Chapter Text
Stiles couldn’t remember what happened. He knew that he was walking back to the dorms pretty late - or early, depending on how you looked at it - and that a car stopped by him… He thought that there was a blond guy by the wheel and… he asked for directions? Seriously it was a the oldest trick in the book, and somehow he still fell for it.
It was hard to open his eyes. Was he drugged?
When he finally managed to pry them open, his vision was blurry for a few minutes before it cleared enough to make sense of what he was seeing. He was on his back, looking up at a… mobile? It was the kind they put above cribs and it had funny looking whales and sharks on it.
Stiles got a bit dizzy as it rotate slowly, playing some kind of lullaby.
What the fuck was going on?
He tried to move, but to his panic he could barely shift. He turned his head and saw that he was - in fact - in a crib with wooden bars and everything. His heart beat quick and scared. Shit… Shit, his hands were fixed to the bars with fabric cuffs by his head. He strained his head to look down on his body, and felt himself pale. He was wearing a powder blue onesie and his legs were also restrained, the cuffs under his knees keeping them spread and bent.
Stiles closed his eyes, trying to just breath. His brain cleared slowly from whatever he was knocked out with, and he became aware of… other things one by one.
His groin felt swaddled. He didn’t want to look, but he was pretty sure he was wearing a diaper. Fuck. And there was a pacifier in his mouth. He tried to push it out with his tongue, but couldn’t, so it was probably strapped around his head.
He turned his head from side to side - it was basically the only part of him with any mobility. Now that he tried, he felt that he was propped up against something, so he forced himself to look.
His head was pillowed in the lap of a huge Teddy bear. The toy looked back at him with friendly glass eyes, and for some reason that was the thing that got Stiles crying.
Shit, shit… he was in such deep shit…
A moment later the door opened and two people walked in. Stiles’ heart hammered in his chest as he tried to make out their faces.
One of them was the blond guy from the car, he was good looking, probably around forty. The other was a handsome too, with a well kept goatee and piercing blue eyes.
Why the fuck did a pair of dudes like this had to kidnap someone, Stiles had no idea; they were fine enough to get anyone - he thought hysterically.
He flinched when the blond one reached into the crib, but all he did was swipe away the tears on his face.
“Look at that, Peter, our pretty little boy,” he said, uncaring of the fact that Stiles was about a minute away from having a panic attack.
“Mhm… and I can already see that he’s going to be one fussy baby,” the other guy - apparently Peter - commented. The blond one shot him a disapproving look.
“Not like it matters,” Peter added quickly, hands held up in surrender. “He’s ours now.”
Stiles clenched his eyes together on a sob.
They left him alone shortly after, telling him good night. He couldn’t move away as both of them bent down to kiss his forehead, but that was the last of his problems.
Stiles really needed to piss.
He tried squirming around, but it only made the feeling worse, and on top of it he couldn’t even close his legs.
He tried calling out through the pacifier, and once the door even opened for a second - he suspected that there was a baby monitor somewhere - but before anyone came in, he heard Peter’s voice saying “Come on, Chris. Don’t spoil him; he will tire himself out in no time.” and then it closed again.
As much as he hated to admit it, he was right. It didn’t take long for his bladder to give in and empty into his diaper. Stiles cried through the whole thing, feeling utterly humiliated by the warmth spreading between his legs. Struggling and crying was very tiring though, and slowly his brain shut down, despite everything and his eyes fell closed.
Stiles woke to someone lifting him. His eyes snapped open and he started struggling, but Peter was holding him steadily.
“Shush now, pumpkin. Let daddy change you while papa gets your breakfast,” he said.
Stiles was still tied up; his wrists were bound to his upper arms with soft cuffs, the same way his ankles were to his thighs. There was just enough slack to flex them a bit, but not enough to do anything useful. His was still wearing the blue, short sleeved onesie, but now there were also thick mittens on his hands. They were white with a bit of lacing at the hem.
Peter put him down on an adult sized changing table, and used some built in straps to secure him around the chest. He couldn’t even roll away.
Stiles tried kicking out, but it didn’t work with his legs bent, and Peter parted his thighs easily, undoing the buttons of the onesie and pulling it up.
“Well look at that! You’ve already used your nappy! I thought you would need a bit of convincing, but apparently you’re a natural at it.”
Stiles felt his face warm and his eyes filling with tears. It wasn’t his fault. He drank a ton of coffee yesterday - was it even yesterday? - and his bladder had limits, damn it.
Peter started whistling under his breath tunelessly as he opened the diaper, and pulled it from under him.
Stiles closed his eyes, trying hard to ignore what was happening. He didn’t cooperate, but Peter seemed to have no problem with moving his body around. Fuck, the guy was surprisingly strong.
Before his new diaper was fixed in place Peter took some thick cream and started to rub it against Stiles’ hole, making his breath hitch in surprise and shock. He tried to wiggle away, but it was no use.
Peter tutted at him, and took something from one of the drawers. He held it out for Stiles to see.
It was a but plug, except it was shaped more or less like a pacifier. It wasn’t too big, but still, the thought of it going into him had Stiles struggling against his restrains.
“Now, now, pumpkin, none of that!” Peter told him as he worked a finger into his ass, and then added another quickly. The stretch was surprisingly mild.
“Feels good, doesn’t it, darling? This baby cream has a bit of muscle relaxant in it…”
Stiles frowned, trying to keep his reactions in check. Peter’s fingers felt good.
“Your papa is a big softy and wants you to get used to having things in your bum before we start playing with you properly,” he explained, pulling out and pushing the plug into him. It felt a bit uncomfortable, but there was no real pain.
“Apparently babies like you are much better behaved if they have something to occupy them, so we will play a lot with your bottom, and you will get real nice, big toys too.”
Stiles shuddered. What the fuck did that mean?
Peter finished securing his diaper and then buttoned his onesie in too. He undid the strap around Stiles chest, and lifted him up without even a sound. How the hell was he doing that? He had to be shorter than Stiles, and even though he was clearly muscled, he didn’t seem like the bodybuilder type.
Peter patter the back of his head and carried him out of the room.
Stiles had enough time to look around. The room was huge, about the size of three spacious bedrooms; on second glance, he was pretty sure it was actually three rooms opened into one. The walls were painted light blue with while clouds near the ceiling that was also white. He could see that other than the room with the crib there was some kind of a play area filled with different toys and adult sized baby furniture.
Peter took him down a hallway and into a large, open kitchen. Chris was standing by the stove, stirring something. He smiled at Stiles when they came in.
“Good morning! How is our little pumpkin doing?”
He stepped up to them and kissed Stiles’ forehead, uncaring of the way he tried to jerk his head away.
“I think he slept fine after he quieted down, used his nappy and everything,” Peter said, depositing him in a highchair. He couldn’t get out of it with the safety bar between his legs and the little tray in front of him. And he didn’t want to risk falling out without being able to catch himself on his limbs.
Chris ruffled his hair.
“That’s good to hear. I hope he will get used to everything soon.”
That wasn’t fucking likely.
Peter hummed, sitting down by the table. Chris plated some eggs and bacon for him then turned to Stiles with an actual goddamned baby bottle.
Stiles jerked back so hard that he almost toppled the chair. Peter gave him an unamused look. He put his fork down.
“Okay, pumpkin. I know this is still scary for you with a new family to get used to, but I won’t have you misbehave. Your papa went into the trouble to prepare your food, and when he gets your dummy out,” he said as Chris sighed and started to work on the strap holding it in his mouth “you are going to behave.”
As soon as the pacifier was finally taken from his mouth, Stiles spit right in Peter’s face.
“Listen to me, you sick bas…” he couldn’t finish the sentence. Peter was incredibly fast, in a second he had Stiles out of the chair and strolling with him off. Stiles screamed and struggled all the way to what appeared to be a bathroom.
Peter put him down another changing table, took a bar of soap from the counter and jammed it into Stiles’ mouth as far as it would go.
Stiles sputtered and gagged, the disgusting bitter favor of it exploding in his mouth. His eyes immediately watered, but Peter didn’t seem to care. When he pulled the soap out, he made sure to scrap some of it off with Stiles teeth before he took the pacifier back from Chris - who apparently followed them in - and strapped it in place.
Stiles could barely breath, throwing himself this way and that on the table. It was awful, he was pretty sure he never tasted something so repulsive in his life. Peter grabbed his chin and looked into his eyes.
“I don’t like to do this, pumpkin, but if you don’t know how to use your mouth properly, I will wash it out for you as many times as you want. You are a baby, and babies are not allowed to make grown-up noises.”
Chris stood behind Peter, looking at Stiles with disappointment.
“Not to mention the words you were using,” he put in and Peter nodded.
“Yes. I will not have you disrespect me or your papa again, so you will have a separate punishment for that,” he said, and just like that he hauled Stiles up again, and didn’t stop until they were in the living room.
Peter sat down in an armchair, turning Stiles so he was on his stomach over his knees.
He tried to wiggle away, but it didn’t have any more effect than all the other times.
Peter swiftly unbuttoned his onesie and undid his diaper.
“Honey, would you keep breakfast warm while I take care of this?” he asked Chris. Stiles couldn’t see the other man, but he heard his low voice before he walked out.
“Don’t be too hard on him, love. He’s only just learning…”
Peter planted a heavy palm on the small of Stiles back.
“See? Your papa loves you very much. And so do I, but that doesn’t mean I will go easy on you,” he said, and a second later he slapped Stiles’ ass hard.
He screamed, or at leas tried, but it was no use, Peter continued spanking him until there were tears streaming down his face and disgusting tasting, slightly foamy saliva dripping down his chin. Stiles stopped fighting after a while, closing his eyes and trying to concentrate on anything else than the way the hits reverberated through his butt plug and that he was getting ha… no, not thinking about it.
Stiles was sure he was going to die - of something - but just when he didn’t think he could take any more, Peter stopped.
He just panted for a few moments, feeling the man caress his poor, throbbing ass.
Peter put his diaper on and straightened his clothes, turning him on his back, but careful not to put pressure on his bottom.
Stiles looked up at him with blurry eyes. He didn’t seem angry.
“There you are, pumpkin,” he said, smiling. “I hope you learned your lesson. Are you ready to flush that nasty soap from your mouth?”
Stiles blinked at him, then nodded hesitantly.
“There’s my baby!”
After Peter took him back to the bathroom and helped him to get most of the soap out of his mouth he was taken to the kitchen again. This time, he was put into Chris’ lap, who undid his gag again, and when he offered the bottle, Stiles took it, too tired to resist.
He was hungry anyway.
Whatever was in the bottle, it wasn’t milk. It tasted bland and mildly sweet, but it felt thicker and a bit grainy on his tongue.
Peter sat down and dug into his breakfast too.
“Look at the poor little thing, he’s all exhausted,” Chris said quietly. Stiles decided to close his eyes, not wanting to look at either of them, and just sucked. It was wrong and humiliating, but… He didn’t think he could take another of their punishments so soon.
Peter hummed noncommittally.
“Maybe we should put him down again?” Chris asked, adjusting the bottle so that the formula was coming easier.
“No, he will get all fussy when it’s nap time. We should just put him on his mat. It’s important to give him a routine while he’s still adjusting…”
Stiles didn’t care. He tried to tune the conversation out.
The bottle was soon empty. Chris got him vertical - Stiles noted absentmindedly, that he had a much harder time than Peter - and propped him against his chest, patting hi back gently.
It took Stiles a while to realize that he was expected to burp.
His body froze up as he weighted his options. This was so fucking humiliating, that he felt himself flush from head to toe. On the other hand, what if they gave him a punishment again?
He clenched his eyes shut and just did it.
“There you go, that was a very nice little burp!”
Jesus Christ. Did he have to spell it out?
Again, it was Peter who picked him up, carrying him into the living room. Stiles was a bit scared that he fucked up something again, but he wasn’t put over the man’s knee, instead, he was placed on what appeared to be a legitimate playmat, except that it was adult sized, and the arches over it - even though they were covered in fabric - seemed to be much sturdier than plastic.
Peter and Chris unclasped his limbs one by one and cuffed them to the arches. Stiles tried their hold, but to his dismay, they were solid.
The mat was thick and raised by the head, so Stiles could at least look around a bit, and wasn’t forced to just stare at the stupid animals hanging above him.
Peter turned the TV on, and switched it to the baby channel, before giving a kiss to Chris and leaving them alone.
The man sat down beside him, pulling a pair of pale yellow socks from his pocket and rolling them on Stiles’ feet.
“I wouldn’t want you to catch a cold,” he said, then he rubbed his hand in soft circles on Stiles stomach. He couldn’t shy away from the touch tied up like this, but he turned his head into the other direction sullenly.
Chris didn’t seem to mind.
“That’s okay, pumpkin. You will be fine, all you have to do is let us take care of you.”
Stiles closed his eyes, pretending not to hear.