Chapter Text
Bells tolled across the campus, signaling the end of the day, and part of Shouta wanted to bash his head against the cement wall, never mind the extreme level of violence and worry it would’ve caused.
Winter crawled through the prefecture with a vice grip, and with it came a certain enemy of Shouta’s: the common cold and flu. It would always sweep through the hallways of U.A. and affect various students, and inevitably, the faculty and staff would go down next. Not only did Shouta despise being sick, but he also hated the taste – and aftertaste – of certain cold medicines, and thus strove to do his best to remain perfectly healthy.
Of course, the best intentions don’t always pan out when the real world comes knocking.
Midway through the week Shouta discovered a particularly persistent itch in the back of his throat, and the beginnings of dread pooled in the pit of his stomach. He soothed any of his rising worries with the knowledge that he often had easily treated cold throats and sores whenever the weather changed, and this sudden throat itch wouldn’t be any different. With that in mind, he medicated with over-the-counter aspirin and other treatments as needed, hoping it would be enough.
It wasn’t enough.
His throat itch seemed to worsen as the days passed, and that morning he had woken with the echo of a sprawling headache around his temples. He had taken some Tylenol prior to breakfast—and, even though his stomach twisted at his decisions, that voice in the back of his mind whispering that he wasn’t exactly being a good boy right now, spritzed a scent-dampener to hide the soft clouds of sick and weariness in his scent so that Hizashi wouldn’t be able to notice—and that had done the trick until lunch when he needed to readminister another dose.
Perhaps it would be easier if he hadn’t felt the need to hide the fact that he was beginning to not feel well.
It wasn’t that being sick around Hizashi made him feel unsafe or anything like that—but Shouta knew that Hizashi would blow things out of proportion immediately. Already, the Caregiver often fretted whenever his temperature dipped higher than the normal range for longer than an hour, insisting Shouta be bundled in blankets and not do any work to decrease stress. Shouta wouldn’t mind it, but the idea of not working when he was of perfect mind to do so grated on his nerves.
It was a simple cold; it wasn’t like he had been hospitalized.
(Again).
Sighing, Shouta pulled himself out of his thoughts and rubbed his temples, leaning back against his desk chair. He had decided to spend his free period in his private office rather than the staff room, not wanting to deal with the headache of additional scents in a crowded room. Not to mention the inevitable well-meaning, but annoying, check-in questions that his coworkers loved drowning him in. On another day, it would be welcomed, but . . . just not now.
Not when metaphorical claws were attempting to pry open his skull as though it were a ripe tangerine, at least.
Shouta squinted once more at the screen of his desktop, staring at the swimming letters of an email from a concerned, slightly antagonistic, parent. It was someone Shouta had dealt with many times before, as it was a parent of one of his upper year students, but ever since his Little status had been revealed—and much paperwork officially filed and made public to the rest of the world (thank you, local government. Not.)—it seemed this parent wished to take offense to every decision Shouta made in his capacity as a teacher.
Never mind that Shouta did, in fact, have his teaching certificates and degree—the idea that Nezu would allow anyone in his school, around impressionable children, without the necessary credentials was laughable at best, insulting at worst; hell, even Yagi had to go through a fast-paced Teachers’ Associates Program for Heroes prior to even being on U.A.’s payroll—and that he had been teaching for quite some time, and that, when it came to the Pro Hero world, he, at least, knew what the hell he was talking about.
Another sigh rippled through as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t have enough coffee for this,” Shouta mumbled under his breath. He would use the coffee machine in his office, but it had broken a few weeks ago and he hadn’t bothered to try and fix it or get a new one. It was a decision he sorely regretted now.
Rising chatter and laughter from the hall caused him to flinch slightly. Despite the muffled echo, it was still loud enough for a sharp ache around his skull. Ugh. Headaches were the bane of his existence, more so than sore throats.
His phone buzzed twice, signaling a text message, and while Shouta knew he should answer, he wanted to stare at the small screen even less. He could feel a distant pressure behind the backs of his eyes, the flush of a rising fever, and dismayed at the future.
Bzzt. Bzzt.
Shouta groaned softly and opened his eyes—wait, when did he even close them? — to see Hizashi’s contact name flashing across the screen. Another groan bubbled forth as he unlocked the device, opening his app to see an influx of messages. Despite the slight annoyance, most of him just wanted to turn off the lights in his office and sleep under his desk, the edges of his lips tugged into a soft smile.
Zashi
SHOUTAAAAAAA
MY BABIEEEE BOY
ARRRRR U READY ???
spongebob_im_ready_gif
IM THINKIN PASTA FOR DINNER
OOO MAYBE STIR FRYY
SO MANY CHOICES~
SHOUCCHANNNNN U THERE???
BABIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
Shouta couldn’t help himself and snorted, fondly rolling his eyes at Hizashi’s antics. His stomach grumbled slightly at the idea of food, but he grimaced as well. He had barely scraped through the bento Hizashi had packed for him that morning, his appetite dissipating as he attempted to scrape through the meal. Hizashi had . . . opinions when it came to Shouta not eating properly, and Shouta would rather not have a repeat of any of them.
Another message came through, pulling him from his thoughts, and it was a series of emojis. Shouta huffed softly and decided to tap a response so that there wouldn’t be any concern.
Me
im fine w either
Zashi
pout.gif
SIGHHHHHH
i guess its cg zashi to the rescue~
wait are u in ur office???
yeah
y
huh
nw i just didn’t see ya in the staff room
so i was curious
okokok imo mw
actually… im a bit behind on ppwk so
i’ll meet u @ home
thumbs_up_emoji
don’t forget about curfew tho!!
Satisfied that he wouldn’t be disturbed—he loved Hizashi, but he had the uncanny feeling that things wouldn’t end well for his headache when faced with the Caregivers’ . . . caregiver-ness—Shouta rested his phone aside, screen down so he wouldn’t be tempted by the various cat videos downloaded into his photo gallery and rolled his shoulders. As he typed out his response email with one hand, his other rummaged through his desk drawer for what he needed.
It would be a quick fix, and hopefully wouldn’t send his system into slight shock, but Patch wasn’t only good for keeping scents temporarily contained. A mostly unknown fact of Patch was that the artificial hormones on it could temporarily decrease any budding symptoms of sickness. Shouta wasn’t entirely certain about the specifics, especially since it wasn’t researched that thoroughly yet, but he knew from experience that it would give him at least another two hours of a sick-free scent.
He took another Tylenol after he slapped on Patch, swallowing it down with the rest of his water. He knew he shouldn’t be using it, considering Hizashi had confiscated the blockers and patches he had had when they began their relationship, and Shouta knew very well that Hizashi wouldn’t be pleased to find he had a secret stash, either.
Well.
Hizashi, Caregiver or not, could kiss the mole on his left ass cheek because Shouta knew what he was doing. Sure, he would be a bit left-footed once the Patch faded from his system, and the conscious guilt of his actions would be a bitch to weather through, but it wasn’t like Shouta had the time for a sick day. He barely had time for the mandatory leave he had to have once a month as a Little employee. It had been a pesky bylaw Nezu had passed with the Board of Governors sometime after Shouta had run out of his blockers for the first time.
(He was still grumbling about, not that anyone would ask).
For the next hour and a half, Shouta submerged himself in paperwork, grading, and emails. The end of term would always be a headache for everyone, but there were parents who had often made things worse. Ever since Shouta started teaching, he hadn’t been a stranger to barrages of emails of entitled parents demanding that Shouta fixes their children’s grades, or change the schools’ policies, as if Shouta had that kind of power with the Board and the Department of Education, or some other asinine order they expected him to follow through with immediately.
It had only gotten worse once some students had gone home with the news of his Little status. Now, it seemed that most parents were content to antagonize and condescend him in various ways, written tone clearly patronizing as they tried to have him have a Caregiver coworker double-check his work. As if Shouta was grading from mere memory rather than a printed answer sheet.
If Nezu were aware of the rampant discrimination in his email, things would not be well—for those parents, that is. Never mind Hizashi, who had a ruthless streak a mile wide the public refused to acknowledge, unable, or unwanting, to see past his smiling, friendly, rockstar Present Mic façade.
Another email blinked at him—but this time, it wasn’t from a parent, but a former student of his. He scanned the email and decoded its’ contents, humming in interest. It was a simple request for his aid on one of their current missions, and it involved an underground drug ring and some other unfavorables of society.
Nothing too difficult, especially as the semester was beginning to slow down thanks to the weather, but Shouta hadn’t been on active missions for some time. Ever since the dormitory systems were implemented, really. He hadn’t wanted to spend too much time and energy away from the Problem Children, and missions often required an extensive amount of prep work and time. Time that Shouta truthfully didn’t have anymore.
He seemed to always be out of time, these days.
However, . . . it was an old student of his, wanting his expertise and skills, and from the sounds of it, they were even struggling in the field. It caused a displeased frown on his face, and he leaned back, taking a moment to soak the information in. Shouta knew what his answer would be the moment he had read the opening line of the email. He had never been one to deny support to his students, current or otherwise, and he wasn’t going to start now.
He glanced at the time. It was nearing dinner, just a quarter until 6, but that was more than enough time for a bit of research. He would do a minimal breeze over the facts of the case, gathering some of his own intel that could hopefully bolster what his ex-student had sent, and then be back in the dorms for dinner.
Plan in mind, Shouta logged onto an offline portal specifically for Pro Heroes and other authority departments to swap information.
Of course, things hadn’t gone to plan. Per usual.
By the time Shouta managed to peel away from the glare of his desktop, it was almost midnight. He could feel his stomach attempt to find Middle Earth immediately, and that feeling only worsened when he checked his phone to see various missed calls and messages from Hizashi. A part of him was surprised that Hizashi hadn’t marched down to his office once the clock neared 8 P.M., but he supposed the Caregiver wanted to see just how deep of a whole Shouta could dig before any interference.
Well, shit, Shouta thought before he sighed. There wasn’t anything he do aside from head to the teacher dorms and face the music, so to speak.
Considering he lived on campus; he hadn’t bothered to clean up much. He would be there again in the morning, anyways. He did make sure it was neat, at the very least, for he knew the headache of trying to search for things in a cluttered space. That, plus his budding cold, was not a recipe he wished to mess with right now.
Cold wind greeted him as he stepped outside of the warm, insulated building. Shouta shivered and wrapped his arms around his torso tighter, taking slow steps down the path of where the teacher dorms were seated. While there hadn’t been any snow, it had been raining and cold enough for some ice to develop on various sidewalks, and Shouta would rather not break a tailbone.
No one was in the common spaces as he entered the dorm building, but he expected that. It was midnight, after all, though that was a thought that made him wince. He had forgotten how engrossed he could become when researching a case, and the drive funneled him even deeper as it was a case from a student.
Shouta toed off his shoes in the genkan, shrugging off his capture weapon, and wanted nothing more than to curl up into his sleeping bag and fall into the abyss.
Unfortunately, Hizashi had other ideas.
“Shouta.” Green eyes stared him down from the hallway, Hizashi leaning against the wall. The Caregivers’ gaze wasn’t unlike a predator keeping watch on their prey, and Shouta shivered at the dark twinges of disappointment-anger-sternness in Hizashi’s scent. “Could you tell me what time it is right now, sweetheart?”
Shouta swallowed and wanted nothing more than to be an ostrich, burying its’ head in the sand—or perhaps another kind of burrowing animal? “Um . . . it’s – it’s almost midnight,” Shouta managed to whisper, guilt and nervousness entangling deep in the pit of his stomach. “I – I didn’t mean to ignore curfew, though, Zashi, I swear.”
Hizashi only cocked an eyebrow, expression still settled on that Displeased Caregiver setting that Shouta (and every other Little, really) despised. “Oh?” Shouta couldn’t explain what kind of tone Hizashi had, his Little instincts flaring up at the scent of a protective and upset Caregiver. “And what about dinner, then . . . did you ‘forget’ about that?”
Shouta licked his lips; dry and chapped from the wind. He opened his mouth to speak, to defend, but his voice sputtered out of existence when Hizashi raised a palm for silence.
“What about our rules on communication, then? You are quite lucky that I knew you were still on campus, sweetheart—I was worried sick when you hadn’t answered me after multiple phone calls and texts,” Hizashi continued down the line of transgressions for the evening, and then paused, sighing heavily as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Go shower and ready for bed; I’ll heat up your food for you.”
Shouta nearly blurted out, ‘what, that’s it?’ but he knew the reality. It was far too late to have any kind of . . . discussion that Hizashi would’ve wanted to have, and right now, getting Shouta fed and taken cared of was far more important than discipline. Still, though . . . “I’m sorry,” Shouta murmured in a soft voice. He likely appeared as pathetic as he sounded. “I – I really didn’t mean to.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Hizashi softened visibly and moved towards him. Shouta was unsurprised when he was pulled into an embrace, and he nuzzled against Hizashi’s scent glands, wanting the warmth and comfort of the man’s familiar scent. “I’m not doubting you, baby, I can tell it wasn’t intentional disobedience,” Hizashi continued softly, and then kissed the crown of his forehead. “We’ll talk more about it la . . . ter . . ..”
Shouta blinked, perplexed, as Hizashi trailed off, expression distant, and then, with a sharp, echoing thought, remembered the Patch he had used hours ago.
He hadn’t taken it off.
He hadn’t taken it off.
Shouta scrabbled backwards (attempted to, really, considering Hizashi’s arms tightened around him the more he squirmed), heart thudding heavily in his throat, and babbled, “I – Z-Zashi, wait, I can, I can explai—!”
“Shower. Food. Bed.” Hizashi interrupted in a cold, measured tone, and carefully peeled the scent patch off Shouta’s glands, fingers gentle as the slightly throbbing skin. “We will have our chat in the morning, understand?”
Shouta sniffled.
Tomorrow morning would be the absolute worst.
Birds chirped in the distance, a playful and hope inspiring birdsong, and Shouta had never wanted to hear crickets so badly in his life. He stared up at the ceiling blankly, the dredges of soft sleep and dreams slowly draining away as he gained further consciousness and listened to the distant noise of Hizashi puttering about in the bathroom.
He dozed for a moment, not wanting to face the inevitable, when a knock on his door jolted him out of his thoughts.
“Shoucchan,” Hizashi said through the closed door, and Shouta swallowed. “Do your bathroom stuff and meet me in the living room, alright?”
“Okay,” Shouta responded, raising his voice slightly to be heard, and climbed out of his comfortable nest of blankets.
Best get it over with, then.
It hadn’t taken him long to go through the familiar morning routine. He did take a moment to swallow another two Tylenol for the persistent itch and headache, now making his head feel like a dense object, and soon shuffled towards the living room. If he were in a more comedic mood, he might even liken his steps to that of a death march, a criminal walking to their awaited end at the guillotine.
As expected, Hizashi was already there, sitting on the couch, and brightened upon seeing him. “Good morning, baby,” Hizashi chirped out, as though they weren’t about to have quite the discussion in just a few moments, and then gave him a considering glance, humming softly for a moment, deciding to go straight for the jugular. “Would you rather we have our talk before or after breakfast, Shoucchan?”
Shouta blinked at the choices. He didn’t want either option, but he knew that wouldn’t fly well with his Caregiver. Regardless of his intent, he had broken a few major rules—ignoring curfew, not taking care of himself by skipping dinner, and his usage of Patch, which was explicitly forbidden by his Caregiver—and it would be a cold, cold day in hell if Hizashi ever decided to ignore that.
His socked foot scuffed the ground as he squirmed in place, mind fizzing with thoughts and half-baked suggestions. “Um . . . we can have it b-before breakfast,” Shouta finally said, knowing it would be the best option for him. Sure, it would mean he’d likely have to sit at the breakfast table with a sore ass, but it was better than going through breakfast and the default time for digestion worrying about the impending punishment.
A soft, knowing smile appeared on Hizashi’s lips. “Right then—come here, please.”
Even though it was something he had chosen, a soft whine still formed in the back of his throat. Shouta shuffled forward, though, well-aware of the consequences that came with stalling, and soon stood in front of Hizashi, fingers playing with the drawstring of his sweatpants, gaze downcast on his socked, mismatched feet.
“Thank you for listening, sweetheart,” said Hizashi, reaching to hold his hands in a gentle, but firm, grasp. Hints of petrichor and underlying charcoal, like a persistent bush fire despite the rain, floated between them; Shouta wanted to shrink back at the stern energy. “Unfortunately, we have quite a lot to discuss this morning, don’t we, Shoucchan?”
Shouta chewed on his bottom lip, feeling his shoulders rise to his ears, and tried, feebly, to protest. “I – I don’t think I should be punished for, for a mistake, Zashi. It’s – it’s not fair.”
For a moment, Hizashi didn’t speak. His responding, disapproving sigh made something coil tightly in the pit of Shouta’s stomach. “. . . Alright; let’s go over the previous night, then, shall we? Walk me through your decisions from the moment I reminded you – in text, I add – to be mindful of curfew.”
Shouta took a steadying breath. It would always be a bit nerve-wracking, having to explain out his choices that he knew – and Hizashi knew – were deliberately naughty. “I . . . w-well, I continued the paperwork I had to do,” Shouta began to explain, conveniently leaving out the pieces of his impending sickness as he felt it wasn’t important right now. “Um . . . sometime around six, I think, I was – I knew curfew was near, and I was planning to head back, but I received another email from a previous student of ours, and they were asking for my help on a case,”—Shouta paused for a moment, stomach in knots, gaze shifting from Hizashi’s as the Caregiver wanted to maintain eye contact, and took another breath as Hizashi gently encouraged him to continue, humming softly and squeezing his hands— “I – I decided to, um, do a bit of research—and I, I planned to only do it for, like, fifteen minutes, max, I swear, but – well, time got away from me, and then . . . it was midnight.”
“It was midnight,” repeated Hizashi, a discerning expression on his face. Hizashi searched and deliberated for words for a moment, allowing the silence in the air to speak for itself. “What about dinner, then? I know you experienced hunger pains as contrary to your beliefs, you are not a robot, and need food to function. Tell me why you ignored those, please.”
They hadn’t even touched the minefield that was Patch yet, and already, Shouta wanted to somehow teleport halfway across Asia just to escape the rest of this conversation. His bottom clenched slightly; there was no way he’d be leaving the dorms without a sore, freshly spanked bottom, and he was certainly not looking forward to it.
“Aizawa Shouta,” Hizashi’s stern tone jolted him out of his thoughts, and he swallowed at the severe glint in his Caregivers’ eyes. “I believe I asked you a question, little one.”
Shouta wanted a Caregiver refund. Right now.
“I . . . I just kept putting it off,” Shouta explained in a weakened tone, knowing it wasn’t that great of a defense. “Um, the – the eating . . . and, well, I had a, a granola bar . . .,” he added after a moment, though he wasn’t sure how much it helped his case.
Hizashi only hummed. “So . . . instead of leaving campus to have an actual meal when you recognized you were hungry . . . you, instead, decided that a granola bar was an appropriate replacement for a cooked meal. Am I hearin’ that correctly, Shouta?”
Shouta shifted. Tension pulled taut between them, a brewing storm of emotions and scent that left a dried aftertaste in Shouta’s mouth. “I . . . y-yes.”
A storm cloud of brewing tears threatened to form as it pressed against the back of his eyes. His stomach squirmed with various emotions, all of them common in a Little experiencing the consequences of their actions. Hizashi’s stern scent and presence never failed to make him feel small, and Little, like a naughty little boy about to have their ass blistered for their actions.
Which—technically . . . it wasn’t wrong, per se.
“That, of course, hasn’t even touched upon you going completely dark on me for nearly four hours,” Hizashi continued, voice pointedly stern and unyielding to any potential defense. “You know very well how unacceptable that is, Shouta. Not even taking into account the chaos of this entire year, we have a system of at least one text message—hell, even an emoji, if you’re pressed for time—at least every other hour when you aren’t home for a reason.”
A stubborn pout couldn’t help but settle on Shouta’s lips. “That—I hadn’t done that on purpose, though,” Shouta protested softly, a burst of indignant rage bubbling up the back of his throat even though the stern set to Hizashi’s mouth made his insides curdle just a bit.
“I understand that it was accidental, baby,” Hizashi said after a moment, conceding slightly to Shouta’s protest, which caused him to blink—and then Hizashi tightened his grip around Shouta’s hands and added, tone dipping into the seas of the Arctic, “But what wasn’t accidental was your use of Patch—which, by the way, where did you get that? I distinctly remember taking away your supply of blockers and patches months ago.”
Any further protest died in the back of his throat. Hizashi raised an eyebrow at the dragging silence, and then tsked in the back of his throat.
“Does my Shouta need some assistance in answering my question?” Hizashi asked sternly, though it was more of a rhetorical question, technically.
Shouta swallowed, shaking his head in earnest. He knew very well that Hizashi would follow through with those implied swats. “I . . . I, um, well . . .,” Shouta fumbled over his words, not quite wanting to admit that he had deliberately kept quiet about the stash in his office and lied to Hizashi when the man had questioned if he had anymore hidden elsewhere. “Y-you see, Zashi, I . . . I had a, a stash in my . . . o-office,” he finished, ending in a fading whisper.
Damn.
Hindsight really was a bitch, wasn’t it?
The silence was damning, really.
“Right . . .,” Hizashi said, a breadth of emotion in his tongue, and then sighed softly. “Alright, baby; we’re going to do our standard, ten-minute corner time, and then we’ll get to chattin’. Okay?”
“Um.” Shouta could feel his heartbeat pitter-patter against the shell of his ear at the order. “I—Z-Zashi, I don’t really think—c-can’t we, um, do something like lines instead of a, a—!”
A yelp, bursting from his throat at the shock of sting, interrupted him.
Hizashi had less patience than Shouta thought and propelled him forward with three bristling swats on the curve of his bottom. “Naughty little boys don’t have a say in their well-deserved punishment,” Hizashi scolded, lips pressed in a thin line, and then pointed to where there was a small sign in the far-left corner of the room, aptly labeled ‘shoucchan’s corner :)’. He couldn’t remember where the sign had come from, but knowing their friends, it was likely from Nemuri.
“Corner, Shouta. Now.”
Shouta went to the corner.
He sniffled as the timeout commenced. He knew it would only be ten minutes, but corner time would always have a special place in Hell, in his mind. He shifted slightly as he overheard the rustle of movement, clothes whispering against skin, as Hizashi moved about. His scent soured a bit, tinged with guilt and anxiety. He had known that he was in the wrong, even though he attempted to defend himself. He knew how he could be when delving into research, and he could’ve definitely set a timer or something instead of just, well, ignoring the alarm signs in his mind
His thoughts whirled the longer time ticked, and Shouta couldn’t help but nibble on the corner of his nail for comfort.
“Shoucchan,” came from behind. “Fingers out of your mouth, baby.”
Shouta made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, and a part of him wanted to ignore Hizashi. But. Common sense activated and whispered that he was already in so much trouble, did he truly want to make things even more exhausting for them both?
Before he could sink deeper into an encroaching river of self-deprecation, a blue-colored, cat-patterned pacifier was in front of him. Shouta murmured a soft thanks as he accepted the pacifier, slipping the bulb into his mouth and suckling gently. It brought an instant wave of relief as he soothed himself, humming softly in the back of his throat. His scent softened further when Hizashi gently scrubbed fingers against his scalp for a moment.
“Six more minutes, Shoucchan,” were Hizashi’s parting words, and the rustle of movement made Shouta realize the Caregiver had returned to the couch for the rest of his timeout.
Gentle suckling of the pacifier floated through the quiet, and Shouta tried not to be consumed with guilt and self-flagellation. His timeout had given him time to have a clearer perspective on the things he had been doing, and it had left a sour taste in his mouth. At times, he hated being so introspective and analytical of himself, but, well. It was just who he was as a person.
Regardless, things were clear cut where he was concerned. He had missed curfew, skipped a meal, hadn’t communicated for over four hours, and used a harmful suppressor that his Caregiver had expressly forbidden him from using. Never mind the months of deception involved in keeping that secret stash hidden.
He was, in apt words, absolutely fucked.
Beeps ticked, signifying the end of his timeout, but he remained in the corner, not entirely sure if he should leave or wait for more direction.
“Come here, Shouta.” Swallowing heavily, Shouta obeyed the stern order and soon stood before Hizashi, trying not to look as Little as he felt. Hizashi gave him a warm and patient smile, scent softening with reassurance and protection. “Thank you for listening, baby; I appreciate it. Now . . . can you tell me why we are here, please?”
Shouta was well-aware of how terrible of an idea it was, but he couldn’t help but stall. “I, Zashi — couldn’t we—!” His breath caught in him throat when Hizashi turned him to the side, hand swatting twice on the crest of Shouta’s bottom. The stern scent and glare on his Caregiver’s face made Shouta’s insides squiggle.
“You are already on some very thin ice, little boy,” Hizashi spoke coolly, and a soft whine threatened to escape the back of Shouta’s throat. You know I don’t want to do this anymore than you do—but your actions, deliberately naughty, might I add, have consequences, sweetheart, and the ones you’ve racked up are simply too big for me to just let off with a simple timeout.”
Shouta swallowed audibly; he couldn’t find any sort of denials in his mind, just things that would’ve likely gotten him some extra swats or worse – an extra spanking at bedtime. He took a deep, steadying breath, feeling small yet loved as he stared into Hizashi’s stern, but affectionate gaze, and gave a firm nod.
No more running, he thought to himself.
“I . . . I disobeyed curfew, a-and went silent on you for, um, four hours,” Shouta started to list out his misbehavior, feeling tiny and already properly scolded for his actions. His shoulders hunched together as his bottom lip trembled, the backs of his eyes pressed by forming tears. Ugh; the spanking hadn’t even begun yet, not counting those earlier warning swats, and already, he was about to cry. Something about Hizashi just never failed to make him feel like a small, repentant Little, facing consequences. “I also, um, skipped dinner intentionally,” he continued after a pause, pulling himself out of his thoughts. Hizashi made a hum of acknowledgement, gently squeezing his hands to encourage him further. “A-and I . . . I used Patch . . . and didn’t tell you about my hi-hidden stash,” he whispered, biting on his lower lip out of guilt.
“None of that, sweetheart,” Hizashi said softly, motioning to his lip-biting, and then fell silent for a moment, just observing him with that intelligent, piercing gaze. “Alright . . .,” Hizashi said after a moment, drawing his shoulders back to straighten himself. Shouta could feel his stomach curdling into little knots, all dancing about happily in his intestines as if his impending suffering were something to celebrate. “You’ll be going over my lap for quite the discussion, little one. I won’t be repeating what you’ve done as you are quite aware of your naughty behavior.”
Shouta couldn’t help but whine softly again, wanting nothing more than to just burrow beneath the crust of the earth in the hopes that Hizashi would forget all about his behavior, and the consequences that were due.
“Let’s not stall anymore, m’kay?” said Hizashi, already maneuvering Shouta over his lap before the Little could protest or dig himself an even deeper hole. “Remember our rules, baby—no biting yourself or me, no kicking, and no reaching back. You can hold onto the couch pillow if you feel you can’t control yourself,” Hizashi added, rubbing gentle circles against Shouta’s tense back.
Shouta nodded, curling his arms against the pillow as if it were his lifeline, and resting his head against the fabric. He shivered as Hizashi bared him without a moments’ hesitation, the cool AC sending goosebumps against his skin. Being over his Caregiver’s lap, about to face the consequences of his behavior – it made Shouta feel both small and warm at the same time. It was an understanding twisting deep inside of him, knowing that no matter how badly he messed up or treated himself, Hizashi would always be there to bring him back and reassure him that while his behavior was naughty, that did not mean he was naughty, and Hizashi would just.
Be there for him.
A sharp sting pulled him out of his thoughts abruptly.
Shouta couldn’t help the instinctive gasp that escaped at the sharp swat Hizashi aimed with expert precision. A whine bubbled in the back of his throat as Hizashi peppered sharp, brisk swats along the curve of his bottom. Although Shouta tried, he couldn’t keep track of the number or location, given the randomized pattern. All he could do was focus on the building sting, the stomach-churning echo of Hizashi’s precise aim, and the knowledge of what he’d done to get himself into such a position.
Shouta whimpered at the bristling heat, pressing his toes against the floor. Hizashi dusted his bottom in a volley of stinging swats, further building the fierce sting in his bottom. Sitting through staff meetings and lessons would be interesting for the rest of the day, for sure . . . He could only hope Nemuri wouldn’t try and say something smart.
“Z-Zashi . . .,” Shouta couldn’t help but whine out when Hizashi’s attention lowered towards his sit-spots and upper thighs. Pain twinged inside of his voice at the unwanted attention in such vulnerable areas. His hands twitched around the cushion, the urge to reach back rising like a haunting apparition.
“I was quite disappointed in your naughty decisions, Shouta,” Hizashi said in a frigidly stern tone, and Shouta shivered, sniffling into the fabric of the cushion. “I understand how tempting it can be to get tunnel-focused on our work – believe me, sweetheart, I’ve been there as well – but deliberately ignoring your needs is simply unacceptable. As your Caregiver, I made you a promise to make sure you were taken cared of, and that includes making sure you understand the importance of eating and hydrating yourself properly.”
Another volley of punishing swats overlapped some of the stinging areas, igniting an even fiercer burn. Hizashi was slowly, meticulously painting his bottom a reddish-pink, and Shouta doubted he’d be able to sit ever again.
A sob caught in the middle of Shouta’s throat. His stomach churned at the thought of Hizashi being disappointed in him. “I’m – I’m sorry,” Shouta hiccupped, his shoulders shuddering with soft sobs. He could only focus on the pain of the spanking and the lecture, nothing else. Just a naughty Little pinned over their Caregiver’s lap for discipline. “I – I didn’ mean it—I’ll . . . I’ll do be-better!”
“You will; I know you will,” Hizashi responded in a softer tone, and a warm hand pressed against the middle of Shouta’s back, grounding and comforting. “You have always excelled at doing anything you put your mind to, sweetie . . . so I expect that we will not be having a repeat conversation about neglecting your health anytime soon, yes?”
Shouta didn’t answer for a moment, his thoughts scrambling, and whined softly at the two responding swats he’d received for his silence.
“I asked you a question, young man.”
He shivered. “Uh huh.”
“Good boy,” Hizashi praised with a gentle rub against his back, temporarily pausing the spanking. Shouta was grateful for the brief relief, but soon sucked in a sharp breath when Hizashi readjusted their position.
Shouta protested voicelessly but stilled when Hizashi placed a warning on the undercurve of his bottom, still hot and stingy from the previous swats.
“There is still one more part of our discussion that I will not neglect,” Hizashi said after a moment, the hardness in his voice making Shouta swallow. Dread and chastisement bubbled in the pit of his stomach. “Your deliberate usage of Patch has been disappointing, Aizawa Shouta; especially for a Pro Hero of your standing. You know how negatively Patch can affect your health,” Hizashi continued as he essentially raked Shouta’s bottom over hot coals. At least, that’s what it was feeling like. “I know you might think it unfair—but what if this were the case of a student or – hell, Nemuri? Would you not hold them to the same degree as you would any other colleague? Why, then, should you be the exception to that rule? Do you think yourself above our agreed upon rules?”
Shouta immediately shook his head. “N-no, th-that’s not it, I just . . . I just . . .,” his voice wavered, almost splintering beneath the sob dwelling in his chest. The thought of a student being on Patch, when they were still developing, still growing into themselves, made him a bit ill. “I – I w-wasn’t th-thinking . . ..”
Well, technically, he was trying to stall and incoming cold—but a larger part of Shouta felt that such an admission likely wouldn’t make things any better for him.
Hizashi only hummed in response, his punishing hand never failing to leave scalding swats upon Shouta’s upturned bottom. “We will not be having a revisit to your usage of Patch, do you understand me?” Hizashi continued to scold, resting his palm on Shouta’s heated bottom for a bit of reprieve. “I want your verbal acknowledgement about this, Shouta.”
“I – I under-understand,” Shouta nodded tearfully.
He would absolutely be staying straight to the line for the next few weeks.
“Thank you, sweetheart—we are almost finished,” Hizashi said in a more soothing tone. After a moment he cleared his throat, keeping a grounding hand on the middle of Shouta’s back. “Now . . . Considering the severity of your decision to – not only – use Patch, but keep a hidden stash in the staff room, of all places, I will be wrapping up your punishment with fifteen swats from the ruler.”
Shouta made a strangling noise in the back of his throat; that ruler was the bane of his existence. It was the most used implement in their household, mostly for how effective it was in curtailing most of Shouta’s misbehavior. There was just something about getting spanked with a ruler, draped over your Caregiver’s knee . . .
His stomach gurgled.
“Z-Zashi – please, n-no,” Shouta couldn’t help but move. Even though he knew, in the back of his mind, that it wouldn’t be taken well at all, he still had to do something to save his poor ass. Trembling hands made a futile attempt at covering the vulnerable spots of his reddened bottom. “N-not the ru-ruler, I’m sorry . . .”
Shouta whined once more as he sensed a dip in Hizashi’s scent; the sourness of a displeased and stern Caregiver made him want to burrow in a hole for a bit.
“You know very well reaching back is naughty,” Hizashi said in a low, almost dangerous, tone of voice. Shouta felt his insides attempt to crawl up his throat. His hands were neatly pinned against his back, and now he was truly kept in place, only able to rest his head on the couch pillow. “While I do accept your apology – because I understand you’re regretting your decisions—this is not something I can just let pass without added incentive to make sure that it really won’t happen again.” Shouta couldn’t swallow down the rising whimper as he felt the cool wood of the ruler press against his upper thighs. “No need to keep count, though; just focus on how you can improve your behavior so that we won’t have to have another discussion about your health.”
Shouta attempted to brace himself, but a pained yelp escaped his mouth nevertheless as the first bite of the ruler rippled through his system. Shouta sobbed brokenly as Hizashi further painted his bottom cherry-red with the ruler, expertly placing swats in both sore and untouched areas. He drummed his toes against the floor, pressing them against the carpet in the hopes it would alleviate some of the sting, but no such luck.
He couldn’t keep track of how many times Hizashi snapped down the ruler; all of his thoughts were focused on the spanking, and the insistence that he would not be getting into this position again anytime soon.
“—Shouta.” Hizashi’s voice broke through the haze, the ruler still pressed against his smarting bottom. “I need you to promise me that you won’t use Patch ever again. Ever.”
“I pr-promise,” Shouta swore in a fervent tone, completely limp over his Caregiver’s lap. “Ne-Never ‘gain!”
“I will be holding you to that promise,” said Hizashi, and the last two terrible swats from the ruler finally fell against the curve of his bottom.
Shouta almost hadn’t even noticed that the spanking finished; at some point, the sting blended together. He continued sobbing, sniveling his little heart out, whilst Hizashi rubbed his back soothingly and murmured reassuring words. His harsher sobs soon and hiccups tapered off to sniffles and a hitch of breath here and there.
Hizashi maneuvered him into a cradled hug, careful not to place too much pressure on the Little’s sore bottom, thankfully. Lips gently brushed against the crown of his forehead. “You took your spanking very well, sweetheart,” Hizashi praised him gently, nuzzling the side of his face as they cuddled. “Such a good boy.”
Shouta sniffled. “I am?”
Hizashi smiled and kissed his forehead. “Always.”
They remained on the couch for some time; Hizashi gently rocking him while he had his face tucked into the curve of the mans’ neck, breathing in the Caregiver’s comforting scent. It was enough to get him to be a bit drowsy, at least; he could feel himself dip into the cloudy waters of headspace. However, his grumbling stomach soon made itself aware to the room.
Hizashi chuckled softly, and cooed, “Someone’s hungry, huh?”
Shouta hummed softly and nuzzled against Hizashi’s scent gland. He could feel himself slipping farther and farther, but he wasn’t fighting it. That would be against the rules, and if he had to miss a meeting, so what? Ectoplasm always sent everyone meeting notes after staff meetings so that everyone could keep track of what was discussed.
Besides, it wasn’t a crime to be in headspace, even though, sometimes, there were some people who made him feel like it was.
Gentle fingers scrubbed against his scalp, gently carding through his hair. If Shouta were a cat, he would be purring about now. As it were, the noises he made were somewhat similar to chirpy, bubbly noises that any young babe or toddler could make when they were happy.
“Aren’t you a precious, little gem?” said Hizashi, voice soft and gentle, and peppered the side of Shouta’s face with small kisses, garnering light chuckles and squirms of protest. “Are you hungry, baby? Ready for some breakfast?”
“Mm!” Shouta nodded, wrapping his arms around Hizashi’s neck in the silent plea to be carried towards the kitchen. Despite the slight burn in his bottom, most of him felt as though he were made of clouds, or laying on them, he couldn’t decide which fit better. Either way, Shouta didn’t want to walk when he could have someone carry him around.
Hizashi only chuckled softly, placing another kiss against the crown of his head, and readjusted Shouta for a more comfortable hold. Then, rising to his feet with Shouta in his arms, shuffled towards the kitchen where still-steaming plates awaited them on the dining table. Hizashi had prepped a full Japanese breakfast – rice, natto (Shouta’s favorite thing to eat, though Hizashi hated it with a passion), broiled salmon, miso and a few other items here and there.
Shouta winced and whined a bit when Hizashi attempted to set him down on the chair, curling his body closer against the Caregiver’s chest.
Hizashi hummed and ran a soothing hand down his spine. “Pretty tiny, hmm? No worries, sweet pea,” said Hizashi, nuzzling him once more, and moved to sit down on one of the chairs. “I’m capable of feeding both of us~.”
Leaning against Hizashi’s chest, nestled on his lap, Shouta was carefully fed the breakfast items he wanted.
Despite the rough start, their apartment had a pleasant and warm atmosphere. Shouta couldn’t help but feel completely safe and protected, nestled in Hizashi’s arms, as they ate. He continued to float in his headspace for the rest of the morning, and Hizashi took the change in stride, helping him get dressed in soft fabrics—sweatpants and shirt (on days such as this, another teacher would substitute for his classes until he was Big again).
“Such a good boy,” Hizashi said warmly, lovingly, making Shouta feel as though he were wrapped in a blanket of love and warmth. “Here’s your bottle.”
Shouta accepted the bottle, slipping it into his mouth. He gently nursed the warm milk for a moment before thoughts of the morning meeting, and his students, and, of course, even more paperwork, rose to the front of his mind. He frowned slightly at the future of having to sit down in those hard, plastic chairs in the staff room. One would think UA had the budget to get comfortable upholstery, but apparently it wasn’t a “priority,” according to the Board of Governors. Bunch of assholes, in Shouta’s opinion.
Hizashi sensed the rising conflict, and gently bopped him on his nose. “Stay in headspace for as long as you need, Shou. Don’t worry about school matters, I’ll take care of it.”
Shouta calmed at the reassurance, relaxing back into Hizashi’s arms. UA had an in-facility daycare center for Dropped faculty, staff, and students, all managed by trained and licensed Little Care professionals. Therefore, he wasn’t concerned or anxious about where he’d go or what would happen to him in such a vulnerable state.
“My sweet boy,” Hizashi murmured gently, pressing another kiss against Shouta’s forehead. “Alright~; let’s head out and have ourself a rockin’ Tuesday, yeah?”
Shouta had enough cognizance to snort in amusement. Hizashi always knew how to make him smile, after all.
(He stayed regressed until mid-afternoon, resurfacing in time for some lunch and finishing up the last of his paperwork.
Nemuri absolutely made a smart comment in the staff room, though, about the way he winced and squirmed—but if anyone asked, Shouta did not put salt in her coffee when no one was looking.)