This one is considerably darker than my usual stories. M/M raunchy crackfick dark romance featuring evil Theo Raeken disregarding everyone else’s notions of free will. Extremely dubious consent (regarding celestial space magic granting him the ability to dominate whoever he wants)…Proceed if that’s your thing! Will eventually lead to a twisted HEA for all parties. Aka everyone will be happy (thanks to mindfuckery).
Under a midnight sky, Theo Raeken sat alone on a fallen log. The sky was darker than usual, even for a New Moon. “I hate New Moons,” he said aloud to nobody but himself.
Theo’s mind was heavy with resentment and unfulfilled ambition and loneliness. The pack had rejected him again, leaving him to sulk alone. A sudden streak across the sky caught his eye—a meteor? No, something smaller, weirder, hurtling directly toward him. Before he could react, it struck him square in the crotch, a searing pain exploding through his body. The rock, glowing with an otherworldly energy, burned through his clothes, reducing them to ash. Theo collapsed. His vision blurred as heat undulated through his veins, reshaping the very fabric of his being. The last thing he remembered the taste of ozone and iron.
He awoke at dawn, bare naked. He felt alive. His body felt sturdier but more agile, more powerful. His muscles glistened with sweat, his chest broader, his jaw sharper. But it was lower that the change was most profound: his cock, once average, now swung thick and heavy between his thighs, veined and insistent, already half-hard with an unfamiliar ache. A rut, he realized dimly through the fog clouding his mind. “Werewolves don’t get ruts anymore,” he thought to himself as a flicker of curiosity emerged in his hazy mind. Heat and ruts and mating cycles were ancient history. His dick twitched at the thought of mating cycles. He needed to claim, to dominate, to breed.
Then, footsteps. Laughter. Theo’s head snapped up, nostrils flaring. Stiles Stilinski and Derek Hale, hand in hand like lovesick puppies. Derek, that brooding mutt, was making Stiles giggle—giggle like a damn bitch. The sound grated against Theo’s raw instincts, igniting a possessive fury. They were his. No, Stiles was his. Derek was a game to play.
With a growl that rumbled from deep in his chest, Theo launched himself from the shadows. He tackled Derek first, the older werewolf slamming into the dirt with a surprised grunt. Derek’s eyes widened in shock, but Theo’s enhanced strength pinned him effortlessly. Claws extended just enough to shred Derek’s clothes, exposing his flawless olive skin to the morning light. Derek struggled briefly, his alpha instincts going haywire, but Theo’s presence was overwhelming, a tangible aura that pushed him down like gravity. Derek’s resistance crumbled. He whimpered, a pathetic whine escaping his lips.
“He’s mine,” Theo rumbled. “Stiles is mine.”
“Yes, Alpha.” Derek’s voice was pitched higher than Theo had ever heard it. His eyes were wide, his pupils as dark as last night’s new moon. “He’s yours, Alpha.”
“Call me, sir.” Theo warned. “I’ll decide if you’re worthy enough to call me alpha.”
“Yessir,” Derek choked. “Yes, sir.” In a surprisingly brave display, Derek bared his neck in submission.
Theo paused, caressing Derek’s exposed throat feeling the pulse quicken under his touch. Derek smelled needy, scared, but…hopeful?
Theo licked his own thumb, before smearing it over Derek’s throat. The contact sent Derek’s big floppy dick into a frenzy. It twitched to full mast, leaning precum like a broken sink.
He used the remnants of Derek’s clothes to bind him to a nearby tree, wrists and ankles secured tightly, leaving the naked werewolf exposed and helpless, his own cock twitching traitorously in response to Theo’s command. Derek could’ve easily torn through the makeshift binds. Both Theo and Derek knew that. They both knew, more importantly, that Derek wasn’t going anywhere. He’d stay put until Theo released him.
Meanwhile, Stiles had bolted, panic fueling his lanky legs as he crashed through the brush. It was serendipitous, Theo thought, that Stiles had gotten a head start. Chasing the bitch with his newfound preternatural speed was a fucking blast.
He tackled Stiles from behind, rolling them both to the forest floor. Stiles fought, flailing and cursing—“Theo, what the fuck?!”—but Theo’s body pinned him down, hot and unyielding.
“Theo…relax.” Stiles voice sounded far away. “Clearly something is…not right…with…”
Theo buried his face in Stiles’ neck, inhaling deeply, then began to scent-mark him: rubbing his jaw along Stiles’ skin, licking the sweat from his collarbone, grinding his massive erection against Stiles’ thigh. Theo could feel the energy from the magic space rock augmenting his pheromones, making his scent intoxicating, hypnotic. Stiles’ struggles weakened, his breaths turning shallow and needy. Wider eyes met Theo’s, shock melting into pliancy, a dazed submission taking hold as the rut’s influence seeped into him.
Theo hauled Stiles over his shoulder like a war prize. The sweet-smelling boy dangled over him like something beautiful
Theo carried his prize away to their new home, leaving Derek alone…bound and whining a bitch.
The loft—Derek’s loft—loomed ahead. Well it used to be Derek’s loft. Now, everything that belonged to Derek belong to Theo.
He reached into Stiles pocket and plucked out his key ring. He could’ve just kicked the door down, but there was something heady about using Stiles’s own set of keys to get inside—the place where Theo would claim him for the first time.
Stiles mumbled incoherently against his back as he keyed inside. Theo’s vision turned red as he stepped inside. The intermingled scent of Stiles and Derek infuriated him.
He was going to claim every inch of this place, fuck Stiles into utter submission in every room, marking it all as his own.
Living room first. He draped Stiles across the wide leather couch, spreading his long legs apart. He spit into his palm. Thought it it wasn’t necessary…his cock head was slick with thick precum, and Stiles’ hole winked in anticipation. He lined up, and drove in with one deep thrust. Stiles moaned. Raw, wrecked, back arching as Theo split him open. He savored the way his pussyboy stretched for him, feeling the tightness contracting around his dick. When Stiles made a needy sound, Theo couldn’t hold back. He fucked like a piston: deep, primal strokes that slapped skin on skin, balls smacking Stiles’ cheeks with every plunge. “Take it,” he roared, fingers digging into narrow hips. “Fucking take every inch, princess.”
Stiles sobbed, clawed at the cushions, but his hole clenched greedily, milking Theo’s cock like it was starving. Theo leaned down, bit the back of Stiles’ neck, and came with a roar. Hot, thick spurts flooded his bitch’s channel, marking the territory from the inside. Still rock-hard, Theo pulled out, flipped Stiles onto his back, and sank back in, watching his pretty eyes roll as he was stuffed again.
Kitchen next. Stiles bent over the granite island, wrists pinned behind his back in one massive hand. Theo fucked him standing, hips snapping so hard the countertop rattled. Stiles’ smaller cock (now noticeably tinier, flushed and dripping) bobbed uselessly with every thrust. Theo reached around, pinched a nipple, and growled, “Look at you. So fucking beautiful when you’re broken.”
Bedroom last. Derek’s bed. Theo threw Stiles onto the sheets, chuckling at the way his princess landed with a squeak. The alpha spread him wide, and mounted him missionary…slow at first, letting Stiles feel every ridged inch dragging against his walls, then faster, harder, until the headboard cracked against the wall. Stiles was babbling now, wordless whimpers of gratitude and devotion, body shaking through orgasm after untouched orgasm.
For the next umpteen hours, Theo claimed him in every position. On his knees, riding reverse, face-down-ass-up, until the mattress was soaked and the room reeked of sex and ownership.
Hours later the rut finally ebbed. Theo’s mind cleared in slow, syrupy waves. He remembered the rock. The magic space rock. The burn. The cosmic power still thrumming in his veins like a second heartbeat. He looked down.
Stiles lay beneath him, wrecked and beautiful. His cock was even smaller now. Cute, petite, dainty. More of a cocklet than anything…flushed pink and spent. His eyes were shining with bright vitality, pupils blown so wide they looked black. His cheeks were flushed, lips swollen pink and plump. His expression soft and easy. In other words, he’d become a living manifestation of Theo’s wet dreams.
As his clarity continued to rise, he grew curious about Stiles’ perspective on his new life. The boy had gone through a lot over the past few hours. As his alpha, it was Theo’s job to make sure he was okay.
“Stiles?” Theo’s voice was raw.
He responded with a tiny, needy whimper.
Stiles nodded dreamily. His eyes crossing at the motion.
The realization hit like lightning: he’d fucked the human’s mind to pieces. He’d literally fucked his brains out until nothing clever, sarcastic, witty, or bratty remained—just a sweet, empty vessel eager to be filled by his alpha.
“Oh, Stiles. You’re perfect like this.”
The boy whined his approval, struggling to nod his head and bare his neck at the same time.
Everything hit Theo at once. The image of Stiles fucked stupid. The knowledge that his dick was responsible for literally transforming the brat into his sex toy. The loft smelling like Theo’s essence, no other Alpha musk anywhere near his new home. He’d fucked Stiles into submission. He’d wrangled Derek into subjugation. Theo’s balls drew up tight. The magic space rock’s energy surged, white-hot, and he came without warning. Harder than he’d ever come in his life. Thick ropes of cum erupted from his cock, painting Stiles’ chest, throat, face in heavy, pearlescent streaks. It splashed across parted lips, dripped into wide eyes, soaked hair and sheets. Theo roared, hips jerking through the aftershocks, emptying every last drop until Stiles was drenched, glistening, thoroughly claimed.
He collapsed beside his dazed claim, chest heaving. He dragged a lazy hand through his seed on Stiles’ skin. The loft was his. Stiles was his. Derek, that fucker, was naked and bound to a tree…waiting to be his.
The magic within him pulsed softly, promising more. Theo smiled, slow and dangerous. This was only the beginning.
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