
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/811991.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Somnophilia, Bestiality, Male_Lactation, Breeding_Kink, Knotting,
      Not!Fic, Podfic_Available, Bottom_Stiles_Stilinski, Top_Derek_Hale, Dead
      Dove:_Do_Not_Eat, approach_with_caution
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-05-14 Words: 2550
****** Plushwolf ******
by the_ragnarok
Summary
     So suppose Stiles slept every night with his plush wolf doll, to ward
     off bad dreams. Only that doll was Derek under a spell, and he came
     alive in Stiles’ dreams. Specifically, in the type of dreams that
     involve coming.
Notes
     This also has a lovely podfic recorded by the talented Jinxy, here.
 All Derek knows is that he’s in a bed with this kid, and that kid is his, and
acts accordingly. Stiles just thinks he’s having a very confusing sexual
awakening and the books say all fantasies are normal.
 Derek is not human enough to understand complex ideas like “age of consent”.
Or “consent”, period. He only came back to life at first, a little bit, when
Stiles had a wet dream and came all over him. What was he supposed to think?
 Sometimes things overwhelm Stiles, or even start to hurt, but he figures it
must be what he wants since his mind came up with it. And anyway if he really
freaks out he wakes up, and there’s only him and Derek in the bed.
 It’s dark in the room and too warm under the covers, and Stiles wakes up to
the smell of sex. Dried come in places he could swear he didn’t get any when he
jerked off the night before. Stiles finds teeth marks on his wrist and figures
he did it to himself in his sleep, but he puts his mouth against them and they
don’t match.
 Ever had those dreams where you can’t run, can’t move a muscle, only feel the
hot wet breath of something on your neck? Stiles can’t turn and look. the only
thing he can do is close his eyes and grind down against the bed, sweating on
the pillow. The back of Stiles’ neck is wet when he wakes up, how the hell did
that happen, and it doesn’t feel like sweat.


 Every night Derek tries to fuck him but Stiles is too tight, so he ends up
just rubbing up against Stiles’ hole and whining.
 Stiles figures his subconscious is trying to tell him something so one night
he gets some lotion
 and slicks his finger, pushes in. After the initial discomfort it feels good,
too good, even coming is not enough. Stiles has to push his face against Derek
and moan.
 He exhausts himself like that, coming one time too many, falls asleep fucked-
out and open. that night he dreams of a hot body between his legs, something
foreign and much larger than his finger slipping in. Just the tip, then
everything is wet. Everything.
 (Derek barely even got the tip in before coming like crazy. Good thing, too.
He would have ripped Stiles apart, too excited at finally being inside him.
Derek wouldn’t know to be careful.)
 When Stiles wakes up, the bed is a freaking lake of jizz, and his balls hurt,
and his hole hurts, and he feels amazing.
 He doesn’t do the thing with the finger again for a while, though, scared of
his own body and what it does.
 After a week he dreams of that wet hot breath again, but it’s sliding down
now, slicking his hole, wetting it. Stiles moans and squirms. It’s almost
ticklish, but relentless, and Stiles can’t move, not even to spread his legs
wider.
 The first time Derek fucks all the way inside, Stiles screams so hard he wakes
himself up.
 The next night he barely sleeps, staring at the wolf doll at his bedside. It’s
just a doll. It’s not real, not any of this.


 Stiles starts thinking about it at day time. In gym class, in the showers, he
thinks, “I could have someone’s dick in me.”
 He reads about lucid dreaming. He very deliberately keeps the wolf doll
exactly where it is.
 Stiles writes everything he can remember in a notebook, as soon as he wakes
up. In code, in case his dad finds it.
 (He wants to get a vibrator, desperately, but how would he hide  that  from
his dad?)
 The dreams get clearer, slowly, night by night. The fur Stiles feels against
his back isn’t his plushwolf. It’s coarse, and it smells like sweat in a way
that makes Stiles’ mouth water, and there’s a strong heart beating behind it.
Pounding.
 In a few more nights, Stiles learns to discern words from the low growling
sounds he hears. Or. A word. “Mine.”
 It emboldens Stiles, to the point where he thinks about fighting the wolf off.
At least for long enough to get answers. But when he struggles, strong teeth
clench on the back of his neck, just shy of piercing the skin, and a snarl
sounds.
 The wolf is rutting against Stiles again, and Stiles realizes it hasn’t tried
to fuck him, not in a while. Stiles closes his eyes and arches his back up,
wiggling his butt, trying for enticing and probably winding up ridiculous.
 Apparently it’s enticing enough for the wolf, though. His grip on Stiles’ neck
slackens so that Stiles can turn around.
 The thing Stiles sees in the dark is not quite a wolf, but very far removed
from human. Its claws are sharp.
 Stiles gulps. He spreads his legs, bares his neck, half horny and half
terrified for his life. The wolf is on him again.
 “Mount you,” the wolf says, words slurred through his fangs. “Want. Mount.”
 Stiles’ breath hitches and he nods, frantic.
 The wolf’s teeth close around his throat again, just enough that Stiles can’t
scream when the wolf starts fucking him.
 This time it lasts. Stiles doesn’t, making a mess on his stomach at the first
thrust, and again some time later. The wolf doesn’t even seem to notice,
rutting into him like a machine, slow and hard and merciless.
 At his third orgasm Stiles is crying, can’t help it, sobbing and trying to
curl around the ache suffusing his entire body. His thighs burn and his throat
hurts and he’s all sweaty and sticky with come.
 Derek licks his face and doesn’t pause.
 “Like my tears, asshole?” Stiles chokes out.
 At that Derek does stop: “Yes.”
 That’s all he says, right up until the last part, where Derek says, “Hush.”
 “What—?” Stiles starts, and yelps as Derek fucks him full, and while in him,
starts swelling.
 “No,” Stiles says. it comes out a whisper, a choked plea. “I can’t, I can’t.”
Derek noses at Stiles’ cheek in sympathy.
 It doesn’t end, it hurts and it hurts and gets bigger, and there’s nothing
Stiles can do to escape it until at last he gives up, goes limp all over, and
then the swollen feeling changes, too. He can’t tell pain from pleasure now.
 “That’s it,” Stiles hears Derek say, distantly. “Good boy. Good bitch.” human
lips kiss Stiles’ cheek.
 Stiles gets paranoid at school, sure that everyone looks at him and knows.
Wonders if the lacrosse team is gonna bend him down and fuck him, take turns,
now that he’s let a fucking animal mount him. Not sure if that scares him or
gets him hot.
 Derek seems to pick up on it, the next night. He gets downright talkative.
(Well, for Derek.) “Who?” he says, sniffing Stiles’ neck.
 “No one.” Stiles isn’t even sure what Derek’s talking about, let alone why
he’s quivering like a leaf.
 Derek growls. “My dick not enough for you?”
 Stiles is on his hands and knees, sobbing into the pillow, before he can
respond.
 There are rules, even if Stiles doesn’t know them. Derek comes to life when
Stiles is sleeping, and when he’s getting off.
 So one time Stiles is whacking it to internet porn only to hear a snarl behind
him and feel the points of claws digging into the shoulders of his shirt.
 “That’s mine,” Derek growls in Stiles’ ear, fanged hand wrapping around
Stiles’ cock. “This too.” He kneels and mouths at Stiles’ hole.
 Then he makes Stiles sit in his lap and makes disparaging huffs while watching
Stiles’ porn. “Everyone’s a critic,” Stiles grumbles. But he shuts up pretty
fast when Derek knots him.
 “Not now,” Stiles begs, whispering. “My dad—”
 “Didn’t stop you from jerking it.” Derek’s hand tightens around Stiles’ cock,
painful, and Stiles gasps and comes again.


 (Stiles needs to face it, he’s owned now. So owned. Except he could get rid of
that toy, it’s just fluff in daylight, but he. Doesn’t. And he has no idea
why.)
 Wondering about it makes Stiles decide it’s time to head out and get himself
laid for real. It’s a pretty major flop because he’s obviously underage and
also the sheriff’s kid, nobody even looks at him too hard, so he comes home
discouraged.
 Derek comes alive the minute Stiles walks into the room, snarling and backing
him into the wall.
 “No,” Derek says. He can’t seem to make words work, just says “No,” audibly
frustrated as he rips Stiles’ clothes off. His teeth are way too close to
Stiles’ personal bits for comfort, but hey, when has this ever been anything
like comfortable?
 Derek doesn’t fuck him that night, but come morning Stiles is sore as ever.
Just, for different reason. He’s bruises all over. Stiles’ entire inner thighs,
nearly up to his balls, are mottled with red tooth marks, skin purpling in
their midst.
 Derek didn’t let Stiles get off the entire night, even while his hot breath
enveloped Stiles’ dick like the worst tease. “Don’t get yourself off,” Derek
breathed like a warning. Stiles eyed the marks on his stomach and nodded.
 It’s not easy, though. Every movement he makes pulls at the bruises and
they’re like a million reminders under his clothes. And he keeps thinking about
it, what if other people used him like Derek did, what if they fucked and
fucked him. Maybe he would get off in the middle of all that, and nobody would
even notice because he was still taking dick.
 And maybe he’s doing it on purpose, too, hoping Derek catches it off him.
 Derek’s still all day, just a doll, but when Stiles falls asleep, he’s almost
instantly woken up by a roar.
 “In heat, bitch?” Derek is heavy on Stiles’ back. His fingers push into
Stiles’ mouth and Stiles has to suck them to keep the claws from doing damage.
“You’ll regret it.” Derek’s voice is thick as he says that, blurring into
another growl. Stiles closes his eyes and focuses on the fingers in his mouth.
he’s old hat at getting fucked by now, can take it like a pro.
 Weirdly, for once, Derek is almost kind. He licks the side of Stiles’ face,
mounts him slowly if not carefully.
 On the other hand, Derek also picks Stiles up so he can neither rub against
the sheet nor against his hand. “Greedy.”
 Stiles can take the pain but the frustration of being fucked but not able to
come drives him out of his mind. “Need,” he pants out, “let me.” It’s almost
funny, he’s talking like Derek now. Derek nuzzles him and doesn’t give.
 Then Derek is stilling, shuddering, and Stiles knows this means Derek is
coming. Knotting Stiles. Normally this is a cause for both dread and
excitement, but now it’s just awful, all crushing buildup with nowhere to spend
itself.
 “Shh,” Derek says, and Stiles is mortified to see he’s crying. He hasn’t in a
while. His eyes are just leaking – and they’re not the only parts of him that
do; Stiles’ cock is dripping come, but there’s nothing like an orgasm there.
 Derek starts moving in him again, too soon, the knot not softened yet. Stiles
buries his face in the pillow and begs.
 “Please – stop. let me come. I don’t care anymore. Please. Please.” Derek hums
and kisses the back of Stiles’ neck.
 The mess on the bed when Stiles wakes up is nothing new, and neither is his
hard-on. his swollen chest is unusual, though.
 Stiles has to flee chemistry in ignominy before the two wet circles on his
shirt spread. They’re barely there, but still. His chest still hurts when he
gets home, nipples hard and aching from rubbing against his wet shirt all day.
 Derek is actually downstairs when Stiles locks the door. “Learned your
lesson?”
 Stiles sighs. “The more your vocabulary grows, the more I hate you.” But he
lets Derek take his shirt off. Lets Derek suck on his nipples, slowly. Stiles
buries his hand in Derek’s hair and wonders at how human Derek seems now.
 At how little difference it makes to Stiles.
 Of course, then Derek upends him so that Stiles is on the living room carpet
on his hands and knees, so he protests. “Dude, hasn’t my butt suffered enough?”
 “Gotta breed you until it takes,” Derek says.
 Stiles freezes long enough for Derek to get into position, but it’s a lost
cause. He still doesn’t let Stiles come, fucking him slow and deliberate until
Stiles needs to scream.
 He does bite Derek’s hand. Turnaround being fair play and all that.
 For a mercy, though, Derek slides out of him before knotting then. “Do you
wanna come?” Derek asks, and Stiles nods frantically. “How bad?”
 Stiles doesn’t think words can do his need justice so he just gives Derek a
pleading, desperate look.
 Then he’s looking up and faced with Derek’s cock, and Derek says, “Me too.”
His hand is moving on the shaft. “Make me come, and you come.”
 Stiles lifts a hand, and Derek pins it back down.
 “No. Your mouth.”
 Stiles might have protested, but he’s already let a wolf fuck him for months
on end. Too late to back off now. He opens his mouth and closes his eyes. Derek
licks him – there – all the time, it can’t be that bad, can it?
 “Sweet little bitch,” Derek says softly. “Tight-assed, big-mouthed little
bitch.” His breath hitches. “My bitch.”
 If that makes Stiles whimper, eases the hinges of his jaw so that Derek can
slip that final half-inch in, no one needs to know.
 Derek’s big, and Stiles’ eyes are watering. He can’t breathe right. His cock
hurts and his ass hurts. Everything hurts. Then Derek’s thumbs catch in the
soft spots behind Stiles’ ears, and he’s moving him, careful, and the pain
sorta. Mutes.
 The only measure of time Stiles has left is the breaths he gulps when Derek
pulls away, the dizziness when he doesn’t. The base of Derek’s cock starts to
pulse when Derek is buried deep in Stiles’ throat, and Stiles’ jaw hurts,
stretching wide to accommodate his knot.
 Stiles makes a small noise, something like a whine, and Derek pulls away,
spraying Stiles’ face
 “Good,” Derek says, low and pained and out of breath. He sits back on the
couch, pulling Stiles to lie across his lap. Stiles can only just rub against
Derek’s thigh, but he’s grateful enough for it, for Derek’s fingers warding off
emptiness
 “You’ll learn,”Derek says in a low voice. “You’ll come from my knot. Grip it
tight and whimper on it. You’re good, you’re so good,” as Stiles cries and
comes.
 After that it’s like the world is new, seen through a tinted glass. Arousal is
a constant, distant ache that Stiles ignores. He’s learned to let Derek take
him, learned to make his mind and his body empty holes to be filled with what
Derek gives.
 Derek hurts him, and kisses him, and makes him come, and all those things
belong to Derek and his alone.
 “I haven’t seen Scott around for a while,” his dad mentions at dinner one day,
and Stiles just nods and thinks of sleep.
  Works inspired by this one
      [Podfic]_Plushwolf by Jinxy
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
