Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12614932.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Peter_Hale, Derek_Hale/OMC, Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Peter_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski, Original_Male_Characters, Kate
      Argent, Implied_Original_Female_Characters, Hale_Family
  Additional Tags:
      Rape, Peter_Rapes_Derek, Often_and_Violently, Peter_lets_other_people/
      supernatural_creatures_rape_Derek, Graphic_Description_of_Rape/Non-con,
      Abortions/Miscarriages, Forced_Miscarriages, nonconsensual_drug_use,
      dark!Peter, evil!peter, Omega!Derek, Mpreg, Pregnant_Derek,
      Dragon!Stiles, Kate_Argent_Warning, Dead_Hales, Incest, Character_Death,
      Kate_Dies, Peter_dies, Not_tagged_MCD_on_purpose
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-11-03 Words: 5884
****** My Little Omega ******
by M_L_Davis
Summary
     Once Derek presents as omega, Peter plots the rest of his life.
     Without Derek's consent.
     Dark!Fic. Read and pay attention to tags. Do not walk into this
     blind.
Notes
     This is a story. Views inside do not reflect on the author. Don't be
     that person. That said, if you believe that I haven't tagged for
     something properly, please let me know.
                                      --
The first time Derek goes into heat, he’s terrified, clinging to Mama’s shirt
while she uses a large cup to pour cool water over his head. He’s crouching in
the bathtub, Mama leaning down to brush her fingers through his hair while
he whimpers and sniffles, trying not to cry as she hums a lullaby he can barely
hear over the water spilling from the tap.
Papa leans in the doorway, Laura curled into one side, Cora settled on his
other hip. He’s smiling into Cora’s dark curls, eyes shining with pride.
“Mama,” Derek whines when she pulls back to examine his flushed face, thumbs
working over his shifted features. “Mama, I hurt.”
There is a distinct throb between his legs, in his private place. He wails when
Mama reaches between his little legs to stroke over his private place. The pain
diminishes slightly and he settles a bit more firmly onto his haunches.
“I’m sorry, baby,” she coos. “You’re not ready yet. You won’t be for a few
years.”
He’s ten and he hurts and Mama is saying no? He turns to Papa, but Papa’s gone,
taking the girls to bed while Mama keeps washing his hair. “I wanna,” he cries,
sobbing harshly as the throb returns more fiercely. His claws come out and he
clenches them onto the edge of the tub, stabbing through the ceramic. “Mama, I
need!”
“No, baby,” Mama says firmly, patting his paws and forcing him to shift back to
full human with her alpha eyes. “You don’t need anything right now.”
“Perhaps, sister,” a voice says from the doorway, and Derek looks up to see his
uncle Peter leaning where Papa was, an apple in one hand, something long and
thick and purple in the other, “it would be best to let the little omega decide
what he wants.”
Mama glares at Peter, but Peter just shrugs and polishes the apple on his
shirt. He takes a large bite, chomping loudly as he steps into the room just
enough to drop the purple thing into the bathtub. Mama plucks it out and throws
it in the corner.
“Peter, no, that’s enough,” she snaps, and Derek whimpers at the anger he hears
in her voice. She turns back to him and soothes him, her hand large and cool on
his over-hot face.
“Mama, what’s that?” he asks quietly, hoping Peter won’t hear.
“It’s a dildo, omega,” Peter sneers, biting more of his apple. Derek drops his
gaze down to the water and his wrinkling hands. He hates that word—omega. “It’s
for little creatures like you who need a good dicking—”
Peter’s words disappear, and Derek looks up in time to see Papa hauling him
away by the back of his shirt.
“Pay no mind to Peter,” Mama says, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “He’s just
upset that you’re getting more attention than him right now.”
“Why, Mama?” Peter likes attention, that is true. But, even Cora, all of four
years old, understands why Mama’s staying with him, bathing him like he’s still
a baby. Why doesn’t Peter?
“Peter’s never been very good at sharing.”
Mama pets his hair, kisses him again, and declares him cool enough to sleep
with her and Papa. Derek shivers the whole time she dries him off and dresses
him in his thinnest pajamas, the ones that are so threadbare she’d been ready
to throw them out before he’d whined and complained of a fever.
Papa’s already in bed when Mama leads Derek in. Between them, sandwiched in
plastic sheets are cooling pads. They were Aunt Emily’s before she found her
mate and moved out.
Derek cries in relief when the pads whisk away the extra heat his body is
producing. Papa pats him clumsily on the head and Mama kisses him goodnight.
He falls asleep dreaming of purple dildos talking in Peter’s voice, telling him
that he’s a creature who needs a good dicking—whatever that means.
                                      --
Derek’s twelve before Mom finally decides he is ready for his own dildo. It’s
not really his own, since Aunt Emily had it first. But, it’s not purple, and
that’s all that matters to Derek.
He stares dubiously at it, wondering how much of it is supposed to go in.
There’s a bit of a handle, but still, it looks huge. He spreads his hand over
it, stroking the sticky-soft material. He wrinkles his nose at the plastic
smell itching his senses.
Before he can even try to insert it into his front hole, his door bangs open
and Peter waltzes in. Derek yells in frustration and chucks the dildo at him.
Peter grins, ducking as the dildo smacks the wall behind him. ”Just thought you
could use the real thing instead of that piss-poor substitute.” He gestures
lewdly at his crotch where his pants are already tenting. Derek wrinkles his
nose at the scent of what must be arousal wafting off his uncle.
“Mom!” he screams, louder. “Peter’s being a jackass again!”
Peter disappears quickly, and Derek retrieves the dildo, wiping it down again
with the baby wipes Mom gave him.
“I’ll get your dad to put a lock on your door, okay?” Mom says, eyeing him as
he kneels on the bed, the dildo between his legs, resting against his special
place. He nods and she leaves. A deep breath, hand steadying the dildo, and
then he sinks onto it, whimpering at the stretch of it.
It takes three tries before he finally manages to angle it right and spark off
what Mom explained was an orgasm.
Derek hates every second of it.
                                      --
The heats pass bearably, and for the next two years Derek uses the dildo. Peter
was shipped off to travel abroad and is coming back soon. Laura is graduating
high school, Cora is a third grader, Mom is running for Mayor, and Dad’s trying
to open another hardware store. Of them all, Derek feels the least
accomplished. He’s almost fourteen now and once a month he needs to fill the
hole between his legs. Sometimes, he puts two things in himself, one in each
hole, wondering why one feels better than the other. But, he doesn’t like to
think about it too long, to acknowledge the depravity of himself.
He meets a girl—woman really—who likes to laugh and drags him out to dingy bars
where they don’t ask Derek for I.D. and they let the woman buy him as many
drinks as he wants to try. He tries them all, and doesn’t like a damn one. She
looks impressed at the way he can hold his liquor, and it’s on the tip of his
tongue to explain, but then she’s dragging him to a back room with a bed and a
lock and he decides it’s not important enough.
He confesses to her the first time they have sex in that little room, that he
doesn’t like it, that it makes him feel dirty. She fingers him hard and makes
him come while she rides his cock.
The whole time, he hears Peter’s voice in his head, calling him names,
spitting omega, like a curse.
Next time he sees the woman, she ties him to a motel bed, his own boxers
crammed into his mouth while she hums and sings about Old Mrs. Leary leaving a
lantern in a shed. The more she sings it, the more the words change until
instead of Old Mrs. Leary, it’s Young Miss Argent, and it’s not a barn, it’s
Derek’s house.
He screams and fights and the whole time she takes the purple dildo Peter threw
at him all those years ago and pushes it into his ‘cunt,’ fucking him brutally
hard and riding his cock until she comes, breathy and flushed and saying, “Oh,
sweetie, don’t you want to come too?” before climbing off and letting Peter
into the room.
Derek screams in terror and anger, but through the material in his mouth, no
one seems able to hear him. Peter coos, a sound that sends shivers down Derek’s
body, while he pushes his fingers into Derek with the dildo, pulling out and
smearing the wetness on his own cock.
“Want to leave the dildo in?” the woman asks, and Peter shakes his head.
“Bad enough he’s not a ‘virgin,’” he says. “Don’t want to share him anymore.”
Before the woman can respond, Peter lunges forward, claws ripping through her
throat. He grins as she falls, and Derek sobs harder when Peter turns his
blazing red eyes on him. “Oh, my omega,” he sighs, reaching those same bloody
claws toward Derek’s unprotected throat. “My little omega.”
Derek shudders when completely human fingertips trail over his Adam’s apple. It
hurts when Peter thrusts in, angling deep and pressing hard. He keeps his hand
wrapped around Derek’s throat, the barest of pressure on it.
Peter keeps talking, but Derek can’t hear him over the blood rushing in his
ears. His heart pounds in time with his gasping breaths, and then suddenly, he
goes numb. It’s a blessing, Derek thinks, because with the numbness comes a
clarity enabling him to hear Peter’s words, and what his uncle is saying makes
him want to disappear completely.
“—taking my knot so well,” he pants against Derek’s ear. It’s disconcerting to
be looking down at Peter’s back, his t-shirt rucked up around his chest, his
jeans tugged under his ass as he moves his cock in short jerks inside Derek.
“Gonna come so much, so you’re bloated. Pregnant. Get you bred, fuck a pup into
you, and then fuck it right back out again.”
The Derek under Peter has glassy eyes and is staring at nothing at all, not
reacting to Peter’s words or actions. The Derek behind him tries screaming.
After all, there’s nothing in his mouth stopping him. As soon as he draws in a
breath, he feels himself tipping, falling, flailing. And then he blinks his
eyes, and Peter’s hanging over him, still thrusting and saying those things. 
“Yeah, gonna be my bitch all the time. Fucking keep you bred but never let you
have your pups. Maybe rent you out. Get paid for everyone who fucks you. My
sweet omega. My omega bitch.”
Derek whines in pain as Peter pulls the boxers from his mouth. “Why?” he cries,
and Peter laughs.
“Because I can,” he says. Derek can feel something large, larger than Peter’s
fingers and the dildo, stretching his hole wide while Peter thrusts in. He’s
locked in, can’t pull out, and Derek thinks of knots, realizes that Peter,
alpha now, is knotting him. And it hurts. It hurts like he’s being turned
inside out with it and nothing is right and all he knows is the pain of Peter
inching back and forth, humming while a viscous liquid pumps into him, the heat
of it soothing his aching omega-ness while simultaneously burning him up from
the inside out.
It’s then that Derek chooses to pass out. It’s a solid plan that makes him miss
the way Peter stays knotted in him for almost an hour.
                                      --
Peter tells him everyone is dead when he wakes up, still tied to the motel bed,
Peter fully dressed, on the phone with someone. Derek is too tired and in pain
to eavesdrop.
Derek searches his bond, finds only Peter, thrumming with alpha power. Even
though he recognizes the frequency of his mother’s power, he knows Peter isn’t
his alpha. He can’t be. Not when he still feels the leaking of fluids from his
cunt, the pain of having been raped by his uncle.
He closes his eyes and lets himself drift off to sleep again. It’s as good a
way to pass time as any, he thinks.
                                      --
Peter takes him away from Beacon Hills, locks him in an underground room kept
permanently lit by a few bare bulbs hanging from the high ceiling. There’s a
sink and toilet in one corner, with a showerhead sticking out from the cement
wall. A drain sits in the center of the room, and his bed is a narrow cot with
a thin mattress and an even thinner blanket. Nothing else is in the room with
him, and the metal door, with enough space under it for Derek to lay down on
the floor and watch an empty hallway, is always kept locked except when Peter’s
in the room with him.
Peter’s in the room with him a lot.
                                      --
Two months later, Derek goes to bed with Peter’s cock in his ass instead of his
cunt and wakes up thinking he should’ve had a couple of heats in there
somewhere.
He scrambles up at what that implies, finding a small pink box on the floor
directly in front of the door, like it’d been slid there.
The instructions are easy to follow. And Derek wastes the three minutes (could
be longer, probably is, he’s not so good with time anymore) washing his hands
thoroughly.
Peter actually did it.
Derek stares down at the test on the edge of the sink. He’s shaking so hard
it’s making everything go blurry. “Fuck a pup into you,” Peter’s voice ghosts
along Derek’s ear, hot breath nothing but a memory, “fuck it right back out
again.”
Derek chokes back a sob, shivering. He knows that Peter will be able to smell
the pup in him. Probably already has. There’s a reason Derek woke up to the
pregnancy test kit in the room. It’s likely that’s why Peter fucked his ass
last night too.
He’s wants to escape before Peter hurts him more. But, he’s kept locked in here
when Peter isn’t using him. And there’s no way he’s getting around his uncle.
Peter unlocks the door, pushes it open, and just stares at him.
Derek sniffles and rubs at his eyes. There’s no use hiding the test. Peter can
smell the urine from where he’s still waiting in the doorway. Derek makes a
show of washing his hands again, leaving the test sitting there with its two
accusatory lines.
“Breakfast, darling?” Peter finally asks, and it’s so much gentler than Derek
is used to him being that he freezes. “We’ll discuss the pup afterward.”
“What’s to discuss?” Derek’s voice is hard. He knows what Peter promised to do.
Why wait? It’ll hurt now or later. “You’re going to force me to have an
abortion.”
“Ah, yes,” Peter says, like he’s admitting something shameful, which is
definitely not like Peter at all. “But first, I have a client who wishes to lay
with a pregnant omega.”
“Rent you out,” Derek shudders at Peter’s remembered words, “get paid for
everyone who fucks you.”
“But, first, breakfast.” Peter smiles, offers his hand to Derek. Breakfast
turns out to be Derek sitting on Peter’s cock while his uncle feeds him bites
of pancake drenched in syrup. Derek hates pancakes.
                                      --
The room Peter leaves him in is upstairs, a lush paradise compared to Derek’s
usual room. A large window lets in light, so at least Derek knows it is
daytime. The bed is almost platform big with silk sheets dyed deep blue and
pillows galore. Derek thinks of taking one with him when he leaves. He’s
certain that his room would feel a little better if he had a pillow.
He’s not alone long, Peter returning with a half-goat, half-man creature. It’s
a faun, his limited knowledge of his family’s bestiary supplies.
“This is Ezekiel,” Peter says. “He’s paid for a whole hour or three acts with
you. Be good for him.” He sweeps out of the room, and Derek winces at the snick
of the lock turning. Ezekiel doesn’t seem to have heard it. Fauns must not have
great hearing.
Ezekiel strips quickly and climbs onto the bed with Derek. He is gentle,
fingering him open before he presses his thin cock into him. Peter’s semen is
still inside, providing lubrication.
Ezekiel is young, maybe as young as Derek. His cock is short, too short to
really reach into him like Peter’s, so Derek feels like maybe this won’t be as
bad. He’s not delusional to think that what Ezekiel and Peter do are so
different. They’re both raping him.
And Ezekiel is paying Peter to do it.
“Wish you were further along,” Ezekiel whispers into his ear. “Wish I could
feel your baby moving inside you while I fuck you raw. Spank you bloody. Plow
my cock into both your holes while you cry in pain.”
Derek wants to yell at him, to say he’s a person too, but Ezekiel wouldn’t
listen. He paid his dues, and he’s getting his goods. Derek angles his hips
down so Ezekiel slips out and then comes all over his backside.
“Oh,” the faun pants, rutting against Derek for a few thrusts, cock sliding
between his ass cheeks. “Oh, that was beautiful.” He sighs deeply and then
stands up, holding his cock. Derek blinks up at him. What is he doing?
Almost before Derek can finish asking himself the question, a stream of hot
piss splashes over his face and he barely manages to close his eyes and duck
his head so that most of the urine goes into his hair instead.
“Beautiful,” Ezekiel says again. Derek flicks out his claws, and the faun backs
away with a startled grunt.
“Piss on me again,” Derek starts before the door flies open and Peter waltzes
in.
“It hasn’t been an hour,” Ezekiel complains. “I haven’t even done three
things.”
Peter grins, pointing, “You fucked him, came on him, and urinated on him.
Anything else or any more time and you’ll have to pay extra. Or, you can leave
now before I extract it from you.”
Grumbling, Ezekiel dresses just as quickly as he’d undressed and scampers off.
Peter lets him leave, and then turns to Derek. The fury on his face is enough
to have Derek shrinking in on himself.
“You,” Peter snaps. “If you can’t learn to behave, maybe I’ll just rip you
open, take out all your organs, let you heal and then see if I can’t get you
pregnant again.”
“He pissed on me,” Derek says sullenly. He’s not the naïve ten year old scared
of his uncle throwing purple dildos and vague threats at him. He feels grown up
now. He’s had two cocks in him, he’s pregnant, and his whole family (minus his
psychotic uncle) is dead. He shouldn’t have to take being pissed on by a
fucking faun.
Peter grabs him by his throat and drags him down two flights of stairs and
throws him in his room. “You’re losing that cub tonight,” he says, slamming the
door and locking it behind him. Derek crawls to the showerhead and cranks it
on.
He glares at the pregnancy test still sitting on the sink, growling under his
breath. He has to get away from Peter. He has to.
                                      --
Peter drugs him for the next dozen or so clients. All Derek remembers is being
forced to drink a milk-mixture that leaves a chalky taste in his mouth before
he passes out.
When he wakes up each time, he’s hanging off his bed, like he’s just been
thrown there. Sometimes, he’s clean, washed gently with unscented lotion rubbed
into his skin, and other times he’s still sticky, covered in dried fluids (most
of which seem to be just sweat and semen).
And Derek learns to behave.
He takes werewolf knots like a champ. Fucking three or four betas before their
alpha rears up and slams home in whatever hole they’ve chosen for defiling. He
even gets to put his own cock in a pussy or ass too sometimes.
Around this time, he goes into heat, and he cries for the cub he lost. For his
heat, Peter sells him at an auction, where a pair of bridge trolls win the bid
and spend all night trying to force two dicks in one hole.
If he didn’t have accelerated healing, he’s sure he’d be dead by now. As it is,
Peter has added a different drink to his regiment. It’s a tea brewed with
mugwort. The quantities that Peter gives him would kill a human. Derek is ill
for the night and then back on his feet. But, he notices a few times that he’s
passing clots.
Peter is killing his babies. And Derek doesn’t even know who the other parent
is.
                                      --
More time passes. Derek’s certain he’s at least eighteen now. Peter refuses to
celebrate his birthday, always saying, “Why should I reward a whore like you?
You can’t even satisfy a salamander.”
Derek remembers the salamander, a tiny creature that stayed perched on his hip
and licked him before scuttling off. It’s the only client that hasn’t been back
yet.
Even Ezekiel has returned, and pissed on him again.
It’s routine by now. Wake up, do his bathroom business, take a shower and clean
out his holes, eat breakfast while Peter fucks him lazily, meet with any number
of clients, either singles or multiples, go downstairs, under his own power if
he can help it, take a shower if he’s mobile, lie in his filth if he’s not.
Rinse and repeat ad infinitum.
And then, of all the creatures Peter has made him lie with, he drags a dragon
out of thin air.
“I thought dragons were extinct,” Derek says while Peter thrusts particularly
hard during breakfast. The bestiary had said dragons were hard to breed. They
took one mate for life and the only way to take another after the death of
their mate was for a span of nearly fifty years to pass or to impregnate a new
mate, whichever happened first.
“Where did you find a dragon?” He grunts at Peter’s aggressiveness, swallowing
back a whimper as the knot stretches him. Because of his healing, he’s also
tight. It’s one of the things all the clients tell him—how tight his cunt is or
his ass, how pretty he looks stretched on their dicks, blood running down when
he’s been fucked just a bit too hard. One particular client, a Minotaur man
with a penchant for acquiring businesses, likes to fuck him with no prep and
fondle the bulge his huge cock makes in Derek’s stomach.
He’s positive the last two babies were the Minotaur man’s.
“He actually lives in California,” Peter grunts. He comes just as the oatmeal
is finally cool enough to eat. Derek obediently lets Peter feed him. This is
one constant for all the years. Peter “providing” for him.
“He’ll be here after lunch. So, you’ll have a few hours to stretch yourself.
Dragon cocks are bigger even than the Minotaur’s.”
With that, Peter stands up and lets Derek fall to the floor, his cunt dripping
semen and aching from the way the knot was jerked out.
Derek crawls to the stairs and manages to make it downstairs. He’s healed
enough to be upright under the showerhead, about to turn it on, when Peter
stomps down after him, a small chest cradled in his arms.
“Here,” he says, sets it on the bed, and leaves. Curious, and wanting not to be
so, Derek approaches the chest. It’s made of metal with a triskelion welded to
the lid. The latch hangs open, and Derek uses a careful finger to lift the lid.
Inside, on top of everything else, is the stupid purple dildo. Derek growls and
slams the chest closed. He stalks away from it, going back to his shower and
cleaning his cunt with more vigor than is needed.
He calms himself by the time he’s done so that he can go back to the chest and
dig through it while he air-dries. Underneath the dildo, which he tosses in the
farthest corner from his bed, he finds bottled lubricant. Puzzled, he pours
some on his fingers, letting it drip down. He shudders at the sensation of it.
He’s never had to use lube before—Peter’s semen is all he gets.
At the bottom of the chest he finds a dildo nearly as long as his forearm and
thicker than both his wrists. He winces at the thought of that going in him.
But, he knows, Minotaur man was bigger. And the dragon is supposed to be even
larger.
Derek lets it fall from his fingers. He doesn’t want this. He never wanted
this, to be Peter’s omega, Peter’s property.
He’ll heal if he’s not stretched properly, but Derek doesn’t like pain. He
gathers the thick dildo, retrieves the smaller purple one, and takes the lube
in hand. It’s simple to squirt some onto his fingers and shove them in his
cunt. He’s still sore from Peter, still stretched out a bit. He thinks it’ll
work.
It doesn’t work. He has to exert all his weakened strength to shove the huge
dildo between his legs, and then he can’t, even with half the bottle of lube,
get the purple dildo into him. Everything aches, and on top of that, he feels
his body drop from normal into heat mode.
Suddenly, a helping hand forces the purple dildo into him, and he hears and
feels his body tear open.
“Oh, look at that,” Peter simpers. “Too much for the pretty omega bitch?” He
doesn’t wait for Derek to start healing before ramming both dildos deeper.
“Wish you were pregnant right now; see if I can really fuck a baby out of you.”
Derek sobs. He hasn’t broken in front of Peter for a long time. But, then
again, he hasn’t had his body so overtaxed it can’t heal even when Peter stops
moving the dildos and lets him rest.
“The dragon is here. I’ll carry you up if you can’t walk.”
Derek can’t even respond.
                                      --
The dragon is too large to fit in the usual sex room, and Derek stares up at
unaltered blue sky for the longest moment while Peter stands there, cradling
him gently.
“Your mate,” Peter says to the dragon, and Derek drags his gaze down to examine
the shiny brown scales of the large, large, Oh-My-God-How-Big-Is-That dragon.
The dragon snorts and paws the ground, head bowed as he sniffs at Derek. Peter
sets him down, gently, and backs away.
The torn flesh has healed enough that it only aches when Derek sits up. The
dragon’s cold snout touches his bare chest, huffing down to press into his
groin.
He flinches away from it, and the dragon recoils. Derek scrambles to his feet
and steps forward, hands raised.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. He has no idea if the dragon has sensitive ears.
Peter hadn’t spoken loudly. He holds his hand up, letting the dragon nuzzle it.
“I’m so sorry. I can’t give you what you want.”
He doesn’t want to be fucked to death, shredded by a penis too large to fit in
his body.
Peter’s probably been waiting for this opportunity since Derek was born. It’s
not even a disturbing thought anymore.
The dragon lunges forward, knocking Derek to the ground. His snout, cold, wet,
like a dog’s nose, nuzzles against his neck briefly before heading lower. Derek
tenses when it presses against his groin again. The dragon huffs a breath of
warm air over Derek’s penis before licking a broad stripe up the appendage.
Derek tries not to whimper when the dragon uses a large talon to lift his
balls, exposing his cunt so that he can lick it.
The dragon rumbles in approval, spreading Derek’s legs and thrusting his tongue
deep inside Derek. The warmth and wetness feels wrong in a way that Peter’s
cock doesn’t when Derek is deep in heat.
“Please,” he whispers, and the dragon withdraws.
Carefully, the dragon lays down over Derek and presses the tip of its penis
against Derek’s hole. The stretch of it burns, but the dragon moves slowly,
letting his cock side into Derek almost naturally.
He stops half inserted and then starts pulling back. This gentle rocking motion
is unprecedented, and Derek feels himself grow wetter, dropping back into his
heat. The dragon gains another inch and immediately withdraws. The next thrust
is rougher, and Derek lifts his pelvis to help. He cries out when the dragon’s
cock bangs into the end of his cunt, and the dragon draws back, snout coming to
rest on the juncture of Derek’s shoulder and neck.
Derek screams when the dragon shoves inside roughly, punching through his
cervix and deep inside. Things rupture and blood seeps from his ruined cunt and
still the dragon presses forward until his entire length is sheathed in Derek’s
body.
A knot not unlike his uncle’s expands, and Derek feels his body tear open to
accommodate it. The dragon huffs, heat washing over Derek’s skin, as it pumps
thin streams of watery cum deep in his body.
The pressure and pain is too much, and he passes out.
                                      --
He wakes to the dragon licking his face.
The giant dick isn’t in him anymore, but his abdomen is still swollen and it
throbs in time with his heartbeat.
“There you are,” Peter says, gently, softly, kneeling over him, one hand coming
to rest on Derek’s shoulder while the other palpitates Derek’s bloated belly.
The dragon snorts and raises a claw.
Derek manages to close his eyes before Peter’s blood splashes over him, his
uncle’s decapitated body dropping sideways with a wet thud.
The dragon’s rough tongue drags over Derek’s face and chest, lapping away the
quickly congealing blood.
As soon as he can, Derek opens his eyes, avoiding glancing at where his uncle’s
body is cooling. Already, he stinks of death.
“I’m sorry,” the dragon rumbles. “I could not impregnate you without the
violence, and for that I am truly sorry. However, you are strong, young
werewolf, you will heal. And you no longer have to worry about your vile
relative.”
Derek sits up, grimacing at the pain that increases as his abdominal muscles
shift around his uterus. “Why am I still full of cum?” Derek questions.
The dragon looks saddened. “My egg took. I cannot let your body expel it yet
and so I have created a plug to hold it in you. The amount of semen that is in
you is enough to nourish the egg for its entire life cycle inside you.”
Derek pats his stomach, holds it. “You don’t wish me to abort it?” he asks.
“No! Good god no. I only wish that I had been able to obtain your permission
before impaling you.”
Derek cocks his head. None of his rapists have ever expressed remorse over
raping him. He eyes the dragon as he rubs the hardened swell of his stomach.
“How long am I to hold your egg?” he asks.
“A month. No longer. Once you expel the egg, I shall take it into a special
pouch inside myself until it is ready to hatch. At that time, I wish to make a
proposal to you. One of mating and marriage.”
“What’s to stop me from clawing out your egg now?”
The dragon whines, high pitched and painful to Derek and he claps his hands
over his ears.
“I cannot stop you unless I kill you,” the dragon says when Derek uncovers his
ears, “but even then I would not. I have mated you. You are my mate despite the
circumstances. I would like you not to kill our child, but ultimately it is
your decision.”
Derek kneels in front of the dragon, offering his neck in submission. “If we
are mates, then I require a mating bite.” Peter had never once offered one
himself, and Derek thinks that was so that he could be passed around to the
different creatures. Once he’s mated, no one with reason will attempt to rape
him again.
The dragon doesn’t move.
Derek peers up at him through his lashes. “Please? Mate me.”
The dragon heaves a deep sigh. “No, little one. I will not do so at this time.
Perhaps not ever after all. You are damaged, forced into a position where you
have no autonomy over your own actions. You do not eat or sleep because you
want to. I will take you to our compound where you will be rehabilitated, but
unless you seek me out, I will not take you as a mate. I will not do that to
you.”
Derek clenches his hands, frustration bubbling up in his chest. “If you don’t
mate me, Peter’s clients will continue to rape me. Don’t you see? You can stop
it all if you give me a mating bite.”
It’s sound logic, to Derek anyway, and he’s already carrying this dragon’s
offspring.
“I can train myself to take your cock without pain,” he promises.
The dragon laughs. “No, you can’t. My appendage is too large for your body. You
haven’t even finished growing. No matter how you stretch or prepare, I will
always be too large to fit. At least, in my true form. If I take another form,
I could fit, but I don’t want to force that on you. You’ve been trapped here
for a long time. You need to be by yourself, make your own decisions, choose
your own life before you pledge yourself to me.”
Derek already knows that he will have the dragon mate him. If only because the
dragon will not rape him again. His intentions are clear. Mate the werewolf to
produce a child. Once that has happened, either never approach the werewolf
sexually—vaguely Derek wonders what will happen to his heats—or only fornicate
in a form much smaller than his true self.
Either way, it is a better life than the one that Peter has given him.
“Fine,” Derek agrees. “Take me to your compound. Come collect your egg when the
month is done. But, tell me one thing.”
“Of course, little one.”
“Your name. What is it?”
“Stiles Stilinski,” the dragon says. “May I have your name, little wolf?”
“Derek,” Derek says. “Derek Hale.”
“Pleased to meet you, Derek Hale,” Stiles says in his rumbling voice. “I wish
it were under better circumstances.” He glances around at Peter’s house.
There’s nothing in there for Derek. Nothing he wants.
Stiles hums softly before breaking a window and pulling out a set of curtains
and a duvet. He drapes one of the curtains over Derek before shredding the
other into strips and fashioning a hammock of sorts.
“I need to fly from here,” Stiles explains. “This way I can carry you with
ease.”
It also minimizes the contact Derek and Stiles will have. Which, Derek is
certain Stiles realizes, is comforting to Derek. He wraps the curtain, some
flowered affair, around his body, tying it deftly and then climbing into the
center of the duvet-hammock.
Stiles grips the ties of the hammock and starts working his wings.
Derek drifts off with the swaying rock of the hammock, secure in the knowledge
that Peter can’t reattach his head and that the dragon truly wants to help him,
despite the current state of Derek’s womb that is housing an egg and a month’s
supply of semen.
Stiles’ compound doesn’t sound so bad either.
It can’t be worse than Peter’s house.
Before he truly slips into sleep, he murmurs, quietly, almost to himself. “No
more pancakes. Ever.”
Stiles’ gentle huff is reassuring.
                                      --
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