Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/9842537.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Hetalia:_Axis_Powers
  Relationship:
      America/England_(Hetalia)
  Character:
      America_(Hetalia), England_(Hetalia), France_(Hetalia), Prussia_(Hetalia)
  Additional Tags:
      Rape, non-con, Drugging, Pseudo-Incest, alpha/beta/omega_dynamics_on
      werewolves, Werewolves, Vampires, Supernatural_AU_-_Freeform, Fisting,
      Anal_Sex, Mpreg, mentions_of_mpreg, Knotting, Forced_Mpreg, werewolf!US,
      vampire!UK, Dark
  Series:
      Part 6 of Erotomania
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-02-20 Chapters: 1/2 Words: 3396
****** Navigate Me ******
by motoroilfreeway
Summary
     "I've always wondered how a little 'were' like me had a 'vamp' for a
     dad."
Notes
     A/N: vamps and wolves are very supernatural-inspired. Actually it can
     be considered that they live in the supernatural!verse. Yep, let’s go
     with that.
     WARNINGS FOR: RAPE, DRUGGING, MENTIONS OF TORTURE, PREJUDICE, PSEUDO-
     INCEST, MENTIONS OF ALPHA/OMEGA/BETA DYNAMICS ON WEREWOLVES, FORCED
     MPREG, MENTIONS OF MPREG, KNOTTING, FISTING
See the end of the work for more notes
                A gasp was followed by a shudder.
Arthur can feel his bound hands struggle with the silver chain, and he groans
as he feels the strong thrust brush his prostrate. The chain dug into his skin
painfully, eliciting a reaction on his skin, making it hiss and sizzle into
long, deep, and fresh burn marks. It did not stop him from pulling and
struggling nonetheless.
His tongue felt like lead in his mouth and another thrust causes it to dangle
out; excessive saliva his mouth could no longer swallow dribbles along it.
Another thrust causes his head to tilt to the side and he shudders at the
coolness of the concrete floor on his cheek.
A hand comes up, its owner chuckling and breath shuddering above him, and grabs
at his face, tilts it back so he can get a good look at his attacker. His thumb
makes an attempt to wipe at Arthur’s saliva but a small wipe at his lower lip
later, the thumb starts playing with it, spreading it up to his cheek and then
poking it into his mouth, pressing at his gums to involuntarily reveal the
hidden fang beneath.
His attacker laughs again then scoffs to himself as his face comes closer to
Arthur’s to fully see.
“I’ve always wondered how a little were like me had a vamp for a dad,” he
groans as he rolls his hips, gentle but deep and it massages Arthur’s prostate
in a way that it makes him cry out, sobbing as he moans. “Want to tell me why
now, Dad?”
Instead of saying anything, Arthur closes his eyes shut and with all of his
remaining strength, shakes his head and tries to look away. He’d been refusing
to believe that this is reality, that the man who had him tied to the floor of
their basement home with silver chains, raping and infecting him with deadman’s
blood is actually his Alfred. His darling boy.
This is not reality.
The slight burning pain of the knife dipped in deadman’s blood dragging slowly
into his skin was real though and thinking about what it implies made him sob
harder and struggle against his bounds. Unfortunately, he could no longer find
the strength in him to break free or move with coordination anymore, the poison
infecting so much in his system.
The knife clinks noisily on the ground as it was dropped and Alfred sighs and
pulls at Arthur’s hair. Another hand comes up to grab at his jaw, claws sharp
as they squeeze his mouth open.
“Say it!”
 
                At that time, Arthur’s friends had wondered why he would take
in a werewolf under his care. Werewolves, compared to them, are a bunch of
savages. Uncouth and very prideful with nothing to show off but their brute
strength and power. Vampires do not like them one bit and are mostly inclined
to steer clear away from them. The hunters having their kind categorised among
the werewolves is an insult enough.
So it begs the question, why would Arthur of all vampires in their nest one day
turned up with a cub in his arms wrapped in his coat, wet and shivering from
the rain?
“His mother begged for me.” He would say, revealing the creature underneath the
black makeshift bundle of leather, all teary and blue-eyed with the softest
blond hair that rivalled Francis’. Despite themselves, they had to coo and hold
its tiny hands, telling the boy that everything will be alright.
What happened to the boy’s parents? They asked.
Arthur stiffens, unconsciously holding out the child away from himself and
handing him to his fellows. When the boy immediately wails at the loss of
Arthur’s scent he looks away. Messing with his wet hair, he says in a low
voice, “She begged me to spare her son.”
Silence filled their nest, everyone looking at Arthur inquisitively now. “What
are you going to do with him?” someone asked.
Arthur’s lips quirks up at that. His hands slowly lifted to wrap around
himself, dripping wet and cold but not trembling. “I’ve…always wanted to name
my son Alfred.”
Panicked murmurs pierced through the silence and the people started moving
their feet. Arthur’s friends came and shook him, “Vargas will kill you and the
cub if he finds out.” They all know the hatred their maker has for the
werewolves, going as far as facing them head on and instigating brawls. Just
the fact that the man had always came out the victor regardless of his
opponent’s size or number is enough for everyone to not dare challenge his
authority in the nest.
Arthur will be the first and may become an example Vargas will set upon them
all, and friend or not, Arthur is still a part of their nest, their brother. No
one wants to see a member of their family face an unfortunate end, and thinking
about the cub, still a toddler in human appearance, it did not sit well in
their morals.
“You’ll need to leave,” they told him. “Now,” they add as they throw Arthur
out, back in the mercy of the storm with nothing to his name but his leather
coat wrapped around the cub in his arms.
And with that, he left the safety of the nest for good.
 
                For as long as Alfred had known, he is a werewolf. He can
transform into a very large dog---A wolf, his father would always remind him---
as well as will his nails to sharpen into thick black claws. He does not see
any problem with it other than that he should learn to hold back whenever he’s
at school because they don’t want hunters to get them. It was always the reason
why they don’t stay at a town for too long.
But then when Alfred moved to a new school and people immediately liked him, he
couldn’t find it in himself to not impress his new friends when they asked him
to enter the soccer tryouts.
He just put in a little speed in his runs and a little strength in his kicks,
occasionally jumping a little higher than average when they try to steal the
ball from him.
He underestimated the goalie when it refused to budge from its position,
bravely holding out their hands as Alfred kicks the ball harder than he had
intended towards their direction.
The goalie had of course, failed to catch the ball with their bare hands, and
instead the ball had slipped through, hitting them right in the gut. The force
had them flying backwards toward the net and they had to bring him to the
infirmary to check for any serious injuries.
Alfred felt bad, of course, and wincing, he can already imagine how his father
will give him an earful for this when the school calls him over. The look on
Alfred’s new friends, however, says the opposite, as they look at him with
smiles so wide it stretches their cheeks painfully, eyes shining in pure
admiration and amazement.
For a moment, Alfred forgot about the consequences.
 
                Indeed, his father gave him an earful, as well as a painful
pull at his ears in front of the school guidance to show how sorry his father
was for the goalie and their parents. Compensation about paying for the child’s
medical expenses were promised and agreed upon.
At home, Alfred sulks on their newly vacuumed carpet, ears down and whining low
in his throat. He pretends not to notice when he hears his father’s footsteps
approaching him, soft and careful. He can feel his stomach growl when he smells
his favourite meat.
When the plate was gently settled on the floor in front of him, he scoffs and
growls. He turns his head away, a paw pushing at the plate away. His father
sighs.
“Alfred, we’ve talked about this before…”
But I didn’t know he wouldn’t dodge! He wanted to say, but at his current
state, he couldn’t so he settled for standing up and walking to the other side
of the room, proceeding to curl in a corner and feign sleep. He ignores the
painful protests of his stomach at the smell of raw meat, stubborn to prove a
point.
“Alfred, please.”
Silence.
“Please, talk to me.”
When Alfred remained silent and unresponsive, he feels his ears twitch when it
picks up slight tremors from his father breaths. The plate clinks when it was
picked up again, and as Alfred hears the footsteps fade out as his father left
the living room for the kitchen he hears him sob in the sink, trying to cover
his noises with the rushing water from the faucet. Alfred knows his father did
want him to hear it, but in his current form, his senses were enhanced at
maximum and his father’s cries became clear and apparent.
When he turns his head to look at the kitchen, ears pressed to his head, he can
make out his father’s figure hunched at the refrigerator.
He runs to his room.
 
                In the end, they did not move out of the town, but Alfred’s
relationship with his father worsened every passing day to the point that he
had completely given up in trying to prepare Alfred snacks for school when the
boy refused to touch them for the past week.
His father started working overtime, reaching home by the time Alfred was fast
asleep and leaving early in the morning before Alfred wakes up for school. At
first, Alfred had a hard time adjusting to waking up on his own to prepare for
school by himself, without his father at the kitchen to feed him badly cooked
breakfast as his father only had the palate for blood and cannot tell the taste
for himself. Regardless, Alfred managed.
Meat tastes so much better when raw than cooked, anyway.
He also had friends who were nice to him and actually liked him this time, so
it wasn’t like he was lonely.
Everything was fine. He doesn’t care about what his father thinks.
 
                Fear.
That’s what was pumping into his system right now, what’s making him run and
try not to stumble. When he runs at a dead end, the tears started flowing
faster, gushing out of his eyes as his breathing started to fasten its pace and
make him shake.
The fear made it hard for him to concentrate long enough to transform, so there
was no way he can protect himself.
When the hunter finally finds him, Alfred can make out the face of his soccer
coach as he smiles at him, machete raised at the ready.
“Your father was one fucked up shit, wasn’t he? When did he turn you?”
He scrunches his brows in confusion, back hitting the wall behind him. His
hands try to look for purchase to no avail, he felt his legs tremble underneath
him and threaten to collapse. He felt his voice shudder as he shakes his head
fervently. “D-dad…he…” He didn’t sire me. I’m not a vampire. He wanted to say.
Then it hits him. He felt his blood run cold and finally his legs give in and
he collapses on the floor.
“Wha-what did you do to my Dad?” He asks but afraid for the kind of answer
he’ll hear.
“Dead.”
Helplessness. He felt helpless when he heard the word he never wanted to hear.
He felt himself heave, looking through the darkness and closes his eyes in
despair when he still sees no way out.
“Dad never hurt anyone,” he sniffs. He started curling up on himself, arms at
his sides in an attempt to keep himself together. “He feeds on animals…he feed
me animals…”
“Then what happened to your Mom? Your Dad killed her on accident?”
He pauses.
Mother. He never heard his father talk about her before.
The hunter takes Alfred’s silence as an affirmative and nods to himself, taking
slow steps to approach Alfred, grip tight on his blade.
“Don’t worry, I’ll get rid of your misery, kid,” he assures Alfred in his
teacher’s voice, its effects working just as well as it does in the field when
they’re practicing after class. Alfred felt himself go slack, thinking about
his father and regretting the things he did.
Just as he was about to close to his eyes and wait for the inevitable end, he
hears the hunter choke, gurgling on thick liquid. He looks up to see his father
right behind the hunter, alive with his arm shoved through the hunter’s chest.
In his clenched fist was a heart, squeezed of all of its blood.
The hunter had a moment to appear surprised before collapsing on the floor,
dead and wide-eyed.
It was the first time Alfred had seen that look on his father’s face. The lack
of empathy in his eyes as they follow the descent of the hunter’s body into the
ground scared him more than the hunter himself. This vampire who had just
murdered a man in cold blood is not his Dad. No, it can’t be.
When his eyes met Alfred’s terrified ones, that face morphs into something
Alfred is familiar with.
His father runs towards him, hugs him tight to himself, lips finding his brow
to kiss firmly at them. The tremor in his father’s voice and the way his body
shook as he took a shuddering breath told Alfred how much it had scared his
father as much as it did Alfred. Then Alfred hears him cry and it reminds
Alfred of the last time he had actually seen him: hunched at the refrigerator,
sobbing behind the noise of rushing water from the faucet in their kitchen.
Alfred hugs him back, his tears returning tenfold.
“I’m so sorry, Dad, I should’ve---“
“Shhh…” He says, low in throat.
Alfred silently remarks to himself that his father’s smell was saturated with
blood, and his hands are damp with it, thick and in the verge of drying as they
run through Alfred’s hair to try to calm him down.
Another firm kiss to his head, and then he started rocking them. Hands holding
Alfred’s face with gentleness different from the brutality it had done earlier,
he tells him, “No, don’t ever apologise for asking what you think is right for
yourself.”
Trembling hands run through his face, arms, and chest, looking for injuries,
his father tells him, voice shaking, “Are you hurt anywhere?”
Tears, they wouldn’t really stop from flowing as he hugs his father again,
tighter than the last as he cries out apology after another, blaming himself
for this debacle that had fallen upon them.
His father forgave him immediately on the spot, no signs of bad feelings left
as they immediately left the town that night, carrying nothing with them with
the presumption that they were considered dead.
 
                “Really though, too bad,” Alfred groans after a slow thrust.
He’s close.
He chuckles when he feels his father tighten up around him, hot and wet. He
shudders and whine weakly in his throat when Alfred started stroking him again,
occasionally pressing his nail at the sensitive head just to see him squirm
weakly, still weak from the dosage.
“You’re not an omega.” He pulls out to replace his fingers, inserting three and
unmindful of the claws. He presses in once and then twice, twists them and
wriggles them inside, stretching his father further to accommodate his knot. He
pointedly ignores the pained cries whenever his claws scrape at his father’s
insides.
There was no surprise when blood came along with his fingers when he pulled
out. He laughs again and shoves them at his father’s face, eyes dilated and
unfocused, to show his bloody fingers. “Hey Dad, check this out!” He shoves the
fingers into his mouth, sucking at the blood and marvels at the way his father
weakly turns his head away from his again, head lolling to the side as he
refuses to look at his son in mortification. It just made Alfred do it all the
more.
When he got the blood off this fingers, leaving it wet with his own saliva, he
shoves his fingers back inside his father’s hole without care, this time with
four.
“I’m not bragging but three fingers aren’t really enough if you wanna have my
knot,” at which he laughs at, because whether he like or it, his father’s
getting it.
Squeezing at his cock, hard and throbbing and painful in his other hand, he
groans, smiling as he watches his father’s hole get stretched further, “Can’t
wait to fill you up.”
When he felt that he was stretched enough, he adds in his thumb to have his
hand completely inside him. He carefully curls his fingers into a fist and
slowly turns it clockwise and back and delights in his father’s tears and
groans. The pain somewhat dulled by the poison in his system, keeping him
compliant and powerless at his painful intrusion.
The way his father tightens up around him makes it harder for him to keep his
hand inside for longer. His cock was painful and heavy in his hand, craving for
the feel of that tight heat once again. He pushes his fist in and out, but not
completely pulling out. When he felt like it was enough, he slowly pulls out
his hand, curled into a fist that it made it harder to pull out, making his
father groan and whimper again in pain. If he were an actual omega, just the
thickness of his fist would be enough to send him into a wave of orgasm.
But his father is not and Alfred does not mind one bit.
When he pulls out, he wraps his bloody hand around his father’s cock, just as
hard and painful as Alfred’s and starts stroking it again. “Say it all you
want, but this right here,” he gives it a pointed squeeze, “says otherwise.”
Alfred felt himself sigh in relief when he pushes his cock in again as he feels
the heat encompassing him once more. A few quick thrusts do it for him as he
comes, his knot forming. He buries his face between his father’s neck and
shoulder, a hand tearing at his shirt to reach the skin to sink his teeth into.
His father groans when his teeth successfully break the flesh, his mouth
stained with old blood that tasted foul and dead. His arms unconsciously hold
his father’s legs apart when they trembled and attempted to close when his knot
formed, and then whined when he felt the spurts of heavy load soak his insides,
toes curling and legs shaking.
Despite his father’s weak mewls of protests, he kisses him open-mouthed,
forcing his tongue which must have felt like lead in his mouth to brush his. He
shudders when his tongue brushes at the exposed rows of sharp teeth, appeared
not long ago when his father’s body started for the “fight or flight”
mechanism, sensing the pain and adrenaline akin to danger. A hand comes up to
that bruised face to wipe at the tears under the red-rimmed eyes, swollen from
excessively crying for hours on end.
A terrified gasp comes out of his father’s throat when Alfred buries his head
in between his shoulder and neck, nuzzling at the mating bite, no longer
bleeding and fully healed into a sensitive scar. He fondly rubs at his father’s
flat stomach, hard and taut underneath his touch. “If you were an omega, I
would’ve filled you already with my children now…our children.”
He nips at a red ear. “Just the thought of your stomach swollen with them,” He
whispers as his hand continues to rub firmly at his exposed stomach,
occasionally spreading his palm across it and trying to grab at it.
He smiles toothily when he feels his father try to move away when he felt his
cock release more inside him, like he’s an actual omega in heat. “It makes me
want to have another go.”
Turning his eyes to meet with his father’s wide, frightened, and unfocused
ones, he shakes his head. Bumping his head gently against his, reaching for one
of his tied hands above them to squeeze gently with his own, he assures him.
“But its okay, I understand.”
A chaste kiss to his lips, he murmurs, “Vampires are naturally infertile.”
End Notes
     This has been like, wasting space away in my drive for…a couple of
     months. Computer says this was created on the 20th of May, 2016. One
     of the first few fics I wrote for hetalia that I never thought to
     publish because I am weird like that.
     This is getting a part II, but really, we can all agree this can
     stand on its own, yes?
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