Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7690750.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Stiles_Stilinski/Jackson_Whittemore, Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski, Peter
      Hale/Stiles_Stilinski, Endgame_Sterek_-_Relationship
  Character:
      Stiles_Stilinski, Jackson_Whittemore, Lydia_Martin, Derek_Hale, Deucalion
      (Teen_Wolf), Peter_Hale
  Additional Tags:
      Extremely_Underage, Dubious_Consent, Wolf_Stiles, Boypussy, pet
      werewolves, Breeding, Knotting, Alpha_Derek, Alpha_Peter_Hale, Omega
      Stiles_Stilinski, Omega_Lydia, Omega_Scott, Playmating, play_mating,
      Mating_Cycles/In_Heat, Domestic_Discipline, Naughty_Stiles, Coming_of_Age
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-08-06 Updated: 2016-08-14 Chapters: 4/? Words: 10648
****** Aristocrats and Their Pets (temporarily not working on) ******
by Ookamisan
Summary
     Vaguely set in the early 1900's.
     In this AU Omegas are treated as high priced, exotic pets who are
     anything but, while Alphas are considered only useful for breeding
     and war.
     Stiles is an Omega who belongs to the aristocratic Whittemore family.
     Derek is an alpha used for breeding high stock werewolves after being
     injured in war.
     Jackson does what Jackson does best and literally fucks things up.
Notes
     I'm not sure how I feel about this honestly. Im trying to write a
     story around a specific sex scene Ive got in my head. Which is
     probably a call for disaster. Rated as explicit for future chapters.
     Non beta'd
***** Mind Your Manners *****
Stiles had it good in the Whittemore Mansion. As good as an omega wolf could
anyway. He had lived there for eleven years, growing up with the other omega,
Lydia and the Whittemore's only son, Jackson, who technically was Stiles and
Lydia's owner.
He didnt understand most of the intense speech that the humans, the
Whittemore's used to communicate, only a few commands and phrases he learned
through repetition of trial and error.
Stiles and Lydia spent their lives playing and being played with. Their lives
essentially were boiled down to simply being pets. Specifically Jackson
Whittemore's pets when he wasn't attending boarding school.
Both he and Lydia wore simple lightweight white shirts and pants that fit
loosely for easy activity and staying cool. If and when they left the house,
generally for large parties, or respectable visits with other arisocrats who
also have omega wolves. And like every omega he had ever come across, he and
Lydia wore delicate lace collars complete with an equally delicate bell.
The Whittemore Mansion was located far in the rural countryside surrounded by
forest and open hills. It was a perfect place for Stiles to explore and play
with Lydia and Jackson.
Stiles's life, albeit remaining pampered, took a turn when Jackson Whittemore
came home for the summer. He had been out playing with Lydia and Jackson, as
they always started the summer with Jackson arriving home. They had traveled
far down the hill into the forest where the maids of Whittemore Mansion could
neither see or hear them, as they had done many times.
Jackson had said, "Hide and seek?" Which Stiles and Lydia both knew very well
and eagerly took off in different directions to go and hide while Jackson
counted.
Stiles found a hollowed out log to crouch in and wait. He listened to the
noises of the forest as he sat, and hummed a small tune to himself as the
minutes passed. He closed his eyes and bathed in the warm sunlight peeking
through the canopy. He drifted far into his own world and missed Jackson
sneaking up on him until Jackson grabbed Stiles's shoulders in a quick shake to
startle him.
Stiles yelped, wolfing out and launched up away before turning to see Jackson
laughing uproariously.
Stiles clutched his fist to his pounding heart and smiled in relief. He didnt
quite understand what Jackson was saying but he got the jist that it was his
reaction to being spooked that was so funny.
As his heart returned to its normal pace, Jackson made his way to Stiles, still
laughing slightly. He stopped in front of Stiles and his smile slowly faded as
he stared into Stiles's face.
"I've missed you." Stiles couldn't understand, but knew Jackson meant it
affectionately when he reached up to gently rub his pointed ear between his
thumb and forefinger.
Jackson had been doing that a lot, staring at Stiles's face. Or at least, he
started doing it the previous summer. Jackson was sixteen now and acting odd
and Stiles didn't understand it but he didn't feel threatened, so he let him
stare and pet his ears. Even started offering his head when Jackson seemed
irritated, knowing it made Jackson breath a little easier.
What was new this time, was Jackson taking Stiles's face in his hands and
leaning down to plant a passionate, open-mouthed kiss on Stiles's smaller lips.
Stiles did not kiss back, just stared wide-eyed at this very new and confusing
attention. What did licking Stiles's mouth mean?
He remembered seeing Jackson's parents do this when Mr. Whittemore was
particularly please with Mrs. Whittemore. She seemed to glow whenever he did
it. Did that mean Jackson was really happy with him?
Stiles waited for the kiss to end, staring at Jackson unblinkingly as Jackson
slowly pulled away and opened his eyes.
"I love you, Stiles."
Stiles still didn't understand. He cocked his head to the side in question.
"H-Happy?" Stiles asked, not as a question of emotion but as a translation. He
didn't know much english. He and Lydia had their own language that they knew
before being adopted, but they were generally banned from speaking it in the
house.
Jackson smiled big and nodded, touching forehead to forehead and cupping
Stiles's face. "Yes. Yes, I'm very happy."
Stiles understood "yes", he knew that for sure. He beemed under Jackson's
affection and nuzzled back into his face. Clearly he had been very good at
remembering how to play Hide and Seek.
Suddenly there was a loud cry in the distance and he turned to look in the
direction. Lydia!
"Oops, better go find her." Jackson took Stiles's hand and ran in the general
direction of the cry.
They found Lydia standing in a small clearing, tears running down her face
looking furious and scared. She ran to Stiles and hit him hard in the chest,
then burst into fresh tears.
Jackson pulled her into his chest and petted her firey curls. "I'm sorry Lydia,
you're okay now." He started walking up the hill back towards the house, Stiles
and Lydia trailing behind.
Stiles knew that the adults were probably worried when they hadn't come back
this late. Jackson would get a scolding and Stiles and Lydia would probably get
a swat to their bums.
Later that night, when everyone was settled in for the night, Lydia spoke to
Stiles quietly. They were wrapped around each other in nightgowns on their bed,
which was layed on the floor like a large dog bed made from a human mattress at
the end of Jackson's bed.
"What took you guys so long today?"
"Oh, um, Jackson was teaching me something. I think it was a new praise. It
seemed very important to him. A bit odd, though."
"What do you mean?"
"Well... mm. How do I describe it? I guess it's like what Mr. Whittemore does
to Mrs. Whittemore every morning."
"You mean like, rubbing mouths?" Lydia quirked an eyebrow, clearly thinking it
was weird.
"Yeah." Stiles scrunched his nose a bit, wiping his mouth at the memory.
"Well I hope he doesn't do that to me. I hate getting my face wet." Lydia stick
her tongue out making an "ick" face.
Initially, things went smoothly for the first few days Jackson was back home.
However Stiles became confused trying to figure out when Jackson would praise
him the way he did. As soon as he had learned that he got treats for doing
something well when he was a pup, Stiles tested the waters to figure out just
how to get said treats. He wanted to know the system, as always.
Stiles hid in places for long periods of time, waiting for Jackson to come find
him. That backfired when Lydia would sit and stare at whatever hiding place he
had managed to find, waiting for him to come out.
"Why do you even want to get your mouth rubbed all over so bad?" Lydia said,
unamusedly to the cabinet door Stiles was currently hiding in.
"I just want to know when and how to get that praise, Lydia! I get treats when
I wipe my feet before coming inside. I get scratches when I come when I'm told,
and sometimes I even get meat strips after being good in a bath! What does it
take for some mouth rubs?" Lydia sighed, rolling her eyes exasperatedly.
So she always blew his cover and Jackson wouldn't praise him, if it was Jackson
who found him at all. Sometimes it was the maid who would yell and chase them
with her feather duster for getting dirt on the fine china.
Stiles tried executing actual tricks like somersaults and cartwheels. He got a
scratch behind the ears and a "so cute" for that but nothing else.
Stiles tried laying on Jackson's feet while he read books in the lounge. He got
belly rubs and back massages which, oh heavenly, yet not what he was looking
for.
One night, a couple of weeks into the summer, Stiles thought of something. He
climbed up onto Jackson's bed, Lydia hissing, "Stiles! Where are you going? We
aren't allowed on the furniture!"
He sat by the pillows, staring down at Jackson as he read his book. Jackson
silently reached a hand out to stroke Stiles's ear while he kept reading.
Stiles leaned into the rubs, humming pleasantly.
Jackson's hand left too soon, and did nothing but turn a page in his book.
Stiles huffed.
Jackson returned his hand to scratch the back of Stiles's head which, ohhh yes
that's the spot, then shook his head away.
Jackson finally turned to look at him. "What's wrong?"
Stiles stared.
Jackson waited.
And Stiles stared.
"Stiles?"
Stiles scooted a little closer, leaning in. Was this it? Was this right?
Jackson cupped Stiles's neck and pulled him in close once again planting an
open mouthed kiss on Stiles's lips.
Stiles still did not kiss back, or at least not like how someone normally
would. He smiled and pushed his face back into Jackson's mouth, as if Jackson
was the enamoured dog licking his owner's face exuberantly.
Jackson pulled away and rested his face in Stiles's neck, suddenly seeming very
tired and breathing deeply.
"Go to bed." Jackson whispered, gesturing back to Lydia who seemed very
unimpressed.
Stiles knew that command, so he hopped down and went back to Lydia, beeming at
finding the answer, albeit strange.
"I did it! I got mouth rubs!"
"More like, eaten alive, Stiles. Gross. Remind me to drool on his pillow or
something."
Stiles dropped down into bed, pleased with himself.
The trouble started when he began searching for that reward from other members
of the house. His target being Mr. Whittemore who sat in the lounge parousing
his newspaper.
Stiles got on the couch, which he wasn't allowed to do. Instead of getting down
when told, he leaned into Mr. Whittemore's personal space, staring.
Mr. Whittemore threw down his newspaper and stood up abruptly, hauling Stiles
off the couch by the shirt.
Stiles stared up in shock at Mr. Whittemore's reaction, then scurried away as
Mr. Whittemore griped about animals and respect.
Stiles deemed mouth rubs to be Jackson's praise only.
Stiles soon learned that apparently Jackson's best praises were saved only for
him, and he deserved them at any time, any where. In fact most of his praise
was given when he was doing absolutely nothing! He had never felt so good for
existing! He was getting more treats too. Sometimes all he'd have to do was
follow Jackson into the kitchen, and he'd get one!
He kind of missed going outside as much as they normally did but Jackson made
up for it by tickling him and rough-housing, then more mouth rubbing. He even
laughed when he knocked over Mrs. Whittemore's favorite vase in a fit of
energy.
Lydia became more distant as Stiles's behaviour soured and his manners
forgotten with Jackson's blatant and careless favoritism.
Stiles was becoming aggressive as Jackson neglected his responsibilities. He
growled when Lydia would seek attention from Jackson, he would pull her hair
and her tail when they played outside, and stole her food if she wasn't fast
enough.
One night, Lydia woke from her sleep when she shivered from a chill that only
came with sleeping alone. She rolled to try and reach Stiles and ended up
finding, not Stiles, but an empty bed and a cold, large wet spot.
Lydia recoiled in disgust, leaping from the bed. Standing now, she could see
that Stiles was tucked under Jackson's arm under his comforter.
That's it! Lydia cursed to herself, stalked up to the bed, reached under the
covers and yanked Stiles's tail hard.
Stiles yowled and shot up, startling Jackson so much he was on his feet in his
bed before he even knew what was happening.
Stiles's face shifted and lunged at Lydia, clawing, roaring and snarling in a
tumble.
"Hey! Stop! Stop stop STOP!" Jackson yelled, not knowing what to do as the pair
attacked each other.
Footsteps stampeded to Jackson's room. Mr and Mrs. Whittemore burst through,
demanding what was wrong. They immediately saw the pair on the floor, claws,
fangs and eyes glowing.
"Oh my God!" Mrs. Whittemore screamed.
Mr. Whittemore strode to Stiles and Lydia in two large, angry strides, bent
down and ripped them apart by the cuffs, bellowing.
Immediately they stopped. Staring daggers at each other and panting. Their
nightgowns were shreds, they both had multiple gashes along their faces and
limbs. Lydia's hair was frizzy in places where Stiles had pulled and snapped
it. Both of them were shifted, faces gnarled, claws and fangs extended, eyes
glowing yellow.
"What the hell is going on here?" Mr. Whittemore demanded, looking to Jackson,
who shrugged, in shock.
Lydia, who knew quite a bit more english than Stiles, pointed angrily at the
soiled bed.
Mr. Whittemore looked at it and dragged both of them to it, snapping, "Who did
this?"
Stiles knew what those words meant. He heard them a lot when he was a pup.
Immediately he refused to look at it, turning away and pinning his ears. If he
couldn't see it, it wasn't there.
Lydia crossed her arms, glaring unblinkingly at Stiles.
Mrs. Whittemore sighed, turning to Jackson. "Why didn't you let him out?"
"He didn't wake me up." Jackson sat back down on his bed, looking irritated now
that there was no danger and it was four in the morning.
Mr. Whittemore let go of Lydia and Stiles. "Wash the sheets and use the
shampooing machine on the mattress before you go back to bed. We will talk in
the morning."
Stiles tried to understand what Mr. and Mrs. Whittemore were talking to Jackson
about him the next morning. Clearly Jackson was embarrassed and wouldn't look
them in the eye. But he couldn't understand and Lydia was nowhere to be seen.
"Jackson you have been neglecting your responsibilities. Omega wolves are not
just pets. We might as well have three children and two dogs we are caring for,
not one child and two dogs. They require all the same care you do, and more.
They are too expensive to not take care of properly. I don't know what's going
on with Stiles but he has been very difficult to handle lately. And with his
preheats coming up at any time, we can not afford him to be disobedient.
Teenagers are awful, but a disobedient, teenage omega will be Hell. And we are
planning to hold multiple parties this summer. Do you want our family to be
known as the family that can't keep their omegas in check?"
"No..." Jackson mumbled, idly scraping at nothing on the dining room table.
"Well, then I hope you will set him right."
When Jackson didn't reward Stiles with mouth rubs after multiple stare downs
and invading his space, Stiles became sullen. When Jackson forgot to give him a
treat after entering the kitchen, he became snappy. When Jackson spanked him
for biting Lydia, Stiles yowled and cried and did not stop his howling sobs for
an hour afterward.
When Jackson refused Stiles to sleep in Jackson's bed with him, Stiles pissed
on the carpet in Mr. Whittemore's study.
By the end of that week, a man by the name of Mr. Deucalion was at the front
door.
***** Super Nanny *****
Chapter Summary
     Deucalion comes to the Whittemore Mansion to observe Stiles and
     assist Jackson with handling him.
     Jackson takes another step too far with his infatuation and Stiles
     suffers.
Chapter Notes
     yikes yikes yikes
     is this even respectable idk
     also the "training" im depicting is likely very bogus so dont ask me
     if this is how youd normally work with misbehaving canids
     non beta'd
Deucalion stood in the foyer of the Whittemore Mansion with a large cane in
hand, discussing intently with Mr and Mrs. Whittemore.
Each time their eyes darted in Stiles's direction, he quickly looked away. It
was obvious that their conversation was about him, and he didn't like the way
Deucalion's gaze would lock onto him over Mrs. Whittemore's shoulder, assessing
him from across the room.
Jackson was leaning against the wall nearby, not looking at anyone and was
probably only their because his parents insisted.
When Deucalion turned to speak to Jackson, he only answered Deucalion with
"yes, sir" and "no, sir". When Jackson was dismissed, he walked quickly back to
his room, and shut the door.
Turns out, Deucalion was some kind of werewolf behavioural expert and he was
staying in the house for a while to observe Stiles and step in when he felt it
needed. He watched how Jackson handled Stiles and Lydia outside, coming back
inside, during dinner and getting ready for bed.
He watched how Stiles picked on Lydia outside despite Jackson chasing him away.
He watched how Stiles took the treat coming back inside violently from
Jackson's fingers. He watched how Stiles wolfed down his dinner and then stole
Lydia's, who had given up on trying to stop him and just watched irritatedly as
he lifted her bowl to his lips and greedily gulped down her soup. He watched
the struggle Jackson had with Stiles during bed time when Stiles tried to get
into Jackson's bed numerous times.
Deucalion sat with Mr. and Mrs. Whittemore when they were finally settled. "It
seems to me that it's a simple case of Jackson, with all intentions good, has
been allowing Stiles to get away with too much. But that was obvious to you.
You say Stiles is turning twelve soon?"
"Yes in a few weeks actually."
"Right. Well I think he is simply suffering from puberty, essentially, and not
getting enough exercise. Jackson needs to spend more time with him outside, get
him too tired to misbehave. Reset the rules and boundaries. Praise Lydia when
she doesn't misbehave. Make it clear what does and does not get rewarded. Of
course I will stay and help. Stiles will undoubtedly rebel, again."
Mrs. Whittemore sighed wearily. "Thank you for your help, Deucalion."
---
The next day
Stiles was happy. Super happy. He was back out in the woods, playing Hide and
Seek. Or rather, Lydia was hiding, while Jackson had Stiles pushed up against a
tree, teaching Stiles more praises by mouthing along his delicate neck. Stiles
liked this one. He hoped Jackson would do this one a lot. Kissing his neck felt
good. He wiggled a little though when he felt Jackson's teeth and he felt a
heavy pulse between his legs. He didn't know what that was about but he didn't
want to wait too long if it meant he had to pee. Jackson looked flushed and was
panting.
"Sick?" Stiles asked.
Jackson chuckled and kissed Stiles. "I'm happy."
Stiles beemed and threw his arms around his neck. "Happy!"
Eventually they did have to find Lydia, who really didnt try all that hard,
sitting on a fallen branch, twisting blades of grass between her fingers.
When Jackson slid open the patio door, Stiles barreled back into the house in a
fit of energy.
"You weren't gone for very long. Stiles still looks too rowdy." Deucalion
stated from the dining room table where he was scanning a notebook.
Jackson, hair matted to his forehead with sweat and red in the face and
panting, stared unamusedly at Deucalion. "You've never tried to tire Stiles
out. An impossible task in my opinion."
Stiles ran back to Jackson's feet where he jittered and danced, waiting for his
treat, Lydia still wiping her feet outside, looking even more tired than
Jackson.
Jackson opened the cabinet and opened a jar filled with small cubes of dried
and seasoned beef. Before he could even offer it, Stiles grabbed Jackson's hand
and tore the beef from his hand, popping it in his mouth.
He'd made two running strides away when Deucalion's large hand caught the
scruff of his shirt and halted him. "Let's try this again."
He returned Stiles to his place at the door, next to Lydia who had stepped
inside. Deucalion grabbed two beef cubes from the jar.
Immediately Stiles fingers were digging into his massive hand. Deucalion
clenched his fingers tight around the treats and firmly said, "No."
Stiles tried with both hands to pry Deucalion's fingers apart, with no avail.
Deucalion pulled his hand away and once again, said, "No."
Stiles pouted and dropped his hands to his side. Immediately Deucalion offered
one of the beef cubes and said, "Good."
Stiles smiled as he chewed the beef cube. "Good" was one of his top favorite
words.
Lydia placed her palm up to gently accept the beef cube Deucalion offered,
which got her pets on the top of her head, as well.
Stiles noticed the difference but didn't say anything.
---
During dinner, Stiles and Lydia were separated from sitting next to each other
like they normally did. Lydia seemed relieved to being allowed to eat her food
in peace while Stiles seemed to be lost at having nothing but his own food to
pay attention to. He didn't dare try to take anyone else's food.
Bed time was the worst. Deucalion snapped his fingers harshly and told Stiles
to get down from Jackson's bed, pointing at where Lydia was laying on with an
arm thrown over her eyes in exhaustion.
When Stiles kept climbing back into Jackson's bed through out the night,
Jackson was left with no other choice but to wake Deucalion and ask for his
help.
When Stiles burrowed deeper into the sheets, Deucalion grabbed his ankle,
hauling him to the end of the bed and up into his arms. Stiles wailed and yiped
as Deucalion took him to his guest bed room at the other end of the house where
he could yowl and cry and certainly disturb Deucalion's own sleep, but no one
else. He also made Stiles sleep on a folded comforter.
Stiles didn't like Deucalion.
---
It took several weeks of rigorous repetition and training to tame Stiles back
down. He no longer pulled his rebellious stunts, and his friendship with Lydia
was mostly patched save for her suspicious gazes towards Jackson.
In those weeks, Jackson had managed to elude Deucalion to his and Stiles's
relationship, if that's what you could call it. Stiles had figured out that
Jackson's best praises were actually games, and they were especially for him
when they went out into the forest.
Every day Jackson showed Stiles new games. It mostly consisted of Jackson
tickling, licking and biting him wherever he see fit, and Stiles wasn't allowed
to make noise. If Stiles succeeded, he got the best ear rubs and scratches of
his life.
Currently Jackson has Stiles pushed down on the forest floor, shirt rucked up
while Jackson traced lines with his tongue across Stiles's chest. Stiles was
struggling to keep his laughter minimal under the tickling that left cold
trails on his skin. When Jackson took a nipple into his hot mouth, Stiles
yelped. Jackson shushed him, laughing sliently, and Stiles covered his mouth as
Jackson dove back down to devour Stiles.
Stiles wiggled and squirmed as his nipple seemed to light up, tingling
visciously and pleasure licked Stiles's spine. He felt the same strong pulse
between his legs that made him worry he might wet himself. He gasped and
tensed, his hands shooting to hold his crotch.
Jackson moaned at the sight, which only made the feeling worse, causing Stiles
to whimper.
"G-Go." Stiles stammered. "Go" was what he knew to mean use the restroom.
"Go?" Jackson repeated, confused for a moment before he understood, then his
pupils dilated and his face grew dark. He reached his hand down the front of
Stiles's pants, and slipped a finger between Stiles's desperately clutching
hands. He was surprised however that he didn't find any kind of moisture down
there. Dissatisfied, he pushed Stiles's hands out of the way, massaging
Stiles's hole and labia.
Stiles jumped and stared at Jackson reproachfully. He wasn't a pup needing to
be cleaned! "No pup!" Stiles snapped, batting at Jackson's fingers.
Jackson pressed his chest into Stiles, pinning him with his weight and latched
onto Stiles's other nipple, sucking hard. When Stiles wailed, Jackson spanked
his clothed thigh and shushing him again.
Stiles once again covered his mouth with his hands as he was wracked with new
sensations that scared him. His nipple was going to fall off and he was going
to wet himself and Jackson was bullying him to do it. This was worse than when
he was a pup and Jackson would tickle him endlessly until he wet himself. No
one ever stopped Jackson until he made Stiles wet himself on the living room
carpet.
Jackson felt the burning, watery liquid drip onto his fingers, Stiles clenching
tight. He growled and arched his hips into the grass beneath him. Jackson
placed the heel of his hand against Stiles's pussy and pushed against it,
shaking his hand and up down. Nerves fired deep within Stiles that felt like
Jackson was touching him in impossible places.
He had to bite into the back of his hand to stifle his breathing as his pussy
beat rythmically against Jackson's palm, dripping his natural juices.
Jackson groaned hungrily and pulled his hand up to stare at the visquous
lubricant.
"S-sick?" Stiles asked, worried and panting.
Jackson leaned back down to kiss Stiles on the lips. "Hungry."
Stiles squinted. "No."
Jackson actually burst into laughter.
---
Later that night, when everyone was asleep, Stiles got up to go to the
restroom. He felt the same thick liquid from earlier coating his crotch and
smearing along his thighs. Concerned, he sat on the toilet surveying himself.
This was weird. Was it something Jackson did? He rolled up a handful of toilet
paper and gingerly wiped away the mess. When he accidentally brushed the tiny
nub at the top, his whole body spasmed and the small pain only seemed to burn
more as if Stiles had awakened it.
Stiles breathed out shakily, clutching the wall next to him and trying to calm
down. After a few minutes, he flushed the toilet, washed his hands and gingerly
walked back towards Jackson's room.
Each step only seemed to make things worse. His clit was on fire and almost
seemed... heavy. His pussy was leaking again and fear made him shiver and shake
as he stood still in the hallway, waiting for the tremors to pass. The hallway
felt cold. Or, maybe he was hot. Stiles wasnt sure as he suffered through hot
and cold flashes. His skin breaking in a cold, shivery sweat. He began to cry
as he felt like he was going to vomit and everything in his lower abdomen
wouldn't stop clenching. He dropped to his knees and curled into himself,
sobbing loudly.
He heard the guest bedroom door open and Deucalion's running steps reach him.
Deucalion's voice sounded far away and his hands were cold compared to their
usual burning as he placed a hand on his back.
"Stiles! Stiles! Bloody hell. Mr. Whittemore! Mrs. Whittemore!"
Stiles began to hyperventilate and gripped Deucalion's nightshirt in a
desperate attempt to stay grounded with reality.
Mrs. Whittemore got there first with Mr. Whittemore hot on her heels. "What is-
oh my! Call Deaton!" she said to Mr. Whittemore as Jackson and Lydia came
rushing up.
"Back up! Give him space!" Deucalion snapped.
"What's happening?" Jackson's voice sounded abnormally small. His fists
clenching his nightshirt like he would when he was five and had a nightmare.
"He's going into heat." was the last Stiles heard before he fell unconscious.
***** You Can't Fix Stupid *****
Chapter Summary
     The Whittemore's throw Stiles a kind-of-birthday party which is
     secretly Deucalion's arrangement to introduce his alpha's to the
     omegas.
     Peter is a true daddy.
     Derek is awkward.
     Jackson is a fuck up.
Chapter Notes
     i think my writing is getting a liiiittle bit better???? Also finally
     brought Derek in.
     and this is a tête-à-tête--> http://img-aws.ehowcdn.com/default/cme/
     cme_public_images/www_ehow_com/i.ehow.com/images/a04/oq/0h/types-
     antique-sofas-5.1-800x800.jpg
Stiles was treated by Dr. Deaton, who managed to repress Stiles's heat with a
lot of herbs, and a diluted shot of Wolfsbane extract. Now, Stiles had to take
a large dose of a vile mixture of the diluted wolfsbane and an even more
diluted extract of mistletoe that burned his throat and made him stomach sour
when he woke up and before he went to bed. Dr. Deaton wasn't sure how long the
mixture would repress Stiles's heat. He was too young to be going into a full
heat, and he pulled Deucalion to the side as he was leaving the mansion.
"Stiles shouldn't even be having preheats for a couple more weeks. The fact
that he suddenly fell into a full blown heat makes me worried that someone in
this household has triggered it." Dr. Deaton spoke softly, and seriously.
Deucalion swiped a hand through his hair. "I've been suspicious of their son,
Jackson. I couldn't get proof, and Stiles has been recovering very well from
his episodes. But obviously I don't have the access to what happens behind
closed doors."
The following week, the Whittemore's held what they called a small get-together
for Stiles's birthday and to celebrate coming of age. Inviting the Argent
family, the Daehler family and the Lahey family. All of each included an only
child and one or more omega with them.
The Argent's brought their daughter, Allison, who was never more polite than
what was expected of her towards Jackson. Their omega, Scott, was always keen
to play with Stiles. Stiles could never deny him with his large brown eyes and
fluffy curls.
The Daehler family brought their only son, Matt, who presented too friendly and
simulteaneously wore a permanently predatory look on his face. Their omega,
Danny, was quiet and friendly. He tended to hunch a bit as he was abnormally
tall for an omega. Lydia tended to enjoy his company the most.
The Lahey family, or rather, Mr. Lahey, brought his only son, Isaac, who tended
to keep to himself. He talked willingly to Allison if she confronted him but he
was short and dismissive with Matt and Jackson. They brought two omegas with
them. Erica, and Boyd, who was broad for an omega and tended, like Danny, to
try and make himself softer, quieter. Erica always set her sites on Stiles, to
Scott's chagrine.
Honestly, Jackson didn't give a shit as these were people he was expected to
socialize and interact with out of association. The real reason to get together
was to watch the omegas happily play together on the lawn. They were proud of
their omegas and the status that owning one gave them. This was how they
flaunted it.
All of the omegas were clothed in immaculate, white frilly dresses complete
with the laced bell, save for Boyd and Danny who were just too large for the
outfits. They wore loose shirts and shirts, still complete with bells.
Currently all of the omegas were whooping, yiping and howling in joy as a
group. Rough housing and chasing each other. All their bells ringing joyously
like a pack of housecats. Stiles was doing spins and cartwheels and flips in
his dress ecstatically, not caring if he got grass stains in it.
The families reclined and walked about the garden chatting idly and sipping
champagne surrounded by full plates of fruits, macaroons and cakes. Watching
their omegas as if their joy was the reason they live.
Jackson, however, watched unamusedly, as did Allison, Matt and Isaac.
"So I heard your little omega had a sudden, unexplainable heat, Whittemore.
What's that about?" Matt sneered, bending down over Jackson's shoulder to
whisper in his ear.
"My little omega? Daehler, please." Jackson scoffed, but not making a show of
denying. The words had a ring to them.
"I mean, it's totally taboo." Matt said, taking seat on the opposite side of
the tête-à-tête so he could stare into Jackson's face. "Fucking your werewolf."
"They aren't werewolves, Daehler."
"Oh, right, that's degrading, I suppose." he glances sarcastically over his
shoulder.
Jackson glared at his surroundings, ignoring Matt. He watched Stiles executing
all his cartwheels, flips and spins and general exuberance with anxiety, biting
his thumb.
"I mean, I can't blame you, Whittemore. A hot little piece like that? They
practically are human anyway and I bet he'd actually milk you when he's really
in heat. Or maybe you prefer him now, before his heat. You like it to be so
tight you have to force it dry."
Jackson began to break out in a cold sweat, staring at Stiles determinedly.
"You sound like you know what that's like, Daehler. Should I be concerned?"
He noticed Stiles suddenly freeze after doing what seemed like his millionth
cartwheel, and gingerly sitting on the ground, dress poofing up around him. He
turned and locked his gaze with Jackson, suspiciously rolling his buttocks into
the grass for a moment, letting out a big sigh.
Matt smirked, eyebrow raised at the site. "Should you?"
There was a small bell being rung and Jackson turned towards the garden
entrance to see his mother smiling warmly. The rest of the guests turned to
look towards her, and the omegas came to the edge of the grass.
"Everyone, we have surprise guests! Please welcome, Mr. Deucalion and...err"
she gestured at the two males standing next to him. A man who appeared to be in
his mid-thirties, and a teenager only a few years older than Stiles. They both
wore horribly plain off-white shirts and dark grey trousers held up by
suspenders. Derek's shirt was a little big for him, threatening to slide down
his shoulders. Neither of them
Suddenly Mrs. Whittemore noticed their wolf ears.
"Oh! Did you bring more omega wolves?" she asked delightedly.
Deucalion chuckled and waved a hand. "Please call me just Deucalion. And, no,
no these are alphas, actually. This is Peter," he gestured to the older wolf.
"And Derek." he gestured to the young boy.
The crowd collectively gasped, some getting to their feet.
"A-Alphas?" Mrs. Argent stammered. "They are horribly aggressive aren't they?
Are our omegas safe?" she hurried towards Scott to grab his arm, teetering in
her heels.
Deucalion put his hands up. "I would never put the omegas at risk. The idea
that Alphas are aggressive by default is a myth and a stereotype. Our
government just wants them for war all too often because, yes, they are
stronger and faster, and more aggressive when they need to be. But Alphas are
mainly about pack and who they call family. I promise that you and your omegas
are safe."
The adults eyed Peter and Derek, seeming no less convinced. Jackson, Matt,
Isaac and Allison stared in awe and disbelief. The only time either of them had
seen an alpha was in the black and white stills Deucalion showed them. They
didn't even have bells or collars of any kind.
The group of omegas, first seemed only curious as to who the newcomers were.
But having caught the unknown scent of these alphas, they all stood stock
still, staring. Suddenly, Stiles broke the silent stillness by bounding up the
steps and across the patio to throw his arms around a very unprepared Derek.
Derek's eyes bursting red and claws coming out in defense.
His eyes darted to Deucalion towering next to him, who locked eyes with him and
softly said, "Breathe," motioning with his hands slowly exhaling. Derek kept
his eyes focused on Deucalion, mouth tense as he exhaled shakily through his
nose, his eyes slowly fading back to soft green.
Stiles seemed to be the only one completely unaware of what happened as he
stepped back, beeming up at Derek. Then, taking Derek's hand in his own he tore
back towards the lawn. Derek was actually lifted off his feet for a second as
he was hauled before clumsily catching his bearings.
Peter huffed, amused and leisurely followed, gently meeting the omegas that
barely came up to his ribs, save for Danny. The omegas fluttered excitedly
around his waist, gazing in awe and excitement. Peter delicately touched all of
them on the tops of the head and chin, making full eye contact with each of
them in turn while they all grabbed any bits of his clothing that they could
reach.
The adults stood frozen. Mr. Lahey dropped his plate of cake.
...
"Family, Deucalion? Really?" Mr. Whittemore said, pouring Deucalion a glass of
shampagne in the dark foyer, away from the gathering. "Why did you really bring
them here?"
"I meant every word I said." Deucalion laughed. "But, yes, there are other
reasons. Most of those omegas are of age, or reaching of age. The demand for
more wolves is high, for war and for companionship. We need to expose the
omegas to the alphas so they can prepare for the time when they breed."
"Why did you bring Derek, if I may ask? He doesnt look much older than Stiles.
Surely he isn't breeding yet?" Mr. Whittemore said as they watched him play
chicken with Stiles.
Derek actually looked unamused at Stiles exuberance and darted a few steps away
each time Stiles acted like he would pounce. It was as if Stiles was a
completely alien animal to Derek. Maybe he was.
Peter however was surrounded by the other omegas. He was laughing loudly and
joyfully. He had Lydia in a firemans carry as the omegas raced around him and
each other. When Scott jumped onto his shoulders he managed to carefully fall
onto his own buttocks to protect them, still laughing.
Deucalion shook his head, sipping the champagne. "Peter is the seasoned
breeder. Derek will be one soon. Likely a little sooner than I hoped. The Hale
line is in high demand right now. As is the McCall line. Derek is basically
shadowing Peter. See how he interacts with the omegas."
Stiles managed to pounce Derek when he bolted towards Peter with an expression
of "save me!".
 
They rolled and landed with Stiles straddling Derek's back, laughing like he'd
never laughed before. Derek face down in the grass, legs akimbo, groaning in
pain.
Then Peter was standing over them and Stiles looked up at him gleefully and
smiled his signature Stiles smile, wide and showing all his teeth, looking
absolutely proud of himself.
Peter gently pulled him up into a standing position, and then pulled Derek up,
who spat out a mouthful of the lawn and glared at Stiles, ears pinning.
Stiles only responded by throwing his arms around Derek again, planting kisses
all over his face. Derek tried leaning as far away as possible, face scrunched
up tight.
Peter took pity on Derek and softly but firmly growled, gently prying Stiles's
arms from Derek.
Stiles had never heard an alpha's command before and he looked up nervously.
Peter quickly quelled his anxiety by grabbing him by the waist and hauling him
up into his arms like he was five and nuzzled into his neck, tickling Stiles
with his stubble as well as exposing him to his alpha scent.
Stiles hid his face laughing, and burrowing into Peter's neck, blushing.
Jackson watched with ever disdain on his face. Jealousy burning and roiling his
insides at the sight, chewing his thumbnail raw.
Matt laughed cruelly. "Oh, wow, Whittemore. You are one sick bastard. You
totally are screwing your little omega."
"I never said that." He said, and then he got really worried as suddenly
Stiles's face went rigid and looked up at Peter with fear and what seemed like
humiliation, twisting his bare toes together.
Jackson was over in a flash, taking Stiles out of Peter's arms and dashing
inside the mansion, Stiles making small, whimpery protests along the way.
"You really didn't need to." Matt said as they passed.
None of the adults seemed to be aware that Jackson had interrupted an alpha,
taken an omega from his very arms and made it into the mansion intact.
Jackson nearly flew up the spiral staircase to the grand bathroom upstairs. He
slammed the double doors shut. Stiles stood, face burning and standing slightly
pidgeon toed.
Jackson violently spun him by the neck, pushing him to brace against the sink.
"Game." he said, hoarsely. He grabbed Stiles's dress in fistfuls, pushing it up
over his hips and out of the way to look at Stiles's bare bum. He groaned at
the sight of the glass plug protruding from Stiles's ass cheeks. It was bulbed
and each bulb was bigger than the next. The largest one, which was almost the
size of a tennis ball had apparently popped out. Jackson was suspicious that
that's what Stiles face was about when he had not-so-discreetly rolled his butt
into the grass, to pop it back in.
"You were terrifying me out there. I kept waiting for this to fall out. With
you flying and flipping everywhere I'm surprised you didn't send it sailing."
Jackson wrapped an arm around Stiles's waist, pressing his other palm against
the base of the plug, attempting to push it slowly back in.
Stiles couldn't understand what Jackson was saying but his eyes rolled with the
pressure in his ass, legs starting to quiver. "H-happy?"
"Game." Jackson growled.
Stiles knew game to mean "quiet". That was the game. To stay quiet.
Jackson kicked Stiles's legs apart and pushed his chest flat to the sink. He
felt down between Stiles's legs and was disappointed to feel that he wasn't wet
beyond what was normal. He spat desperately on his fingers and stuffed two into
Stiles's cunt, working him.
Stiles yelped and Jackson turned on the sink to try and drown out the noise. He
pumped and pressed his fingers a few times before stuffing a third finger in
and attacking Stiles's g-spot.
Stiles didn't initially feel pleasure, just shock because the plug still in his
ass was making him tighter. Jackson's ministrations caused intense pressure
that involuntarily coaxed wetness to build, bubble and spurt.
Stiles was worried that he had peed but it didn't feel like peeing really.
Jackson seemed to like it either way as he watched, growling like a wolf before
unbuttoning his trousers and shoving them down enough to pull out his angry
cock. He was panting into Stiles's neck as he guided himself to Stiles's cunt,
and pressed in deep.
Stiles clamped his hands over his mouth to silence the scream at how full he
felt, tears immediately spilling as Jackson began pounding him into the sink
like this was his dying wish.
...
Derek was unamused by the fluttering omegas. They mostly seeked attention from
Peter since he was the full fledged, seasoned alpha that poured daddy
pheremones in both the literal and figurative term. Derek didn't mind being
ignored at all. He hadn't even presented a knot yet. There was no doubt that
Derek was an alpha, but until his hormones really kicked in, he just wasn't
getting the over adoring, providing, protecting, possessive attitude that his
senior alphas had. The omegas only irritated him and gave him anxiety.
Peter pulled Derek to stand back to chest. The top of his head reaching his
pecks. Peter snatched Scott by the scruff as he ran by and pulled him to stand
facing Peter and Derek.
Peter took Derek's wrists and placed his hands to cup Scott's neck and jaw in
what would be a very intimate, kind gesture of security. Peter pressed his own
giant palms on top of Derek's.
Scott initially stared up at Peter in pure adoration, and then his eyes
flickered between him and Derek before settling on Derek as if he was really
seeing him for the first time. Derek had no clue what to do at that point as
Peter was literally in control.
Scott seemed to lose interest and went back to playing among the other omegas.
Peter gave Derek a thumbs up, staring down at him where Derek stared up,
glowering, unimpressed.
"Peter really is a master with omegas isn't he?" Whittemore said in awe.
"He better be after my instruction. With how much he is in commission, he needs
to be as patient and gentle as possible. Derek will figure it out soon."
Deucalion twirled his champagne glass between his fingers. "Trust me, it took a
while. He is a veteran. He wasn't inherited through my family's training. He
was a rescue and-"
"Jackson is fucking his omega!" Matt interrupted abruptly. Running up to
Deucalion and Mr. Whittemore. It took a moment for them to process his words.
"I beg your pardon." Mr. Whittemore said flatly.
"Pick your words carefully, Daehler." Duecalion, warned.
"Jackson. Is. Fuck. Ing. His. O-me-ga." Matt said, final.
"Oh, for Christ's-" Mr. Whittemore pinched his eyes, nose flaring. "Daehler I
suggest you-"
"If you don't believe me, than go ask him yourself!"
Derek was suddenly next to them, looking thoroughly put out. His hair a
disarray.
They looked around, suddenly realizing that Jackson and Stiles were both gone.
"Stiles? Jackson?" Deucalion called out.
"Jacksooon? Stiiiles!" Mr. Whittemore yelled towards the forest edge.
"Peter," Deucalion stepped up to him. "Where is pup?" He said clearly.
Peter pointed to the upper part of the mansion.
"Remind me to reward him." he said to Mr. Whittemore as they, Derek, Matt and
Peter made their way into the mansion and up the spiral staircase. "I can't
believe he didn't refuse Jackson to leave with Stiles. Peter is better behaved
than I remember teaching him."
They stopped at the top of the staircase, and Deucalion heard a faucet running
at full blast, muffled voices behind the double doors to the grand bathroom.
Rushing to it, he knocked. Nothing. He knocked again, louder, and nothing.
Then there was a yell of pain and Deucalion burts open the doors.
The sight before him made his insides roll.
Jackson had Stiles bent over the sink, his right arm hooked under Stiles's
right leg so Stiles was balanced precariously on the tippy-toes of his left
foot. Jackson leaning back as he slammed his hips viciously into Stiles's
slobbering cunt. The protruding bulb of an expensive glass plug seen stuffed
inside Stiles's ass was being slammed into by Jackson's hips but apparently not
hard enough to force it in.
Stiles had given up on staying quiet as he was dished the brutal fucking. He
was drooling, and his eyes are half shut, head bobbing as he was fucked
senseless for all to see, the little lace bell tinkling manically.
His eyes locked onto Derek, who was staring where Jackson and Stiles were
joined in what seemed like horror, awe and unexplainable jealousy.
***** Sanctuary *****
Chapter Summary
     Stiles finds himself in Deucalion's Sanctuary for Wolves, and
     discovers a secret about the trainer.
     Also Derek's weird.
Chapter Notes
     I like how I wrote this chapter better. Hopefully the change of
     character isnt too drastic.
     Beta'd by Darrenhasmyheart
All Stiles remembers is suddenly everyone's eyes watching him and Jackson, and
suddenly this didn't feel like a game anymore. It wasn't secret and it wasn't
special. In an instant, Peter roared, face contorting and eyes bursting in red
flame, tearing Jackson painfully away and pinning him to the bathroom tile
under his claws.
Stiles collapsed to the tile himself, and then a moment later he was scooped
into Deucalion's strong arms.
There was an absolute burst of sound from Mr. Whittemore bellowing, Matt
yelling, "I fuckin’ told you didn't I!?", Deucalion trying to calm Peter, and
Jackson shrieking in anger and terror.
Stiles couldn't understand any of it. He felt numb. Deucalion had to negotiate
Peter by kneeling at Jackson's head and presenting Stiles to Peter in his arms.
Peter, face still contorted in his alpha form, pulled his claws from the tiled
floor where they'd sunk in, and took Stiles from Deucalion's arms in an almost
motherly fashion despite Stiles being a twelve year old. He effortlessly cupped
Stiles to his chest and stormed out of the bathroom, grabbing Derek's scruff on
the way out.
They sat outside for a long time, the other omegas ordered to leave them alone,
as Peter sat on the steps of the rock patio with Stiles kneeling between his
legs, Peter cupping his delicate face in his large hands and murmuring gently
to him, trying to the calm the tremors of another impending heat.
Derek sat next to Peter, concentrating hard on Peter's attention to Stiles. His
mouth formed in a grim line, twisting his fingers painfully, trying to hold in
his own emotions and not wolf out.
When the tremors turned into quaking, Stiles lost his composure as he suffered
through a panic attack as well as the heat hitting him full force. His body
began convulsing like he was having a seizure, crumbling in Peter's arms as he
sobbed for many reasons.
Peter pulled Stiles up to straddle his lap and hugged him tightly, humming in a
way that sounded more like purring that rumbled like thunder through Stiles's
body and worked tension from his muscles.
Derek's eyes burst red, tears nearly popping from his own eyes as his face
formed into his alpha form. He clenched his fists tightly, cutting his palms
and hid his face in his knees at the sight of Stiles looking so utterly
tortured. He could smell Stiles's heat and knew what it meant but was yet to be
affected by it. He felt one of Peter's broad hands rest heavily on his
shoulders to try and comfort him as well. It worked a little bit.
It was a while before anyone came downstairs. By then, Stiles was yowling,
sobbing and rocking desperately in Peter's lap, who remained undeterred but
slightly concerned at the fierceness of Stiles's need. Derek had been too
overwhelmed and was currently hiding in the foyer.
Deucalion came running to them with Dr. Deaton hot on his heels. Deaton
immediately took Stiles's pulse and temperature as quickly as possible before
cursing and injecting a sedative into Stiles's thigh. Stiles's quaking and
rocking slowed, and his sobs quieted, before going limp and slumping in Peter's
arms.
---
Stiles was exhausted and felt like death when he woke, like his own ribs were a
weight pressing him down. His head swam as he rolled it from the left to the
right. He waited, and after a few minutes, slowly, achingly sat up. When he
opened his eyes to really take in his surroundings, he realized he was nowhere
familiar. He saw that he was laying naked in a soft bed with dark blue sheets
and a dark green, heavy comforter. The walls seemed to be made of only shelves
which were filled to the brim with books and trinkets. There were books stacked
along the floor, ink wells and quills haphazardly placed about, as well as
papers and ink sketches stacked and spread about. A desk and chair were mostly
occupied by clothes and more books. The room was dark with a single ray of
sunshine peeking through heavy, red curtains right next to the bed. Wherever he
was it was certainly quiet.
When Stiles tried to scoot backwards a bit he felt a pinch in his arm and
looked to see that he had an IV. His mouth felt full of cotton and he gagged a
little, his lips cracking when he grimaced.
The door to his room scraped open abruptly and he jumped, to see Deucalion
walking in as if he wasn't even there.
When Deucalion looked up, he gasped, "Oh! You're awake! Stay where you are!"
and quickly dashed back out.
Stiles rubbed his eyes, nodding, and laid back down. It was a few moments later
that his eyes shot open at the fact that he'd understood what Deucalion said.
He tried to listen to Deucalion speaking on the phone down the hallway, but
couldn't make out anything past his own name. When Deaton came later, he said,
"Stiles, I'm so glad to see that you have recovered well."
Stiles shoved his face into the mattress. No more doctors, thank you.
Stiles let Dr. Deaton check him out, and do what he had to do. He had no idea
what he or Deucalion were saying, but he stared suspiciously at Deucalion while
Deaton tended to him, removing the IV.
He figured out that he'd been asleep for three days, basically in a coma
suffering through the second heat his body had been put through too early. He
was in Deucalion's bed, specifically, Deucalion's house.
---
He went back to sleep when Deaton left, eating the sandwich that Deucalion
brought him. When he woke up again near sunset, he startled to see Derek
kneeling on the floor watching him.
"Uhm... hi." Stiles said.
Derek stared back. "Hi."
Stiles looked around awkwardly and pulled the comforter up a little higher
towards his chin. "Can... I help you?"
"Why did you let Jackson fuck you?"
Stiles actually flinched. Then he grew angry, sitting up and flinging the
comforter off. "What kind of question is that? Hello, my name is Derek, I'm a
creepy alpha who likes to watch you sleep and oh yeah your personal life is
totally my business!" He said in an angry rush.
Derek leaned back a bit, staring at Stiles like he was crazy. "I-I wasn't
watching you sleep. I was waiting for you to wake up."
"Same thing!" Stiles spat. "Get away from me! Don't ever ask me about stupid
Jackson ever again!" he screamed, getting up and throwing pillows, his sandwich
dish and various other items he could reach in Derek's general direction.
"You're crazy!" Derek yelled, running out of the room with his arms over his
head.
Stiles sat there huffing angrily before pulling the covers completely over
himself and willing the rest of his life to be spent in blanket town.
He heard a deep chuckle and peeked out to see Deucalion picking up the many
items he had thrown. Stiles immediately sat up. "You got along so well at the
mansion. I guess time will only tell." He placed the pillows back in their
rightful places.
"Wh-why can I understand you?" Stiles squints.
Deucalion pointed at his scarred ears. "Wolf."
"How did I never notice before? How did you learn to speak to humans?" Stiles
stared, wide-eyed.
"I've been on suppressants for about twenty years. Very, very strong
suppressants. I can't even shift into a beta shift." Deucalion said, sitting
next to Stiles. "I have no wolf smell passed the smell that being around Derek
and Peter and the other wolves here gives me. After the first year I was on
suppressants, I got my ears surgically shaped."
"Why?" Stiles shook his head in awe.
"For the good of werewolves."
Stiles flinched at the term. "How did you learn to speak to humans though? I've
been around the Whittemore's forever and barely understand anything."
"You are treated as most are. Pets. It's certainly not impossible to learn
another language, Stiles. Would you like some clothes?"
Stiles nodded, hugging himself in mild shock at this discovery.
"Where am I?" He asked, pulling on the black shirt and loose pajama pants.
"My home. My sanctuary. Are you feeling up to meeting everyone? Your friends
are here."
"Really?" Stiles stood up and followed Deucalion out of the room. "Wait," he
stopped, something amiss as he walked.
He clutching at his bare neck. "My bell. Where's my bell?"
"Don't worry about it, Stiles. There's no need for collars and bells here."
Stiles felt more naked at that moment than he had felt just a moment ago and
swallowed the culture shock.
They walked through a few turns in dark hallways before reaching a large room
filled with light and lined with couches and arm chairs. A long line of windows
allowed him to see a large garden surrounded by thick pine trees. A small crowd
of wolves were spread about the property. Children playing, adults lounging. A
set of glass double doors were propped open allowing the fresh smell of pine to
flow inside the home.
Stiles blinked in the bright light as he stepped outside into the hot air. He
recognized Scott, Erica, Boyd, and Danny all playing together as if they had
never stopped. There were a few other wolves he didn’t recognize in the group.
He did recognize Rafael, Scott's sire, lounging lazily next to Peter who was
chatting idly with a massive alpha.
Deucalion walked Stiles up to the trio. When Peter spotted him, his eyes lit up
and he extended his arms. "Heyy! You're okay!"
He pulled Stiles down into a hug and patted him on the back. "You feeling
alright?"
Stiles blushed furiously and straightened up. "Yeah, I'm okay. Uhh, thanks
for... for what you did."
Peter shrugged. "It happens. Just glad you're okay now."
"So, you obviously know Peter. This is Rafael," Deucalion gestured to the man
lounging on Peter's right. "And this is Ennis." He gestured to the massive
alpha on Peter's left, who waved casually.
Stiles had just enough time to wave and say, "Hi, I'm-" "STILES!" He was
suddenly pounced by an ecstatic Scott. "You're alive! I was so scared for you!
Come on, come say hi to everybody." And was promptly hauled off.
The three alphas and Deucalion laughed at the pair.
Rafael turned to Peter. "So that's the kid who was thrust unceremoniously into
a heat by the Whittemore kid? How embarrassing for them and lucky for you." He
waggled his eyebrows.
"Rafael, please," Peter rolled his eyes. "The kid just turned twelve. Even if I
was interested, which I'm not, he had no effect on me at such a young age. The
Whittemore's are lucky their idiot of a son didn't kill Stiles. You know that
such a young omega would have no appeal to a sane alpha. He would've burned up
inside. He nearly did. Twice."
Ennis shook his head disgusted as Deucalion sat at a table next to them.
"Stiles will be safe here. He's not going back."
"What about Lydia?" Peter enquired. "She's still there. Why isn't she here with
everyone else? She could be Jackson's next victim."
"She's too young to come here just yet. She's not of age. And don't worry about
her. Jackson has been sent back to the boarding school he attends early. He
won't be back until after Lydia is here next year. It will be okay."
...
Stiles was hauled to the group and thrown into a vast sea of arms and
affection. STILES! Stiles! It's Stiles! Eyyyyy! You're alive, oh man!
"Oh geez, oh god, okay, wow, yes hi, it's me." Stiles babbled as he was hugged,
nuzzled, pat, rubbed on, scratched and basically just passed around. He ended
up in a sandwich between two very muscular, tall boys that looked identical.
"Hi, I'm Aiden. And this is Ethan."
"Hmn." Stiles's "hi" was muffled due to the fact that his face was currently
stuffed into a very muscular set of pecks.
---
Stiles exhausted himself rough-housing with the omegas and alpha twins but he
felt better than he had in months. He sat at the dinner table, tired and
smiling at everyone as they slowly came down from their adrenaline highs,
looking dopey. Some of them still giggling as they served themselves large
portions of mashed potatoes, corn, chicken, and vegetables.
Stiles never got to eat large portions like this at the Whittemore Mansion. He
was expected to maintain his trim figure. But here, it seemed there were no
rules for portion size.
"Where's Derek?" Deucalion asked, glancing around the large dinner table.
"He's not feeling well." Peter enunciated, turning a pointed eyebrow at
Deucalion.
"Ah. Well, be sure to take him a plate tonight, yes?" Deucalion gestured at the
vast table of food.
Stiles hoped that "not feeling well" wasn't a translation of "I hate Stiles he
threw pillows at my dumb head".
After dinner, Stiles was shown to the room he and Scott were occupying
together. His own bed was complete with sheets, comforter, and pillows. Both
Stiles and Scott had their own dresser drawers on each side, and the walls were
lined with empty book shelves all the way to the large window complete with
curtains and window seat. Stiles was shocked to open up his own drawers to find
clothing inside. Not clothing that he'd ever owned. No dresses, no frills, no
bells, no flimsy, delicate, see-through fabrics. Just casual wear that were
darker in color and made entirely for comfort and being soft on the eyes.
"Deucalion says those will be filled up eventually." Scott indicated the empty
book shelves. "I guess we're all going to be staying here for a while. Kinda
like boarding school I guess. We can go home on holidays."
"Why would we get books? It's not like we can read them."
"I can." Scott said, a little indignantly. "I may not be great at it but I paid
attention when Allison was learning to read out loud. I used to get in trouble
for that." Scott stared at the ceiling as he relived the memory. An odd
expression of nostalgia and jealousy crossing his face. "I got my hand smacked
for reading "duck" before her."
Stiles shook his head. "Jackson was always locked away in his dad's study
during his lessons. I only know what they've taught me."
"You remember Derek, right?"
"Yeah..." Stiles scrunched his nose.
"He's totally fluent in English. Same with Peter and Rafael. All the alphas
know English."
"Really?" Stiles gaped. "Why didn't they say anything at the Whittemore's?"
Scott shrugged. "Taboo."
Stiles slumped a little.
"Wolves are supposed to be stupid and incapable of human knowledge, remember?"
Scott picked at his comforter irritated.
"Well, until today, I didn't even know that was possible." Stiles said moodily,
flopping down on his bed and turning the other way, his mind racing.
The next morning he ran into Derek on the way to brush his teeth. Just as Derek
was about to speak, Stiles turned his nose up at him and walked past.
"Hey!" Derek snapped, running to catch up. "What's your deal? I wasn't stalking
you yesterday. When are you going to let that go?"
"I thought you hated me. You weren't at dinner last night."
Derek blushed. "I wasn't feeling well. It's none of your business."
"Whatever." Stiles huffed, walking into the large bathroom with multiple sinks
and curtain-less showers much like a locker room. "I don't care what you do.
Just keep your hands to yourself."
"I'm not the one throwing myself on strangers and body slamming them. Do you
know I flossed grass out of my teeth?" Derek squinted at him as he began
brushing his teeth.
"But you are the one who watches omegas sleep. And I didn't body slam you."
"Jush led'i go a'readi!" Derek threw his arms up.
"It's gonna be fun having an omega and alpha the same age under this roof."
Peter chuckled, walking in and ruffling Derek's hair with Rafael and Ennis
behind him.
Derek grumbled and continued brushing his teeth aggressively.
Stiles spat tooth paste on the back of Derek's neck as he finished brushing his
teeth, heading towards the showers.
Derek acted like he'd been shot, clamping his hand down on his neck and letting
out a yell of disgust and looking at Stiles with utmost hatred.
Stiles blew a raspberry at him as he stripped his pajamas off, kicking them out
of the way and turning on the shower.
The other adult alphas were already showering, watching the pups with great
amusement as Derek stomped over and sharply turned on his own shower, flicking
Stiles's tip of his ear hard.
Stiles flinched and grabbed a bottle of shampoo, squeezing a vigorous rope at
Derek's feet, causing him to slip and fall into Stiles's space, clutching the
shower handle so it blasted freezing water down on Stiles.
Stiles yipped, dragging Derek under the spray and holding him in a hug around
his neck.
Derek writhed and slipped, pulling Stiles down with him.
"Fuck! Ow! That fucking hurt!" Derek snapped, pinching Stiles's thigh hard, to
which Stiles pinched Derek's cheeks in both hands hard, pulling wide and
distorting his face. Stiles knew how it felt from Aunty Whittemore always doing
it to him. Derek reached up with his other hand, viciously twisting one of
Stiles's very sensitive ears.
Scott, Erica, Boyd, Danny, Aiden and Ethan walked in to see Derek sprawled in
Stiles's lap on the tile, pinching each other blue and purple as they shivered
under the cold spray. Derek's face wolfed out and stretched so dramatically
looked odd and very unintimidating. Peter, Rafael, and Ennis were kneeling on
the tile laughing hysterically.
"What in the world?" Danny said, turning off the spray. "You two are like
toddlers."
Derek slammed his palm on the tile, tapping out as he was sure Stiles was
pulling his face off.
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