Archive of Our Own

By the time Hitoshi had managed to clock out and shuck off his sweat-stained costume, the sun had long set. Exhaustion lined his shoulders as he stepped into the lobby of his apartment complex, nodding at the front desk worker. The cool air conditioning felt nice against his skin, given summer heat meant sweltering temperatures.

All he wanted right now was a shower, maybe some food, and to completely pass out wherever he landed—though hopefully, it would be either on the bed or the couch. Stepping into the elevator and pressing his floor, his mind prickled with unease. He wasn’t entirely sure what was throwing his instincts off – he was the only one in the elevator, and there weren’t any signs of anyone unfamiliar lurking about – but something still felt . . . off.

Distinct enough that the back of his neck prickled, warning him to be on edge for the metaphorical ball to drop and shatter against his feet.

Hitoshi sighed and fished his keys out of his pocket. “Guess ‘m more tired than I thought,” he murmured under his breath as he reached the door to his apartment, one he shared with three other ex-classmates – Midoriya, Tokoyami (and Dark Shadow as well, of course), and Todoroki.

He couldn’t wait for the sweet, sweet comfort of his bed and blankets. He wouldn’t be on the clock for the next three days, thankfully, so he was looking forward to getting some much-needed sleep. Sometimes, he kind of hated how overworked the Underground was, but he couldn’t deny that his and his peers’ presence on the field was indispensable.

Considerate of the late hour, Hitoshi locked the door quietly behind him as he stepped into the genkan. He slipped off his shoes and hung up his keys on the Froppy-themed keyholder (it’s the only key there, which – strange, he doesn’t remember the others telling him they’d be out late, but maybe he’s just forgotten), going through the familiar motions one does when they’ve come home from a long day and—

Freezes, breath stuttering under his throat, as he takes in the silhouette leaning against the wall, arms crossed and expression set sternly, dark gaze trained on him and all-but daring him to even try and escape somehow.

Fuck.

Shoving his unease and shrieking thoughts into the back of his mind, Hitoshi swallowed audibly and attempted to be as casual as possible. “H-hey, Sensei,” Hitoshi greeted in as calm of a tone as he could, unable to stop one of his hands reaching back to play with some of his curls. “I – I didn’t know you were coming over for a visit today.”

Aizawa gave him another disconcerting stare, making him feel as though all his secrets and inner thoughts were splayed out in the open for him to perceive at his leisure. “I wasn’t, originally,” Aizawa finally spoke after allowing Hitoshi to stew in silence a bit longer. “But then . . . I had an enlightening conversation with Midoriya earlier.”

Double fuck!

That was something he had hoped to avoid, ever since Midoriya started to ask him many, many questions about his sleep schedule, and if he Dropped, and what did he eat today, he was looking just a bit too peakish for a patrol—but things were fine. Sure, Hitoshi kind of felt like he was a bit over his head at times, almost like he was drowning and gasping for breath, but he was fine.

According to his manager, he was making waves, so to speak, especially as he was all the more eager to take on cases that no one else seemed to stomach.

“Th-that so?” Hitoshi responded and inwardly cursed his voice for wavering. A part of him just wanted to damn the consequences and run, but experience told him how that would work out—and it wouldn’t be in his favor. At all. “Uh. What kind of—?”

“I believe you know exactly what kind of conversation we had, little boy,” Aizawa interrupted in a cool, almost frigid, tone, and Hitoshi, well.

He sort of wanted to disappear beneath the floorboards, but as that wasn’t physically possible, he settled for an almost stubborn expression. Going for the defense, it was – even if it didn’t always (barely, if that) worked. “I didn’t do anything illegal,” he started, feeling his shoulders rise to his ears, “I’ve just – I’ve just picked up some extra shifts.”

Aizawa raised an eyebrow at the defense, and the rest of Hitoshi’s words were swallowed. Hitoshi stayed in place as Aizawa stalked closer, footsteps measured and controlled—but it wasn’t like Hitoshi was scared or didn’t feel safe. He just—well, he knew that he had been breaking the rules set aside by his Caregiver, knowing of the consequences of when he’d be discovered but reassuring himself that it would be fine, Sensei’s busy and so is everyone else, so just one more shift wouldn’t hurt—

There was a soft noise, almost a sigh, and then a warm, calloused hand gently cupped the side of his face, gently beckoning him to look up. He did so, finding himself staring in the warm but fierce gaze of his Caregiver, unable to stop himself from leaning into the warmth and safety that hand offered.

“Kit”—Hitoshi’s insides warmed at the soft nickname; it had started out as a bit of a joke, with his classmates, given his love for cats and, well, anything kitten themed, and then the nickname stuck, and was full of fond and loving connotations, so it never failed to make him feel soft and loved whenever anyone used it, no matter the context— “When was the last time you’ve Dropped?”

Ah.

The question of the hour, it seemed.

His averted gaze seemed to be all the answer that Aizawa needed, and he then found himself in a warm, tight embrace. He could feel some of his tension drain out as he was squeezed into a hug, resting his cheek against Aizawa’s chest, listening to the soft, soothing tune of the man’s heartbeat.

“Alright, kit,” Aizawa said after a moment, beginning to shuffle and maneuver them both closer into the apartment. “Let’s get you showered and fed for the night. We’ll have our talk when you’re in a better space for it.”

Hitoshi hummed softly as he allowed himself to be carried towards the bathroom, limbs all but losing all strength as he was cradled against his Caregiver’s chest. He was a bit annoyed at the way Midoriya had meddled, and definitely not looking forward to the inevitable . . . discussion that he’d have with Aizawa about the many (many) rules he’d broken, but he knew that something had to give eventually.

At least, the breaking point hadn’t ended with him in the hospital.

(Again).

THREE WEEKS AGO

“Is that all you’re having for lunch? Just coffee?”

Hitoshi paused from putting in another packet of sweetened sugar into his coffee, frowning at the inquisitive green eyes pinning him in place by the counter. He could feel his left eye twtich—not from the caffeine, but from inevitable, nosy friends who were also nosy, protective Cargivers—as he only hummed in response.

“No, this is water,” came the dry response, and at one of the break tables a few spaces away, Kururoi snorted at the sarcasm.

Midoriya gave him another look; that patented Caregiver Look that made a part of his inside shrivel. But—well; Midoriya wasn’t his Caregiver, so Hitoshi felt that it was unfair anyhow. “You know what I mean, Toshi—I know you just had, like an orange for breakfast today.”

By the fridge, taking out at least three containers, Kirishima whistled lowly. “Impressive,” he said, smiling with a chagrined edge at Midoriya’s noise. “It’s better than the slice of apples back in high school.”

“Hey!” Hitoshi frowned. “I had those with peanut butter, at least.”

“At least,” mocked Kirishima, who then laughed and dodged the empty sugar packet Hitoshi threw his way.

“Let’s keep the breakroom clean or else we’ll lose privileges,” droned another worker—some Hero personnel staff that Hitoshi hadn’t really bothered to get to know outside of shared jokes about the agency and workload. Hitoshi believed they were part of the support department of their agency, and he knew how chaotic and overworked things were over there.

“Sorry, sorry!”

Midoriya aimed wide, green eyes his way when he brought his mug up to his lips for a taste. “Toshi, please, I’m not saying this just to be some annoying CG, but I’m saying it as your friend. I’m worried about you—you’re barely eating, and you’re always at the agency, even more than me and Kacchan!”

Kururoi winced at that. “Damn, really?”

Even Kirishima raised his eyebrows. Everyone in their field was aware of Midoriya’s and Bakugou’s notorious ways of overworking, even back in their high school days—often until one of their seniors had had enough and dragged them out of the Agency. Or into a Discipline Room, as often in Bakugou’s case, who would go kicking, screaming, biting and all.

Hitoshi wanted everyone to get out of his business immediately. “I just don’t have much of an appetite today,” Hitoshi responded, just a touch defensive—but what Little wouldn’t, when they had a Caregiver trying to wriggle their way under their skin? “I’ll have more food and snacks to make up for it, I promise— ‘sides, I’m not on patrol today. Just desk duty.”

“Ha,” snorted Kirishima, ever the 12-year-old Tweener. “Doodie.”

“Go be a child elsewhere,” said Hitoshi, rolling his eyes.

Kirishima stuck his tongue out, and of course, Hitoshi did the same. He couldn’t let such an insult pass.

“Have some of my bento,” said Midoriya brightly, and Hitoshi startled a bit, having forgotten the man was even there. It could be a bit disconcerting, the way Midoriya could both light up a room and shroud back into the shadows whenever he pleased. “Kacchan won’t mind!”

Hitoshi eyed the arrangement of foods, sighing. “Alright, alright—but only if you promise me that he won’t try and blow me up later.”

“Promise~.”

Much to Bakugou’s disappointment, there hadn’t been any opportunities for a confrontation over the Bento Incident, as Kirishima aptly named it in one of their various group chats. This one was for Littles Only from Class A and B, and all of his fellow Littles were commiserating with him over the nosiness of their Caregiver colleagues and friends.

tsu: i love ochakochan but if she prevents me from eating flies again im going to throw up my stomach on her
alien queen: LMAOOOO TSU CHAN NOOOOOOO
spark notes: OMGG DO IT DO IT DO IT @KACCHAN TAKE A PHOTO OR A VIDEO
kacchan: LEAVE ME OUT OF IT FUCKERS IM ON PATROL
MUSHROOM CITY: i’ll take the photo heehe
spark notes: kinoko my queeeeeen  

Hitoshi snorted at their antics and closed out of the chat. His stomach grumbled a bit, reminding him of the lack of breakfast that Midoriya had so thoughtfully pointed out earlier. He sighed and shuffled towards a nearby vending machine. There would always be something delicious packed in there, and perhaps something warm would make him feel more like a human being after a long, tiresome day of deskwork.

Hitoshi loved being a Pro Hero, but damn, was the paperwork a pain in the ass. He had developed a skill for report writing, and he was known to be quite thorough with his details, especially when it came to any Active Quirk Use, either by him or others. Last thing Hitoshi ever wanted was to be accused of misfiling the paperwork or leaving things off the report to save himself from any audits.

Thankfully, though, the Hero world had more of a positive perspective on his Quirk than some closeminded civilians. It did wonders for his self-esteem once he had fully entered the Heroics program at U.A., but there were just some things that you couldn’t forget. Years of discrimination, bullying, and hatred from strangers, all over something he just couldn’t control (ha), was one of them.

Perhaps that was why Hitoshi had been overworking himself lately, always being the first to clock in, other than janitorial staff, and the last to leave—other than, again, the janitorial and cleaning staff. A part of him knew that he didn’t have anything to prove anymore-0-he had the license, he had the cases on his file, had supportive peers and colleagues, but there was still something there was whispered he should do more.

That just wasn’t enough.

He needed to prove that he was better than what others whispered and speculated him to become. That he would never have evil lingering in his bones. That he would, and could, be better than his parents, who had fallen into villainous stereotypes and had left him in a foster system already against him due to their arrest.

So.

Hitoshi piled himself with work, and ignored the warning signs from others, ignored the concerned and worried questions, and buried his head in the perpetual paperwork, so to speak. It was the only language he knew, one that could prove his worthiness, that he, despite everything, despite all these odds, was good.

His phone chirped with a message. Heart stopping for a moment, he unlocked his phone and then breathed a sigh of relief when he noticed it was from the Hero Network. It wasn’t a request for him specifically, but aimed at anyone who felt they fit the job. From the brief description, it was a rough case, and he knew that his assistance would be much appreciated.

Hitoshi mostly did individual work and cases, but there were times where he partnered with others, thanks to being affiliated with an agency.

Most underground were truly independent, but Aizawa had cautioned him that it would be better if he started out with the connections of an agency coming out of training, rather than trying to hit the ground running solo. Hitoshi had never been steered wrong by Aizawa, and now, two years later, it was a decision he still hadn’t regretted.

He starred the message for later, mind already churning on how he could fit it into his schedule of patrols and the on-going cases he already had, plus the paperwork and the backup paperwork—UA had not prepared them for just how much paperwork the Hero field involved; incident reports, rescue reports, quirk use reports, and those were just the tip of the iceberg . . .

But, it could be thought about later.

He had an impromptu date with a vending machine.

Hitoshi was falling—slow, feeling the clouds whisper against his skin as he descended into a warm, safe space—and he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Now that he, after all these weeks, was allowing himself to break apart and piece back together beneath the safety of Aizawa’s presence, any bubbling resistance tumbled down the drain like the rest of the water and soap suds of his bath.

He hummed softly as Aizawa carefully toweled him off once they were finished with the warm bath, feeling refreshed and almost like he was a human again. His limbs were uncoordinated as Aizawa helped him get dressed in a soft-footed onesie—littered with cat-paw prints and whiskers, of course—and made sure his skin was moisturized.

His grip on reality continued to spiral the longer Aizawa took control. Aizawa hushed and soothed his grunted whines and soft noises as his hair was dried, attempting to squirm away from the towel and the heat of the blow dryer. It wasn’t that nice of a sensation on his skin, and he made sure that his Caregiver was aware of that fact.

“I know, honey,” Aizawa murmured, voice coated with warmth and everything Hitoshi associated with safety and belonging, hands warm and strong as they carried him securely. “Daddy was a real meanie for getting the hair dryer near your ears.”

Hitoshi grumbled out an agreement, snuffling against the curve of Aizawa’s neck. It was very awful of his Caregiver to do that, so he was glad that there was some self-awareness on the others’ part. He hummed softly as Aizawa comfortingly rubbed down his spine, moving them towards the kitchen for a moment.

His thoughts were sparse and fleeting. He cared little for awareness and conversation, just vaguely aware of the comings and goings around him. He had the utmost confidence that Aizawa would keep him safe in his obliviousness, thus his limbs were relaxed and loose. One might even say he was half-asleep already by the time Aizawa fiddled with the cap of his bottle, screwing it tight.

Some time ago, one of his roommates had bought a rocking chair for the common space, setting it near some of the knitting and artsy crafts were stored, and that was where Aizawa headed once the warm bottle was in Hitoshi’s grasp. He slowly drank the formula, sighing at the way it pooled warm and slow in the pit of his stomach, as they got settled onto the rocking chair.

Aizawa maneuvered him carefully, not wanting to jostle him out of his dozing state, and Hitoshi didn’t fuss at the movements, soothed by the warm milk, the protective embrace, and the steady rocking of the chair. All were part of an equation that showed Hitoshi would be completely, utterly gone to the rest of the world soon.

“I’ve got you, Toshi,” Aizawa murmured gently, warm breath brushing against the shell of his ear. It was accompanied by the warm rubs and pats against his spine as they rocked. “It’s safe to go under now, okay? Daddy will be right here with you.”

Hitoshi hummed around his bottle, and—well.

One didn’t have to tell him twice, that was for sure.

He drifted into a warm, fuzzy place—dreamland, if you will, and had a pleasant enough rest. At least, there were no interruptions from alarms or messages from Hero Net. He found himself nestled in a comforting blanket of security and love, safe as he was in Aizawa’s arms. He couldn’t tell for how long he had been asleep, but by the time he roused awake, birdsong chirped across the sky.

Pinks, oranges, and light purples painted the sky, poking through the slightly drawn curtains of his bedroom. When had he been brought to his bed? He couldn’t tell you.

He grunted softly and attempted to roll onto his side. There was a pacifier lodged into his mouth, about to drop, but a swipe of his tongue brought it snug into his mouth. He suckled gently, sighing into the warmth surrounding him. Blankets, pillows, Aizawa’s arm wrapped snug around his waist. Wait—

He blinked through the haze of sleep and headspace. He was in his room, right? A quick glance about showed familiar furniture and picture collages of memories along the wall. It was his room, alright. He hadn’t expected Aizawa to spend the night, but then again, what Caregiver would leave their Little when they were clearly struggling?

Not a good one, that is.

A warm hand rubbed down his spine, and he couldn’t help but make a soft noise at the gentle touch. “Toshi? You back with me, kit?”

Hitoshi hummed and managed to say something around his pacifier. “Nuh.”

There was a soft snort from behind. “No?” Aizawa replied in a soft, teasing voice. Hitoshi wanted to whine that it was too early to be teased, but he felt too soft and comfortable to do so. “Then who’s here in this bed with me? A little fairy, perhaps?”

Soft fingers danced across his stomach and sides. Laughter tumbled out of him for a moment as he attempted to squirm away, always sensitive to tickles in those areas. “Nuh,” he weakly protested, trying to bat Aizawa’s hands away. “Ba’ daddy!”

Aizawa chuckled, warm and soft, and then pressed an apologetic kiss to his forehead. “Daddy’s sorry, kit. I know how much you don’t like tickling.”

“’llegal,” Hitoshi grumbled.

There was another huff of breath. “Yes, it’s illegal; Daddy knows.”

Brief quiet floated between them for a moment, allowing those soft dredges of sleep to wade in and out of awareness. Hitoshi snuggled against Aizawa’s chest, suckling contently onto his pacifier, and hummed under his breath whenever Aizawa rubbed his back or carded fingers through his hair. Sleepy cuddles were the best thing in the world, in Hitoshi’s opinion.

After enough time had passed, Aizawa finally spoke. “Alright, bug, let’s get you something to eat.” At Hitoshi’s soft grunt in acknowledgement, not quite ready to leave the bed, he added, “I know you’re hungry, kiddo. I’ll even make your favorite for breakfast.”

That grasped Hitoshi’s attention. He gave an owlish blink towards Aizawa, who only chuckled and nodded in confirmation. “Me?”

“Yes, all for you, kit.”

Hitoshi had no problems getting up after that. Aizawa followed at a more sedate pace, far more calm than his exuberance. Homecooked meals would always be a weakness, especially for him who lived off corner store foods and vending machines as he technically wasn’t allowed near the stove (far, far too many times had he set something on fire or nearly destroyed the kitchen, so for everyone’s safety, it was just unanimously decided that he would never be allowed in the kitchen for anything except watching a pot boil water).

“Foo’, foo’,” Hitoshi chanted as Aizawa shepherded him towards the bathroom. He pouted at that. “No’ dirty.”

“You are,” said Aizawa, bopping his nose at the responding facial expression. “Stinky little kit.” He snorted at the raspberry Hitoshi aimed his way. “Would you like Daddy’s help for the bath or do you think you can do it yourself?”

. . . Those were a lot of words, to Hitoshi’s ears. He simply stared back at Aizawa in response, who then nodded a moment later.

Bath times were always a love-hate relationship for Hitoshi. Some days, he loved it; the soap, the toys, the warm water sloshing against his skin. Other days, just the idea of being beneath the spray of water overstimulated him, and he hated everything to do with it.

Thankfully, it was a good day for baths in Hitoshi’s world.

Hitoshi hummed happily as he played with some of the bath toys—nearly kept in a bucket beside the tub, next to the bath loofas and sponges. Foamy bubbles scented with vanilla (courtesy of Todoroki, who refused to use any other scent) surrounded him, and the warm bath water was heavenly, in his opinion. He was calm and cooperative as Aizawa helped him bathe prior to the bathtub soak, gently scrubbing soap suds against his skin with his loofa and helping him rinse. He did enjoy the soak in the tub as well, playing with the colorful boats and other bath toys until his fingers got a bit wrinkly, and Aizawa began to drain the water.

He pouted slightly as Aizawa toweled him off. “Boo….”

“’Boo’?” Aizawa repeated, a look of amusement in the crinkle of his eyes. “What’s wrong , kit?
I thought you loved baths?”

“I do,” Hitoshi responded, and then thought for a moment, not entirely sure why he was feeling upset. “Wan’ toys.”

“Ah.” Aizawa hummed in consideration and reached for one of the clothes he’d picked out for the day. Hitoshi chose a duck-patterned, long pajama pants, and a shirt with a very bright, sparkling cat. It was complete with fuzzy, white-and-purple polka dotted socks. He was a fashion icon (Aoyama would probably cry if he ever saw him like this). “How about this, Toshi—we have breakfast, and then we can play with more toys.”

Hitoshi gave Aizawa a hopeful gaze. “’womise?”

Unprompted, Aizawa wrapped their pinkies together. “Pinky promise.”

Hitoshi managed to stay in headspace for the rest of the morning till mid-afternoon. As promised, he and Aizawa played for most of the morning once breakfast had been eaten. Midoriya even joined them at some point, returning from his morning patrol, and absolutely delighted to give Aizawa a bit of a break to “play with the baby.”

To which, Hitoshi would always quip he was “notta baby.”

Tokoyami and Dark Shadow made a brief appearance for lunch. Dark Shadow had thoughtfully handed Hitoshi pieces of gummy bear candy whenever Aizawa’s back was turned, the two giggling at the ‘deception,’ even though Aizawa stopped Dark Shadow when the candy count went over five, much to both their disappointment.

Once the inevitable sugar rush hit, Aizawa had let him run loose at a nearby Little playground. If Hitoshi were in a larger headspace, he would’ve likely teased the man about how well he’d gotten along with other stay at home Caregivers. Then, when it looked as though Hitoshi were winding down to a crash, they returned to an empty apartment for a bottle and naptime.

Though Hitoshi had been adamant that he wasn’t tired, he hadn’t even been a third way through his bottle before he crashed.

As he woke, wrapped up in blankets and half-squished against one of his squish mellows, the rising, near forgotten thought of why Aizawa had even traipsed through his apartment rose through his mind. He blinked sleep out of his gaze, listening to the soft hum of his ceiling fan, and then groaned softly against the soft fur of the plushie.

He could hope all he wished; there was no way Aizawa would be forgetting anytime soon.

After another few moments where he felt quite sorry for himself, he pushed himself out of bed and shuffled towards the bathroom to do some business. Once finished, he made a stop by the kitchen for a glass of water, unsurprised to see that Aizawa was still here; this time, sitting on the kitchen table with a laptop and some papers.

He raied an eyebrow at one said paper having various red slashes and circles—that student would not be quite the happy camper once they received that test grade back. “Hey, Sensei.”

Aizawa glanced up at him and smiled softly. “Kit; glad to see you’re back with us. How was your nap?”

Hitoshi reached for one of his favorite glasses in the cupboard and huffed softly. “Not long enough,” he said with a soft pout, the edges of his lips curling a bit at Aizawa’s soft laugh. “How’s the future of Japan’s next Pro Heroes?”

Aizawa snorted quietly. “Worrisome, but they’ll make it through alright.”

“Of course,” Hitoshi said, buttering the man up. “They’ve got you as a teach.”

Aizawa gave him an amused glance, likely knowing what the Little was subtly attempting to do, and then closed his laptop, giving Hitoshi his undivided attention. “How are you feeling, kiddo?”

Hitoshi drained the rest of his glass, and hummed quietly. “Better—I hadn’t realized how . . . much I’d been neglecting, by not Dropping.” He ended with a soft grimace, but he couldn’t deny how relaxed and loose he was currently feeling. It was as if mismatched puzzle pieces had finally found their places, snug and right at home.

“Good,” said Aizawa, smiling. “I’m glad.”  

There was a brief and awkward silence falling between them. A part of Hitoshi wanted to say some random excuse and hide out the rest of the evening in his bedroom, but he knew that wouldn’t be the case. Aizawa observed him for a moment, the way he shifted guiltily, and wouldn’t look the Caregiver in the eye, and hummed.

“Hitoshi . . . we both know that we have quite a lot to discuss,” the man said as he leaned back against the kitchen chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t think stalling or having small talk will do us any favors save increasing any anxiety.”

Hitoshi worried his bottom lip. “I, I know . . ..”

“Let’s head to your room,” Aizawa suggested as he rose to his feet, but they were both keenly aware that it was not a suggestion at all.

Hitoshi made a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat, but hadn’t protested. He followed Aizawa back towards his bedroom, thankful, at least, that his walls, like most of the apartment, were reasonably soundproof. No one would overhear him getting his bottom blistered by his very stern and protective father, at least.

Small hopes, and all.

Hitoshi shut his door behind him quietly, grimacing to himself as Aizawa made his way towards the bed and sat down. The Caregiver patted the seat next to him for Hitoshi, who dithered for a moment, clearly unwanting to begin any of their conversations, but gave up within a few moments. He knew that the wait would only make him more anxious.

As he took his seat, he twisted and played with his fingers, wanting the distraction and soothing from the stim.

There was another silence; neither willing to begin—or rather, Aizawa waiting to see if Hitoshi would say anything to start them off. Which he wouldn’t be. He hated having to speak first, regardless of the context.

“Hitoshi; we have had countless conversations about your tendency to overwork and overload yourself before,” Aizawa started in that low, stern voice of his that never failed to make Hitoshi feel, well, Little. Never unsafe or uncomfortable; Hitoshi unfortunately had much experience with others who would make him feel that way, but Aizawa wasn’t one of them. “You could have seriously harmed yourself from the lack of sleep alone, never mind the decreased eating—but we’ll touch on those in a moment. Tell me your thoughts, kid.” Aizawa reclined back against the wall and gave him an even, but concerned stare. “Why?”

Hitoshi fidgeted with his fingers, wanting something to tether him to the present. He hated getting scolded; it was the worst thing in the world. He blew a raspberry a moment later and stared down at his socked feet. “Um . . . Well, I was, just, you know, w-working . . ..”

“Working,” repeated Aizawa, voice flat. Hitoshi winced a bit. “How many cases are you currently, actively working on right now?”

Hitoshi wasn’t quite sure where this conversation was going, but anything to keep him far, far away from Aizawa’s lap and Hands of Doom (title courtesy of Sero) wouldn’t be complained about. “Um . . . t-twelve.”

“What is the legal recommendation for Underground Heroes?”

Hitoshi wracked his brain for a moment. “Um . . . f-five.”

“Right; so you have been on seven additional cases than what is legally considered for your caseload as an Underground,” Aizawa explained as if he were some thickheaded intern. Honestly, Hitoshi might not even be wrong in that assumption, considering Aizawa was still his mentor in the Heroics world. And, you know, his dad. Anyway— “I already know that paperwork can be an overwhelming load for a Hero, so we don’t really have to touch upon that. How many patrols have you done in the past month?”

Hitoshi swallowed; having his overworked routine be laid out like this . . . His stomach twisted. “U-uh, well, I’m only scheduled for – for evening patrols—.”

“Which you have been doing, exemplary, might I add,” Aizawa interrupted briefly, and Hitoshi warmed at the praise. “In addition to night patrols that are only optional, yes?”

Hitoshi felt almost impossibly small, standing there beneath Aizawa’s knowing gaze. “Y-yes . . . I’ve done, uh, over f-fifteen patrols in total . . ..”

Aizawa tapped a finger against his thigh, humming in a pensive tone. “You’re scheduled for patrol twice a week, that coupled with the optional night patrols . . . kid, I’ll be honest. This isn’t painting the prettiest of pictures for you.”

Hitoshi’s shoulders hunched together as they often did whenever he was being scolded. He could feel indignation rise up the back of his throat, and thus wasn’t surprised that he spit out, “So what? IT’s just a couple of patrols, it’s not that big of a deal, Sensei—.”

“Not that ‘big of a deal’?” Aizawa interrupted, voice almost deadly soft. Hitoshi wondered if his lungs could shrivel up like dried fruit just from that tone alone. Tense silence floated between them for a moment, unspoken words and questions drifting in the air. “Hitoshi, tell me, what is the number one rule for Pro Heroes?”

Hitoshi’s brows pinched together in confusion. “Always save the civilians?”

“No,” said Aizawa, shaking his head. “No, it’s ‘take care of yourself’, however . . . cheesy of a phrase it may be. As a Pro Hero, yes, you have a duty to civilians and the better public . . . but how can you expect to help others when you are drowning in work? Having a lack of sleep? There is a reason why Pros have legally required days off per month.”

Hitoshi frowned, a stubborn set to his mouth. “Sensei, I’m not drowning—.”

Aizawa raised an eyebrow, and that small gesture squandered any further quips from Hitoshi’s mouth. “If you aren’t drowning, then why haven’t you Dropped per your schedule?” Hitoshi swallowed, unable to respond, gaze downcast. “Had you forgotten that I get alerts whether you enter the Agency Daycare or not? You also hadn’t been turning in correct logs about your schedule, considering your excess in patrols and other cases, though I’m not entirely sure if that manager of yours is an accomplice to this or not.”

Hitoshi huffed and rolled his eyes. Accomplice? What were they, some crime organization? “I don’t see what the problem is, Sensei. Shouldn’t you be proud of me for taking on these cases no one else wants to? I haven’t burned out like others suggested I would.”

Aizawa gave him a pensive stare, head tilted slightly, and then spoke, tone firm. “I am proud of you, Hitoshi. You are a very skilled and experienced Hero, and I have no doubt of the good you’ll be doing in the future.” Hitoshi preened at the praise; parts of him still aching for that parental affection and approval. “However.” His stomach dropped; he hated that word more than he hated getting disciplined. “That doesn’t mean I want you to run yourself into the ground, and while you may insist that you are fine,”— Aizawa raised a hand, pausing whatever Hitoshi had been about to say— “You are not. You have been neglecting yourself severely—not Dropping, not eating, barely sleeping—and as your Caregiver, and father, I am putting my foot down. This behavior will not continue any further, young man.”

Hitoshi tensed, feeling like a coiled sprig ready to burst. “That—.” He tried to find his voice. “That’s not fair.”

Aizawa knitted his brows together in slight confusion. “Not fair?” the man parroted. “What are you finding unfair about this?”

Hitoshi swallowed, trying to find the words through the jumbled mess that was his thoughts. “I – sure, I missed some of my scheduled Drops and I’ve been on call more often than anyone would like, but it’s – it’s not like I’ve done anything illegal. I shouldn’t get in trouble for – for being a Hero, that’s not fair.”

Aizawa was quiet for a moment, simply observing his expression and mannerisms. A part of Hitoshi was quite glad they were in his bedroom for this discussion. He knew the walls were mostly soundproof, as most apartments were just for the sake of Quirks, and he’d hate if his roommates were even more privy to the conversation happening.

“Kit,” Aizawa started, and Hitoshi couldn’t help but soften once more at the nickname. It was soft and warm, safe in Aizawa’s mouth. “I apologize—I wasn’t as clear as I should’ve been. I am not punishing you for the excess of patrols and casework you’ve been doing—I’m going to leave that to your manager and agency supervisor—.”

Some hope leapt into his throat. “So, then . . ..”

“Wait a moment; I’m not finished,” Aizawa raised his hand, and Hitoshi fell quiet. “You and I will be having a conversation about the lack of care you have shown yourself. As a consequence of your increased workload, you have neglected to Drop into your headspace—which you know that we have agreed that you spend at least three days, at minimum, due to how young your headspace is—and you have also deliberately avoided your sleep schedule that we have also agreed for you to follow.” Aizawa paused for a moment, deliberating on his word choice, and continued, “As for your eating, I understand that it wasn’t something as intentional as the Drops and sleep; however, you know yourself and your habits very well; you could—should have reached out to someone, not just me or Zashi, the moment you noticed you were struggling.”

Hitoshi couldn’t speak for a moment, thoughts and words a jumbled mess in his system. His confusion had been sorted, and now that there was a clearer picture as to why they were going to have a . . . discussion in the first place, a part of him felt settled. Still, though, he couldn’t help the soft whine building in the back of his throat. “I – I don’t want a spanking . . ..”

Because there would only be one way that Aizawa dealt with deliberate neglect of ones’ health and needs. Hitoshi wondered if he’d be able to get away from either a bedtime spanking or the use of an implement. Aizawa had had many conversations with him about this in the past, so it definitely wouldn’t be a brief conversation.

“I know, baby, I know,” Aizawa said in a soothing tone, reaching to gently hold Hitoshi’s hands. Likely so that he would stay in one place. They were both aware of his tendency to run—not of fear, but rather out of the security that even though he’d run, Aizawa would always be there to find him, rather than violence or abandonment. “I’m sure you’re more than aware by now of my opinions on your health and well-being. As such . . . I refuse to simply look away while you harm yourself like this.”

Hitoshi could feel his bottom lip wobble. They hadn’t even begun and already, he was being a little crybaby. “C-can’t you just ignore it?”

“Never,” said Aizawa, firm and quick. After another gentle squeeze to his hands, Aizawa ordered, “Go use the bathroom, and then come back for five minutes in the corner. We’ll chat after that.”

Hitoshi would rather they hadn’t chatted at all. Swallowing, he nodded at the order, and glumly made his way towards the bathroom. He took a moment to do his business, feeling nerves crawl up his spine. Not that he was scared of the upcoming punishment, it was just – unpleasant. Like doing the trash or the dishes after a big meal.

It was a pain to go through with it, but it would be over with soon. Of course, such logic wasn’t in the forefront of his mind as he exited the bathroom. Truthfully, he could feel himself lean into the urge to stall and hide.

Halfway back to his room, there was a split decision where he decided to dive into the bedroom across from his, thankful it was already halfway open. Todoroki looked up from his bed, eyebrow raised over the spine of his manga. Hitoshi gave him a silent, pleading look.

“Oh.” Todoroki blinked slowly at him, not so dissimilar to a cat. “Hiding from Aizawa?”

Hitoshi grimaced, but. Well. “Yeah . . ..”

“Hmm.” Todoroki turned back to his novel, turning to the next page. “Rest in peace, my friend.”

Hitoshi’s eye twitched. He hated his roommates—except for Dark Shadow; she’d never betray him like this (maybe). However, much as he would’ve liked to stay behind and chat, there was a much larger mission for him to complete. Ignoring the chuckle from the bed, Hitoshi made a beeline for the closet. Sure, it was predictable, but surely, Aizawa wouldn’t think to look inside one of roommates’ bedrooms first, right?

He couldn’t tell how much time had passed, but he tensed, hidden beneath some blanket in the corner of Todoroki’s closet, when he heard Todoroki’s door creaked open. “Todoroki,” said Aizawa’s voice. “Have you seen Hitoshi?”

Todoroki was a terrible liar. “He’s, uh, in the laundry room.”

A pause. “Laundry room?”

“Yup,” said Todoroki. He heard another page turning. “Just down the hall.”

“Todoroki.”

“. . . Y-yes?”

“You don’t have a laundry room,” said Aizawa, bemused. “Where is he? Under your bed?”

“No—I mean, yes. He’s there. Like a bug.”

“Uh huh . . . May I come in?”

Say no! Hitoshi prayed. Say no, say—

“Sure . . .”

Hitoshi wasn’t surprised that Aizawa had discovered him a moment later. He had always been predictable in his hiding spots. “H-hi, Daddy,” he murmured as the blanket was lifted, Aizawa crouching before him.

“Hi, kit,” Aizawa greeted, nonchalantly. “You look pretty comfortable.”

Hitoshi eyed him curiously, and then shrugged. “I – I guess.”

“Come on, let’s head back to your room,” said Aizawa, holding out a hand for him to take. “Unless you’d rather Todoroki be an audience to our talk?”

Todoroki shared his grimace.

Hitoshi took the offered hand, and then gave a morose wave goodbye to Todoroki, who saluted him, the asshole. The walk back to his bedroom felt like the walk a prisoner on death row might take to their last meal

“Corner, please,” said Aizawa once his bedroom door was closed behind them, and then patted his bottom in warning when he made to stall. “Now, Shinsou Hitoshi.”

Hitoshi shivered at the use of his full name, and decided, for once, to listen.

Corner time was the bane of his, and other Littles’, existence.

Hitoshi shuffled towards the corner as any recalcitrant Little would. At least he didn’t have to stand with his pants off, he thought to himself. Sometimes, his Caregiver would be an asshole and order he do that, but it seemed like it wouldn’t be the case. For now, at least. He stood obediently whilst listening to the sound of Aizawa rummaging about, attempting to smother the urge to look back and see what the hell the man was doing in his bedroom.

His stomach twisted at the thought of Aizawa finding those haphazardly hidden, empty suppressor bottles somewhere beneath his bed. He had only taken them once, of course, knowing of the negative side effects, considering he would often have cases of scent sickness, but once would be more than enough for a bedtime spanking in his Caregivers’ eyes, and that was something Hitoshi didn’t want now or ever.

“Come here, Toshi,” said Aizawa, once his phone beeped the end of corner time. Hitoshi whined softly in the back of his throat, but acquiesced to the demand. Soon, he stood before Aizawa, the man holding his hands so he would stay in place. “Tell me why we’re here, Toshi.”

Hitoshi made another disgruntled noise in the back of his throat. He hated having to list out his transgressions. A raised eyebrow from his Caregiver, however, made him think again over protesting. He was on thin, thin ice. So thin it may as well not even be there. “I . . . I haven’t been taking care of myself,” Hitoshi admitted after a moments’ pause, staring down at his socked feet. “I – I’ve been neglecting my headspace, and, um, ignoring my sleep schedule . . ..”

“And?” said Aizawa, patient and stern. An immovable wall. Hitoshi blinked at the man’s impassive expression, swallowing as his heart thumped in his ears.

He knew, Hitoshi thought, stomach dropping all the way to middle earth. Damn him and his Caregiver senses. “I . . . I u-used a suppressor last week,” Hitoshi whispered the admittance, not quite willing to speak it aloud.

Aizawa squeezed his hands gently. “Thank you for telling me the truth, sweetheart. I truly appreciate the honesty.” There was a moments pause as Aizawa observed his expression carefully. “I will admit, Toshi, you have done quite a number on yourself. Our conversation won’t be as easygoing as you might expect it to be.”

Hitoshi whined. “We – We don’t have to have one.”

“Yes, we do,” Aizawa said in a firm tone of finality. Hitoshi wilted, like a dead flower in the sun. “You know very well of our rules about your health and well-being, and that will never be something I ignore. Not now, not tomorrow, not ever.” Another pause, and then one of his hands reached to ruffle Hitoshi’s hair, gently carding fingers through the purple locks. Hitoshi leaned into the touch like a starved cat for affection. “I love you, Hitoshi—and that means I want you to be as healthy and happy as possible . . . so if I have to spank your naughty bottom as many times as needed to make sure that you take care of yourself, or whenever you make naughty decisions, then so be it.”

Hitoshi flushed at the word choice. “I – I was just – I was just w-working!”

“Working yourself into an early grave,” said Aizawa, tone unforgiving as his expression. “You know very well you have been making some naughty choices, and you knew where those choices would have you land—which is why you’ve been avoiding me this past month and attempted to hide from your punishment.”

Any further protest died on Hitoshi’s tongue. It wasn’t like Aizawa was wrong, per se. It was exactly the reason why he had been declining various offers for family dinners, lunches, and other hangouts when he would’ve normally been all up in Aizawa’s and Yamada’s business.

“I’m – I’m sorry, Daddy,” Hitoshi whispered.

A warm kiss was pressed against his forehead. “I know, kit—and all will be forgiven, once you’ve faced the consequences of your actions in just a moment. I don’t want there to be any confusion about what will be happening next. You will be receiving a bare bottom spanking”— Hitoshi whined loudly at that, shaking his head, but Aizawa plowed forward without a care in the world, the ass— “and due to your suppressor use and the fact that you attempted to hide, you will be receiving a bedtime spanking tomorrow night.”

Hitoshi wished he had left the apartment. Surely, Aizawa wouldn’t have tried to hunt him down? (He would’ve. He probably would’ve spanked Hitoshi right there in the street, if he tried).

“N-Not the bedtime spanking,” Hitoshi protested. “That’s – that’s too much! That’s not fair, Daddy!”

“You know what’s not fair? My little boy skipping his meals and forgetting to eat his snacks,” Aizawa spoke, voice calm yet firm with an undercurrent of worry and love. It made Hitoshi feel warm all over. “What’s not been fair is you letting yourself get worked down to the bone to the point where you were subsisting on caffeine and vending machine snacks for weeks.”

Hitoshi swallowed, pinned beneath Aizawa’s gaze.

“You will be getting a spanking, Hitoshi,” said Aizawa, final. “End of discussion. Naughty little boys do not get to have a say in how they are punished when they deliberately break the rules.” After a tense moment and stare down, Aizawa took a deep breath. “Over my lap, please.”

Hitoshi didn’t move an inch.

Aizawa raised an eyebrow. “You are thin ice, little boy. My lap. Now.”

With another petulant noise in the back of his throat, Hitoshi acquiesced to the demand. Last thing he wanted was an even longer punishment. Aizawa was quite the fan of penalty swats for misbehaving Littles in due for having a sore, freshly spanked bottom. Hitoshi sniffled and laid over Aizawa’s lap, pressing his face against his hands as the man repositioned him.

“C-Can it be over my p-pants?”

Aizawa huffed a small laugh. Ass. “No.”

Hitoshi groaned into the mattress. With swift fingers, Aizawa removed his pants and undergarments, leaving his bottom bare to the world. “What’s our safe word, kit?”

Hitoshi mumbled it into the mattress, and then yelped when there was a sharp, punishing swat on his upper thigh. He kicked his leg out instinctively. “Ow!”

“I’m done playing around, young man,” said Aizawa, and Hitoshi swallowed at the dark undertones of the Caregivers’ voice. And scent; it billowed about the room, pressing against him and his instincts, whispering to stand down. “Safe word, Hitoshi.”

“A-apples,” Hitoshi said louder.

It would always be a surprise for the first, official swat of a spanking. Despite expecting the brisk sting of pain blooming on his backside, it would still catch him off guard. He sucked in a shuddering breath as Aizawa began to pepper brisk swats along the crest of his bottom. He gripped the bedsheets and shifted slightly, in a meagre attempt to lesson the sting, but no such luck. Aizawa’s pace was both relentless and quick; he couldn’t guess where the next swat would land.

He drummed his toes against the floor when Aizawa dusted along his upper thighs. He attempted to swallow back the rising tears, but two overlapping swats made him cry out. He nearly choked on the sobs building in his throat, scent dampening with contriteness, regret, and Imsorrypleasestop, which was less of a scent per se and more of an imprint.

“You know very well those rules are in place in the best interest of your health, well-being, and needs,” Aizawa lectured sternly, scent flaring up with protectiveness and sense of duty. “They are not suggestions, young man, and I will not hve you continue treating them as if they are.”

Hitoshi sobbed apologetically as he twisted, squirming in the hopes that one of the swats would miss. Aizawa continued in building a bristling, fierce sting in his bottom, making sure no area was left untouched. A volley of swats aimed at the undercurve of his bottom, focusing on a previously untouched and vulnerable area, and Hitoshi squealed from the pain (though he would deny it, if anyone asked).

“I’m soryy,” Hitoshi wept. “I’m s’ryy, do bett’r, do bett’r!”

“I know you will,” said Aizawa, aiming sharp swats at his sit-spots. Hitoshi drummed his toes against the floor and twisted his hips. Aizawa, well-accostumed to the flailing at this point, only tightened his grip around the Little’s waist, clamping a leg around Hitoshi’s. “Settle down, kit. We’re almost finished.”

Hitoshi sniffled and hiccupped softly. It was as if he had sat upon hot coals for ten minutes. The last volley of swats landed at those vulnerable areas, Hitoshi whimpering in the back of his throat as each one landed precisely where Aizawa wanted them to.

“Tell me, Hitoshi, will you deliberately neglect your headspace and needs?” Aizawa questioned as he rested his palm on the crest of the Little’s reddened bottom.

“No,” Hitoshi sniffled out, crying high-pitched in the back of his throat. “No, I – I w-won’t, Daddy!”

“Good; I will be holding you to that promise,” Aizawa intoned and landed two more terrible, stinging swats on the crest of his bottom. Aizawa started to rub down his spine in a soothing manner as he added, in a lower, softer tone. “It’s all over and forgiven, now.” Hitoshi sniffled and whined quietly against his bedsheets as Aizawa soothed him. “You did well, baby; I’m proud of you.”

He shivered softly and focused on the comfort. He made a soft noise as Aizawa repositioned him, careful and cognizant of his freshly spanked bottom, and cradled the Little against his chest. Hitoshi pressed his face into the curve of Aizawa’s neck, breathing in the man’s cedarwood and ink scent, still flaring with those protective edges, but now softening with love and care.

He gripped the front of Aizawa’s shirt loosely, fingers curled around the knitted fabric. Aizawa rocked him gently, humming softly beneath his breath as Hitoshi’s sobs tapered off to sniffles and light hiccups here and there. Murmured praise and love were whispered against the crown of his forehead, and Hitoshi melted deeper against the blanket of safety and love that was his Caregiver.

“You did very well, kit,” Aizawa murmured once more, hand gentle and soft as it rubbed down along his spine in comforting circles.

Hitoshi only hummed softly, murmuring, “Love you,” under his breath as he nuzzled against Aizawa.

Aizawa chuckled softly, and repeated, “Love you more.”

Hitoshi almost wanted to playfully combat that, but he wasn’t so sure it would be a game he could win. As it was, he was content to remain snuggled against Aizawa’s chest, soaking up the comfort and love freely given to him as if he were an attention-starved animal. Some days, he thought he was. Nevertheless, the spanking was terrible business, but the comfort would always be a godsend. A divine messenger gliding down to the masses.

There was still the bedtime spanking to be worried about, for tomorrow, but he supposed he’d cross that bridge when the time came.

For now, he wanted cuddles and his Caregiver.