Chapter Text
When Shinsou Hitoshi graduated from U.A., he hadn’t expected to return, especially not just three years post-graduation. It wasn’t that he disliked the school, not at all — he managed to move into the hero’s course halfway through his first year, had met Aizawa-sensei and had the man mentor him, he even befriended some great people — he just didn’t think that he would be asked to come back, especially not for a lecture.
It was Aizawa who came to him about it first, his father — it was still so baffling to him, that he had been officially adopted by the man and Yamada even all these years later — had been rather excited. It wasn’t often that underground heroes came to U.A. to talk with students about their experiences, it was typically the pros who would preach about “becoming a successful hero” or even teach them. It was kind of nice, Hitoshi supposed, being specifically requested to come and talk about his own experiences to students who were in the same position he was during his first months there, but also… what the hell was he supposed to say?
(“Just tell them about your transition from support to class 1-B.” Aizawa had supplied over lunch, “You just need to be honest with them, talk about your experience as an underground hero, and what it was like training.”
Hitoshi hums, pushing the food around on his plate as Yamada reaches to ruffle his hair, “Just talk to them the way Aizawa did all those years ago, yeah? About how they have the same potential to become a great hero!”
Eri giggles from beside Hitoshi, “Toshi, you’re not the best with public speaking, huh?”
“‘s not that…” He mumbles, ignoring the sly smile Aizawa sends him, “Just unsure about what to tell them…”
“You have time, Hitoshi.” Aizawa supplies, “Don’t stress about it too much, yeah?”)
That had been a week ago and Hitoshi was still just as hopeless. He was an underground hero for a reason, he didn’t want to be the center of attention and having twenty pairs of eyes staring at him in earnest admiration while he talks about his life was the last thing he wanted to do. Still, he had promised Aizawa he would talk to them… Damn him and his need to please his father…
Don’t stress about it too much replays in his head. Yeah, like it was that easy…
Hitoshi sighs heavily, head thumping against his desk, “ If I were these kids… What would I want to hear?”
He had been told plenty of bullshit in his life, it was only natural when you bounced around home to home under the premise of “Oh, it’s not you. They just weren’t ready for children full time.”
It was always the same, everyone too afraid to have a child with a quirk like his, one that was deemed dangerous . He had lost any hope of ever finding a permanent family, let alone becoming a hero, so he practically gave up.
It wasn’t until Aizawa came to him after his match with Midoriya at the school festival that he was talked to without any fear, a gentle reassurance pulsing through him that he had potential, that had never happened before. Aizawa was the first person to trust in Hitoshi, in his abilities to become a future hero, and he had never once talked down to him.
Then, he asked to be his mentor, something that he had been dreaming of all his life. Aizawa had entrusted him with his own capture scarf, new advancements that would emphasize the potential of his quirk, and welcomed him into a loving home with no hesitation. Yamada had quickly fallen in love with the prospect of having “another little listener to care for”, Eri had been with them for a few months and she had warmed up to the idea of having a big brother quicker than anyone expected.
For the first time in his life, Hitoshi had a home, a loving family, motivation, and drive. That was all he needed to get through everything, just a gentle push, and reassurance that his quirk wasn’t bad .
He shoots his head up, fist hitting his desk in sudden inspiration.
That was it.
U.A. was exactly the same, even the general studies classroom he had sat in all those years ago. A weird sense of deja vu fluttered through Hitoshi as he turned to see the faces of, the extremely uninterested, in Hitoshi’s honest opinion, newest general studies class. Aizawa clapped a hand on his shoulder, introducing Hitoshi to the kids but all he could focus on was the sharp stares these kids sent him. Why was he so intimidated by these fifteen-year-olds? Was he like this at this age?
“-toshi. Hitoshi.”
Hitoshi pulled from his thoughts at Aizawa shaking him gently, gesturing to the class.
Right, he was meant to talk to them.
“As Aizawa-sensei said, I’m Shinsou. I was once in the general studies class during my time at U.A. but I ended up moving into the heroes course halfway through my first year.”
A kid in the back shoots his hand up, “What’s your hero name? I don’t recognize you as one of the pros.”
Hitoshi sighs, “I, uh, I’m an underground hero, actually.” He scratches the back of his neck, suddenly feeling extremely self-conscious. Why was it so hot in here? Why were these kids so nosey ?
“Underground? Another girl asks, cocking her head, “Why would you become an underground hero if you moved up to a hero class?”
( “Hitoshi, have you figured out what agency you want to intern at?” Hitoshi looks up from his homework, stretching his arms above his head.
“No, I dunno where I wanna go, honestly.”
Aizawa had been asking him for the past week, about where he was planning on interning for his third-year and he had told him the same thing every time.
“You could always just follow in my footsteps,” Aizawa shrugs dryly, “become an underground hero. I mean, you learned all my techniques so I could help you start out.”
Hitoshi stares at him, humming in contemplation. It wasn’t a bad idea, he had admired Eraserhead for a while, and being trained under him had been great, he could only imagine that becoming a hero similar to him would be just as great.
“Yeah, I guess.”)
“Aizawa recommended it.”
The room goes silent after that, the sound of whispering prickling his eardrums.
“Was it because you weren’t good enough?”
Hitoshi freezes at that, the intonation behind the snide voice just sending a pulse of anxiety through him.
Not good enough? Not good enough? Aizawa had suggested — no, he literally told — Hitoshi that he should be an underground hero instead of a pro. Was it because he doubted his abilities? His potential to actually make it as a pro hero?
His previous anxiety is instantly replaced with sheer anger . Aizawa was supposed to be his mentor, his role model, and motivate him to become a hero. Instead, he’s fucking lying to these kid’s faces about their ability to make it.
“I don’t know, Aizawa ,” he bit out, the red flags in the back of his mind warning him not to start anything being ignored as he glares with as much menace he can manage at his father, “Was I not good enough to become a pro hero? Like your other precious 1-A kids?”
A cold breeze passes through the room, the deafening silence sending a reminder to Hitoshi that he fucked up .
Aizawa eyes are dark as he sends Hitoshi a warning look, one that he has been far too familiar with — one that usually results in him getting his ass beat afterward — but it can’t shake the sinking feeling of what that student said.
Did Aizawa really not think I was capable of becoming a hero? Is that why he asked me to become an underground one like him?
“Well, are you going to answer me or not? Tell these kids what you really think, Aizawa. Do you think they have the capability of moving into the hero’s course? Why not just tell them they’re bound to remain as general studies until they graduate.”
The warning sirens in his brain are blaring, his eyes glancing to meet the hurt faces of all the students he’s meant to be motivating but he can’t bring himself to care.
“Word of the wise, kids, don’t trust your teachers. In fact, may as well just give up now, huh?”
He stills when a familiar hand is on his shoulder, Aizawa’s death gripping him and leaning in close to whisper in his ear, hot breath tickling his neck and causing him to swallow harshly.
“What the absolute hell are you on about, Shinsou Hitoshi?”
The threat laced in Aizawa’s voice sent a chill down his spine, he had crossed a line — no, he fucking jumped over it .
He exhales as evenly as he can, “What? You told me to be honest with them, didn’t you?”
The grip on his shoulder tightens and he can’t help but wince out, Aizawa was going to murder him.
He’s guided outside the classroom, Aizawa turning him around so fast he gets whiplash as he’s met with a murderous gaze.
“I told you to be honest, Hitoshi, not crush their hopes.” He tightens his grip on his neck, “What were you thinking , kid? You can’t tell these kids that they should give up, they need motivation.”
“Motivation,” Hitoshi snorts, rolling his eyes — he feels like he’s fifteen again, Aizawa lecturing him for getting into a fight with Bakugou or the time when he skipped class to go to the movies with Denki his second year; it always ended in Hitoshi snapping back at him, the two at each other’s throats — “What? Like you telling me to become an underground hero instead was motivation?”
He yelps when he feels a swat land on his thigh, eyes widening in panic. Did Aizawa seriously just… in public ?
“I just suggested it, brat .” He sighs heavily, hand running down his face, “You could have become a pro all you wanted, I wasn’t going to stop you.”
Doubtful…
Hitoshi grumbles, rubbing his thigh as he sends another look to Aizawa.
“Whatever…” He turns away, too afraid to meet his father’s harsh glare, “Why don’t you go back to your class, tell them what you told me. Inspire them to become underground heroes like the great Eraserhead .”
“You know what, that’s it,” Aizawa practically hisses, gripping Hitoshi’s wrist as he tugs him closer and bends his neck down to better meet his eyes, “you’re grounded, go home, now . I’m going to deal with you when I’m done with my classes, am I understood?”
Hitoshi stares blankly at Aizawa, blinking once, twice, before nearly blowing a gasket, “G-Grounded!? I’m an adult, Aizawa, not some kid anymore.”
“Yet you choose to act like one all over again, Hitoshi,” he releases his wrist, pointing towards the entrance of the building, “Home, now, wait in your bedroom. If I find out you went anywhere else you will regret it, brat.”
Hitoshi grumbles but doesn’t bother arguing, choosing to storm away and make his way towards the front of campus. He feels so embarrassed, humiliated at the fact that he’s being treated like some toddler and not the grown adult he is and being sent home, to his childhood home — not his own apartment — just adds to the blow of it all.
Still, he sulks the entire way there, not bothering with his shoes as he lets the door slam loudly behind him with an exasperated yell.
Fuck Aizawa, honestly, him and his stupid tyranical ass and need to treat him like some little defenseless kid all over again.
It’s all bullshit, every last bit of it. Why should he stand around and wait for Aizawa to come home when he hadn’t deserved this? His phone vibrates in his pocket, Hitoshi fishing it out and groaning when he sees its Aizawa asking if he made it back.
Funny how he seems to care now , Hitoshi muses, shoving it back in and not bothering to answer.
He wasn’t going to sit around and wait, not when Aizawa was being completely unfair and unreasonable.
“Toshi-nii? What are you doing here?”
HItoshi turns to see Eri, eyes wide with shock and excitement, clearly not expecting her brother to come visit.
“Aizawa told me to come home.”
Eri cocks her head to the side, horn peeking out from her bangs as she smiles knowingly, “Papa grounded you, didn’t he?”
Hitoshi grumbles, sending silent daggers towards her, “No… Okay, fine, he did, but it’s a stupid reason.”
Eri shrugs, “Must’a been something bad enough for papa to make you go home.”
“I don’t want to talk about it, Eri-chan,” he sighs, eyeing the stairs and then the door before turning back to his sister, “it’s just ‘Zawa being himself, again.”
He’s met with a quiet hum, Eri contemplating something before shrugging and making a move towards the kitchen.
“I’m gonna make a snack, Toshi-nii.”
And then he’s left alone, heart thrumming in his chest and all his nerves alight. He doesn’t want to stay and wait for Aizawa, but he doesn’t want to disobey and get his ass into more trouble.
He doesn’t know what to do, what he wants, what he’s going to—
The door slams closed behind him, feet carrying him out of the house and towards anywhere else that isn’t home.
If Hitoshi were to rank his genius ideas, this one would take first prize, take the entire cake, put all the clowns out of a job — pretty much, it was a stupid idea.
Aizawa had sounded so serious when he sent him to his room, a childish punishment if you ask Hitoshi, and it only made him grow even more frustrated with the man. It was bad enough that his dad had scolded him in front of his class, then he had the audacity to swat him in the hallway, but now this ? He had his own apartment, he was a grown-ass adult, why the hell was Aizawa sending him to his old bedroom with the impression of him being grounded? Who was grounded at the age of twenty-one? Hitoshi, it seemed.
It was why he was currently hiding in an alley, one he had become far too familiar with during his childhood, and petting a stray cat that curled against his feet. Aizawa was going to have his neck when he realized he wasn’t in his room but he couldn’t be bothered to care, not when he had been treating him like a teenager all over again.
“What do you think?” He sighed, smiling softly at the purr in response from the kitten resting on his feet, eyes wide and staring back at Hitoshi as he lamented, “Should I suck it up and go home? Or stay here and sneak back to my place when it’s safe.”
Knowing his dad, he was probably staking out Hitoshi’s apartment like some kind of undercover cop, he really wouldn’t be surprised if he had some sort of disguise on too — maybe a fake mustache, or a pair of funny glasses.
He’s met with a quiet meow, the cat turning its interest towards cleaning his paw before he bolts away. Hitoshi pouts, so much for the company.
His head leans against the cold stone wall behind him, eyes focusing on the stars painting the sky. It’s enough to make him forget his earlier frustration, his dumpster fire of a day becoming a distant memory as he searches for constellations.
Scorpio is the first one he notices, it was familiar to him, special to him. He saw it for the first time when he had turned sixteen, the same night Aizawa and Yamada had taken him in. It also happened to be his Aizawa’s astrological sign; a coincidence, or maybe a sign, but either way it meant something to him.
He can faintly make out another constellation intertwined with Scorpio, his heart swelling at the realization of what exactly it is.
Cancer, the fucking irony of it all.
Hitoshi had gotten into astronomy and astrology when he was in foster care, it was a way for him to distract from the fear and insecurities that swelled inside him, the voice in his head that was telling him that “this home won’t last”, that “he would be kicked out the second they learned about his quirk”. It worked for a while, his focus being on stars and compatibility instead of the disappointment that he causes his foster parents. Always the same, for years on end, he would find a temporary home, a temporary family, and then he would return back to foster care within a month, the parents scared of him, of his quirk.
Aizawa was the first one to show no fears when it came to his quirk, he was the first person to actually tell Hitoshi how impressive it was. Maybe that was why it made things harder for him, knowing that his mentor, his father , hadn’t trusted him enough to become a pro hero with a quirk like his. No matter how good the man thought it was it would always be seen as evil, dangerous even.
Cancers and Scorpios have great trust! It’s what makes them so compatible
Trust? Yeah right, like Aizawa ever trusted him in the first place.
Hitoshi lets his head rest against the wall again as he broods, no longer able to rely on the company of the cat from before — damn bastard, leaving Hitoshi alone when he was most vulnerable.
“Go ahead, I don’t care…” He mumbles out, nudging a rock with his shoe, “Stupid cat…”
Talk about a case of Murphy’s Law, it seemed like the entire world was out to get him today.
Namely Aizawa.
“This is all his fault… Fucking, “Just be yourself, Hitoshi-kun!” …” He snorts, “great idea, Aizawa.”
“My fault?”
Hitoshi stills, heart stopping in his chest as he turns to meet his father’s gaze, capture scarf moving in a flash and quickly holding his wrist to prevent him from fleeing, eyes full of so much rage that Hitoshi is genuinely scared for his life — and his ass, to be frank.
“A-Aizawa,” he stammers, “fancy seeing you here, yeah?”
He squeaks as he’s tugged towards his father, “When I told you to go to your bedroom, I don’t believe that was an invitation to sneak out. Now was it, Hitoshi?”
Hitoshi glares, “You can’t send me to my room like that, ‘Zawa, I’m not a child anymore. I’m 21, not 15…”
“Not a child? Would any grown adult throw a tantrum in front of these students they’re meant to be speaking to and then storm away when faced with consequences of their actions? Whether you like it or not, you are my child Shinsou Hitoshi, and I’m not going to stand back and watch you behave like this.” He loosens the hold on the capture scarf, Hitoshi whining when Aizawa’s hand grabs for his wrist and begins to tug him away, “You’re coming home with me and we are going to deal with this behavior of yours immediately, do you understand me, little boy ?”
Leave it to his father to make Hitoshi feel like he’s fifteen all over again, being scolded for back-talking and fleeing his wrath.
“This isn’t fair... “ He grumbles out, tripping over his own feet as he’s dragged away from his sanctum and towards his literal death, “You can’t do this.”
Aizawa freezes, “I can’t? I wasn’t aware that you were suddenly able to decide your punishments, brat. You have proven to me that you’re not responsible enough to be left to your own devices,” he moves to pick Hitoshi up, slinging him over his shoulder as he lets his hand pat against his bottom in warning, “so I am going to make sure that something like this , won’t happen again.”
He squirms over Aizawa’s shoulder he’s guided out of the alleyway completely and towards the car. Aizawa opens the passenger seat and sets Hitoshi in before climbing in the driver’s side, silently starting the car and pulling away.
“Put your phone in the cup holder, I’m taking it for the next few days.” He sighs out, “Considering you didn’t bother answering me any of the times I texted you.”
He’s taking his phone? What kind of bullshit!? But Hitoshi doesn’t bother arguing, grumbling under his breath and practically throwing his phone in the cup holder as he leans against the seat with a huff.
“Aizawa,” he begins, “can’t we talk about this? I mean, aren’t I a little too old to be treated like this?”
Aizawa snorts in amusement at that, Hitoshi pouting frowning, “I already told you that you behaved like a child, Hitoshi, and it’s my role as your father to nip this poor behavior in the bud.”
Role as your father , Hitoshi can’t help but snort at that.
“Sure, like any good father would tell their son to become an underground hero like their lame ass dad.” He rolls his eyes, “I’ll gladly follow in your footsteps, father! Become a fucking underground hero like the great Eraserhead and then get mad at my son when they call them out for their bullshit in front of their students—”
Hitoshi yelps as the car suddenly breaks, head hitting against the back of the seat, before it pulls off to the side, Aizawa glaring at Hitoshi.
“I will give you the count of three to apologize before I whoop your ass right here, right now.” He reaches for the hair tie on the center center console and places it in his mouth as he gathers his hair, “ one .”
Hitoshi blinks, eyes moving from his father pulling his hair up to the door handle. If he can jump out of the car, he may be able to make a break for it while Aizawa is busy with his hair.
He turns back to see Aizawa’s hair completely up, jaw set, “Two.”
His hand discreetly reaches for the handle behind him as he shakes his head, “ No .”
Before Aizawa can say “three”, Hitoshi flings the door open, jumping out of the car and slamming it closed behind him before he books it — ignoring Aizawa yelling after him and the way his lungs burn. He hasn’t ran in a while, hasn’t had the need to (he typically can capture rogue villains with his capture scarf before they get too far to warrant foot chase) so the strain on his body makes him wheeze in agony.
He makes it a good few feet before he suddenly feels something wrap around his ankle, body flailing as it’s dragged up and dangling in the air.
Hitoshi cranes his neck to see Aizawa glaring at him, slowly making his way towards him, and not loosening the capture scarf that traps him in place for even a second.
Well, fuck.
Aizawa is practiaclly fuming by the time he gets to Hitoshi and he’s pretty sure he’s about to die, judging by the way his father is silently untangling him from his capture. He opens his mouth to apologize but is silenced when a heavy smack meets the seat of his pants, Hitoshi yelping loudly.
“Stop! We’re in public!”
His protests are ignored when more swats fall, Hitoshi unable to stop himself from stomping his feet, “That didn’t seem to stop you when you chose to mouth off to me in front of my students.” The hand moves to his thighs and Hitoshi whines loudly, “Now hold still, brat , this is only the beginning.”
Even though they weren’t biologically related, Yamada had always joked about how Hitoshi was a carbon copy of Aizawa — if the prominent eye bags and unruly hair wasn’t enough, their similar personalities could take the crown. They both had a love for cats, both always tired yet never sleeping, and the two were equally stubborn.
Hitoshi thinks about the first time he had argued with Aizawa, glaring at his father and crossing his arms in mute confrontation yet refusing to admit to him that he had gone against his word and went to use his capture scarf unsupervised, Aizawa not leaving from his spot until the boy confirmed it himself. Then there were times where Hitoshi would lie about what he had been doing but chose to feign innocence, refusing to admit that he had snuck out to hang with Kaminari and Izuku even as Aizawa literally continued to blister his ass.
This time was no different, Hitoshi was pissed at his dad and his stubbornness was increasing tenfold with every sharp swat that landed against his covered backside.
“Damn this,” he kicked again, “it’s your fault that any of this even happened!”
Aizawa stops spanking, turning Hitoshi to meet his gaze as he holds his chin gently, eyes as red as ever and hair threatening to break out of the hair tie with the way it whips around his face.
“Would you like to enlighten me on why exactly it’s my fault, Shinsou Hitoshi?”
The full name, it’s like Aizawa wanted to make his stomach hurt.
“You… You’re the one who told me to speak in front of your students in the first place, old man!”
Aizawa sighs and Hitoshi can’t help but yelp out in mortification as he’s thrown over his father’s shoulder, again , and carried to the car.
“I figured that you could handle it, considering you had reassured me that you were fine with it numerous times. No matter,” he opens the door and sets Hitoshi in the passenger seat before buckling him in and closing the door behind him. He gets behind the wheel again, reaching to turn the “child’s lock” on before starting the car, focusing in on Hitoshi again, “we can work on the way you speak to people during our chat back at home.”
Aizawa pulls away after that, Hitoshi squirming slightly in his seat from the earlier smacks and hoping — hell, he’s praying at this point — that something happens that prevents them from making it back to the house. It’s bad enough he got his ass tanned in the middle of the road, but to have to finish this where there’s privacy (not to mention, the dozens of spoons that rest in their utensil cup)? Hitoshi can only dread what’s to come.
The car parks outside and Aizawa turns the engine off, sighing heavily as he faces Hitoshi.
“Go inside, wait in your bedroom,” Hitoshi begins to unbuckle, the child lock turned off and lock popping to let him leave when his father’s hand rests on his shoulder, “and stay there this time, yes?”
Hitoshi grumbles under his breath but obliges, slamming the car door closed behind as he storms inside the house. Aizawa would scold him for slamming doors but he’s already in enough shit that he doesn’t care, slamming the front door closed behind him as he stomps towards the stairs.
“Toshi-nii?” Hitoshi freezes in his tracks, turning to meet Eri’s concerned eyes and feels his heart break at how upset she looks, “Where did you go?”
He sighs, crouching slightly to meet her — she had grown so much, only ten yet one of the tallest in her class — and ruffles her hair.
“I just needed to get some air, didn’t mean to scare you, Apple.”
Eri giggles at the nickname, “It’s okay, Toshi, even though ‘Zawa is gonna spank you now.”
Hitoshi groans, flicking Eri’s forehead gently as she laughs again, “You’re a brat.”
“And you’re grounded at 21, so who’s the real brat?”
He prefers when Eri had just moved in with them, shy and quiet — a literal “angel” according to his dads — now she’s all snarky and can put Hitoshi’s own backtalk to shame. (Though, part of it is Hitoshi’s fault, he supposes his bad influence rubbed off on her.) She still is an angel though, HItoshi will stand by that fact, she just isn’t afraid to call Hitoshi out on his own bullshit at times. If it weren’t for the fact that his ass was about to be paddled, he could admire her gust.
“Don’t remind me,” he practically groans, reaching up to land a gentle flick on her forehead before turning back to the front door, “I don’t want to think about it…”
Eri smiles, reaching for Hitoshi’s hand and squeezing it gently, “It will be okay Toshi-nii, I promise.”
How did his baby sister get so mature? Suddenly Hitoshi feels like he’s the ten-year-old and Eri is the grown adult. Except no, he’s a grown ass adult who’s being comforted by his little sister before getting his ass handed to him by his adoptive father.
(Maybe it wasn’t too late to borrow that clown costume from Kami-chan, the one that was offered to him all those years ago after his first major screw up.)
He’s pulled from his nostalgia trip when a familiar hand is placed on his shoulder, Hitoshi’s blood running cold for probably the fifth time that day, as he turns to meet his father’s stern gaze.
“I believe I told you,” he begins, letting out a heavy sigh as he meets Eri’s shy gaze, “to go to your room, Shinsou Hitoshi.”
Leave it to Aizawa to make Hitoshi’s skin crawl every second of the day, he was pretty sure he was going to drop dead at some point because of it.
“Sorry, papa, I distracted him…” Eri mumbles out, sending that “please go easy on Toshi-chan” look to Aizawa, “It’s my fault.”
Aizawa sighs, ruffling Eri’s hair gently, “Your brother should’ve known better, Eri, he’s being very naughty today.”
Naughty. Fuck, his poor stomach feels like it’s been twisted and tugged anytime that word is uttered.
“Room, Hitoshi, now.” Aizawa grits out, hand moving to tug off his scarf and hang it as he glares daggers at him, hand flexing.
Yeah, his room, he’s going.
He turns back to the stairs and wastes no time in heading into his room, closing the door behind him — making sure not to slam it — before letting out a low whine.
Hitoshi shouldn’t be scared, he’s been in this situation far too many times to be so anxious about the prospect of being spanked like he’s in high school again, but ‘Zawa is pissed and he had already gotten several warning swats leading him to believe it’s only going to get worse.
He should’ve never agreed to lecture at U.A., damn this.
His jacket is shrugged off and tossed to the side, not bothering with putting it away, and then he tugs his jeans down, quickly tossing them to meet his jacket on the floor, before he rifles through his drawers for sweatpants. (Maybe two pairs, something to soften it?)
He sits on his bed, flopping against the comforter with a groan. This is always the worst, the waiting game.
It’s almost funny, how his room manages to look exactly the same even after he’s long moved out and grown up. The sketches he drew up for his hero costume lay on his desk untouched, next to numerous chewed pens and eraser shavings, and he can see his astrology books covered in a thin layer of dust from where they’re placed on his book shelf. It’s as though Aizawa and Yamada hadn’t been in his room since he announced he was moving out. He didn’t bring a lot with him, not wanting to deal with moving fees or clutter in his small studio apartment, but seeing it now brings a wave of nostalgia through him and he has to push away a small tear.
It had been too long since he’d been home.
But that didn’t mean he liked the circumstances behind the reasoning.
Hitoshi isn’t sure how long he’s been waiting in his room, seeing as though his phone is with Aizawa (which was completely unfair, he paid his own phone bill now!) and his alarm clock was now in his apartment, but he’s pretty sure it’s been around ten minutes by now.
Part of him is tempted to peek out his door and down the stairs to see where the hell Aizawa is, but the earlier threat of him leaving makes up his mind for him, Hitoshi opting to stare up at his ceiling instead and wait in silence.
He can’t help but shoot up straight when his door opens, Aizawa walking in with a wooden spoon in hand and a tired look on his face, one that reads sheer exhaustion from having to put up with Hitoshi’s horrid behavior the past few hours.
Christ… Had he really been acting like a shit for that long? He hadn’t even meant to, he was just frustrated from their argument at the school and then Aizawa grounding him and taking his phone was the icing on the metaphorical cake of his shit bad luck, and then—
“I trust you took this time to think about why you’re in trouble.”
Right, Aizawa was here.
Hitoshi turns so he’s facing his father, leg swinging out from the edge of the bed as he fiddles with his frayed bedding.
“I yelled at you at U.A. in front of your students and snuck out?”
Aizawa lifts his eyebrow, arms crossed with the menacing spoon peeking out from behind his bicep, taunting Hitoshi.
“And I tried to run again when you went to get me?”
Hitoshi winces when Aizawa makes his way towards him, sitting down on the bed and placing the spoon down beside him with a quiet sigh.
“Let’s talk about this attitude of yours as well, hmm?” His hand reaches for Hitoshi’s jaw, forcing him to meet his eyes as he glares, “You chose to disrespect me twice in front of my students, disobey my rules by sneaking out when you were clearly grounded, decided to backtalk me during our drive home and then proceeded to leave the car, and didn’t go straight to your room like you were told. Am I missing anything, Shinsou Hitoshi ?”
Hitoshi huffs quietly, carefully adjusting his chin so he can get out of Aizawa’s grasp but it’s practically inevitable, it was like his father’s hands were made of steel or something, he had never been able to get out of his hold.
So, he opts for Plan B instead.
“I’m twenty-one years old, Aizawa , I don’t understand why I was grounded when I’m an adult with my own place and I pay my own phone bill and shit. This entire situation isn’t fair.” Aizawa releases his chin in favor of letting his hand slide down his face.
“No, you’re clearly not an adult if you’re going to behave like you’re fifteen all over again. I asked if you felt comfortable lecturing at U.A., if you weren’t okay with it you should’ve told me, Hitoshi.”
“Clearly not an adult .” Is that what Aizawa thought? That he was still a little kid?
Hitoshi pushes himself off the bed, freezing when Aizawa’s hand grips his wrist tightly and yanks him between his legs.
“Wait, ‘Zawa, stop !”
His pleas go unanswered, Aizawa reaching for the hem of Hitoshi’s sweat pants and tugging them down his legs and then letting his boxers follow suit before he’s turned over his dad’s knee.
“No, you can’t do this! I’m-I’m not a little kid anymore!”
Aizawa snorts a huff of laughter, his leg moving to trap Hitoshi’s own legs in place as his hand rests on the crest of his ass.
“You’re not a little kid anymore, you’re right,” his hand raises from his bottom and smacks down harshly, Hitoshi letting out a low whine as Aizawa sets in on a repetitive pattern, making sure to not miss any inch of his ass, “but I’m your father , Hitoshi, and I’m not going to sit back and watch you behave like this. I should’ve taken you over my knee the second you chose to disrespect me, maybe that would have prevented this horrid behavior of yours.”
Hitoshi lets out something akin to a growl, foot kicking against Aizawa’s thigh as the smacks grow and focus on his bottom in such precision that Hitoshi’s mere thought of sitting within the next few days is a distant memory.
“The only horrid thing is you, ‘Zawa…” Hitoshi grumbles out, yelping when a harsh swat meets his sit spot, “Ow! It’s true!”
He’s met with a sigh from Aizawa, his dad ignoring his snarky ass remark, and a flurry of smacks against his upper thighs.
“You’re on thin ice right now, little boy,” Aizawa grits out as his hand continues to paint Hitoshi’s backside a bright pink, “Keep this up and I’m not opposed to washing your naughty mouth out.”
If there was one thing worse than being spanked — or Heavens forbid, lines — it was a mouth soaping. Hitoshi was far too familiar with them, he and his smart ass mouth getting him into trouble more often than not and Aizawa never hesitated to remind him of the consequences of it.
So, for the first time since this entire mess started, Hitoshi keeps his mouth shut.
“I’m very disappointed in you, Hitoshi, I don’t know what made you think you could behave the way you did but it. ends. now. ” He accents the last three words with especially hard smacks directed at his sit spots and Hitoshi has to bite back a curse from the pain.
His ass hurts and Aizawa hasn’t even used the damn spoon yet but it's the truth that finally comes to light that hurts Hitoshi the most.
“I’m very disappointed in you,”
That’s the last thing he ever wanted to do to Aizawa, to his father . The man had been so good to him and he practically spat in his face and dragged his trust through the mud, shattering the bond they had all because he chose to act like a fucking toddler .
“‘Z-Zawa, ‘m sorry…” He mumbles out, choking back ferocious sobs that claw at his chest as he lays over his lap and whines out with each harshly aimed spank, “I won’t be b-bad anymore!”
“You are not bad, Hitoshi, you merely had a lapse in good judgement and that is exactly why we’re here right now.”
Not bad. Not bad. Not bad?
All his life he’s been looked at as a bad person, someone with a quirk that was better suited for a villain than a hero, someone not worthy of making it into U.A.’s hero program.
Was he really… good?
“I should apologize too,” Hitoshi lifts his head at that, craning his neck to meet Aizawa’s closed eyes, “I should have taken your feelings into account when I asked you to come lecture, that was wrong of me to just assume you would be fine with it.”
Hitoshi opens his mouth to answer but all he lets out is a yelp when Aizawa’s hand continues to crash down onto his backside, reigniting the burn and covering any spot he missed during his first cycle.
“But that is no excuse for your behavior. You should know better than to behave like that, especially in public.”
This time Hitoshi does respond, rambling out apologies as Aizawa’s hand continues to relentlessly spank him.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”
Aizawa simply nods, stopping his hand and letting it stroke Hitoshi’s spine gently.
“I know, Hitoshi, I know,” his hand moves from his back and reaches for the spoon laid in front of Hitoshi and he’s unable to hold back a quiet whine as it’s tapped against his bottom in warning, “Let’s finish up, shall we?”
And the spoon cracks down, Hitoshi nearly howling as it alternates between each cheek with the same force as before.
Hitoshi begins to sob openly when the spoon meets his thighs, warbling out more broken apologies and legs kicking up with each stinging swat that meets his aching ass and thighs.
“No more, dad, please! ”
His hands are gripping Aizawa’s pant leg so tight he’s surprised he hasn’t torn a hole in them and each spank causes him to squirm. God his ass is so, so sore, he’s never going to sit again !
“You’re almost done, baby, just a few more.”
Hitoshi loses count after ten, his body going limp as he sobs openly over his dad’s knees.
“Dad, ‘m so sorry!”
Three more harsh swats fall before the spoon clatters to the ground, Hitoshi being lifted and wrapped in Aizawa’s arms in seconds and sobbing against his father’s chest.
How long has it been since he’s been hugged? Has he really been so touch starved?
Hitoshi practically clings to Aizawa, soaking in as much comfort he can as his dad’s hand runs down his back soothingly, gentle reassurance echoing in his ear as his sobs slowly diminish.
“You’re okay, you’re forgiven, baby,” Aizawa whispers, tilting his head away from his shirt so he can help clean his face with a rag from his pocket, “Let’s clean that face of yours though, okay?”
He nods, letting his dad clean his face before instantly burrowing back against his chest with a wheezy sigh. He’s so fucking sore but he can’t lie, he missed this so much.
“You’re okay, Toshi-kun.”
Shouta wasn’t surprised when Hitoshi practically passed out after he calmed down and got redressed. He was quick to tuck him into bed — after laying him on his stomach, he wasn’t a monster — and shut the lights out, along with grabbing the discarded spoon, before letting the door close behind him quietly.
He still needed to finish talking with his son, find out the entire story and why he behaved like even more of a brat than usual, but he was sleeping and if his son was anything like him (which he was) there would be hell to pay for waking him up.
Besides, there would be time for talking when Hitoshi woke up, but for now: dinner.
Shouta wasn’t a world renowned cook, he could barely make sustainable meals for himself, let alone four people, but he could make a basic dinner that would suffice. (At least until Hizashi got home.)
He moves to the kitchen, quickly setting to work on making dinner. Eri had gone to be with her Uncle Togata — Mirio — so it would just be him and Hitoshi, at least until Hizashi returned from whatever interview he had scheduled for that night.
The skillet is quickly filled with whatever vegetables don’t look rotted and leftover tofu from the night before, Shouta seasoning it to his liking, as he listens halfway to whatever news report is on the radio for the evening.
Yet, somehow cooking can’t manage to take his mind off of Hitoshi.
He wasn’t okay, and it was more than just from the spanking; like something had happened prior to this entire chaos of a weekend and had caused his son to lash out the way he did.
His attention is turned back to the whistle of the electric tea kettle, a gift from Nezu upon becoming a teacher at U.A., and he moves to pour two steaming cups of whatever tea Hizashi had gotten from the states.
It was a common thing, for he and HItoshi to drink tea together and sit together after a spanking, ever since he was a teenager.
“Is that ‘Zashi’s tea?”
Shouta turns his head to look at Hitoshi, smiling gently at his son. He looks so young, hair disheveled from his power nap and cheeks still tinged red, pants discarded in favor of a long shirt covering his boxer shorts.
He nods, pushing a cup to him, “Drink it while it’s still hot, dinner will be ready soon.”
He’s met with a quiet “thank you”, Hitoshi taking a small sip as Shouta turns back to the skillet, stirring the vegetales around with a spoon while keeping a careful eye on the rice cooker.
A low whine from Hitoshi causes him to turn back, lifting an eyebrow as he squirms in his seat with a grimace.
“Something the matter?”
Shouta already knew it was because of the spoon he was using, the one used just an hour prior on Hitoshi’s naughty backside being used to cook them dinner.
“I’m going to burn that spoon…” He mumbles from around his cup, sipping it with a glum look, “I’m serious, ‘Zawa, stop laughing!”
Still so dramatic, Hitoshi really was a miniature version of himself.
“You burn it and I’ll just have to find something else to use on you, I’m not opposed to tanning your backside with that hairbrush of yours, the very same one I know you never use.”
Hitoshi whines but he doesn’t bring up burning the spoon again so Shouta drops it, opting to serve the vegetables and rice into two bowls and sliding one in front of Hitoshi with a pair of chopsticks.
“Eat up.”
They’re halfway through dinner when Shouta finally decides to bring it up, setting his chopsticks down with a quiet thump as he turns to face Hitoshi completely.
“Tell me, what was all this about?”
Hitoshi stills, body stiff under Shouta’s own harsh gaze, “What do you mean?”
“I know you don’t choose to be a brat for no good reason, Toshi-kun,” he states pointedly, “something happened, what is it?”
And it’s true, Hitoshi was a good kid — he typically got into trouble for his tendency to overwork and train without permission or the few times he chose to be snarky, not for blatant disrespect.
“I just… That kid of yours, the one who mentioned me not being worthy enough of being a good hero? And that was why I was an underground one like you… It just, well, made me get into my head.”
His precious son, his baby Hitoshi, had been so awful because he was under the impression that Shouta didn’t think he was good enough?
These damn kids… His hair was going to go grey before he turned forty.
“Hitoshi, if I, for even a second , thought you weren't worthy enough to be a hero — I wouldn’t have trained you.” He lifts his hand when Hitoshi opens his mouth, stopping him from spewing out whatever was on his mind, “You had proven to me you were good enough, capable enough, since the second I saw you at the Sports Festival your first year at U.A., kid. I was so amazed, that you had a quirk that didn’t involve strength but had managed to make it that far, it reminded me of myself, almost.”
He huffs a laugh, letting his chin rest against his hand as he smiles gently at Hitoshi, “Ambitious yet looked down on by everyone, I get it, and I apologise for ever making you think you weren’t good enough. But Hitoshi, you are an incredible hero, whether you’re ranked in the top ten or otherwise, you will always make me proud.”
Shouta lets out a wheeze as Hitoshi collides with him, renewed sobs pouring out of him as he clings onto him and cries out broken ‘thank you’s.
Hitoshi was his prodige, his student, his son , he would forever be impressed and proud of him.
“I love you, dad.”
Shouta wraps his arms around Hitoshi, his own tears beginning to fall, “I love you too, son.”