled with the force of his sobs. “Hiza – Hizashi, I – please,” Shouta choked out after a few more swats landed on the seat of his ass. Hizashi acted as if Shouta hadn’t spoken and continued. “Ow – ow!”
Ten seconds drifted by. It felt like ten years.
Hiccupped sobs bubbled forth. “I – sorry, ‘m sor-rry,” Shouta gasped out because the sting was unbearable, and he’d never sit again, and Hizashi. Wasn’t. Stopping. “Ple-ase, please – I won’t – I won’t,” Shouta babbled out in slight hysteria. He didn’t even know what he was saying. “I’ll be good. So, so good.”
“Things are going to change, baby,” Hizashi told him in a firm, no-nonsense tone. Would the onslaught ever end? Shouta’s bottom was going to be a giant bruise. “No more, okay? You will not treat yourself this way. You deserve better, and I won’t let you waste away. Understand?”
Shouta squirmed, whimpering.
“I said,”—Smack. Smack.—“Do. You. Understand?”
“Under – Understand, ” Shouta nearly wailed. One of his legs jerked out and just barely missed the edge of the coffee table. Hizashi didn’t seem bothered by the abrupt movement and continued his thorough spanks. “I – I – I underst-st-stand.”
Hizashi paused for a moment—a brief, glorious moment of respite—before he shifted Shouta to a higher angle. He showered swats on Shouta’s sit-spots and upper thighs, and the angle, somehow, heightened the pain, pulling a pained, stuttering moan from Shouta’s lips. He went limp with sobs a moment later, energy spent and waned. The assault continued for what felt like a slow-moving apocalypse but, in reality, was a few seconds.
“Do you promise to take care of yourself from now on, Shouta?” Hizashi asked him softly, but Shouta heard him perfectly. “Do you promise to stop neglecting your personal health and needs?”
“Yes,” Shouta sobbed. A part of him was surprised he could still speak. Another part pointed out that the spanking had ceased, and Hizashi rubbed his back in a soothing pattern. “Yes. Yes.”
“Good baby,” Hizashi murmured. He carded gentle fingers through Shouta’s hair, and Shouta leaned into the touch as if he were starved. “Just let it out, honey. Just let it out.”
Shouta breathed around a bubbling froth of sobs. Hizashi gave him a moment before he maneuvered Shouta with ease, his strength and training as a pro hero evident as it took little effort. Instead of being sprawled over Hizashi’s lap, Shouta was now curled in his arms.
He pressed his face into the crevice of Hizashi’s neck, partly out of a desire to be hidden and partly because he wanted the comfort. Hizashi continued combing his fingers through Shouta’s hair as he cradled Shouta, cautious of sore areas.
Wet, messy apologies spilled out of Shouta’s mouth. Most of it were unintelligible, but Hizashi acted as if he heard them with perfect clarity. He hummed a light tune under his breath and lightly rocked Shouta in his arms. “It’s okay, baby,” Hizashi murmured. “Shh, it’s all okay, now.”
“Sorry,” Shouta whispered, voice cracking. “I’m sorry.”
“Shh, baby.” Hizashi pressed a light kiss to his forehead and hushed him. “All forgiven, shh.”
Shouta pressed the heel of his palm against his eyes and hiccupped. His ass hurt. It hurt so much. He had forgotten, momentarily, how hard a pro hero could hit. Or spank, in this case. “’M never sitting again,” he muttered with a mock glare at Hizashi.
Hizashi barked out a laugh. “You’ll sit within a few days, don’t worry,” Hizashi soothed and then reached for the box of tissues on the coffee table. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”
Shouta focused on calming down and didn’t fuss when Hizashi wiped his tears nor when the blond pinched his nose with a tissue and told him to blow. It took a few tissues to properly rid the evidence of Shouta’s tears, though his throat was hoarse, and his head and eyes ached from the strain of tears. He hadn’t cried like that in . . . a while.
He laid his head back on Hizashi’s shoulder and closed his eyes. Hizashi switched the TV on to some cooking show based in America—Cupcake something, though why Shouta had English channels when he barely understood the question of where is the bathroom, he didn’t know—and shifted them both to a more comfortable position.
Hizashi’s breath ghosted across his forehead. “You okay, baby?”
Shouta nodded. “Yeah.”
“I wasn’t too harsh, was I?” Shouta opened an eye to see Hizashi worry his bottom lip. “I’ve been told I can get overwhelming—.”
“You were fine,” Shouta assured, though it was punctured by a sniffle. His voice sounded so nasally and hoarse whenever he cried. “I would’ve safe-worded if I had any problems. Watch your baking shows.”
Hizashi smiled and peppered the side of Shouta’s face with light, feathery kisses. Shouta rolled his eyes but didn’t deny the warmth that curled up his spine at the action.
Shouta floated for a bit; not quite in his headspace, but not quite adult, either. He hadn’t realized he pressed two of his fingers inside his mouth until Hizashi tutted and removed them. His discontented whine was swallowed by the press of the silicone bulb of his pacifier against his lips. He sighed in content and drifted someplace pleasant and warm.
Shouta didn’t know how long he’d been gone, but he returned to find a blanket snug around him (just how he liked it) as he laid on his stomach. He blinked in a slight daze and stared at the TV (now, it played something with food trucks) as sounds of Hizashi puttering about in the kitchen floated in the air. He glanced at his alarm clock and squinted at the time.
It was a little bit past noon, which meant—
“Is my little baby awake?”
Shouta hummed as Hizashi came into view with a plate of something steamy in one hand and a bottle of formula in another. “What’s on the menu?”
“Alfredo with mushrooms,” Hizashi informed as he set it on the coffee table. “Don’t worry—I made the Alfredo with shell pasta instead of spaghetti.”
Shouta raised an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t want me eating at the coffee table?”
Hizashi mirrored his expression. “I mean, if you want to sit that sore little butt of yours on a wooden chair, be my guest, baby.” Hizashi laughed at the way Shouta’s nose wrinkled. “Do you want your bottle first or the pasta?”
Shouta hummed in thought. “Bottle.” Hizashi’s eyebrow climbed higher, and Shouta huffed. “Bottle, please.”
“Good baby,” Hizashi said and handed over the bottle. Shouta refused to let him know how much he liked that phrase. “Hmm, wanna sit in my lap or stay on the couch?”
Shouta shrugged; he didn’t care so long as he could eat in peace. Hizashi liked it when Shouta sat on his lap whenever they ate, probably so that the other could easily spoon feed him if he felt like Shouta hadn’t eaten enough, so Shouta wasn’t surprised when Hizashi repositioned him onto his lap.
Hizashi shuffled a bit more to make himself comfortable and rose up the TV volume now that Shouta was awake. Peaceful coexistence floated between them as Shouta leaned against Hizashi’s chest and nursed his bottle, and Hizashi chewed through his own food. Once Shouta drank a good third of his formula, he poked Hizashi’s thigh.
“Hmm? What’s up, baby? Want your pasta?”
Shouta shook his head. “No. Tell me what’s going on.”
Hizashi blinked for a moment. “Oh! I’m sorry, let me turn on the subtitles, I didn’t even think—.”
“No.” Shouta rose his eyes to the ceiling as if to ask for strength. “I. Want you. To say it.”
“. . . Like a play-by-play?” Hizashi asked in a puzzled manner. Then, a slow smile curled his lips, and Shouta returned to his bottle. “Aww, does Shouta wanna hear my voice~?”
“I’m getting a restraining order.”
Hizashi laughed. “Okay, okay. So, here’s what’s going on . . .”
Shouta relaxed against Hizashi as the other gave a dramatic play-by-play of the competition on the TV. There were probably a lot of embellishments in the story, but Shouta didn’t care. He closed his eyes as he drank his formula and felt the soothing rumble of Hizashi’s chest as he spoke. Shouta hummed in contentment.
Despite what had happened earlier . . . maybe having a caregiver (read: having Hizashi as a caregiver) wouldn’t be so bad.