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Todoroki Shoto wasn't sure how he had ended over his teacher's knee. He knew why, of course, he knew better than letting Aizawa-Sensei catch him breaking curfew, but that was precisely the point. He knew better, so he had chosen a night when Eraserhead would be patrolling in the city, and a place where Nedzu's drones were rare.
And still, he had barely finished warming up when the hair on his neck had raised, a sure sign that he was in imminent danger, and he had turned around to find himself facing his teacher.
His very unimpressed, very annoyed homeroom teacher.
Shoto had calmly admitted to his wrongdoing even though his stomach was knotted and his mouth dry. After all, he had mastered the art of hiding his emotions a long time ago. He had explained to a scarier-than-usual-looking Aizawa how he had wanted to make up for all the training he had missed the previous week, when he had been sick and forced to miss classes for two days.
A stupidly hopeful part of his brain had hoped that he would get away with detention, but Aizawa had quickly dashed this hope. It hadn't helped that Aizawa had been very clear on instructing Shoto to take it easy, and technically it wasn't the first time that his teacher had caught him trying to train when he wasn't supposed to. The very last time had been in the middle of his recovery period, when Aizawa had sent him back to his room with a look too stern to be argued with.
So Shoto hadn't been too surprised when Aizawa had calmly informed him that he had earned himself a spanking. He had dutifully followed his teacher to the nearby sports hall and into one of the storage rooms for gym equipment, where his teacher had sat on a pile of gym mats, and he had complied immediately when asked to pull his trousers down and bend over Aizawa's knee.
Shoto forced his body to remain motionless as the first swats fell on his boxer-clad bottom. It was his first time being spanked at UA, but by far not his first spanking. He knew the rules, both those that Aizawa had reminded him a few minutes ago–like how he wasn't allowed to fight back, run away or use his quirk–and the unspoken ones, like how he wasn't allowed to cry.
He was more comfortable than usual, too, as the upper part of his body rested on the top mattress, and he could hide his face in his crossed arms.
So far, Aizawa wasn't hitting half as hard as Shoto's father would have. The sting was slowly building up, and the shame at having been caught misbehaving was definitely here, but Shoto could manage by focusing on his breathing. The last thing he wanted was to displease Aizawa-Sensei even more by displaying signs of weakness.
Aizawa paused, and Shoto braced himself. Was it when his punishment truly started?
"Why are you here, Todoroki?"
Shoto frowned, caught off-guard. He wasn't used to being spoken to during a spanking, much less having to answer back, but he was in no position to argue.
Besides, the words made little sense to him. Was it a trick question? Shoto was here because he had wanted to train even though he knew that Aizawa wouldn't agree. He had already admitted to that.
Aizawa was still waiting, one arm around Shoto's waist to keep him in place and the other threateningly unaccounted for. Shoto had a hunch he shouldn't make his teacher wait for too long.
"I broke my curfew," he said. He took some pride in the fact that he had managed to keep his voice as steady as ever.
Aizawa hummed in acknowledgement and his hand started falling again on Shoto's bottom. The strength behind the swats had definitely increased, and Shoto dug his fingers into the mattress in his effort to avoid squirming.
"Do you realize why it was wrong?"
Shoto briefly bit his lip. He had hoped that they were done with the talking. He didn't want to have to think about another answer; it was preventing him from escaping the situation like he usually did, his mind numb as he watched his father figuratively roasting his ass as if it was happening to somebody else.
"I disrespected the rules, which isn't allowed," he got out. This time, his voice was definitely strained.
Aizawa didn't seem to hold it against him as he asked his next question, his hand still swatting Shoto's bottom in a slow, steady rhythm.
"And why are these rules in place?"
Shoto pressed his head against his arms. His breathing was becoming uneven, and he didn't know what to say. Rules were there because adults had decided so, no matter how unfair they sometimes felt.
"Why do we expect you to be in bed in the middle of the night?" Aizawa clarified.
Shoto did appreciate the elaboration, even though he could have done without the two swats in quick succession that had landed on the exact same spot, on the center of his very warm bottom.
"Because that's where we're supposed to be," he answered. "We're supposed to be–to be sleeping."
"Why is sleep so important?" Aizawa was relentless.
Shoto stifled a whine. Why couldn't his teacher be satisfied with just kicking his butt? He was half-tempted to answer something like "If sleep is so important, why do you never get enough of it?" but contrary to popular belief, not all hero-course students had a death wish.
"Todoroki," Aizawa warned, as if he could pick up on Shoto's train of thought.
Shoto took a sharp breath. He hated feeling this vulnerable. At least none of his classmates were here to witness his fate, as none of them had been stupid enough to leave the dorms tonight. They must be sleeping right now, especially Bakugo who always went to bed early. He said it was necessary to be at his best.
Shoto decided that this had a fair chance to be an answer Aizawa-Sensei would accept.
"Because we need to be in top shape."
"Correct," Aizawa said, to Shoto's relief.
His relief was short-lived, though, as Aizawa emphasized his next words with swats aimed right at the sensitive undercurve of his butt. He barely managed not to kick.
"You need your rest. The hero course is demanding enough as it is."
Shoto shook his head slightly, refusing to accept these words. He could rest after he was caught up. Besides, his father had taught him how to function with insufficient sleep. It was just another kind of training.
"I was s-sick, and I missed class," he said, suddenly feeling the need to defend himself. His bottom ached, and something was even more painfully constricted in his chest.
"One more reason you need to sleep," Aizawa said, somehow sounding sterner than before.
The disapproval and disappointment that radiated from him were almost more than Shoto could take. He had thought that he would be more immune, with all the experience he had thanks to his father, but obviously he had been wrong.
His hands curled into fists and he pressed them against his eyes in a desperate attempt to prevent his tears from falling.
"Your health always comes first," Aizawa went on, his tone a bit softer. "Do you understand?"
There was only one possible answer to this question, no matter how Shoto felt about the matter, and he readily gave it.
"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir," he choked out.
"Good. Then make sure you remember it next time."
Shoto's toes curled in his sneakers as he was repositioned so his feet barely touched the floor. He bit the collar of his T-shirt to avoid whining as Aizawa swatted every inch of his undercurve until both sides felt as hot as the rest of his bottom. By then, his cheeks felt damp, and Shoto knew he had failed at not crying.
He was righted soon after, and Aizawa pulled his trousers back up. Shoto wiped his eyes as best he could, feeling ashamed of himself for weeping like a child when it had been, all things considered, the mildest spanking he had received in years.
He didn't want to think about the reasons why. He felt like if he opened this particular can of worms, he would drown here and there.
Aizawa didn't comment as he stood up. Shoto kept his eyes glued on his sneakers, hoping against hope that the combination of Aizawa's size with Shoto's hair and his bowed head would prevent his teacher from seeing the tear tracks on his face.
"I apologize, sir," he whispered. "May I go back to my room now?"
He desperately wanted to rub his bottom, but it would have to wait until he had been dismissed. He hoped it would happen soon. His father wouldn't have let him get away with the crying, no matter how cooperative Shoto was, but maybe Aizawa would. It was late, after all, and his teacher had been adamant that Shoto needed to sleep. Not that he expected to be able to fall asleep any time soon. He knew from experience that his thoughts would keep him awake long after the throbbing pain in his bottom would have faded.
He heard Aizawa sigh.
"Todoroki, look at me," his teacher instructed.
Shoto blinked several times in an attempt to get rid of the tears before he obeyed.
To his surprise, Aizawa-Sensei didn't look mad. He looked like he always did, exhausted and mildly irritated. And sad, maybe? But why would he be?
"I'm not angry at you," Aizawa said. "And I won't hold tonight's events against you in the future. You've paid for your mistakes."
Shoto's eyes widened slightly. This was so far from anything he had been expecting that he didn't know what to say. He wasn't sure that the lump in his throat would have let him talk anyways.
He stood here, utterly out of his depth, until Aizawa sighed once more and slowly opened his arms. Shoto could only watch as his teacher wrapped them around Shoto's shoulders and pulled him close to his chest.
Shoto's whole body remained rigid as he tried to process the situation. Was Aizawa…hugging him?
He swallowed hard. What was he supposed to do?
Aizawa didn't move or say anything else, and Shoto's breathing gradually slowed down. Aizawa-Sensei's chest was warm, and the fabric of his jumpsuit surprisingly soft. Shoto decided to try his luck and rested his face against it.
He felt one of Aizawa's arms lift, and he tensed again. Had he made a mistake?
Then a hand softly landed on his head, and fingers carefully ran through his hair. Shoto closed his eyes, focusing on the touch.
"I mean it, kid," Aizawa said. His voice was gentler than Shoto had ever heard it. "You're not in trouble anymore. Stop worrying about it."
Shoto scrunched up his face and his fists grabbed Aizawa's jumpsuit of their own volition as he pressed his head tighter against his teacher's chest. He didn't recognize the strangled sound that escaped his lips. But Aizawa didn't move his arms from their hold around Shoto, so his teacher must not mind.
Shoto was past trying to understand anyways.
At some point, he realized that he was sobbing, and that Aizawa was softly talking to him, but he didn't manage to understand the words. He kept clinging on Aizawa's jumpsuit as if he would collapse without the support.
As if it was alright for him to be breaking down in front of an adult.
Later, while he lay on his stomach on the thin mattress he had chosen as a bed–not that he could remember how he had even gotten here–and right before sleep claimed him, Shoto engraved the feeling of Aizawa-Sensei's warm embrace into his memory, to be treasured on harsher days, when he would be sent to his room without more than a few biting words.
To remember that he, too, could feel safe.