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The fat pirate finishing off barrels of rum and belching loud enough the seas bubble up.
Rich!spoiled Derek who spends all day at the golf course and the private lunch club⊠and keeps getting bitched out by caddy Stiles who warns him those golf carts arenât made for quite a wide load.
Coach Derek who doesnât follow his own diet adviceâŠ..
Teen Wolf | Sterek | 500 words
Prompt: Pregnancy weight
A/B/O Dynamics, Omega!Derek, Alpha!Stiles, chubby!Derek, Insecure!Derek, Trying for a baby, Mpreg
Stiles and Derek had been married and mated for three years when Derek says, âI think Iâm ready for a baby.âÂ
This wasnât the first time theyâd had this discussion, it was one they had early on when they were dating, to determine if their life goals aligned enough to keep their relationship going. They both agreed that kids were in the plan, but not for a while. Their individual reserves were different. Stiles wanted to make sure that he was as financially stable as one could be before having kids, ideally with a house and a job, as any alpha should in hopes of providing and caring for their family. Derek on there other hand had a few...different reasons.Â
Some of Derekâs friends had had kids in the past few years, and the toll on an omegaâs body was not a well kept secret. He had seen Erica go from a size 4 to almost a 12 in a year. There was nothing wrong with the weight gain, but even his doctor had warned him about how drastic oneâs body could change while preparing for, gestating, and birthing a child.Â
Derek had always prided himself with how far outside the stereotypical omega he looked. He was tall, almost as tall as Stiles, and he was strong; his muscles bulking out his t-shirts and dress shirts. Giving in to the âletting goâ was going to be hard for him.Â
Or so he thought.Â
The decision flipped a switch in both alpha and omega. Stiles brought home food at every opportunity, and waited on Derek hand and foot so he didnât over exert himself.Â
They fucked, obviously, thatâs how you make a baby, but while they did it, Stiles talked dirty saying how much heâd love to see Derek big, and round, and fat with their child. It sparked something in Derek, and while he was hesitant to give into his alphaâs offerings, he soon would never leave the plate empty.Â
The mirror reflected the changes, but the growth of his belly (not with child, but with food), the flabbiness sneaking onto his things and ass, the small puff of skin peaking over his boxers didnât look as wrong on him as he thought they were going to. He even finds himself liking it.Â
Stiles and Derek try for over a year with no positive test coming back, but Stiles never lets up on the offerings to Derek. There are even moments when Derek feels like Stiles is making offerings to a fertility god. They go to the doctor to make sure everything is all right, and Derek finds himself struggling to get himself onto the examination table, his sweatpants feeling a little tight.Â
The doctor looks at his chart, âI see here, youâve only gained about 75 pounds. Thatâs still a bit under where you should be.â He looks at Stiles, âAim for about 50 more.âÂ
Derek packs on another 100 by the time they welcome their little daughter.
this has considerably more plot than i bet ur used to seeing out of me, but i swear thereâs GOING to be kink in here somewhere eventually lmao
Stiles eased the Jeep to a stop about a mile out from Derekâs house. It was Christmas Eve, and he had a small, hastily-wrapped gift on the passengerâs seat. He stared at it, chewing on his bottom lip.Â
Last chance to turn back, Stiles thought.Â
He took a deep, bracing breath, and kept driving.Â
The road wasnât plowed out in the Preserve, so it was the dusting of fresh, white snow that kept Stiles driving slow. It wasnât because he was nervous, or because there was a growing certainty in his chest that this was an absolutely terrible idea. He was just being cautious. Cautious was his middle name.Â
Stiles knew Derek could hear him coming, but he noted, relieved, that he wasnât standing on the porch waiting for him to get there, like he sometimes did. It gave Stiles another few seconds to steel his nerves.Â
He pocketed the gift and crept up to the house. The door opened before he had the chance to knock.Â
Derekâs eyes were squinty and suspicious, maybe annoyed, which pretty par for the course, so Stiles took a brief moment to hate himself for being disappointed by it. He shouldnât have expected anything else.Â
He took another moment to give him a once overâto take in the way he was dressed comfortably in a threadbare t-shirt and sweatpants that dug into his sides. It was considerably more revealing than the looser shirts and leather jacket he always had on these days, and he looked soft; softer even than heâd been looking over the past few months. That had just been relaxed. Like an athlete whoâs settled down and stopped trying to be as jacked as physically possible.Â
Now, though. Stiles felt the itch to catalogue, to calculate how much he mustâve gained over the holidays. Ten pounds, maybe.Â
He shook himself out of it and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Derek said, âIf you came by to pick up those books, they havenât gotten here yet.â
Stiles was a little taken aback. He stopped fiddling with the wrapping paper of the gift in his pocket and put his hands up, defensively. âYou think I came over on Christmas Eve to do research?âÂ
It was Derekâs birthday, too, which Stiles wasnât sure if he was supposed to know.Â
Derek rolled his eyes and opened the door so Stiles could step out of the cold. He folded his arms, which was distracting for two reasons: the way their beefiness kept him from being able to do it properly, and the way it made his soft pecs scrunch together. His shirt had a tastefully deep V, and Stilesâs mind screamed cleavage.
Derek said, âI think your dadâs probably working, everyone else you know is asleep because itâs the middle of the damn night, and you want a distraction.â
Derek wasnât wrong, per se, and Stiles hated and loved how well Derek knew him. But he wasnât completely right, either.Â
Peter and Cora would be arriving tomorrow, and Stiles wanted to face this with only Derek to watch him fall, rather than his entire family. Even if they were out of the room, they would almost certainly overhear. Nosiness was probably a part of the werewolf genome.Â
So now was the time to give him the gift, but he was hesitating. Faced with it, his heart was fluttering in his chest, panicky, and he kept thinking of all those times he tried to give gifts to Lydia, and how well that turned out for him. And thisâthis gift was a thousand times more personal than a TV or any one of the asinine things heâd bought to try to impress her.Â
Intellectually, he knew Derek wouldnât reject it, not like that, but Stiles also knew that doing this was going to change things, irrevocably. If Derek made Stiles explain it, and he would, then he would know. It would leave Stiles exposed.Â
He sputtered and said, âNuh uh.â
Derek let out a soft huff of laughter, the edges of his mouth barely turned up in a smile, and walked towards the kitchen. He took a pot off the stove as Stiles walked up behind him.Â
âWhatâs that?âÂ
âHot chocolate.âÂ
âThat smells amazing.â
âSecret recipe.â
Stilesâs eyes widened and he let out a bark of laughter. âYou have a secret hot chocolate recipe?âÂ
Derek didnât reply, but the apples of his cheeks flushed with color. He poured a mug for Stiles without him having to ask, and dropped a dollop of whipped cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon over each. When he handed Stiles his mug, he took it gratefully in both hands like it was a precious artifact. It felt like it was.Â
Derek hadnât decorated for Christmas, but then neither had the Stilinskis, just like they hadnât for nearly ten years. So Stiles got it. This was still newâthe Hale house, rebuilt. There were no Christmas lights on it, and there was no tree, but there was a functional, tasteful kitchen and perfect cup of hot cocoa in Stilesâs hands, and that meant something.Â
He took a sip and immediately scalded his tongue. He fanned it, but it didnât help. Derek just watched him, eyebrow cocked in vague amusement, and blew a stream of air over the surface of his. He said, âWhat are you really doing here, Stiles?âÂ
Stiles cleared his throat, stared down at the tile floor, and opened his mouth. Nothing came out, so he licked his lips free of whipped cream and tried again. He knew Derek could hear the furious rhythm of his heartbeat and it did nothing to calm his nerves. âSo, uh. Christmas, huh?â
There was a sound, suddenly, like something big and heavy was stomping across the roof. Several somethings. Or one something with a lot of legs. In this town, you could never be sure.
Stiles stared at the ceiling and whispered, âWhat the hell was that?â
âStay here,â Derek growled through fangs, dropping his mug on the counter and pushing him out of the way with clawed hands. Â
âLike hell Iââ
Derek turned his head and flashed dangerous, red eyes at him, like Stiles was one of his betas. âStiles, stay here.â
There was no point in arguing when he was like this, so Stiles waited for his footsteps to reach the landing of the second floor before peering out of the kitchen windows. Stiles couldnât see anythingâjust the desolate dark of the Preserve, just barely bright enough to see because of the light pollutionâs reflection off of the snow.Â
He slipped out the back door and stretched out his fingers. Power burned through him, fierce and bright, and it tingled in his palms. He started off at a run, winced as his footsteps loudly crunched through the snow, but kept going until he was far enough from the house to see the roof andâhuh.Â
There was a man in red standing on top of the house. A man with a white, bushy beard. Stiles blinked for a moment, screwed up his eyes and opened them again to make sure he was really seeing what he was seeing.Â
Stiles cycled through several emotions. Surprise and confusion were almost immediately taken over by a probably suicidal urge to laugh, but Stiles knew that just because he looked like Santa Claus didnât mean he didnât pose a threat. Mostly, though, in that moment he was deeply, deeply annoyed.Â
Of course this shit would happen on Christmas Eve, and of course it would be the exact moment where Stiles was trying to work up the nerve to give Derek that stupid gift. Which is why Stiles shouted up at the man on the roof, âHey, buddy, what the hell do you think youâre doing!?â
The man screamed and slipped, slid on the ice, and despite himself Stilesâs hands flew up, flailing, as if to brace him. The manâs foot met the pitched part of the roof and he fell. He landed on the ground with a sickening crunch.Â
âHoly shit!âÂ
Stiles ran over to the man lying prone on the ground and skidded to a halt as he watched him burst into flames.Â
âWhat the fuck, what the fuck,â he said, desperately.Â
Derek charged out of the door, yelling, âStiles! Are you okay?âÂ
âUh, yup.â
Stiles crept towards itâwhat was now charred ashes still sparking with mostly extinguished flame, framing a suspiciously pristine suit in the exact shape of a person. He nudged it with the toe of his shoe.Â
Derek said, âWhat happened?â
âUh,â Stiles said, eyes wide as he looked from the suit up to the roof of Derekâs house. He put his hands on his hips, sighed and said, âDude, Iâm gonna be honest here. This isnât really what I was expecting.âÂ
âDid youâŠâ It looked like it was physically painful for Derek to force out the words, âBlow up Santa Claus?âÂ
âWhat?! No. Jesus, Derek. He justââ Stiles wove his hands in the direction of the scorched Santa costume, âI donât know! Fell.âÂ
Derek crossed his arms over his chest and said, âHe fell?âÂ
âAnd then he exploded.â
âUnbelievable. I leave you alone for one minuteââ
âHey! You know, if you were right, which youâre not, by the way, Iâm the one who got rid of⊠whoever this was. You should be thanking me, wolf man.âÂ
âFor what? Killing a mall Santa in my yard?â
âI didnât kill him! Come on, do you really think I just came out here and used weapons grade magic on a perfectly innocent man in a costume? Get real.âÂ
âIt wouldnât be the first time.â
âOh, low blow, dude. I havenât accidentally blown anyone up in years. And I would hardly have called them innocent.âÂ
Derek rolled his eyes but waved a hand in concession. Stiles knelt down to inspect the ashes. âBesides,â he said, reaching his pointer finger out, âThis was clearly some kind of demon, right? This is not⊠normal.â
âStiles, donât touch that.â
âOw,â Stiles said. He stuck his burned finger in his mouth.Â
Derek sighed, said, âWe should call Scott.â
âYeah, in a minute.â Stiles ran his fingers over the fuzzy white trim on the coat.Â
âWhat are you doing?â
âLooking for clues, duh. For a sheriffâs deputy, you suck at solving crime.â
As he touched the pocket on the side, a business card slipped out and fluttered into the ash. Stiles grabbed it before it got too singed. It said merely Santa Claus, subheadline: North Pole. On the other side, it read: If something should happen to me, put on my suit. The reindeer will know what to do.Â
There was no phone number, no email, no company name. âCreepy,â Stiles said.Â
He handed it to Derek, who inspected it for all of a second before saying, âItâs just a business card.â
Indignant, Stiles said, âJust aâfor what business? Flip it over.â
He did, and his brow furrowed as he read. âHm.â Derek handed the card back to Stiles and he pocketed it.Â
âYou should put it on, see what happens,â Stiles said.Â
âNo.â
âCome onnn, I think itâd suit you.â
âShut up. You want a real clue? I can show you one. Follow me.â
Stiles sighed and got to his feet, dusting snow off the knees of his jeans. He followed Derek around to the side of the house, where he had a ladder lying on the ground that heâd been using to repair the gutter that had gotten damaged in a harpy attack. Derek lifted it with one hand as if it weighed nothing at all, set it against the roof and started to climb.Â
Stiles took the opportunity to admire the curves of his ass and the way the slight softness of his sides swelled above the waistband of his sweats before following him.Â
He heard them before he saw them: the sound of huge animals clopping their hooves on the roof where they stood, huffing breath through their noses⊠jingling. There was a lot of jingling.Â
And low and behold, when Stiles reached the top, there was an honest to god sleigh attached to nine enormous reindeer on Derekâs roof.Â
âDude, what the fuck.â Stiles grunted, heaving himself up. âThis is not happening. I refuse to believe this is happening.â
âYou personally beheaded a chupacabra about six months ago. This is really where you draw the line?â
âYes.â Stiles treaded carefully across the ice so he could get closer to one of the reindeer. Its hackles rose and it grunted at him distrustfully as if Stiles wasnât the one who should be distrustful in this situation. âChupacabras are one thing, Derek. This isâI donât know what this is. What do you think this is?â
âWhat, no theories yet?âÂ
âOff the top of my head?â He ticked off on his fingers, âFairies, alternate reality, demons, wolfsbane hallucination, dream magic, witches, trickster, shapeshifters, some kind of Krampus-like holiday specific nightmare creature. The only thing Iâve ruled out so far is Christmas Miracle.â
Stiles slipped a little on the way towards the sleigh, teetering for barely a second before Derek grabbed his arm. Stiles let out a breath and looked up to find Derek close, close enough that he could feel the warm bursts of breath on his face, trailing from Derekâs mouth in smoky clouds. Derek reached out his hand and said, âGive me your phone, Iâm calling Scott.â
Stiles pulled the phone out of his pocket at exactly the same moment one of the reindeer shook out its head. Its antler knocked the phone from Stilesâs hand and sent it hurtling to the ground. When it hit the edge of the roof, the sound of broken plastic and glass and metal was unmistakable, and he watched as it bounced off the edge and fell into the snow on the ground three stories below. Just like Santa.Â
Reflexively, Stiles closed his eyes and drew energy from the earth, focused until the phone hit his palm. The glass was shattered, screen dark behind it, no matter what buttons he pressed. He tried shooting a bit of electricity through his fingertips to see if it would wake, but all he did was shock himself, making him drop the phone off the roof again.Â
Stiles pointed an angry finger at the deer. âYou little asshole! That is the third phone this year Iâve lost to this kind of bullshit.â
Derek said, âLetâs go back inside.â
Stiles sighed, trying to shake off his irritation. He said, âIn a minute, I wanna look at this stupid sleigh first.â
Up close it was like nothing heâd ever seen: full of intricate, whimsical gold detailing on lacquered red wood, and startlingly authentic. He climbed into it, studying its contents. The back was loaded with red velvet sacks overflowing with gifts in shiny wrapping paper. The dashboard had various knobs and buttons whose purposes were mysterious to him. It was nothing like a carânothing like anything heâd ever seen.Â
Suddenly, the reindeer jerked the sleigh a foot or so forward. Stiles screeched and fell back onto the bench.Â
Thatâs when he noticed the suit. It was under his ass and folded neatly: pants, jacket, suspenders, hat, and belt, boots on the floor, all of them delicately singed.Â
âWhoa, what? Derek, come look at this.â
Derek looked at the suit and his eyebrows furrowed. He turned back to peer over the rooftop. âThereâs nothing down there anymore. How did those get here?âÂ
âFuck if I know, dude.â He did some jazz hands. âMagicâ
âChrist.â Derek pinched his nose in the space between his eyes as if heâd contracted a migraine from the sheer absurdity of the situation. Stiles knew the feeling.Â
Derek sat on the bench next to him and in an instant, the sleigh shot forward. The reindeer broke into a sprint and sent them hurtling off the edge of the roof. Stiles shouted and grabbed onto Derekâs shirt and they went into a freefall for one terrifying second before they were airborne. âOh my god!â Stiles screamed.Â
Derek held onto him with one arm and the sleigh with the other. He looked as if he was contemplating jumping for a moment, but they were already too high up, especially for Stiles. Derek said, âCan you do something? Can you make them stop?âÂ
âUnfortunately I donât know how to mind control, and if I did, Iâd be busy using it to make you less annoying.â It was a valid question, and Stiles knew he was being unfair. He said, âI could. Try to teleport us, but Derekââ Last time Stiles tried that particular spell, he landed himself in the hospital. He wasnât strong enough, and he knew it.Â
âNo. Itâs fine. Weâll find another way.â
They went sailing above the trees, higher and higher, and the twinkling lights of Beacon Hills glittered below them. It was pretty, and if this were any other situation, Stiles would have been ecstatic. A part of him still was; they were flying. But as it was, he was mostly just annoyed. Again.Â
Once he was reasonably certain they werenât going to die, he loosened his grip on Derekâs t-shirt and patted his chest apologetically. It jiggled a little, god help him, and he cleared his throat and shifted a couple feet over so he wasnât plastered against Derek anymore. He hazarded a look at his face, which was twisted into mild irritation. Stiles said, âWell. Go ahead and say it. Itâll make you feel better.â
âI fucking told you we shouldâve gone inside.â
âYes, you did. Feel better?â
âNot. Really.âÂ
He was shivering, arms folded together. It was freezing up there, and Derekâs ensemble, however appealing, was sorely lacking in the warmth department. His bare arms were covered in goosebumps. Stiles had a sudden urge to give Derek his jacket like they were on a date, but then he thought of something better. He smirked.Â
âYouâre cold,â Stiles said.
Derek leveled him with a devastating glare. âNo shit.â
Stiles lifted up the Santa coat and shook the ashes out. âYou know, we have a perfectly good coat here. Looks warm, too.â
âNo.â
âCome on, man, youâre gonna catch your death out here.â
âI would rather die than put that on.â
âJesus, youâre so vain sometimes. Youâre worse than Jackson.âÂ
âItâs notâSomeone just died in that, Stiles.â
âYeah, so no oneâs using it! Itâs perfect.âÂ
âNo.â
âExposure is no way to die, man. Donât let your pride get the better of you.â
Derek growled and bared his teeth. After a couple of seconds he said, shivering, âWhat did that business card say?â
âIf something should happen to me, put on my suit,â Stiles recited. âThe reindeer will know what to do.â
âAnd what about that makes you think putting on the suit sounds like a good idea, exactly.â
âThe reindeer have already whisked us off to the fucking North Pole or whatever, I doubt it even matters.âÂ
âNo.â
âCome on, put it on. Please please please please.âÂ
Derek was trying to ignore him so Stiles took the initiative to drape it over his shoulders for him. Derekâs face was furious, but to Stilesâs surprise, he kept it on. This only encouraged Stiles to pick up the hat next and perch it on Derekâs head. He looked murderous, and Stiles laughed so hard he thought he might puke.Â
Derek made like he was taking the coat off, and Stiles reached out to hold the collar in place. âNo, no, no. Iâm sorry, Iâm soââ Stiles let out another peel of laughter. âIâm sorry. Keep it on. You look great, I promise. Best Santa ever.â
Derek made a sound in his throat like a growl and angrily shoved his arms through the sleeves, wrapping the coat around himself. God, Stiles wished he had his phone. This would have been his lockscreen for the rest of his life.Â
âDonât look so grumpy, Mr. Grinch. Itâs Christmas!âÂ
âGlad to see that laughing at my expense has renewed your Christmas spirit.â
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
This is a commission that the wonderful and talented @sterekreblogsandart / @chublees drew for me and I wanted to save it for the Beached event because #chubby mer folk! Itâs our favorite chubby merman Derek, chibi Style, cuddling with his pet octopus Ceph. Ceph loves his chubby buddy, and I LOVE THIS PICTURE!!