
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3433298.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Peter_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Peter_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Rape, Extreme_Underage, Shotiles, Watersports, urination_as_marking_-
      Freeform, Knotting, unwilling_orgasm_-_Freeform, Unwilling_Arousal, wife
      husbandry, child_bride, Mating, Kidnapping, Dark_fic, Alternate_Universe,
      anal_sex_without_sufficient_preparation_or_lubrication, Daddy_Kink, Peter
      wants_to_be_his_father-husband, Unofficial_Sequel, expanded_warnings_in
      the_end_notes, Tiny_Mate_Stiles, Dead_Dove:_Do_Not_Eat
  Collections:
      The_Steter_Network
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-02-25 Words: 3369
****** My Love Made Complete ******
by Diablerie
Summary
     Peter's finally stolen his mate. After watching for ten torturous
     years, it's past time to complete their bond.
Notes
     I've been trying to finish this since the end of November, and it's
     taken me three months to write about 3k words. Sorry this took me so
     long, Riel, and I hope you like your gift.
     This is one of the most difficult things I've ever written because I
     wanted to portray this as honestly as I could. I hope I succeeded,
     but you'll all be the judge of that.
     Anyone who knew about this before probably noticed that this is not
     the title I was using before. Whoops. I changed my mind at the last
     minute, but I believe this works better than the old title (and I
     wanted to use it for something else). At the moment, I don't remember
     if the title is taken from something. Considering how good it is and
     how awful I am at thinking of titles, I can only assume it's not the
     product of original thinking.
     Setting explanations:
     MLMC takes place in a fake historical period and is based on my own
     fic. I pay basically no attention to using period appropriate
     language.
     The Forsaking All Others series is meant to be an exploration of the
     child bride and bride kidnapping tropes that doesn't involve rape.
     This does. It's not meant to be an official sequel to the events of
     Tethered and Tied, and it could probably stand on its own - without
     reading T&T - but it might explain a few things since this takes
     place directly after those events. This is my exploration of what
     could have happened after Stiles woke up, and I don't plan to
     continue writing the dark mirror to Forsaking All Others.
      
     Special thanks to Val, Elpie, Laura, Canni, and Infinidensity for
     reading this over and encouraging me. This fic took a lot of help to
     get off the ground. I couldn't have done it without all of you.
      
     WARNINGS IN THE END NOTES
See the end of the work for more notes
  This work was inspired by
      Tethered_and_Tied by Diablerie
 
===============================================================================
 
Stiles awakens at the shift in Peter’s gait as he slows from his loping run.
He’s frightened, hurt, and disoriented - but still alive. His father is the
sheriff of their little village, and he always says that alive is good. Alive
means that you can find the means to change your fate, but something tells him
that this isn’t a fate he can easily escape.
 
He stills completely when he feels fingers travel from shoulder to hip and
perilously close to his naked groin before returning to the dubious safety of
the fresh bite mark on his wrist. He’s not certain which quirk of his body
betrayed him, but Peter seems unsurprised by his conscious state and aims a
genuine smile of adoration down at him. It makes him feel queasy. It’s nothing
like the innocent love a parent has for a child. It’s burning, fervent,
oppressive. As far as Stiles knows, he’s done nothing to earn that look from
Peter.
 
His thoughts are interrupted by Peter’s solicitous query, “Did I wake you,
darling?”
 
At his cautious nod, Peter swings him down but keeps a close grip on his body
ensuring that Stiles is forced into a slow, sensuous slide, pressed flush
against the man’s front. By the time he has his feet under him, the man’s hands
are busy mapping out the tender places of his body. One large hand is splayed
possessively over his tense back while the other cups his ass and ventures
teasing touches between the cleft.
 
Stiles jerks within the circle of Peter’s arms when he feels the wolf’s already
large cock twitch and begin to fill up, brushing against his thin, hairless
chest. He’s seen animals in the fields, and his father has explained where
babies come from. He’s begun to experience strange feelings in his groin and
the rush of blood to his cock when he sees pretty girls - and sometimes boys.
Stiles understands what it means to have a thickening cock nudging ominously at
one of his nipples. He may only be ten years old, but he knows. Despite this
knowledge, he can not imagine that a grown man truly desires his body or his
heart.
 
So he will ignore their mutual nakedness and Peter’s shameless perusal of his
body and anything to do with cocks until it can no longer be put off. Instead
of his true questions, he blurts out desperately, “Wh–where are we, Peter?”
 
From the  looks of it, they’ve stopped at what he might optimistically call a
shed built onto the front of a cave. From his position, Stiles can barely turn
his head enough to take in the view; he isn’t sure he wants to see it’s full
horror now, much less in the unforgiving light of day, but the boy knows that
this is where he’ll wake every morning for as long as Peter wills it.
 
“This is our home. I added it onto the den when I wasn’t watching you at
Beacon. I thought you’d want more than the cave since you’re only human.” With
a delicacy he doesn’t expect from the wolf, Peter takes his face in a clawed
hand and looks gravely into his eyes. “Do you like it, Stiles? You’re my own
baby boy, my mate. You can have whatever your heart desires if it’s in my power
to provide.”
 
It’s not fair for the wolf to lie so blatantly, so he retorts, “Except I can’t
go home or see my dad. How is that whatever your heart desires?”
 
The claws lengthen and prick dangerously at his chin and his ass. But Stiles
worries more when Peter’s wolf eyes begin glowing like bloody lanterns. He
remembers what happened the last time the wolf had red eyes and suppresses
shudders while the wolf snarls into his face. “Do not! Do not make me hurt you.
The last thing I want is to bring you harm. You are... precious to me, Stiles.
I knew you were mine from the moment I sensed you growing in your mother’s
womb.”
 
Until now, Stiles has managed to control his rising terror and panic, but this
admission is too much. This monster steals him from the forest and hurts Scott.
He calls him precious and touches him in places no one else has since he was a
baby - touches him in ways that make his insides squirm and his flesh crawl. He
makes the outrageous claim that he’s been watching Stiles since before he was
born. It’s all too much for the boy to understand, and all Stiles wants is to
be home: to sleep in his bed, in a real room, under a real roof, and see his
real father.
 
“I want to go home! Let me go home!”
 
He kicks wildly and wrenches himself out of Peter’s arms, unmindful of the
claws catching on his delicate flesh. His only thought is to escape from this
mad wolf-man, but Stiles hardly makes it a few steps when he is caught again by
a Peter in bestial form. He goes down in a flurry of limbs as Peter tackles him
to the ground with an earsplitting roar.
 
Stiles knows that this must be it. This will be the moment when the wolf loses
his control and hurts him or maybe even kills him. He sobs for breath and waits
for the end. I’m sorry, dad.
 
“Be still. Close your eyes. And. Say. Nothing.” The wolf’s voice is like
nothing so much as boulders grinding against each other, so Stiles freezes, his
eyes shut in terrified anticipation of the pain promised by that dreadful
sound.
 
As he’s dragged up onto his knees with a firm hand in his hair, Stiles tries to
placate him. “It’s really nice, Peter. That you built this for me. The house.
I–I like it.” he says tremulously.
 
At the wolf’s lack of action, he gathers his hope and continues to plead. “I
only miss my dad. We’ve never been apart before. But I could learn to like it
here! Please don’t hurt me, Peter. Please. I’ll be good. I’ll listen. I won’t
run again...” he trails off when he feels the first warm splash against his
skin. His eyes fly open involuntarily when he recognizes the acrid stench of
urine.
 
“Are you—? No, Peter!” he struggles in disgust, but Peter’s hand clamps down in
his hair to pull him more fully into the stream. “Please, Peter. Don’t—” he
gurgles and spits as the spray is directed at his face and mouth.
 
Peter only shushes him and says calmly, “I said no talking, darling. Be good
for me, I’m nearly finished.”
 
It feels as though no part of him is left untouched. Before Peter is halfway
done releasing his bladder on Stiles, he’s thoroughly soaked, shivering and
crying helplessly. All he can smell is the unbearable reek of Peter’s piss.
 
Almost as soon as the last drops fall, he is cradled in familiar arms. Though
Peter is the cause of all his troubles, Stiles can’t help but huddle into the
inhuman warmth of the wolf as they stride towards the shack.  
 
“That’s better,” rumbles the wolf in satisfaction. “I wouldn’t have had to do
that if you hadn’t run. I only want to give you pleasure, but you must obey me
now. In time, you’ll come to see me as a husband and a father.”
 
Inside the shack, Peter deposits him on what feels like a pelt or pelts
covering a straw tick, then turns to a rickety table and shuts the door firmly.
It’s dark enough that Stiles’ human eyes can’t see his hand mere inches from
his own face, until a match flares and the now-lit lantern is placed on its
ceiling hook.
 
After the fear and humiliation he’s experienced tonight, he’s strangely
relieved to see that the shack isn’t nearly as bad as it seemed in the
moonlight. The mattress is covered in several clean-looking furs. There’s a
table, an only slightly misshapen rocking chair, and the smallest wood-burning
stove Stiles has ever seen. The last thing he has the chance to spot is a small
portrait hanging from the sturdiest wall, and then Peter is stalking towards
him with a predatory glint in his eye. Without ceremony, he manhandles the boy
into a supine position and drags his long tongue over urine-dampened skin.
 
Stiles opens and closes his mouth several times, restrained by the admonition
not to speak, until he asks plaintively, “Why are you doing this to me?”
 
The wolf pauses in the tongue bath and frowns. “Let me take care you, baby boy.
I’ll make you feel good in a moment.”
 
The boy takes that to mean he can expect no answers, and he’s right. Peter
ignores any other attempts to question the proceedings in favor of grooming
Stiles. Before long, his little body has been licked from head to toe with a
long stop at his nipples. The man is fascinated by the blushing pink color and
lavishes them with praise; he calls them “charming” and “sweet”, but the gentle
suckling and soft nips turn voracious and filled with too-sharp teeth. His
chest is marred by a multitude of oozing scrapes and shallow punctures -
evidence of sharp fangs on tender human flesh.
 
Now, the wolf holds open slim, coltish legs while bony wrists are easily
captured in the other huge hand. He is completely vulnerable and spread open,
driven to shamed squirming by the tiny, half-hard cock holding all of Peter’s
attention.
 
“My pretty baby boy,” he groans before swallowing down the meager mouthful in
one smooth motion. The guttural moans from the wolf are ecstatic - as though
this is the best thing he’s ever tasted. Stiles can’t help reacting to that
blatant approval, and hates his weakness.
 
Immediately, he’s hit by the unwanted pleasure: warm, wet, and wholly unlike
the few times he’s furtively touched himself at night. If his arms were free,
then Stiles would hide his face from the feelings washing over him. Yet he’s
forced to reveal every expression and sound for Peter’s gratification. He
wishes it didn’t feel so good. It’s wonderful and terrible that he can be made
to feel like this against his will - that anyone stronger can take from him so
easily.
 
No matter how much he thrashes or struggles beneath Peter, all he manages to do
is stimulate his cock into being that much closer to spilling inside the
blissful warmth of an eager mouth. Yet, it’s only when he panics at the new
pressure of fangs against his member that he sobs out his release.
 
“Mmm,” Peter rumbles, licking his lips. “You’re so sweet. Where else are you
sweet?”
 
“I don’t know! I don’t know what that means.” Stiles hiccups through his tears.
 
“Oh, darling.” He croons at Stiles in sympathy. “Do you need more? I’m not done
making you feel good. Turn over for me like a good boy. There’s a lad.” He
reaches out to help Stiles arrange weak limbs under himself in a kneeling
position, fondling hips and the curve of his bottom as he makes slight
adjustments.
 
“So good for me. I knew you would be. Now stay just like this as long as you
can. It’s okay if you fall.”
 
With no more warning than that, he buries his face in the boy’s ass. The
voracious licks right over his hole turn his knees to water, and he crumples,
gasping into the furs. The sensations are shocking. This is something beyond
his wildest dreams. Stiles has never considered this an act for humans to
engage in, but Peter acts more wolf than man most of the time. Perhaps, like
marking his territory with pee, he’s driven by animal instincts to explore
every part of Stiles’ body. These are the places his mind wanders while he
tries to block out the insistent thrusting of a tongue in his hole and the
sharp stabbing of claws on his hips and ass.
 
“Peter,” he whimpers, trying to shift away. “That’s dirty. I don’t like this.”
 
The wolf pulls back. “Shh, precious thing. I know it’s confusing, but your
sweet cock is ready again. Your body knows I’m your mate. Your little hole
wants to accept me, too. We just need to make it slick. Need to stretch it for
me.”
 
“What do you mean?” Stiles trembles beneath him, fearful of this “stretching”.
 
“I need your help,” he growled around forceful licks. “Don’t want to cut you
inside. Give me your hand. Now, Stiles.”
 
He uncurls an arm and passes his hand back to Peter, unsure of what’s to
follow. Two of his fingers are messily sucked in the wolf’s mouth until thick
saliva drips down his wrist.
 
“Up on your knees again. There’s a boy.” Peter rumbles. He seems to lose
patience with Stiles’ fumbling, and moves the boy himself so Stiles is resting
his shoulders flat on the furs with his back arched up, ass fully exposed.
 
“Like this,” he urges and pushes those two slick fingers into his hole.
 
“Peter!” Stiles cries out in pain as Peter keeps hold of his hand, controlling
the depth and speed of  the thrust. There’s nothing he can do except try to
relax around the rude intrusion of his own fingers and ignore the ache in his
arm. This is more like what he expected from the wolf, and he feels oddly
betrayed after the gentleness from before.
 
“It hurts. You’re hurting me. Stop. Please, Peter.” He’s growing hysterical
under the onslaught of his two thin fingers and the wolf’s tongue slipping in
between them, trying to stretch that small space wider. Stiles shouts in alarm
when he feels the point of a fang catch on the furl of muscle, and suddenly it
all stops.
 
“Can we be done?” Stiles whispers, shaking in relief at the near disaster.
 
“I’m sorry, darling. I already bit you. We need to finish the mating before you
sicken. It’ll all be over soon. Let me in now. In this place we’ve made for
me.” The wolf continues to mutter loving words and soothing nonsense as he
kneels up behind Stiles’, but then there’s something terrifying andimmense
pressing against his barely stretched entrance, smearing hot slickness on it as
Peter struggles to push inside.
 
There’s no way it will fit, and Stiles finds the strength to struggle. He kicks
out and tries to throw himself flat, anything to escape from the burning
pressure, but the wolf is too strong. Stiles manages one lucky strike when his
heel clips the heavy balls swinging behind him, but that seems to be the last
straw. With one brutal jab, Peter forces past the resistance and roars.
 
Stiles screams himself hoarse at the breach, and for long minutes, struggles to
breathe past the overwhelming sensation of being split open. The pain is so
intense that Stiles is paralyzed. He feels impaled as the wolf jackrabbits his
huge cock in and out with no regard to his fragile human limits. He wonders
bleakly if he’s torn open, or if he’ll ever recover because he’s never hurt
this badly in his life. Not even the time he broke his arm by falling off of an
untrained horse. The pain is searing, intimate and immediate in ways he has no
context for. All he can do is push his face into the fur and wail like a child.
 
He doesn’t realise that he’s begging for his daddy to help him until the low
voiced commentary from Peter resolves into words. “I’m right here, darling. I’m
sorry it hurts, but I’m here. Daddy will take care of you when it’s over. I’m
with you, Stiles. Tell me you’re back with me.”
 
Stiles sobs harder in despair and reflexively tries to curl into a ball. It’s
clear that the man will only be satisfied if he can replace every significant
figure in his life. The last thing Stiles wants is to forget his real father,
but he would understand. He’s only placating a monster. It doesn’t need to be
real.
 
“I’m here Daddy,” he chokes out in between bone-rattling thrusts. “Are we
almost finished?”
 
Peter moans at the sound of Stiles’ voice and drops down to cover his small
body. “Soon, sweet boy. We’ll be tied together, and then you can rest. Keep
talking for me. Love to listen to you, darling.”
 
He babbles for Peter and begs for him to finish, to tie his little ass and keep
him safe forever. His voice raises to a shriek when he promises to be good for
his new daddy, his mate. He swears to learn how to be a good husband, all while
shaking from pain and panic. His unwanted erection is long gone. He’s sure now
that blood is seeping down his leg, but thinking of these things only makes his
lungs seize up, and Peter requested that he talk. He’ll do anything Peter asks
if it will bring this ordeal to an end.
 
If this is Peter’s kindness, then he never wants to see his cruelty.
 
Finally, the wolf is hitching his hips in short, jabs and gnawing carelessly at
his neck and shoulders. His hole feels like it’s on fire, and he’s covered in
sweat as he bleeds from countless small punctures. Stiles’ entire world is made
of pain, and he’s far past the end of his endurance. Which is when Peter
finally stops. He shoves his cock in to the base and half collapses on top of
the boy as his knot swells in quick increments.
 
Stiles has one second to appreciate the agony of being tied to his wolf before
shock catches up to him. Peter’s triumphant roar fills his ears as he falls
into blessed unconsciousness, grateful that his real father will never know how
totally he’s been replaced.
 
===============================================================================
 
Peter pets Stiles and painstakingly arranges himself around his sleeping
husband-son-mate without tugging at the puffy rim surrounding his knot. With
his newly claw-free fingers, he collects some of the fluids spilling past the
clench of muscle. Though Stiles is unconscious, his hole still flutters
helplessly, massaging Peter’s knot, and he hums in pleasure at the clench until
his boy whimpers in discomfort. Tears are still slipping from his closed eyes,
and each one is like a knife in his heart. His poor, brave little boy - already
so dear to him after these few interactions.
 
“Shh now. I’m here, my heart. Next time will be better. You’ll feel only
pleasure the entire time.” He keeps up a soothing murmur as he smears blood
tinged release across the brow and parted lips of his soon-to-be husband.
 
Naked, covered in blood and semen, this is how Peter makes his vows:
 
“I take thee to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day
forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in
health, to love and to cherish. ‘Til death do us part, and thereto I plight my
troth.”
 
Joyfully, he kisses his beloved, enjoying the taste of himself on Stiles’ lips.
After ten long years of only snatching brief glimpses of his mate, Peter has
him. He can touch and taste and provide for Stiles the way he’s wanted since
the day he felt the presence of mate in Claudia Stilinski’s womb. No power or
principality is capable of tearing them apart now. Nothing but death.
 
What happened nine years ago will never happen again. Peter snarls at the
memory of the Argents, of how their lies poisoned the minds of the Stilinskis.
Their skill at twisting the truth is what forced his kind from the village and
into hiding. Even his own family encouraged him to give up on his mate after
they were driven out. His grip tightens on the sleeping boy, making him moan
fitfully, so Peter tucks himself closer to comfort him. Stiles only seems to
settle when he begins kissing the pale neck stretched out beneath him and sucks
more marks to openly declare his claim.
 
“I have forsaken all others and will cleave only to thee,” he whispers into the
purpling bruises and licks them for good measure. “We’re safe now, darling.”
 
End Notes
     Please let me know what you thought or if you noticed any typos or
     other mistakes. Thank you for reading.
      
     Expanded warnings
      
     Okay, this is almost all rape. If rape is a thing you have trouble
     reading, then there's pretty much no safe material in this.
     The events are as follows:
     Peter feels up Stiles. When he tries to run, Peter chases him down
     and pees on him. He gives Stiles a tongue bath and a blow job. Stiles
     has an unwanted orgasm at this point. Peter rims Stiles and forces
     him to finger himself. This is followed by anal sex without enough
     preparation or lubrication other than saliva. Peter knots him then
     recites his wedding vows to Stiles who is unconscious from pain and
     shock.
     Throughout the rape, Stiles encourages Peter and plays into his
     delusions because he wants things to be over with as few injuries as
     possible.
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