Teen Wolf, Season 2, Episode 1 "Omega"
This is an altered scene of when Stiles gets detention for talking during a test. Some dialogue is pulled from show.
Pairing: Sheriff Stilinski/Stiles (M/m) paddle
Stiles Stilinski was a smart kid, maybe too smart for his own good. There was no doubting that. However, he was the type who his felt like the rules didn't apply to him. Mr. Adrian Harris was done with this behavior. He taught high school chemistry, not pre-school. This was a pop quiz, for God's sake, and the boy was chatting away like a magpie.
"Mr. Stilinski, if I hear your voice again, I may be tempted to give you detention for the rest of your high school career," Mr. Harris threatened.
Without missing a beat, Stiles asked, "Can you do that?"
This kid was unreal, Mr. Harris thought.
"Well, there it is again. Your voice. Triggering the only impulse I've ever had to strike a student repeatedly and violently," Mr. Harris quipped. He probably shouldn't have said that, chemistry instructors of his ilk were hard to find, that gave him a little leeway.
The class erupted in laughter.
He went on, "I'll see you at 3 pm for detention."
Stiles face fell. He bit his lip before another word slipped out of his mouth. Mr. Harris was known to pile on detentions one after another.
Stile's best friend seemed like he wanted to join him.
"You too, Mr. McCall?" Mr. Harris inquired.
"No, sir," Scott answered respectfully with his eyes downcast. At least some of his students could be respectful.
"Back to the quiz," Mr. Harris directed.
After school, Stiles thought he was going to lose his mind. He couldn't just sit here too much was going on! Tick, tick, tick. He watched the clock practically ready to jump out of his skin. He could take about 30 more seconds and that was it. Lydia was missing. They needed to find her before the Argent's hunting party did or it was bye-bye time. God, this was hell.
Finally, one hour. Stiles jumped up, ready to flee.
Mr. Harris directed tightly, "Sit."
Stiles was incredulous, "But it's been an hour." Stiles Stilinski had been in detention enough times to know it was always an hour at Beacon Hill High School.
"But it's been an hour," Stiles argued.
Mr. Harris shared, "My detention's an hour and a half."
"But my dad will be...," Stiles started to say.
Mr. Harris stood and walked over to Stiles.
"Stiles, don't worry. I called your dad. He knows you're going to be a little late," Mr. Harris said.
"Uh-oh, you called my dad?" Stiles trembled. He was hoping that his dad wouldn't find out that he got in trouble at school.
Mr. Harris saw the devastated look on Stiles' face and felt a moment of pity for him. He was a hard man, but not a cruel one. He glanced back at the plaque on his desk from West Point, "A cadet will not lie, cheat, steal, or tolerate those who do." It didn't say anything about being a pain in the ass or a smart alert, but Aiden Harris knew that a bad attitude didn't get a young man far in this world.
"Yes, I talked to the Sheriff and filled him in. He knows how smart you are, Stiles, but this attitude can get you in trouble in life. He doesn't want that for you," Mr. Harris said gently.
Stiles looked up in surprise. He didn't think Mr. Harris really cared about anything except berating him in class.
"I know. But is he mad at me for acting up in class?" Stiles asked. He loved no one more than his father and to disappoint him was painful, in more ways than one.
"He told me to tell you that you can expect the paddle when you get home tonight. But he's not angry with you," Mr. Harris said plainly.
Stiles flushed red from his neck to his ears hotly, he'd never been so ashamed.
"My dad told you I'm getting spanked tonight? I'm probably the only guy in the school who still gets it. God," Stiles groaned with his hands in his face.
"Stiles, look at me. You are not the only young man here to still get an occasional swat or two. You know, I went to school here when I was your age?" Mr. Harris said leaning back on the desk.
"You did?" Stiles asked surprised. He had never imagined the man could be any age other than what he was now.
"Sure did and back then, a guy could get paddled for horsing around, forgetting gym clothes, smoking in the parking lot," Mr. Harris mused.
"Really? They really did that? Did you ever get it?" Stiles asked in awe.
"Sure. It typically wasn't a real big deal. One or two licks and back to work. But this one time, I guess I was probably a little older than you, I got in an argument with old man Sweeney. You know, he finally retired last year when he was about 90. I think I called him an ass or something. Not smart," Mr. Harris laughed.
"Did he paddle you?" Stiles wondered.
"Oh yeah. Usually, they'd take you out in the hallway and you'd bend over, get no more than three whacks and come back in. Not with Sweeney. I guess I got to him. He wanted to make an example out of me. Paddled me in front of the whole class. He had this big, old, oak paddle with holes in it. The first swing lit me up so bad that I jumped up. Didn't count. That old coot whaled on me five more times," Mr. Harris was almost tempted to rub his backside with the memory.
"Did you cry?" Stiles inquired softly. He never felt that he would pity this man, but in this second he did.
"Nah, I was able to hold it in mostly, but then he did something they never used to do. He called my step father from work to pick me up," Mr. Harris smirked.
"Oh, what did he do?" Stiles asked.
"Well, he wasn't pleased to be called out of work because of my behavior. Just like your dad, he had the trouble at school, trouble at home policy. I could barely sit in the car on the way home. He was really mad and about to give him the belt when he saw my butt," Mr. Harris now blushed a little himself.
"So he didn't whip you?" Stiles pressed.
"Oh no, he did. But he aimed lower on my thighs. You see, he wasn't a man to go back on his word and in his own way, he knew it would be worse for me to have to wait for a punishment so it hurt like hell, but I was glad it was done," Mr. Harris admitted.
"Mr. Harris, I'm sorry for how I act in class sometimes. I guess I can see now why you want to violently pummel me," Stiles smirked.
"Stiles, thanks for saying that. I don't want to pummel you. That was a bad joke. You're a good kid. With all your talents and ability, you could be anything you want to be. That is a great gift. You also have the support of your dad behind you. I just don't want to see you go down the wrong path. I mean, without my stepdad and his belt, which I hated, I probably would have gotten tossed out of school for my disrespect and attitude. Instead, I went to West Point," Mr. Harris replied.
"Wow, West Point? That's amazing. You know, Mr. Harris, thanks for telling me all this. I really had no idea that...," Stiles trailed off.
"That I wasn't a total ass! Oh, I can be, but I do care about you, Stiles. If I didn't, I wouldn't have kept you here for 90 minutes to teach you a lesson. Speaking of, you may go," Mr. Harris said pointing at the clock.
"Thanks, Mr. Harris. And I swear I'll be better in class tomorrow, though after my dad is done with me, I'll probably be squirming a little," Stiles admitted.
"That will be just between us. Okay?" Mr. Harris smiled.
"Yes, sir," Stiles said, collecting his belongings and heading home.
Later that night, Stiles told Scott he was grounded and he would talk to him tomorrow. He was supposed to finish his homework and get ready for bed by the time his dad was home from work.
There was an accident and his dad didn't get home until 6:30 pm. Stiles was finishing up an essay he had been postponing at the kitchen table.
"Hey son, almost done?" Sheriff Stilinski said, putting some take out down on the kitchen table and kissing his son on the top of the head.
"Yeah, Dad. I got most of it down during detention. I guess you know about that," Stiles said sheepishly.
"Mr. Harris called me right after your class. You are lucky he didn't give you a zero on that pop quiz, young man," the sheriff said getting a beer out of the fridge.
"I know. We had a long talk at detention actually. I apologized for being a jerk in class," Stiles admitted.
"You did?" the sheriff said impressed.
"Yes. What are you so surprised, Dad?" Stiles asked.
"I'm sorry, son. I shouldn't be surprised. I just don't know if I would have had the character to do that at your age. You are really growing up," Sheriff Stilinski said almost choking up.
"Too grown up to, you know, get a spanking?" Stiles ventured.
"No, you know the rules around here. Let me go change. Do you want to eat first or...?" the sheriff asked.
"I can't eat first. I'm too nervous," Stiles admitted.
"I know, son. I'll be fast. Just give me a minute," Sheriff Stilinski said giving his son a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Stiles never doubted for a moment how much his father loved him. He knew he frustrated the man at times, but they were all that had since Mom died.
Stiles nodded. He went to the bathroom again, just in case. Then, he piled his books back in his backpack and zipped it up. He threw out some old newspapers. His anxiety was off the charts before a spanking. His dad knew that and always tried to keep his waiting period short.
Before Stiles knew it, the whole downstairs was spotless and his dad was back, now in sweats and a t-shirt, like his son. The senior Stilinski went directly to the refrigerator and got the paddle. It was a wooden paddle that said 'Heat for the Seat' on it in bold red lettering. It was some kind of family heirloom from his mom's side. When he was little, his parents would just threaten him with it, but his dad started swatting him with it when he got in middle school and begun to get an "attitude." He never got very many swats with it, but a few were enough. Just the fact that he had acted up enough that his dad had to spank him used to get him back on track. It had only been the last few years that he needed a little extra incentive to behave and that incentive was the paddle.
"Come on, son. Let's get this over with," the Sheriff said briskly sitting down on a kitchen chair after moving it back from the table. Stiles only got spanked in the kitchen before dinner, if after he got it in his bedroom. He was always afraid Scott would drop by and see him getting walloped from the window or door. He had locked the door and put down the blinds, just in case.
Stiles went over to his dad and his dad took a minute to rub his hands up and down his arms.
"Tell me why I am doing this, Stiles?" the sheriff asked.
"So I learn to behave myself and reach my full potential," Stiles repeated.
"Yes, and because I love you more than anything in the world," the sheriff said with emotion. He hated doing this, but he knew his son needed discipline. Without it, his behavior got out of control and erratic.
"Dad," Stiles said impatiently and a little embarrassed.
Sheriff Stilinski flipped Stiles over his knees so his hands were on the floor. The boy was tall enough now that his feet reached the floor also.
Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!
The sheriff always started off strong and fast when swatting. Stiles' feet began tapping against the floor and he tried to shift his backside out of the way. The sheriff simply pulled him in tighter with his left arm and pushed him down flat across his lap.
"You know if you misbehave at school, you get a good spanking. No more talking back and disrespect! Was it worth it, young man?" the sheriff asked.
"N-no, Dad. It w-wasn't at a-all. Ouch!" Stiles was wiggling as the hard swats struck him randomly all over his behind.
"Didn't I teach you to treat people with respect and obey rules? Not just do what you want? You are better than that." Sheriff Stiles said bringing the flat of his hand down firmly over his son's sweat pants.
"Y-yes, D-Daddy. I'm s-sorry," Stiles yelped at a sharp smack on his sit spot.
"Good, I am, too. It hurts me to have to do this. But you know I will if I have to. Okay, stand up a minute," the sheriff said softly.
"Noooooo! Please, I-I had e-enough. I already got punished at detention," Stiles whined. He wasn't crying openly, but his behind was on fire and he knew what was coming.
His father stood him up and put his hands on his sweats to pull them down. Stiles tried to fight for a second to hold up his pants.
"Do you want extras with the paddle?" the Sheriff threatened until he let go of his waistband. His sweats and boxers were pushed to his knees.
This time his father leaned him over his left leg so he could wrap his right leg around Stile's legs to keep him in place for the paddle. This left Stiles' upper body up so his father asked him to give him his hands behind his back.
Stiles began to cry in anticipation of the upcoming sting of the paddle. It was a light wood, but the blade was long enough to swat both cheeks at once.
The sheriff lined up the paddle with the lower part of Stiles' behind and patted it a few times. Stiles stomped his feet and tried to move, but he was locked into place.
"It's time for the paddle. Son, are you ready?" he asked.
"Yes, s-sir," he wept.
Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!
Stiles bucked and howled through the ten fast swats but his father held him tightly. His backside was a bright red and would be sore for the next day every time he sat down too quickly.
"I'm proud of you. You took your punishment well. All is forgiven. Now the key is to remember this the next time you want to cut up in class. Because the next time, you will get the whole spanking with the paddle on your bare behind. Do you understand?" the sheriff lectured.
'Y-yess, I'll b-behave. It stings so bad, daddy. Can I r-rub?" Stiles wailed. He had no pride left when the paddle came out.
"Okay, son," the sheriff realized his hands and Stiles hopped up and began to massage his swollen globes. The sheriff grabbed some paper napkins and made Stiles blow his nose. He put the paddle back on the fridge and then hugged his son, who was still clutching his backside.
"Don't make me do that again, my little 'Mischief,'" the sheriff said, using his family nickname.
The sheriff put his arms around his son and let him cry into his shoulder for a few minutes.
"I won't, Dad. You wouldn't really paddle me harder than that, right?" Stiles asked gingerly pulling up his pants. His butt felt hot and itchy. He knew he'd be okay in a couple of hours, but he could really feel the ache right now. However, the ache in his heart was gone.
"Be a good boy and you won't have to find out. Now, let's eat. Can you make it to the couch? I'll bring you out a plate," the Sheriff said getting out the food.
"Dad, you are not eating those curly fries! You know what the doctor said," Stiles lectured.
And a few minutes later, the spanking was put behind them. Father and son watched tv and both fell asleep on the couch.