Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Stiles walks with Deaton through the long hallway in the BHAH, Beacon Hills Associated Hospital, a Supernatural Conservation Clinic in Trinity County.

He has a choice to make, the werewolf or the hellhound? He already knows the answer. It’s why he came here in the first place.

The hall showcases omegas who have dedicated their lives to improving the diminished populations of the supernatural. Omegas, prized among humans for their fertility, are the way they are because of supernatural influence. It is a gender, for all rights and purposes, designed to breed with the supernatural, despite what many “keep the human gene pure” advocates want to believe. Their bodies adjust to the biological needs of their partner. And this hallway shows that completely.

They walk slow as Stiles takes the time to look through the observation windows. He stops.

“Ah,” says Deaton. “Remarkable what your gender is capable of.”

Stiles breaks out in a pleasant sweat at the sight before him. Three omegas lay on table beds that allow their immense pregnant bellies and tits to hang through the cutouts in the bed. It doesn’t look particularly comfortable, laying face down for the last stage of their pregnancies, but that’s to be expected when you’re carrying the foals of centaurs.

The tables have a sort of Y shape to them, keeping the omegas’ legs spread. Long, sturdy T bars hang from the ceiling above the tables, allowing the centaurs to rear up onto the bar and fuck the cunts of their pregnant broodmares. Which is what two of them are doing now; two massive horse cocks plough two omegas. Their arms grip and writhe against the table, the only parts of them that are really able to move, enjoying the ride, their bodies well-accustomed to taking cock that big. The third omega is having his huge tits stimulated to improve the yield of his milk production.

Stiles’ cock tents the front of his hospital pants. He wouldn’t mind going a few rounds with a centaur.

But that’s not why he’s here.

The next window shows a kitsune harem. Five omegas at various stages of pregnancy pleasure their kitsune “master.” Stiles is glad no kitsune wanted to court him. He’s too insubordinate to call his partner his master.

The next room is full of water and could be an aquarium in its own right. It’s home to three California Blue water dragons, lithe, sinuous creatures the height and length of elephants that have faces similar to seahorses. One works his exotic hemipenis in and out of an omega female, breeding her. The other omega, a male sits half submerged in the shallow part of the tank, pushing eggs from his cunt while his partner watches. A third omega sleeps in a bed set up on the terrestrial part of the enclosure.

A clutch of eggs lays deeper down in the pool with the third dragon; the omega on the bed may have already given birth.

Next is a “gangbang” of Nevada Mountain Orcs: eight-foot-tall humanoids, thick with corded muscle, dark, ashy-green skin, and tusks. They’re handsome if you’re into the whole brutish, war grizzled barbarian type. They’re another species he’s glad didn’t court him. If they had, he of course had veto power; every omega is with their supe partner because they chose to be, but it’s nice not to have to step on any toes.

They’re called a “gangbang” because some idiot thought it was less sexist than saying “reverse harem.” Stiles doesn’t get why they can’t be referred to as a harem plain and simple. Five to ten orcs mate with a single omega: a queen. The omega remains pregnant for as long as they’re able to breed, able to get pregnant while they’re already pregnant. The babies gestate at different times and the body recognizes when one baby has finished developing and prepares for labor for that one baby alone. An orc queen could conceivably give birth every single day for thirty-some years of his or her life. Like many other litter producing supes, the mates that give birth undergo a process called “teating”—the process of growing more mammary glands to help feed their numerous young. Once the orc queen can no longer reproduce, he or she becomes a matriarch that will help rear the children of whatever clan they decide to join.

Stiles did a tremendous amount of research before coming to this place.

In the enclosure, a voluptuous omega female, heavily pregnant, takes the cocks of two of her orcs in her cunt, one in her ass, and one in her mouth. The fifth seems content to crouch over her and rut his cock between two of the eight enormous breasts he has squished together in his hands. Two matriarchs tend to the maternity ward full of cribs in another room while the queen breeds.

The idea of being a vessel for that much cock appeals to him, but not the unending pregnancy.

They move on.

They reach another hallway with a plaque on the door that says, “unmated.”

Every enclosure has a plaque detailing the inhabitants, whether or not they registered with the BHAH for their matchmaking services, they sought sanctuary from poaching or habitat destruction, or, the rarest of all, they were captured due to high endangerment status and thrust into a breeding program not of their own free will.

Most of the enclosures here are a bit smaller and empty. A minotaur spots them and rushes to the observation window, furiously fisting his cock until it reaches its full, impressive length. He stands with it on full display, eighteen inches of glory arced against his belly, twitching. Stiles eyes it and the massive pair of balls dangling between his legs. Heated want prickles through him.

“Sorry, big guy,” Stiles says, wiping sweat from his forehead. “I’ve got my eye on someone else.”

The minotaur shrugs. He spreads and bends his knees in a small squat and continues to eagerly pleasure himself.

“Your heat will agitate some of the inhabitants here. You can’t mistake their desire as courting—”

“I know,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes. “Wanting to fuck isn’t the same as wanting to commit. Sex in the City taught me these valuable life lessons.”

They pass the hellhound’s enclosure. Stiles mouths an apology to that beautiful creature before continuing on.

The hellhound looks very much like a sooty, black wolf with orange flames swirling around its feet. Three fiery eyes watch him go as his red, three-headed cock and knotted base hangs in full view. Hellhounds mate very selectively and slowly, requiring their partner to obtain an immunity to fire. There wasn’t too much information on them when Stiles did his research. They’re rather mysterious and he’s flattered that a hellhound even glanced in his direction.  

“I must say, I’m surprised you continue to pursue Derek even after all of our warnings. He won’t choose you. He’s been here long enough that his instincts are getting confused. I believe he interfered in Jordan’s courting because he thought Jordan was a threat to your wellbeing. Don’t mistake his interference for interest.” Deaton sighs. “He’s stubborn and volatile. His reluctance to breed doesn’t bode well for his future. Which is an immense pity. He’s the last of his line. A direct descendant of one of the few native werewolf packs in California.”

“I know,” Stiles says.

“You know?” Deaton asks, raising an eyebrow. “How—”

“There was a lot of press when he was caught.”

Deaton presses his lips into a thin line. “Yes. Well. He is our only ‘captured’ inhabitant, we can say at least. We wouldn’t have stepped in if he didn’t prove to be a danger to himself. He was not well when we found him. In time, we believe he would’ve been a danger to others too, driven by a mad desire to reestablish pack bonds by biting anyone in the area.”

The werewolves’ ability to bite and turn is exactly why Stiles is here.

They reach the end of the hallway, the plaque beside the last room reads: Derek Hale, Hale Pack. Status: Captured. Unmated. Offspring: none.

“I just want to talk to him,” Stiles says.

“I encourage you to be as honest as possible. Werewolves are well versed in telling when someone is lying.”

Stiles licks his lips.

Derek, a big black wolf, gazes at them from the observation window, practically nose to nose with it, lips curled back in a snarl, hackles raised. He isn’t pleased to receive visitors.

“Can you give us some privacy?” Stiles asks.

At this, Derek’s snarl twists into something even more vicious.

“I’m afraid not. Safety protocols. He’s in no danger of getting out of that room. But I can’t be sure you won’t find your way in. He could tear you apart and he would have that right if you forced entry. Whatever it is you have to say, I will witness.”

“Okay. Fine,” Stiles takes a deep breath. “I’ll talk. You listen. That’s the way most of my relationships and general social interactions go.”

Derek swivels away from the window, lifts his leg, and shoots a jet of piss on the glass.

“Yeah. That’s about how they go too.”

Deaton coughs, fighting back a laugh.

Stiles takes a deep breath. “Deaton said to be honest. So I will be, knowing this could fully get me removed from the breeding program. I’m here for the most selfish reasons. I need the salary money, for one. Desperately. Two, I—” he falters. “I wanted to be selected by a werewolf. I knew you were here. I know who you are. I know stuff about you your social workers probably don’t.”

Derek turns around at that. Stiles has his attention. Derek’s stare pierces him, never leaves him, even as he paces along the length of the observation window inside the enclosure.          

“The bitch is dead. Kate. I don’t know if you’ve heard. My dad is the Sheriff of your—our—hometown. He investigated the slaughter of your pack and found her at the heart of it. I know what she did. How she did it. And, fuck, the idea that you’re here, backed into a corner basically forced to fuck your way to freedom—that just sucks in ways I can’t imagine. You’re angry and no one can fault you for that. No one.”

Deaton frowns, but thankfully doesn’t interrupt.

“Anyway. I need a werewolf. I’m here because I’m—trying to manipulate you, to some degree. Before Kate went down, she got a shot off.” Stiles chokes. His throat closes up. “She got a shot off and she hit my dad in the head. He’s in critical condition. Comatose. Severe brain trauma. Even if he did manage to wake up, he’d—” Stiles takes a second to compose himself. Tears stream down his face, humiliating. He really thought he’d manage to say this without the waterworks. “He’d likely—he’d likely be a vegetable. You understand better than anyone, I think. He’s the only family I have left. I can’t lose him. If I do—” Stiles shuts his mouth, unable to finish the thought.

“Medical bills are stupidly high,” he continues. “His insurance has covered all it’s going to cover. I’m eighteen. Just ripe for all the fucking wonders adulthood has to offer. Like looking over his will and deciding to sell our house. I dropped out of school. Never mind—not the point. If—if a werewolf bit my dad, he might have a chance. I don’t know what will happen to his memory or anything else really, but he could live. He could heal. You’re my only chance to—and I know that’s—like I said, I’m here entirely for selfish reasons. And I’m so fucking scared.” Stiles wipes at his face, at all the stupid sweat, tears, and snot pouring out of him.

Deaton stands tense beside him. Stiles could be banned from every SCC for attempting to exploit a patient. Derek is his one and only chance.

“I’m afraid—” Deaton starts.

Derek moves to the back corner of the room and sits.

Stiles’ heart plummets. Derek won’t do it. He literally just turned his back. Stiles takes a shaky, defeated breath and turns to leave.

“Where are you going?” Deaton asks. “He’s letting us in the room. He’s consenting to mate with you.” He pauses. “My loyalty to protocol bids me to remove you from the premises immediately. But. My gut tells me you’re his only chance. We’ll keep that little speech between the three of us.”

Nerves flutter in Stiles’ belly. This is it. This is what he wanted. He takes steady, deep breaths. In and out as Deaton keys in the code to unlock the door. The door produces a faint beep and Deaton swings it open, beckoning Stiles inside.

After today, he could be pregnant.

Stiles moves on quivering legs. His cunt pulses faintly aroused by his advancing heat, clenching and unclenching. His cock leaks against the crotch of his pants. He wants, so fiercely, to have something inside him.

“Strip,” Deaton says. “I’ll leave and advise you from the surveillance room.”

“Surveillance,” Stiles repeats, appalled.

“You will be under surveillance for the duration of your stay. This is for my own piece of mind, given your confession. Derek’s safety is paramount. So is yours. I highly doubt he’ll turn on you, but should he change his mind, which is his right, and you’re foolish enough to force—”

“I’m not,” Stiles snaps.

“Given the state of your heat, you might not know that for certain.”

Stiles supposes that’s a fair point.

Stiles strips and stands bare in the room. Mostly for Deaton’s eyes since Derek is still facing the corner.

But Deaton doesn’t seem to find any appeal in him. He assesses him with a frown. “I hope you don’t get pregnant after today. Given time, your body will acclimate and bear a greater litter. We’ve been hoping that his chosen mate would bear him at least eight pups in his or her first litter.”

Derek looks over his shoulder and growls low.

“Yes. I suppose that’s true,” Deaton says, as if Derek just spoke plain English. Deaton is a druid, so maybe he does have some way to divine the tongues of the supernatural.

“What?” Stiles asks.

“Better you start small. He says you don’t look capable of caring for yourself never mind a litter of eight pups.”

Stiles looks down at himself. He supposes he’s lost weight from stress and limited funds.

“Dude. My dad had a heart condition before he…I monitored his diet extensively. I was very much a mother hen, I’ll have you know. I don’t know what I’ll be like around babies—pups—but I’m sure I’ll love the hell out of them. As for how I look, well, I’m kind of going through a rough time.”

Derek stares at him for as long as it takes Deaton to leave.

And then he approaches. His pink, tapered cock pokes out from his sheath, somewhat interested.

“Derek hasn’t reverted back to human form once since we brought him in,” Deaton’s voice says through an intercom in the wall. “He will likely breed you in the form of a wolf.”

Stiles nods to himself. He expected as much. Far easier to cope with the slaughter of your entire family if you could remove yourself from more complex and deeper human emotions. Or at least, that is Stiles’ guess. He doesn’t know much about the psychology of shape-shifting supes, whether they feel the same in either form. The general consensus seems to be that it’s a case by case basis.

One thing is for sure; there is a marked difference between mating with a supe and an animal. It isn’t bestiality when the being you are with is sentient, capable of communication, and an equal partner.

“He may need help reaching full arousal, Stiles. Derek—I advise you not to knot him this time. He’s a virgin. His biology hasn’t adapted to the needs of anyone yet.”

Stiles flushes red. Jeez. Way to just put that out there.

“You should fellate him.”

Stiles’ flush deepens. Derek’s cock emerges further out of its sheath. Stiles gets on his hands and knees and crawls under Derek, who, in wolf form, is a good two-hundred-and-fifty pounds. There’s plenty of space underneath him too; the top of Derek’s head nearly reaches Stiles’. He’s the size of a miniature horse, cock and all.

Stiles licks at the tip of Derek’s cock, encouraged when it slides out further. It grows and grows under his attention, flushing deeper. Stiles finds he’s more eager to do this than he thought he’d be. He plays with Derek’s sheath, gently tugging it back and forth until Derek starts panting. With his other hand, Stiles strokes his own cock from tip to base and then further back, fingering the cunt behind his balls.

“It may be beneficial to get on the bed. The more you stimulate him, the bigger he’s going to get. It will be better if you let him expand while he’s inside you. Insertion will be easier.”

“Don’t know about you,” Stiles mutters. “But I could do without the commentary.”

Derek huffs in a way that Stiles takes for agreement.

Stiles makes his way over to the plain, sterile hospital bed that doesn’t look like it’s been slept in at all judging by the lack of hair. It’s only about two feet off the ground. Convenient level for Stiles to kneel on all fours and take a giant wolf’s cock.

Stiles crawls atop the bed, in position to be mounted. He doesn’t expect Derek to lap at his cunt and cock until he comes with a gut-punched cry that echoes in the enclosure. It’s a quick, easy orgasm, aided by the urgency of his building heat. It loosens him up, makes him muzzy and compliant. His cunt tingles pleasantly and burns hot. He blinks his heavy lids at the white sheets covering the mattress.

Derek rears up and locks his forelegs against Stiles’ sides, placing his paws over Stiles’ shoulders. His elbows dig into Stiles’ ribs. He isn’t like an animal, mindlessly humping the bendy, somewhat soft meat of his cock all around Stiles’ backside in search of a hole. He knows exactly where Stiles’ cunt is and lines up the head of his cock to Stiles’ entrance. Stiles feels the tickle of their flesh grazing together and pushes back onto it, needy, ready to feel him. Derek slips in as deep as the first knuckle of a finger and Stiles groans.

Then Derek bucks part of his cock in with one quick thrust. Stiles shouts in pleasure and in pain, stretching wide around the monster of a cock in his cunt. It pushes deeper and deeper and deeper. Stiles sweats bullets, wondering just how long Derek is. He can’t calculate measurement by feel alone and will probably whip out a ruler at some point for science.

He knows he’ll be seeing a lot of this cock.

Derek holds himself balls deep against Stiles’ body while his penis grows thick.

“This is good. He’s being careful. It probably feels more uncomfortable than pleasant at the moment but the amazing thing about your sex is how quickly your bodies adapt to the biological requirements of others. Soon, you’ll loosen to accommodate the girth of his penis until you won’t feel even the slightest discomfort. You’ll be made to take him as often as he desires and as often as you desire. I expect you’ll develop a craving for the sensation. All omegas I’ve met do.”

Derek waits for him to adjust like a perfect gentleman. To be honest, Stiles didn’t expect Derek to have this kind of restraint. Perhaps that was unfair.

His heat kicks into gear, flooding his body with adrenaline and endorphins and other chemicals particular to omegas. With just a hint of Derek’s DNA, Stiles’ body learns to loosen and stretch wider for the massive cock his species possesses. The magic of his blood meets Derek’s. He grips the sheets and moans like a whore, grinding back onto Derek’s cock, begging for movement. The pain is gone. All he can feel is the solid weight and pulsing heat of the cock lodged inside him. The stretch is a joy.

Derek draws out and slips back in, gently rocking his hips, testing the waters. Stiles’ eyes roll back in his head and he comes on Derek’s fourth or fifth thrust, his cock spurting a mess on the sheets. It flags and will likely join the party again in another fifteen minutes.

Derek pants above him. Stiles pictures his tongue lolling out of his mouth.

Stiles’ body relaxes further.

Derek’s cock swells even larger and Stiles arches his back and sobs, struck by pure bliss. He needs this like breathing; he doesn’t understand how he could’ve lived without knowing the feel of a massive dick stuffed up his cunt.

Stiles doesn’t let Derek’s thrusts remain tentative. He fucks his body back onto Derek’s cock until he gets the memo. Derek’s forelegs tense up at his sides, the only warning he receives before Derek fucks into him like a machine, keeping a brutal, relentless pace. His hips slap against Stiles’ ass. The sounds they make are filthy and it does wonders for Stiles’ libido; his cock goes hard, his cunt clutches at the cock inside him, he enters that sense of free fall—that fluttering swoop in his stomach just before a rollercoaster dives sharply down.

He loses track of how many times he comes as Derek rides him.

Drool slips from Stiles’ mouth. Sweat trickles down his body. Derek’s fur sticks to him. Stiles keens loud and unrepentant like a wild animal. He is an animal, as far as he’s concerned. A bitch in heat. Derek’s bitch. He fumbles at the bed, fucked closer to the wall with the vigorous, forceful slap of Derek’s hips.

“By now, I’m sure Derek’s penis is fully engorged. From what I can tell, his knot is abutting your vulva. Soon—”

Derek’s body goes still as a jet of hot fluid gushes inside Stiles. He drops his head and moans, pushing tighter against the bulging knot just outside of his cunt. It feels huge. He has done research. He knows that an ordinary dog’s knot can be the size of a baseball. Derek must be the size of a softball, maybe bigger. It would be like…the size of a baby’s head opening him up even wider. Derek adjusts his footing and lets Stiles bear his considerable weight, all while he comes in generous, pulsing spurts. Stiles feels fluid leak out of his pussy and drip down his thighs.

“Ordinarily,” Deaton continues. “You’d be tied. Your body will learn to clamp around his knot to ensure insemination like a female canid. He will dismount you by turning his body so your rear ends face each other, allowing you both to lay down and rest while nature takes its course.”

There’s something wrong with him. Even Deaton’s clinical, not-dirty talk has his cunt going hot with want and his stomach clenching.

“Without the stimulation of your vaginal walls, his knot may last longer than it usually would. There’s no detriment to that beyond general discomfort. But it would aid the bonding process, your biological transformation, and Derek’s comfort if you were to pleasure yourself on his erection.”

What a scientific way to say “fuck yourself on his big, hard cock like it’s a dildo.”

Stiles doesn’t need further prompting. Half delirious with heat and need, Stiles rocks his hips forward and back, forward and back, fucking himself on Derek’s cock with a steady rhythm he didn’t think he was capable of. Derek woofs and maneuvers himself in that ass-to-ass position as if they were knotted.

Stiles misses the weight and heat of his body caging him in, but he has to admit that it’ll be less strain on Derek’s back legs to fuck this way. The heights of the bed and Derek’s feet on the floor really do match perfectly. Stiles reaches back and grasps Derek’s huge cock, shifts the angle a bit, and fucks himself hard and fast until he’s gasping and cursing and coming all over himself.

It takes an hour for Derek’s knot to go down.

“Stiles—congratulations on the consummation of your mating bond. I formally welcome you to BHAH’s breeding program, a SCC dedicated to the preservation and continuation of our supernatural brethren. Every two weeks, we’ll collect a urine sample to test for pregnancy. A hundred thousand dollars will be placed in your bank account at the end of the day and for every month of your stay. Once you achieve pregnancy, you will be relocated to the ‘mated’ hall and you will be monitored by our medical staff to ensure a safe, healthy pregnancy and delivery. May your breeding prove very fruitful.”

Stiles snorts. “Blessed be the womb or whatever.”

To Stiles’ surprise, Derek crawls up onto the bed and nestles up against his back. Tears blur his vision and his throat closes up with relief, panic, and gratitude.

“Thank you,” he says. “I’ll do anything I can to repay you. I’ll be the best mom. Or—I’ll try. I have attention issues and caring for multiple babies—pups—will be a big challenge. But I’m going to do my best. Even if—I mean—I don’t even know if you want kids. If not—”

Derek emits a small growl, lifts his head, and bashes his nose into Stiles’ forehead.

“Okay. I don’t know if that’s a yes—”

Derek nods.

Stiles breathes a sigh. “Okay. Cool. Because even though I’d like to do everything, I have a feeling I’m going to really need your help.”

Stiles wipes at the sweat forming on his forehead. He rubs his thighs together. Electricity sparks in his brain and the nerves in his cunt and cock sear bright and urgent. His moment of lucidity is almost at its end.

“Communication is going to suck, not gonna lie. Will I ever see you in your human—er—people-shaped form?”

Derek’s mouth opens in the semblance of grin. He nods.

“Anytime soon?”

He pauses before shaking his head.

***

Stiles loses track of time in the haze of his heat and constant sex with Derek.

“It may seem like your heat is going on for longer than usual,” Deaton says over the intercom. “But part of that fever is the biological changes occurring in your body. You may start teating soon. When your mating reaches a lull or Derek decides to knot you, we’ll provide you with a urine kit. It’s time to see if Derek’s seed has taken root.”

Exhausted, Stiles collapses with his back on the bed, his breath heavy, fingers working into his needy cunt. Derek’s come gushes out of him and coats his fingers. For fuck’s sake, he just got fucked hard and he still needs something inside him. He doesn’t care what Deaton says; he thinks he’s going to be in heat for fucking ever.

With all the sex they’ve been having, Derek still hasn’t knotted him. Stiles aches to feel it inside of him.

Derek sticks his muzzle between Stiles’ legs and laps at his cunt. His tongue manages to push into him. Moaning, Stiles parts the opening of his cunt with his fingers, widening it just enough for Derek to weasel his long tongue inside. He writhes on the bed while Derek eats him out.

He plants his feet on the floor and keeps his back against the bed, leaving his legs spread wide and inviting. He doesn’t expect Derek to rear up, place his paws on the sides of Stiles’ hips, and plunge his huge, flushed cock into Stiles’ cunt. He screams, arching high off the bed. There isn’t any pain; his omega biology has long adjusted to Derek’s and he can take Derek’s cock even when it’s fully engorged.

Stiles immediately wraps his legs around Derek’s furry waist. Derek fucks him hard and fast.

Stiles finds advantages to being on his back. He enjoys feeling his legs move with Derek’s frantic, pistoning hips, loves the way he can arch into Derek’s cock. Loves that he has some control in how deep Derek dives into his cunt.

Derek presses close and rests his head against Stiles’ shoulder, panting heavily.

“Knot me,” Stiles begs. “I’m ready for it now. I swear I am. I want to feel it.”

Derek bucks hard into him, goes still, and his knot swells. Come floods Stiles’ cunt.

Stiles flops back against the bed and bites his lip against the pressure inside him—a burning, blooming soreness that hits some pleasure center in his brain. It doesn’t hurt exactly—again, the perks of his gender are to thank for that—but it’s intense. His vision dims. The world fades. Somehow, Derek remains the only clear and solid thing in the room.

He feels something unfurl at the core of him in some unnamable place that houses his emotions and intuition, all the incorporeal parts of him. Something lodges in him like a fishhook and that hurts—or registers as a kind of hurt—for a brief moment before it soothes into a point of heat—the pinprick of a star in the sky—small from his perspective, but tangible and a source of energy. Stiles knows what this is. Their mating bond is finally, completely established.

Even if Derek is somehow transported to the other side of the world, Stiles will still carry a piece of his magic inside him always.

Stiles gasps and writhes, twisting his hips to tease the massive knot stuck in his cunt. Sparks fly in his brain and he comes, clamping down on the knot.

Derek howls.

Stiles passes out and thinks he hears the word “sleep.”

***

Stiles wakes tucked into bed, sticky between his thighs, Derek a warm weight at his back.

“Stiles,” says Deaton over the intercom. “Inside the switch chamber is a urine kit.”

Stiles sits up and makes his way across the room. For the moment, it feels like his heat has broken.

“Fuck, I need a shower,” he mutters.

Derek growls behind him.

Stiles laughs. “You object, big guy? Want me to smell like heat sex for the rest of my life?”

Yes.

Stiles jumps a mile. He swivels around to Derek, expecting to see a man because he knows, without a doubt, he heard a voice that wasn’t Deaton’s.

But Derek is still a wolf.

Stiles stares. “I swear I just heard you say yes.”

Derek tilts his head.

And Stiles hears: can you hear me now?

His heart hammers in his chest. He nods, swallows, and says, “I can. Holy shit.”

Interesting.

Stiles opens the small metal door on the switch chamber that allows their meals to pass between their room and everything else outside of it, takes the urine kit, and scampers into the bathroom.

There was nothing in his research that indicated that telepathy was a byproduct of a werewolf mating bond.

Stiles unscrews the cap of the urine sample cup with shaky hands and pisses into it. He closes the cap, leaves the bathroom, and replaces the kit into the switch chamber. He crawls back to bed and stares at Derek.

Derek stares back.

“Testing one, two, three.”

Yes. I can hear you, Stiles. That was never a question.

Derek’s tail thumps once against the mattress.

“You wagged your tail.”

No, I didn’t.

“Did too. You like me, admit it.”

I spent the last two weeks having sex with you. I find you tolerable.

“You’re kind of an ass,” Stiles says, ecstatic that he can finally communicate with Derek with more than just yes or no answers.

Derek huffs.

“You knotted me.”

I’m aware.

“We’re fully bonded now.”

I’m also aware.

“Tell me something about yourself.”

There are five letters in my first name.

“You’re not an ass. You’re an asshole. Tell me something,” Stiles pleads. He’s been dying for some intellectual companionship. “Like. How will you feel if the test is positive?”

Like I served my country.

Stiles frowns, unsettled by the sarcasm.

Derek sits up and licks the side of his face. He recoils, wiping at the offending strip of saliva on his cheek and chin.

Derek laughs, in his mind. You suck my wolf cock and a little kiss freaks you out? Really? But to answer your question, I’ll be terrified. I thought I’d have pups on my own terms. When I felt ready. I don’t feel ready. I suspect you don’t either. I’m sure we’ll feel exactly the same if the test comes back positive.

“Do you resent me?” Stiles finds himself asking. “For pushing you into this.”

I would’ve gotten out of here eventually. But I chose you for a reason. You were right. I can understand your reasons for doing this more than anyone. I don’t resent you or your reasons, Stiles. I do resent the circumstances.

Stiles lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Cautiously, he sidles close to Derek and presses as far into his space as he’s able.

“I’m scared,” he admits.

So am I, sweetheart.

“Will you bite my dad?”

Yes.

Stiles fists his hands in Derek’s fur and sobs, beyond relieved.

Deaton’s voice comes over the intercom, minutes later. “I’m happy to report that the results are positive and show extremely high traces of HCG. That indicates you’re carrying a respectable litter. Congratulations. Expect the teating process to begin quickly. You’ll develop six ‘extraneous’ nipples down your milk lines. Gestational periods for werewolf pregnancies range between four and five months. You’ll be parents before you know it.”

***

Deaton wasn’t kidding. Within two weeks, Stiles’ belly distends with a slight, convex curve and six, new, perky nipples run down the length of his abdomen, over burgeoning breast tissue. Stiles can’t stop touching them. He runs his hand down over his shirt, basking in the pleasure that spikes through his cunt and cock when his nipples go taut and endure any kind of friction.

Derek growls slightly. Stop that.

“Can’t wait to feel your tongue on these,” Stiles says while they wait to be escorted to their new enclosure. “Admit it. It only annoys you because you find it hot.”

Derek doesn’t respond. But he doesn’t need to. The big, fully engorged cock between his legs answers for him.

Deaton opens the door and reveals an armed escort of six people dressed in black military-esque gear.

“Your blood divination test results came back,” Deaton reports. “You show a remarkable aptitude for magic. I suspect you’re not entirely human yourself and carry witch ancestry. The formation of your bond brought it out of dormancy. That’s why you’re able to communicate with Derek the way you do—the same way I can. It isn’t a typical facet of a werewolf mating bond.”

Stiles rubs a hand over his belly. “What will that mean for…”

“Likely nothing. Shifter DNA and shifter magic are dominant. Your pups will be werewolves through and through.”

Stiles nods.

They exit into the hall and make their way into the next one, to the “mated” enclosures. The boots of their armed escorts clop loudly in the hall. Derek walks flanked by them. Stiles wonders about Derek’s volatile reputation—what exactly did he do before his arrival to warrant six guards? This doesn’t seem like standard procedure for this kind of hospital.

Stiles is eager to check on the others. He tries not to think of the hellhound and pointedly doesn’t glance in his direction. He still feels quite a bit guilty about rejecting him. A part of him wishes he could be mated to both of them, but werewolves are strictly monogamous and in it for the long haul. He doesn’t know about hellhounds, but he’d be surprised if they weren’t monogamous too given their approach to courting.

They reach their new room. It’s spacious. Someone went through tremendous lengths to make it cozy. An enormous bed sits in the corner, again, only two feet high. Tall, potted plants decorate the room. A dark, forest green paint covers the walls and a large, paler green floor rug lies at the center of the room, reminding Stiles of moss. Very cushy. A changing station abuts the bathroom, which looks larger than the other one they had based on the outside dimensions. They have a bureau, a closet, all the amenities of a nice hotel room. Pictures of forests span across the walls in place of an outside view. A TV monitor is mounted on the wall opposite the head of the bed.

How long is he expected to stay here?

“We won’t set up the cribs until we know the size of your litter,” Deaton says. “If you experience anything that sparks even the slightest concern, hit the intercom button and communicate with someone in the security office. We’re a community here, but if you wish to preserve your privacy, you’re free to shut off the broadcast cameras—”

“Excuse me? Broadcast cameras?” Stiles blurts.

Deaton nods. “We don’t receive cable or provide public internet in this facility. In the past, our residents expressed an interest in viewing the state of their fellows and more forms of entertainment. You may speak to other residents by buzzing them like a call button on an apartment complex. Remember to disengage the call if you want privacy again. Here.”

Deaton picks up the remote from the bed and clicks on the monitor.

On the screen, the minotaur shoves his massive cock into the burliest omega Stiles has ever laid eyes on. The man could be a gladiator. He may be large, well over six feet and heavily muscled, but the minotaur has him outmatched. The minotaur bends completely over the omega man, places his forearms along the ground, and ruts his hips almost as fast as Derek can, absolutely ploughing the omega. He takes the massive cock like a champ.

Stiles’ stomach flipflops pleasantly at the sight.

Deaton changes the channel.

Half a centaur foal hangs out of an omega’s enormously stretched cunt. His mind boggles at the elasticity required to push a creature that large out of you. He thinks maybe giving birth won’t be nearly so bad compared to that.

So others can watch us fuck or spy on the birth of our children? What a shit idea.

“You may think so now,” Deaton says. “But many find it arousing to watch and be watched. And witnessing others birth soothes some of the fretting omegas. It reminds them that their bodies are capable of incredible feats and that their own labor won’t be as impossible or painful as they fear. You always have the option of shutting off your feed. But it will always be live in the surveillance office, I’m afraid. That is an unavoidable safety precaution.” 

Are you implying I’d hurt my mate and pups? I wouldn’t.

Being referred to as Derek’s mate makes Stiles’ heart skip a beat and something pleasant twist in his stomach.

“And I’m glad to hear that. But we can never just take anyone’s word at face value. And there are other things to consider. Stiles could miscarry.”

Stiles’ stomach twists for entirely different reasons.

“Or Stiles could be the one to hurt you. Or he could incur an injury in the middle of intercourse and require medical attention.”

“That second one is more likely,” Stiles says.

Deaton turns a shrewd eye on him. “That implies a slight likelihood that you would cause him harm.”

“Have you met him? He can kind of be an ass.”

“Stiles, this is serious.”

He sighs. “I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. For so many reasons.”

Stiles doesn’t know whether to blame his biology on the emotions stirring between him and Derek. Simple “hey, I just met you, I’m carrying your baby, call me maybe” pregnancy or omega hormones could be influencing his attraction to Derek and a desire for his company. Or maybe he can blame these budding feelings on the psychology of the situation; he’s with Derek for the rest of his life now. And, currently, Derek is the only source of companionship he has. It’s a little Stockholm Syndrome-y. Maybe that’s what these clinics count on. The isolation between mates expediates feelings of sexual and emotional connection.

Finally, Deaton and his cohorts leave them to their own devices.

Stiles. Shut off our feed. I prefer privacy.

Stiles goes to the button panel by their switch chamber on the observation wall and disengages their video feed. An alert passes over the video monitor that reads: orc queen here. Anyone want to watch me get gangbanged and give birth today is free to do so.

That piques Stiles’ curiosity.  

He switches the scene on the monitor. The thick, curvy omega he witnessed on his arrival lounges in a bath of water. Her five orc mates hover outside of the tub, gripping the edge, anticipation clear on their faces even through the distant perspective on the feed. In the water, Stiles can see that she’s crowning. He doesn’t know much about babies, orc, human, or otherwise, but he suspects the head of that orc baby is extremely large compared to a human’s.

He has questions. But he doesn’t think trying to talk to the omega right now will be appreciated and won’t be while they’re having sex either.

Derek hops up on the bed and watches the feed.

Does watching other omegas give birth ‘comfort you.’

Stiles can hear the air quotations. He has learned that they don’t communicate telepathically, not exactly. It’s more like Derek’s magic has an invisible voice box and he can broadcast his words through it. Stiles just happens to have invisible magic ears that can hear him.

Derek’s voice manages to be incredibly dry and have a lot of character for a soundless sound.

“It kind of does.” He rubs his hand over his nipples and the very slight curve of his belly.

You’re afraid? Stiles—

“How big are werewolf pups when they’re born? If they’re any reflection of you—”

Derek laughs. Conservation of mass. I weigh as much in human form as I do in wolf form.

“Is that your way of telling me you’re tubby?”

Derek treats him to a wolfish grin. Muscular. Muscle weighs more than fat, you know.

“So? How big—”

Our pups aren’t much bigger than human pups, I expect, since we share a like form. Six to eight pounds maybe? I’ve never had to look at the statistics before.

“So. Smaller than that,” Stiles says, indicating the massive baby half out of the omega’s cunt. Her orcs cheer her on as the delivery progresses. They grip her shoulders and hands and stroke her enormous belly. He wonders how many orclings are still growing inside her.

Definitely not that big, no. You’ll be alright. Your body was made to do what it’s doing. And perhaps that small mix of your own magic will be an even greater help when you give birth. Magic protects the user. If you’re in any sort of pain, it may activate to protect you from it. There’s a lot to be afraid of, but don’t be afraid of this.

Stiles lets out a breath. He watches the omega finish delivering her massive orc baby. No placenta follows. The length of the umbilical cord simply detaches from it as an orc gently tugs it out of her. They tie off the umbilical cord on the baby and fit him to her breast, which the baby latches to immediately. Inside the tub, the gape of her vagina closes quickly, and, again, Stiles is amazed by the elasticity of omega anatomy.

The omega gets out of the tub and lies on the bed. She snaps her fingers and the orcs go into the other room with the matriarchs. Everyone, the five orcs and the two matriarchs bring out a baby from the maternity ward and fit a child to each of her breasts. Stiles watches her nurse her brood like a sow.

Derek leaps off the bed, approaches Stiles, and manages to wiggle his nose under Stiles’ shirt to lave at his lowest nipple. A bolt of pleasure goes straight to his cunt and cock. His heat is over, but the desire to have Derek’s big wolf dick in him takes him by storm.

Stiles strips out of his clothes and lets Derek lick all over his tiny, tiny breasts. Derek drops his head and licks at Stiles hard cock and over the slit of his cunt.

Bed, he urges.

Stiles manages not to stumble on his way to the bed. He crawls onto the mattress on all fours and gets momentarily distracted by Derek’s tongue doing its damnedest to thrust inside him. When he’s situated with his ass in the air, Derek mounts him, shoving the impressive length of his almost fully engorged cock into Stiles’ greedy cunt in one quick motion.

Stiles instinctively bows his back and shuffles on his knees to better bear Derek’s weight and grant him access. Derek ruts against him without restraint and Stiles goes to heaven.

***

A month passes. Stiles spends most of his time on his hands and knees or back, finding pleasure on the end of Derek’s cock and knot. He wakes in the middle of the night sometimes, desperate for it. He’ll play with Derek’s cock until it’s red and thick and guide it into himself. Derek usually wakes and fucks Stiles into oblivion, giving him exactly what he wants. Sometimes, he lets Stiles use him as a furry, living, breathing dildo.

Sometimes Stiles will watch centaurs or the minotaur fuck their omegas. He watches in aroused astonishment as those omegas take enormous cock like it’s nothing.

His belly and teats grow. At two months along, Stiles looks five months pregnant with twins. He’s massive and he waddles, much to Derek’s delight. Stiles is impressed that his body accommodated the rapid growth of all his pups so easily. His breasts are about the size of clementines, noticeable but still small—growing all the time.

Today is the day of the ultrasound, when he’ll officially learn how many he’s carrying. Derek accompanies him—it won’t do to separate a werewolf from his mate when Stiles is almost halfway to birth—and he has to wear a muzzle the whole trek to the inner sanctum of the hospital.

Stiles valiantly holds his bladder while Deaton puts pressure on the wand roving around his swollen belly.

After an eternity, Deaton declares, “From what I see. I can confidently say you’re carrying six pups. A very healthy litter.”

All the air leaves Stiles’ lungs. Six. The number seems impossible to care for at once. He has been to a grocery store. He has seen parents overwhelmed by two. This is the end of sleep. He’ll never have a moment to himself again.

Breathe, Stiles. This is standard for werewolves. Werewolves and humans have been breeding since the dawn of time. We’re—ah.  

Stiles flings out a hand and Derek is there. Stiles grips and massages Derek’s scruff, trying to work away some of the violent anxiety rising like high tide.

Don’t be scared, sweetheart.

Stiles bites his lip and squeezes his eyes shut, unsure how he can be so terrified and happy at the same time.

***

At three months, Stiles is a whale with eight, grapefruit sized tits and Derek is a man.

In bed, Stiles stares. Derek is a man.

Derek is one hell of a man.

“You weren’t kidding about the muscle,” he croaks.

Derek smirks.

He has thick eyebrows, jet black hair, and a beard that’s more than a five o’clock shadow but under an “I’ve been away seafaring for two months” beard. His features are sharp, his cheekbones, his nose, the wicked curve of his mouth. And his eyes are a kaleidoscope of color: hazel, green, and gold. Tan skin stretches over dense muscle. He has seen Derek’s picture in the newspapers but they were old photos of when he was likely a weedy teenager, cute and handsome but not striking. The tragedy that befell his pack was eight years ago. It took the SCCA almost seven years to catch him.

Derek is so out of Stiles’ league it’s hilarious.

Stiles opens his mouth to laugh but no sound comes out.

He looks between Derek’s legs and his cock is still massive, still the dimensions of his wolf form. It’s hard, thick, flushed red, and curved up against his belly. His balls are the same size as his wolf form’s too—huge and full. Conservation of mass is a wonderful thing.

After a few more minutes of staring and Derek’s smirk widening into a grin, Stiles manages a succinct and intelligent, “Fuck.”

“That’s a pretty good idea, actually,” Derek says and strokes the length of his cock.

Stiles glances down at his enormous, pregnant belly. It’s like he has one of those exercise balls full of water permanently strapped to his abdomen. Stiles struggles to lever up so he can get on his hands and knees, but Derek puts a hand—a hand!—to his hip, urging him to stop.

“Stay on your side. I think it’ll be easier for both of us.”

Stiles grunts and draws up a leg as much as he can, giving access to his cunt.

Derek rubs the side of Stiles’ bulging belly and over his tits, pinching his nipples and fondling the heavy mounds they’ve grown into.

Stiles moans. “Keep that up and the Buddha will give you good luck.”

Derek laughs. “That’s got to be some form of blasphemy.”

The moment Derek breaches him, Stiles almost comes. He’s had something of a hair trigger at this stage of his pregnancy. Derek fucks him deep and jerks Stiles’ hard, leaking dick. Stiles can’t move and happily takes the cock pumping in and out of him, his cunt hot and just as greedy as it is when he’s in heat. Derek’s thrusts grow frantic and although he can’t fuck as hard and fast as he can in his wolf form, he has finesse, and grinds his hips in circles, shifting the angle when Stiles’ body arches sharply despite the hefty burden of his belly. Stiles moans on every thrust, an endless litany that hitches with the force of Derek’s hips.

Derek makes wonderful sounds above him—gasps, groans, grunts—that push him even closer to the edge.

He screams and his vision whites out when Derek knots him.

Derek murmurs reassurances and praise, running his hands over Stiles’ body like he’s trying to calm a wild animal. Stiles feels a bit like one, his mind shattered by pleasure. His body heaves as he pants and dry sobs.

Gradually, Stiles comes down from the high and Derek’s knot deflates. Derek climbs off of him and settles behind his back, obsessively pawing at his belly. They bask in the afterglow. Stiles is usually the one to break it, but Derek rises to the occasion this time.

“Deaton will be coming by with some paperwork for you to sign.”

Stiles doesn’t know why, but that makes his stomach drop like a stone.

“What paperwork?”

Derek shushes him and continues to stroke down his arms, back, and the wide globe of his belly. “Nothing bad. Don’t worry about that. This is to allow me to act as your father’s healthcare power of attorney. I need you to surrender that role to me if I’m going to give him the bite.”

Stiles’ heart thunders in his chest, elated but also terrified. “You’re leaving.”

“For a couple of weeks, yes.”

Stiles’ heart stops—that wasn’t what he expected to hear. “A couple of weeks? Why the fuck so long?”

Derek sighs. “I need to get some things together. Stiles. We need a place to live. Others might have consented to raise their children in this fucking zoo, but I didn’t. I want our pups out of here. I want you out of here before you give birth, preferably. I need to bite your father—”

“We can house search after. We can use my house for a while. Searching for the right place could take ages—”

“I already have a place in mind. There’s a loft apartment complex near the forest—”

“You can’t honestly expect all nine of us to fit into an apartment—”

“The building, Stiles. I’m going to buy the building.”

Stiles can’t easily turn around to gape at him, but he thinks the sound that escapes him gets his point across. “The money—”

“Is something you and I don’t have to worry about. Twenty-eight members of my pack had life insurance policies to be claimed by the remaining members of the pack. That’s me. And I had money before that. I have a huge check from the government basically apologizing for abducting me and throwing me to the SCCA—compensation for taking me away from my job, if I’d had one. Your father’s hospital bills and the mortgage on the house are more than covered.”

“Why a whole apartment complex?”

“Part of why I’ll be away for a few weeks instead of days is because I need betas. We need help looking after the pups. I don’t have the time to formally court and vet candidates like I want to. Honestly, I’m probably going to bite a few terminal patients at your father’s hospital.”

“What’s to stop them from just jumping ship when you bite them? Healed, they could do whatever they wanted to do and escape being roped into an eternity of babysitting duty.”

Derek kisses the back of his neck and fondles Stiles’ four right breasts. Stiles squirms against the bed. His cunt pulses hot for a moment.

“Werewolf biology. When they’re bound to me, they’ll be compelled to support the needs of the pack. But just in case, I have contracts written up for that.”

Some of the pups shift and kick inside of Stiles’ belly. He puts a hand on the raised areas. He misses when movement felt like flutters over a direct kick or punch.

Stiles struggles to sit up for a minute before Derek helps him. He absently rubs at his belly, worried.

“Can you get me my robe?”

“Sure.”

Stiles has a series of maternity robes—all of the pregnant omegas do save for the ones bearing centaur foals, since they spend a generous time laid on their tables. He feels the need for something warm when his insides feel frozen with terror.

Derek helps him stand. Stiles wraps his arms around his massive belly to stabilize himself until Derek threads Stiles’ arms through the sleeves and Stiles closes the robe around himself.

He needs to walk. Or do his semblance of the action. With his arms wrapped under his belly, he waddles slowly.

Derek doesn’t hover in his orbit, but Stiles can tell he wants to.

“This is a good thing. I thought you’d be happy,” he says.

“I am. I’m just—look, we don’t really know each other that well. And you’ve been stuck here over a year. And now you’re being granted a chance to leave.”

“You think I’ll bolt? Stiles—I’m sure there’s nothing I can say to reassure you. But I wouldn’t. I can’t. Family is everything to a werewolf. At least know I couldn’t abandon our pups. I promise I’ll be back.”

Stiles bites his lip. He looks down at his colossal belly and puts a hand to it.

“What if I go into labor before you get back? I don’t want to have them without you here.”

Derek gets up from the bed and wraps his arms around Stiles. His stomach is so big that Derek’s hands can’t meet.

“Worst comes to worst, you’ll be fine. I should be back in time, though. You’ve still got a month to a month and a half left.”

Stiles tries to banish his anxiety. But there’s something so safe and easy about containment. They don’t have to think about anything but each other. At least, for now. It’s been the perfect little bubble. It also feels like a trap. He wonders what percentage of residents stay long term because isolation promises a world of nothing but the basic necessities: eating, drinking, what comes after those two things, sleeping, and breeding.

It isn’t long before Deaton comes with a clipboard of paperwork to sign, drawn up by their lawyers. Stiles signs his dad’s life over to Derek.

“You should know,” Deaton says, interrupting the somber quiet, “that it’s possible—”

“I know,” Stiles says. “He might still die. His memory might be fucked. He could partially heal and still be half paralyzed. I know. The fact is he can’t go on the way he has. Either I’m saving him or pulling—” Stiles chokes. He clears his throat and shakes his head, unwilling to finish the thought.

Derek places his hand at the back of Stiles’ neck and it warms him instantly, makes his head cloudy and free of complicated worries. They’re still there, but a distant hum instead of a constantly ringing gong.   

Derek puts on a plain, white T-shirt, a pair of jeans, and some black boots and Stiles regrets looking at him. Somehow, he’s been so desensitized to nudity that his brain has been rewired to find Derek more attractive in clothes than out of them. He just wants to get on his hands and knees and let Derek unzip his fly and fuck him stupid.

Stiles may be broadcasting that sentiment with his pheromones or something because Derek sends him a sly look.

“I’m surprised you can fit your dick in a pair of pants,” Stiles grumbles. “You could do a handkerchief up your sleeve magic trick and see how long it takes you to pull that thing out of your pantleg. Of course, that’ll get you arrested. But you’d be a hero to clowns everywhere.”

Derek laughs. “I’ll pull that trick on you later, how’s that?”

Stiles feels his cheeks heat.

Derek approaches him, cups his face, and kisses him on the mouth, firm and lingering. It isn’t a deep kiss but it still makes sparks fly in his brain and his stomach somersault pleasantly. 

He stares at Derek, stupefied. He forgot kissing was a thing.

He molests Stiles’ belly and says, “I’ll be back, sweetheart. Try not to go out of your mind, alright?”

Speechless, Stiles can only nod.

Derek leaves, followed by an SCC appointed chaperone to make sure he doesn’t up and run and leave an inept human in charge of six werewolf pups, much to Stiles’ relief.

Deaton and Stiles are left alone. Deaton beams at him.

“I’d say your bond has progressed wonderfully.”

“You don’t know if that was just for show. He could be—”

“Stiles. I’ll admit you’re right; this is probably something of a honeymoon phase and you don’t really know each other that well yet. But you’re bonded to him now and he’s bonded to you. A mating bond is to be preserved at all costs. He won’t abandon you unless it’s on pain of death. Contrary to what most people believe, we aren’t able to hold our residents indefinitely to force them to mate. He had two months left to wait before he’d be released. He was largely captured for rehabilitation. He was nothing but bones and mange when we found him. We aren’t a prison. What does that tell you?”

“You—wha—and no one thought to tell me that before? Just let me wallow in self-doubt, Jesus.” Some of the pups shift in his belly. He rubs a hand down the stripe between his teats. Deaton’s eyes follow the movement.

“I apologize. I thought he’d already told you. I suspect he was preoccupied mating with you and it slipped his mind.”

Stiles blows out a breath. “So he really did choose me.”

“Yes. He referred to his other candidates as knot chasing fetishists, which I think was rather unfair but perhaps partially true, as it is of most of the omegas who dedicate their lives to this cause. We get our fair share of xenophiliacs. He saw you as a chance to help someone. I think that says enough about his character, don’t you?”

“He’ll be back. Fuck—I need to sit. It’s getting harder and harder to walk.”

Deaton nods. “And you’ll only get bigger. Tell me, do you plan on giving birth here or outside the hospital?”

“I’d prefer the hospital, but I think Derek has other plans. I think he’s afraid relocating will be much more challenging once they’re born.”

“For you, I’d consider making a house call.”

Stiles stares for a moment before some strong emotion chokes him up and makes tears well in his eyes.

“He’s been my most challenging patient and he has flourished in these last few months. Mating has renewed his sense of purpose, I think. Now, rest. Food will be brought along shortly. We’ll care for you in Derek’s absence.”

***

Stiles hears someone say, “Holy shit. He’s bigger than a cow.”

“Erica—”

And that would be Derek’s voice.

Stiles’ eyes fly open. He sees them in the observation window. Derek, a boy Stiles’ age with curly, pale hair, a girl with no hair and big brown eyes also about his age, and his dad stand on the other side of the window. His dad. His dad is staring, gaping at Stiles just outside of the enclosure.

Stiles is just thankful he fell asleep with his robe on.

“Well, he is!” Erica insists. “There’s being pregnant and there’s being that.”

“You should’ve seen the omegas pregnant with centaurs,” Derek says. “That was something else. I knew omegas were capable of strenuous pregnancies, but that was…something else.”

“Whatever. I think we just found the ninth planet again.”

Wow. Rude.

The boy snickers.

“That’s my son, you’re talking about,” his dad grumbles.

“Sorry.” She doesn’t sound sorry in the least. “But I’ve never seen anyone that pregnant—”

Stiles cups his hands around his mouth and yells, “He can also hear you.”

Erica’s face flushes bright red. “Derek,” she hisses. “This isn’t soundproof?”

“Nope.”

Erica’s mouth opens and closes a few times. “Well. Oops. What is it they say about first impressions?”

“They’re usually right,” his dad says.

Derek sidesteps the group and sidles close to the hospital orderly, waiting for the door to be unlocked.

Stiles stares at his dad and his dad stares back. His dad seems alright. There’s a nasty white divot where the bullet entered his dad’s head, just above the end of his left eyebrow. It was more of a devastating graze than a blast; the shot shattered the side of his skull, which lost him a lot of blood but it didn’t actually remove much brain matter. Still, shards of bone had pierced his brain. The bone did most of the damage.

The wound is much better healed than it was the last time Stiles had seen him. His head looked half caved in, his face bloodless except for the massive bruising under his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” the orderly says, “but only Derek is allowed in the unit.”

His father shoots the orderly a glower. “You can’t seriously—”

“Dad. It’s okay,” Stiles says, wiping at his face. He feels dizzy. His head spins with a heady mix of emotions—relief, disbelief, joy.

“Pretty soon he’ll be out of that room, John,” Derek says.

His dad shoots Derek a terse look before returning his gaze to Stiles. He sighs, shakes his head, and wipes a tired hand down his face. “Jesus, Son. What have you got yourself into? I don’t even know what the hell to say. This is not the direction I ever thought your life would take. You’re fucking eighteen. You should be heading off to school. Derek tells me you quit. Dammit, Stiles. You were on your way to being valedictorian.”

Stiles does his best to lever himself up off the bed but his stomach is just so massive that he can’t do it by himself. He has a wheelchair beside the bed that is much easier to use than walking. But getting into it is a challenge.

His father watches him struggle, stricken.

Derek enters and strides across the room, helping Stiles lift his huge body up from the short mattress and into the wheelchair. The height of the mattress may have been perfect for fucking, but it puts a lot of strain on Stiles’ unsteady knees. He usually has a ‘round the clock nurse monitoring and fulfilling his every need, ready to help him when he needs to move around.

He moans and rubs his belly, trying to sooth the animated pups.

Derek notices. “Lively today?”

The timber of Derek’s voice goes straight between his legs. He should not be this horny this fucking pregnant. It defies the laws of evolution. And, frequently, physics; getting Derek’s cock in him at this stage is no easy task. Which is precisely why there’s no reason he should want to lick the crotch of Derek’s jeans, unzip Derek’s fly with his teeth, and present his cunt for the taking. Heat brain is unnecessary when he's already knocked up six ways from Sunday.

And then Derek murmurs. “I was talking about them. But you seem to be pretty lively yourself.”

Stiles thanks his big, bulging stomach for hiding his erection.

Derek treats him to a crooked grin and wheels him out into the hall.

The orderly moves to stop them. “Paperwork hasn’t gone through yet. For the safety of the pups, he has to stay here in containment.”

Derek turns a sharp smile to the orderly. “I’m not waiting weeks for the red tape to get cut away. I will go straight to the damn papers and tell them this hospital is barring me from taking my pregnant mate, violating a very old werewolf treaty and law. Alpha assumes all responsibility of the health and safety of his or her pack, full stop. Unless he’s charged with committing a felony, ready to stand trial, needed for police questioning, signed a waver ruling this hospital solely responsible for his care, denying my right to claim pack law, or made claims that I’ll harm him or the pups in some way, you can’t hold him here. You will be painted fucking red. Lawyers will be all over you. The SCCA will have the staff overhauled—”

The orderly’s hands shake.

Stiles clears his throat. “Come on, man, he’s just doing his job. He’s like an ant on the totem poll here. Damned if he lets us go, damned if he doesn’t.”

“I don’t really care,” Derek says. “Do we still have a problem.”

“I—have to inform Deaton at least.”

“You do that.” And with that, Derek wheels Stiles down the hall, his three betas following.

“Smart,” Stiles’ dad says. “He’ll keep his job. He abided by protocol. We left against his advisement. He wouldn’t be expected to physically confront four werewolves.”

Stiles sighs. He feels a bit guilty, but it’s fleeting. He’s just ecstatic to be in Derek’s presence again, to see his father alive and healthy and fully cognizant.

“Where are we going?” Stiles asks.

Erica snorts. “First, to the batmobile. Then to the bat cave. You’ll love the batmobile. It’s style at its finest.”

The batmobile turns out to be a black Chevrolet Express, a commercial minivan that seats up to fifteen people. It is part creeper van, with a window next to the driver and front passenger seat and a panel shaped like a window that’s just part of the frame. Dear lord. He’ll be driving all of his children in this. The police are going to pull them over constantly.

It has bumper stickers. Terrible, awful bumper stickers that will ensure they attract suspicion. “Precious cargo.” “Babies on board.” “Supe Coop.”

“Did you buy that from a child molester?” Stiles can’t help but ask. “As is, no questions asked. Because I have a lot of questions. Tell me the bumper stickers weren’t your idea.”

Derek scoffs, annoyed. “No. I went to a dealership. The bumper stickers were Erica’s idea.”

Erica grins. “Statistics say that people drive more carefully around vehicles claiming they’ve got babies in them.”  

“Did you pull that out of a fortune cookie or momshateretailworkers.com? That sounds like complete hocus pocus internet bullshit.”

Erica shrugs.

“I trusted her on that,” Derek says with a note of regret. “I’ve been out of touch with technology and all that shit for awhile.”

“Don’t swear around our unborn children.”

His dad snorts. “Alright,” he says. “Precious cargo goes in the back.”

“I want shotgun.” He pauses. “Does that, like, trigger you? Oh, fuck. I’m shutting up now.”

The boy whose name he has yet to learn laughs.

Derek slides open the van door and helps Stiles get out of the wheelchair and into the seat behind the front passenger. Stiles rubs his belly and blows at a breath. Of course, rubbing his belly means rubbing over one of his huge, eight tits. The movement arrests Derek’s attention and he watches the motion for a moment before glancing up at Stiles with dark eyes.

The nerves in Stiles’ cunt and cock flare to life.

“So what’s the furniture situation at this place like?” Stiles asks, clearing his throat.

“Are you asking if there’s a bed for you and Derek to fuck on?” the boy asks.

“Isaac,” Derek sighs.

“Hey, whoa, now. Let the father not be present for talk like that about his son. Spare me the mental images, please, for the love of god.”

“I meant because I’m tired and should be resting, obviously.”

Derek raises an eyebrow, obviously detecting the lie.

“Obviously,” Erica and Isaac intone together.

“Where did you pick up this sassy duo? I don’t think I like them very much.”

“Well, buckle up, buttercup.” Erica smashes her mouth against Stiles’ cheek. “You’re with us for the long haul, isn’t that right, Mr. Alpha?”

“I did make it clear that I didn’t have time to vet potential betas,” Derek says, “I picked two meek, mild-mannered omegas that somehow grew big mouths.”

“Derek, my sweet. A hint about sexist stereotypes; they lie. No omega is meek and mild mannered.”

“Not what I meant. You should’ve seen what they were like before.”

“You mean how they probably appealed to your protective instincts to manipulate you?”

Derek pauses at that. “Fuck. You’d think I would’ve learned my lesson by now.” He barks a short, abrasive laugh.

Stiles immediately regrets the words, thinking of Kate.

He makes a noise—a small, little note of distress—and Derek is there, pushing into his space, smiling a sad, soft smile. “Don’t worry about it.” He presses a kiss to Stiles’ mouth. He draws back but leaves their lips touching. They share a breath.

“Alright, break it up,” his dad grumbles. “I’ve seen enough.”

Derek pulls away and licks the side of Stiles’ face just to be annoying.

***

The building is enormous and predominantly brick. Four floors of apartments with towering, arched windows overlook a pothole riddled parking lot. The building has an elevator. Derek owns a building with an elevator.

“I’ll have you on the first floor,” he says to Stiles as he wheels him up to the double door entrance. “I don’t like it. First floor is first line of defense and I don’t want my most vulnerable pack members on that floor, but in the event of an evacuation, it’s safer. All the pups need to be on the first floor.”

The place could use some work. The entryway and the stairwell are a little shabby, some writing on the wall, discolored ceiling tiles, and cracked floor tiles. It’s a project.

“Is there asbestos in here?” Stiles asks.

“No,” Derek says, irritated. “I had this place thoroughly looked over.”

“Why was it on the market?” Stiles asks, suspicious.

“Apartments were too expensive. The landlord was spending more on upkeep than he was making on tenants. He decided to sell it.”

“Are there—”

“Stiles,” Derek growls. “Are you going to spend your time picking this place apart or look for solutions on how to make it better? There’s no lead in the paint. No rusty, condemned fire escape. Every room has a fire extinguisher, functioning fire alarm, and sprinkler system. Electricity is up to code. It has heating and air conditioning and plenty of space to expand our family. There might be mice. I don’t know. We haven’t seen any, but I obviously haven’t been here for long enough to find out. We’ll get a fucking cat if that makes you feel better.”

Stiles shuts up and ducks his head.

“It could use some sprucing up, that’s for sure,” his dad says. “But that’s to be expected. Everything has been cleared out. I know Derek paid out the nose to have this place inspected as soon as possible.”

“This place could be infested with rats and have all the insulation exposed and it would still smell like freedom,” Erica says. “Better than a hospital room. Better than a half condemned house and the inside of a freezer chest.”

Isaac nods.

“A freezer chest?” Stiles asks, confused.

“A long story. Not mine to tell,” Derek says.

“It’s not a secret,” Isaac says. “Might as well tell you now. Erica had leukemia. I had a broken arm and three missing fingernails because my dad is a bastard. He locked me inside a freezer chest whenever he was pissed about something. It had been my third visit to the ER in two months. Hospital staff called the police. Derek overheard the whole nightmare and asked if I wanted out in exchange for babysitting. It was kind of a no brainer. So consider the lot life could’ve handed you and didn’t before you act like a snooty bitch.”

“Isaac,” Derek warns, but it lacks bite. It’s hard to berate someone after a story like that.

“I’m going upstairs. Call me if you need anything.”

Erica sighs and follows after him.

Stiles’ father shakes his head, no doubt grieving the way a cop does when someone was being dragged through hell and they weren’t there to stop it.

***

Derek gets Stiles situated in a cheery, spacious first floor apartment. Seriously spacious. It probably has more square footage than his old house. It is the bare essentials. There’s no TV, no phone, no bed really, just a thick, expensive looking mattress laid on the floor of what is meant to be the living room area. The electricity works, judging by the hum of the fridge. With the sunlight pouring in from the window and reflecting off the white walls, there’s no need to turn on the overhead lights. The kitchen has appliances that are, again, bare essentials: frying pan, saucepan, pot, utensils, things of that nature.

Oddly enough, there are several giant dog beds pushed together.

No coffee maker. That will have to be at the top of Stiles’ list. Stiles will have to make a very long list.

The prospect excites him. Something to do. Something he can decide on instead of having decided for him.

“I’m not sure if this will be the nursery or our room,” Derek says.

“I’d focus on the nursery first,” his dad says, admiring the place. “This is big enough for it to function as both. With six kids on the way, you’ll want them combined.”

Derek nods. “I was thinking that too. Maybe I’ll put in an adjoining door between this apartment and the next. But we’ll need—a lot.” He sighs.

“I can make a list and order it all for you. Me and the kids can put things together,” his dad says. Stiles is surprised that they’re so chummy, considering he’s talking to the wolfman who put six pups in his eighteen-year-old son. “You just focus on Stiles. And maybe get a proper bed.”

Derek shakes his head. “For the first eight months, the pups will be in wolf form. They’ll need access to their mother. They’ll be walking after just a couple of weeks. They won’t be able to climb a high bed. I’ll probably have to put up some ramps until they learn to jump.”

His father’s eyebrows do their best to touch his hairline.

Stiles already knew this through all his research. They don’t turn human until they’re fully mobile. As far as survival goes, it’s a brilliant mark of evolution. Their young can run from hunters.

“He’ll be confined to that mattress,” his dad says. “Without a way to swing his legs over, he’s like a turtle on its back. He won’t have the leverage to get up.”

“He’s also listening and very insulted,” Stiles says.

“I’ll be with him the whole time. Being away for just a few weeks was hard enough. He’s in good hands.”

“And paws,” Stiles says.

Derek and his father stare at him. Unwilling to be cowed, Stiles stares back.

Derek shakes himself. “We’ll need cribs.”

“And this place will need to be repainted. And they’ll need toys,” Stiles says. “Fuck, when will they start teething? I can’t remember what I read. My nipples hurt just thinking about it.”

Derek smiles. “I’m not sure, but not for a while. They’re not like normal puppies, Stiles.”

Stiles nods and pets his broad, bulging belly. “I’m kind of tired. I think I’ll lie down for a bit.”

His father nods. “I’ll leave you to rest, Son.”

As soon as he’s gone, Stiles undoes the belt of his robe and casts it off, revealing his flesh in full, his heavily pregnant belly, his eight, full tits, his hard cock poking out from under the globe of his stomach. Derek gives him a long, appraising look. He licks his lips and Stiles sees the front of his pants bulge, his cock filling out. Derek unzips his fly and lets it spring free. He isn’t wearing any underwear. Derek coaxes it to its massive length with smooth, measured strokes.

“Wanna fuck me?” Stiles asks.

“Yeah.”

“How do you want me?”

“Comfortable but also screaming.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow at that. “Screaming, huh? With your betas and my dad able to hear?”

“I don’t care about that. They’re going to hear us having sex all of the time.”

Stiles laughs. “All of the time?”

“You doubt that?”

“No. I’ve missed feeling you inside me. Masturbating is hard when your own fucking body is in the way.”

Derek grins at that and sweeps his eyes up and down Stiles’ body. “Erica’s right. You are fat.”

“Words that just go right to the spank bank, pal. Thanks.”

Derek shakes his head. “It’s incredibly hot knowing I did that to you.”

“I let you.”

“You did. I’m glad you did.”

Stiles braces his arms under his belly and makes his way over to the mattress. He sits and spreads his legs, exposing his wet cunt. He thinks of ways to rile Derek up.

“You’re right. I’m so fat that it’s easier just to crawl on my hands and knees to get around. Makes me more available to fuck that way, doesn’t it? I think I like that. Always at the level you can just stick your dick in me. Or always in position for you to mount me.”

Derek’s eyes flash red. “Do you want me to mount you or do you want me to grab you and shove you on my cock?”

“Yes.”

Derek blinks. “That was two choices.”

“Yes. To both. I want both.”

Derek considers that with a shrug and discards his clothes. For a moment, Stiles admires Derek in his full naked glory, his massive cock juts from his body, his defined muscles ripple, for lack of a better word, as he moves. He’s a wolfman through and through, covered in hair in all the places Stiles finds intensely attractive: chest, legs, groin, pits. Stiles shuffles onto the bed on his hands and knees, and in that split second, misses Derek’s transformation.

His cunt is hot and needy, clenching around nothing. His cock strains hard against the underside of his massive belly, leaking as profusely as his cunt. It occurs to him again that he is Derek’s bitch. He will get on his hands and knees in a heartbeat. He’ll stay on them for as long as Derek wants. He will bear Derek a legendary brood of pups.

He swallows at that. His body demands it. His hormones beg for it. A deep, primal part of him always wants pups in his belly as another screams at him in outrage and betrayal; how could he so easily throw away the aspirations that drove him to work so hard in school? He’s more than just a wolf bitch. And yet he’s happy being a wolf’s bitch. An extremely well-bred bitch.

Stiles closes his eyes and his mind whites out as a long tongue laps at his cunt. He spreads his legs wider. His massive, heavy belly presses into the mattress, practically propping him up. He feels liquid trickle down his front. He knows it isn’t sweat. He’s lactating—milk drips from his teats. He knows it’s from playing with them so much. He’s stimulated them to the point that his body thinks there are pups to feed.

Derek chuffs.

God. You smell like milk. I’m going to drain every one of your tits. They’re going to be huge by the time the pups come. Werewolves have big appetites, sweetheart. You’ll need a lot of milk. We’ve got to train your body to make more. 

Stiles’ cunt pulses hot. He’s messed up. The thought of nursing Derek shouldn’t turn him on.

Derek pounces. He clamps his forearms against Stiles’ ribs, rears up, and ploughs his cock inside Stiles’ desperate hole. Stiles cries out.

Maybe you shouldn’t scream. Your dad could come in. He’ll see that you’re a slut for monster cock, isn’t that right?

Stiles is only half listening, his voice a juddery, series of “ahs” as Derek takes him.

“Not a monster,” he slurs.

Derek licks a stripe up the side of Stiles’ neck and humps him with almost violent enthusiasm.

What am I then, hm?

“Mine,” Stiles says. His pleasure hits a fever pitch and he tumbles over the edge, coming on the ruthless cock sliding in and out of him at the speed that drives him wild.

That’s right, sweetheart. And you’re mine, aren’t you?

“Yeah,” Stiles manages, dazed and in the grip of euphoria.

Derek slams into him one last time and plugs Stiles up with his knot. Hot come floods inside him, doing its damnedest to do what it has already done. Again, a dark, primal part of him envies the orc queen and her ability to get pregnant while she’s already pregnant. Perpetually, reproducing for her mates.

Stiles moans loud and unrestrained. Derek turns, dismounting but still connected, and lies down, panting. Gingerly, Stiles tries to do the same and ends up on his side, his legs braced around Derek.

Stiles swears he’s in heat. He seems to spontaneously experience symptoms throughout his pregnancy, and he pleasures himself on Derek’s knot, rocking against it, weakly circling his hips.

Don’t hurt yourself, Derek warns.

Stiles is too busy coming again to care about anything Derek has to say. His vision goes completely dark for about thirty-seconds.

He comes to with Derek, as a man, grunting and fucking into him.

“The best part of waking up, is a pestle in your cup.”

“What?” Derek asks.

Derek puts him back on his hands and knees, so Stiles rocks back onto the huge cock stretching him open.

“Mortar and pestle. Ancient symbols of dick and vaj coming together. It’s funny because apparently I’m part witch.”

“You’re too lucid. Clearly I’m not fucking you hard enough. And—” Derek picks up the pace. “No joke—” a grunt “—is funny—” a gasp and a groan and a swivel of his hips that has Stiles’ eyes rolling back “—if you have to explain it.”

“Not—my fault! Ah. That—fuck—intellectual humor is—” Stiles stops talking; he loses his words under a long moan as Derek’s knot bulges inside him and, for a second time, floods his insides with come.

“I’m not doing this for the intellectual stimulation,” Derek says and kisses the back of his neck.

Stiles hums—he can’t argue with that.

***

After another month, Stiles gains another twenty pounds and Derek makes good on his word; he guzzles Stiles’ milk until Stiles worries that he’ll be sick from it. But he treats it as something impossible to tire of. There is one embarrassing incident when his dad walks in on Derek playing with and nursing his tits.

They grow to the size of small watermelons, jiggling and bouncing when he walks, which isn’t often on account of the difficulty. He plays with them constantly, fascinated by the way they flop against his body and dribble milk when he lifts one up and lets it go.

In that time, the room gets repainted a slate-green, which Derek finds too somber for a nursery but Stiles thinks is the general color of a forest and extremely calming.

Stiles begins to settle every disagreement with: “Don’t argue with the pregnant one.”

His father also agrees with Derek, but wisely doesn’t say anything; Stiles can tell they’re of one mind by the strain in his dad’s smile when he says he approves. Stiles is better than a lie detector when it comes to interpreting his father’s bullshit. Erica and Isaac surprisingly, honestly like it. Isaac perhaps more than Erica.

“Gender neutral yellow is boring and too cheerful,” she says.

“Pink and blue are for cotton candy,” Isaac says. “And with six pups you’re likely to have both genders, right? So it’s not like you can stick to the stereotype unless you paint one wall blue and one wall pink and make this into a circus.”

Stiles, for reasons he can’t explain, starts tearing up. “That completely crossed my mind. That’s exactly what I thought. I love you, man.”

They buy toys. So many toys. They become their own warehouse of toys for human babies and puppies. They build a large pen around the mattress, for when the pups will gain more mobility. Stiles wouldn’t want them wandering too far out of sight. They outnumber his eyes two to six. Which is really closer to one to six because it’s not like his eyes can swivel in multiple directions like a chameleon. He senses he’ll sorely wish he could develop this ability.

Six. The number still daunts him.

Stiles demands a TV and Derek gets a big one and mounts it on the wall. They set up the internet—blessed, blessed wifi—get every streaming service imaginable, and relocate everything that was in Stiles’ old house into the apartment complex.  

He toys with the idea of getting his GED, of taking night classes, and graduation. It’s with relief and bitterness that he shuts his laptop thinking, he’s a breeding bitch that doesn’t need to think about that crap.

***

He’s in bed when he feels a cramp in his abdomen and knows, without any doubt, what that means. He wakes Derek.

Derek grumbles and smooths a hand down Stiles’ impossibly huge belly.

“Derek.”

“Hm? Are you okay?”

“I think I’m having contractions.”

Derek is up in a second. “I’ll call Deaton.”

“I mean—they’re light. It could be awhile before—”

“Still calling Deaton. You’re too close to your due date. I should’ve called him yesterday as a precaution and paid him to stay here until the birth. It’ll take him three hours to get here from BHAH.”

Stiles rubs his broad belly and silently panics.

***

In the three and a half hours they wait for Deaton to arrive, Stiles’ water breaks. He bites his lip and grits his teeth as his pains come closer and hold on longer. He holds his breath a number of times before he realizes that labor breathing is an actual thing and concentrates on that. Dread builds heavier and heavier in his stomach, a cairn of stones. He’s surprised there’s room for it with all that he has going on in there. Maybe that’s what’s making it feel like his insides are being pushed out of him.

Derek paces at his side in wolf form.

Stiles makes a plaintive noise and Derek is on the mattress in an instant. Stiles strokes his fur, lets it ease his anxiety. He’s so fucking scared of pain.

You’ll be alright, sweetheart. Remember, if a human omega can birth a foal, you can birth six pups a tenth of the size.

“But it’s going to hurt regardless of the size.”

The door opens and Stiles’ dad and Deaton emerge into the nursery/den/birthing room.

“I must say, I haven’t done a home birth in a long time,” Deaton remarks.

“That’s a massive comfort,” Stiles grumbles. “Great.”

“You still want me to wait outside, kiddo?” his dad asks. “I’m more than happy to stay.”

“I don’t know. People have their parents around all the time. But it’s too weird. Can’t—” a lot of air was required for that and Stiles’ insides seize on a long, painful cramp. “Just. I’ll scream if I need you. But right now. Only people I want looking at my vaj are a doctor and the one who—”

“Yep. Got it. Loud and clear. I’ll be going. I’ll be right outside the door.”

“Upstairs,” Stiles corrects. “I don’t want you to overhear anything embarrassing. Derek will text you if I want you. Okay?”

“Okay.”

His dad leaves.

“Let’s have a look at your cervix,” Deaton says with cheer.

With some difficulty, Stiles removes his robe and reveals his giant belly and eight tits. If Erica thought he was a planet a month ago, he’s a galaxy now. He groans and holds the globe of his stomach, feeling all the shifting and kicking underneath his flesh. Deaton looks between his legs.

“You’ve made good progress. About six or seven centimeters. You’ve got a bit more to wait before you can start pushing.”

White noise crackles in Stiles’ ears—a whoosh of his thundering heartrate. He’s terrified. He’s not ready to have them outside of him. He was never ready to have them inside of him. He thinks of the centaur mates and the orc queen and even the dragon mates laying eggs.

“Is there a patient-doctor confidentiality thing—” Stiles sucks in a breath “—or can you tell me about the others?”

“There is a patient-doctor confidentiality thing,” Deaton says. “Now. Let’s try to get you comfortable. I can’t imagine it feels very good being propped up against a wall.”

“Nothing feels good,” Stiles grits between his teeth. He inhales and exhales. “Everything is pain.”

Derek whines and licks his hand.

“Derek, why don’t you lie here—that’s right. And let Stiles turn and use you to prop him up. There we are. How does that feel?”

Stiles kneels with his legs spread apart, his ass in the air, and his head pillowed on his arms with Derek underneath him. He feels like his insides are ready to fall out. A heavy weight presses down against his opening, against his cervix. His fist pup. A wave of pain crashes over him. He rides it out, biting back a scream. He presses his face into Derek’s furry back.

Oh, sweetheart. Derek’s voice sounds pitying in his head.

“Better. Worse. I don’t know. I don’t fucking know. Just—distract me. Derek sucks at talking.”

Derek doesn’t deny it.

“I suppose if you were birthing in the facility, what I’d have to tell you wouldn’t matter because you could see it for yourself,” Deaton says. “I must say, don’t repeat anything about what I’m about to tell you.”

“I probably won’t remember it in ten minutes,” Stiles hisses, pained.

“The minotaur’s omega is pregnant. Carrying triplets and nearly as big as you. Multiples in a minotaur birth are unheard of. We’re curious how it will go. He’s strong, healthy, and durable. I doubt he’ll need a c-section. They’ve been mating non-stop, excited by the news.”

Derek snorts.

Stiles breathes in and out and tries not to think of the minotaur’s huge cock ploughing that burly omega like it was an Olympic sport.

“Stiles, I have to ask, would it be alright if I documented your birth? We keep extensive records of all of our patients. It may be of use to a future doctor if you wish to have your next litter in a hospital.”

Derek growls a little but Stiles says, “Yeah. Sure. Whatever.”

***

When the pain reaches a fever pitch that has Stiles cursing and crying and shouting, it stops suddenly. And that’s when the fear kicks in.

“Guys. I can’t feel anything,” he gasps.

What do you mean? Derek ask, alarmed. Stiles—what do you mean?

His statement isn’t quite accurate. He feels something. A reversal of the whole process—the flick of a switch and a pause as his systems come back online. His cunt throbs hard—his muscles tick and his nerves scream and burn hot. Pleasure doesn’t pool in his gut—it crashes over him like a tidal wave.

Stiles’ cock springs up faster than it ever has in his life. He cries out and bows his back. The stimulation of the warm mattress against his breasts makes his cunt flutter with want and his cock twitch.

Deaton. His eyes are glowing violet. What the fuck—

But Stiles isn’t listening. He needs something on his dick. He snakes a hand between his legs and cups himself, hissing at how sensitive he is. He sees white. His cunt spasms, greedy. Milk leaks from his nipples, somehow associating this feeling as a precursor to a hungry mouth. He fists himself quick and comes with an animal cry.

“Interesting. Stiles’ magic has flooded him with what is likely an overload of endorphins and estrogen to protect him from pain and prostaglandins to expediate the dilation of his cervix. In just a few minutes he has dilated a centimeter. He appears to be experiencing a rare phenomenon known as a pleasure birth.”

“Derek. Fuck me,” Stiles pleads.

I’m afraid I can’t, sweetheart. Your cunt is a little crowded right now.

He feels it: pressure. Pressure pressing down. Something coming out of him. Dazed, he pushes on instinct. Stiles levers up off of Derek and onto his hands and knees.

“That’s it,” Deaton says. “Push, Stiles. You’re ready for that part of the process. The first pup is always hardest. Once you’ve birthed that one, the rest come easier and quicker.”

“Get up,” Stiles says.

Derek pauses for a moment before he rises to his feet. His huge cock is red and fully engorged. Stiles can’t take his eyes off it.

“Shift,” he says. “I need you as a man right now.”

Derek does and still sports a massive erection.

“You’re getting off on this,” Stiles says. It’s a miracle he manages speech at all. He feels half drugged, the world and his body intertwined in that kind of blurry state of semiconsciousness. 

“You’re having my pups. Something about you right now is—well.” He gestures to his leaking cock.    

Stiles pulls Derek down so that he’s kneeling on the mattress, cock jutting proud and within reach. Stiles licks the head of it and sucks. The taste of Derek explodes on his tongue, hits some pleasure center in his brain. He sucks feverishly, drawing his lips up and down, taking Derek as deep as he can, which is barely halfway down his shaft. Derek grunts above him.

Stiles’ hands cling to Derek’s hips as his mouth fucks Derek’s cock, licking and sucking and kissing like it’s his single purpose in life.

Derek groans. “Is this—ah, fuck—normal or—Jesus, sweetheart, calm down."

Stiles doesn’t know who Derek’s talking to, but his mouth is busy so he refuses to answer.

“I assume so,” says Deaton. Ah. Stiles completely forgot about him. “We don’t have much data on pleasure births. Stiles’ heightened arousal has prompted him to perform enthusiastic oral sex on his mate in the middle of birthing his second pup,” Deaton says presumably to his recording device.

Something about that sentence seems important, but, again, he can’t be bothered to stop playing with Derek’s cock. He’s fixated on its heat, taste, and weight. He suckles and laps at the fluids leaking from it until Derek is gasping and groaning and shooting into his mouth.

Something slips from his body. Pressure builds deep inside him, moves slowly south through his cunt.

“You’re doing so good, Stiles. You’re almost halfway there,” Derek says, his voice rough.

A hand pets through his hair and a thumb brushes down the vertebrae in his neck. He preens under the praise. He licks Derek clean, ignoring his harsh breaths. Or, he tries to lick Derek clean; he comes in spurts. As soon as Stiles cleans him up, he makes a mess again.

“Fuck,” Derek groans. “Fuck. Stiles—”

Stiles finds Derek’s knot and tries to suck a hickey onto it. Derek cries out and fists a hand in his hair. More come splatters against his neck and chest.

“Third pup out,” Deaton says.

“Should I just let him keep going?” Derek asks.

“I don’t see why not. You’re helping to keep him distracted.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t seem aware of the pups at all. That kind of bothers me.”

Stiles frowns. Some clarity comes back to him—the reason he’s in this state with Deaton present. He lets go of Derek’s hips and reaches between his legs with one hand. He feels thick, slimy cords dangling out of him. Confusion and a lingering, rising sense of panic intermingle in his head.

“That’s right, Stiles,” Derek says. “You back with us?”

“Never left,” he grumbles. He shakes his head.

He feels it then. Weight pressing down, a spark of pain. An impulsive part of him wants the hazy world of desire to take over again, another recognizes that it’s important to be mentally present for this. This is the birth of his children, for fuck’s sake.

He grunts and bears down, pushing. He feels the hot weight slip from him again. With effort, he does it two more times. And a third for his placenta. And then that’s it. He’s done it—he’s given birth. With some help from Derek, Stiles twists around and sees all their pups. Six, pure black bundles of wet fur mewl and whine for him.

He can’t deny that he has a moment of disassociation—they look like animals. He loves them and they’re adorable but he has trouble reconciling the idea that he gave birth to six, eight pound puppies. But reality kicks in soon enough. He gave birth to six werewolves. Those are his and Derek’s. He did it. He really did what he set out to do. His plan worked. He got his dad healed in exchange for this. The scales still seem tipped unfairly in his favor. This wasn’t a cost but another gain. He’s a mom.

“Oh,” Stiles says, a little stupefied with wonder.

“Why don’t you lay down,” Derek says. “On your side, so they can nurse.”

“I assume you have an ice pack and adequate supplies for postpartum care?” Deaton asks.

“Freezer,” Derek says absently. He doesn’t look away from the pups squirming on the mattress. He transforms into a wolf and sets to licking the pups clean.

Deaton returns with an ice pack, a few dish towels slung over his arm, and a glass of water. He takes some time to pat Stiles dry and sanitizes the area a bit with wipes from his medical bag. He wraps the icepack in one of the clean dish towels and sets it against Stiles’ sore cunt. He gives Stiles the water and also retrieves a bottle of painkillers.

“Omegas have a remarkably short recovery period,” Deaton says, “But keep your fluids up. I’m sure you’ve done extensive research on what to do after birth, but I’ll tell you a few things anyway. Eat plenty of fruits and vegetables and high fiber foods to counter the constipation you’re likely to suffer. You don’t want to strain an area that’s weak and hurting. You’ll likely experience hemorrhoids—”

We prepared for ever possible eventuality. He has a bidet.

“I’m glad to hear it. Don’t be alarmed by any mucus discharge. Some lingering contractions are normal. They will compress the blood vessels to prevent bleeding. I highly suggest you don’t have sex for at least four weeks. Incontinence—”

“I know,” Stiles says, smiling at the pup that suckles his finger. “We have to name them. God. Do we even know who was born first? Is that a thing littermates fight over?”

Yes. I did with my sisters. Or, rather, my older sister always held it against me. I know who was born first, second, third, and so on. Let’s name them.

“I always liked the name Diana. How many girls—”

“Four girls and two boys,” Deaton says.

“Great. Just five to go.” Stiles blows out a breath.

Derek nudges the pups closer to Stiles’ chest and Stiles helps them along by teasing their mouths with his nipples until they latch and suck at his milk. He gets all of them to nurse. Two are a bit difficult because the massive bulge of his stomach elevates his upper row of tits and he has to hold them up a bit. Derek transforms back into a man and takes over holding up the pups nursing his top row so he can rest his arms.

“Gregory,” Derek says.

Stiles wrinkles his nose. “I guess. Samantha.”

Derek nods and then smirks. “Samuel.”

“Are you for real? Are you trying to think of ways to get them to hate us before they’ve developed object permanence?”

“Arthur,” Derek says.

“I’ll take that. Lucas.”

“Is this another Star Wars thing?”

“Ha! No, actually. Liam?”

“I like Liam more.”

“Okay. Boys are sorted. Two to go on the girls. Heather?”

Derek nods. “Diana, Samantha, Liam, Arthur, Heather, and…”

“Nadia. It’s Polish and a little bit like Claudia, my mother’s name.”

“Diana and Nadia are anagrams, sweetheart.”

“Fuck. But they’ll be like cute twinsies.”

“They’re sextuplets.”

Deaton clears his throat. “Well, you two seem to have everything under control. If you have any concerns, I’d suggest you schedule an appointment with an OBGYN that specializes in omega anatomy and has some knowledge on how the supernatural impacts it. Or, if anything is more pressing, go to the ER. You have my number and can text me any questions you may have, but I’m a busy man and might not answer in the timeframe you need. Take care of yourselves. Stiles—drink a lot of fluids and get some rest.”

Stiles blinks at him, his eyelids heavy and ready to stay closed, highlighting Deaton’s point.

Exhaustion pulls at him hard and his head bobs.

“We’ll talk about it later.”

“No. Names are settled.” Stiles takes a moment to rest his eyes and promptly falls asleep.