Archive of Our Own

“Dude, what the fuck,” Stiles sighed, resigned. It wasn’t even like this was the weirdest thing that had happened to him recently, like it didn’t even compare to the body-swap incident, but still. Why was it always him that got the weirdest curses? Hoodoo was fucked up. Cool, but fucked up.

“Did this have to happen today of all days?”

To be fair, they may have been a little insensitive in dealing with the bokor vodou priest who opened up a spiritual herb shop near the Mysterious Abandoned Warehouse District. Derek just wanted to go in and see if the stuff they were selling was kosher, he’d had his suspicions the luck charms he made were extremely potent.

Seriously, Mrs. Tracy won a million dollars in the California lottery, and Jim Jones’s cancer went into remission a week after he visited the shop. And if the guy also sold equally powerful curses? Well, they’d have yet another supernatural mess to deal with any minute now. Really they were just trying to nip this thing in the bud.

It was supposed to be a quick job, in and out, just sniff around and leave. But of course Stiles wanted to go, and of course he had to go and ask questions, and of course Derek had to stand around looking menacing. The priest also probably didn’t appreciate being harassed by a dude dressed like Superman. But come on, it was Halloween. Stiles’s favorite holiday, and fuck if he was gonna not wear his costume all day long; this shit wasn’t cheap. 

Long story short, Stiles may or may not have said some things implying he was probably selling death-curses on their territory, and next thing he knew, Stiles got a face full of smelly, brown powder. He sneezed and it got in his mouth, tasting vaguely like sugar and dirt. Then Derek got the same treatment with a different powder, his darker and grayish. It puffed out into Stiles’s space too, and he breathed in a lungful of cayenne pepper and rotten eggs, vaguely registering indecipherable mutterings in French, and neither he nor Derek remembered leaving or arriving back at Derek’s loft.

Right when the jinx hit him, he felt a little jolt, and then nothing. It wasn’t until an hour or so later when he started feeling weird, kind of bloated. His pants were too tight, but they’d been loose this morning. He’d gone to the bathroom to look in the mirror, and sure enough, he was bigger than before. Not fat, yet, just sort of. Filled out.

He wasn’t freaking out. He wasn’t. He may have been in shock, actually.

“So you know how you wanted to make sure I wasn’t cursed before I went home? Well.” Stiles lifted up his shirt. Derek’s mouth dropped open and he flushed down his neck before immediately calling the pack for backup. That was four hours ago, and they were no closer to figuring out how to reverse it than before.

Now, his stomach was round and full and jiggly in the palms of his hands. It was - different. Not bad different, really. It was soft, fun to play with. Like boobs. It actually, it felt really good. Really, really good. Good in a way he had never experienced before.

Like, sure, Stiles had been known to appreciate a fuller figure from the other side, but he’d never really thought about it on himself. Stiles didn’t have a great love for his own body, but he didn’t specifically have a problem with it, either. Yeah, it was a little on the skinny side, and he was constantly surrounded by jocks with abs cut out of steel, but aside from some occasional insecurity, Stiles didn’t have anything against his flat stomach and bony hips. 

So yeah, now - now, Stiles was feeling, in some ways, exactly how you would expect to feel in a situation such as the one he found himself in. He was self-conscious with a side of nervous, trying to hide, impossibly, in clothes that just kept getting tighter and tighter. Stiles felt sort of gross, and ugly and fat. Now, absolutely, 100 percent, without a doubt, the total reject of his group of supernaturally gorgeous friends.

And fucking Derek, easily the most gorgeous of all, if you asked Stiles, kept glancing at his body with a completely unreadable expression. It was freaking him the fuck out.

But, in a completely different way, Stiles also felt... Soft. In a good way. And he was totally digging the way the fat filled him out. He felt big, squishy, fat. His clothes, tight, so tight around his gut felt wildly satisfying; sexy in a way he couldn’t really put his finger on. So it was kind of embarrassing looking like that, but also. It was kind of totally hot.

“Do I look bigger to you guys?”

Scott looked up from the laptop he was using to pore over the Bestiary. He grimaced, unhelpfully.

“Yes.” Ah, Lydia. Brutally honest as ever.

Derek hadn’t looked him in the eye for hours, he was acting weirdly nervous, still, his breathing shallow. If Stiles wasn’t reading it wrong, it seemed like maybe Derek felt guilty, even though this was clearly Stiles’s fault. Or maybe he was just concerned for Stiles’s well being? The thought of that made him warm and fuzzy inside.

But that was stupid, why wouldn’t he be concerned? They were friends, now. Sort of. Probably about as close to friends as one could possibly get to someone like Derek, with his tendency to keep people at arm’s length. 

Okay so maybe Stiles pushed back too hard, maybe he ached to be closer, closer even than friends. But wasn’t that just the way of Stiles’s eternally doomed love life? Crushing on someone so completely fucking unattainable? 

Derek looked like kind of a wreck though, and Stiles just wanted to make sure he wasn’t doing anything stupid like blaming himself for this mess. He said, “Derek, dude, it’s not your fault, I’ll be fine. We’ll figure this out.”

Derek looked up, startled, eyes darting up and down Stiles’s body before settling on the far wall. “Yeah.”

He had no idea what to make of that shit, none at all.

*

Stiles would not stop fidgeting, taking off his fake glasses, adjusting his tie, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and rolling them back down. It wasn’t as if that was anything new, but Derek was trying desperately to focus on something, anything else but Stiles’s newly plump figure. The constant movement of his jiggling flesh made ignoring him impossible. Not that he’d ever been very good at that in the first place. Stiles always drew Derek’s attention, no matter how hard he tried to pretend otherwise.

But now Stiles was, well. He was fat. Not extremely so, just a little chubby, really, but it was exaggerated, every curve highlighted by the tightness of clothes made for a slender body. His Clark Kent slacks clung to thick thighs and cut into his hips. A substantial belly and small muffin top spilled over the waistband, stretching the buttons on his clean shirt. Derek could see the swell of his chest where the Superman logo peeked out from the undone top buttons, and he felt like he was going crazy. Stiles was gorgeous.

It’s not as if Derek had never noticed before, he’d done more than that. He’d imagined licking the constellations of moles dotting his pretty face (Derek had lost many nights to the thought that they probably scatter down Stiles’s entire body), pressing his mouth to his full, pouty lips, grabbing that adorable, fluffy hair in the heat of the moment, getting up close and personal with that ass, resting his calves on Stiles’s wide, strong shoulders as Stiles fucked him, his hands wrapped around Derek’s cock. Needless to say, Stiles has had a starring role in almost every one of Derek’s fantasies for months.

But this. This was something else. This was one of Derek’s deepest, most hidden desires come to life, one he’d never dared apply to Stiles, one he barely even thought about at all out of shame and confusion. One of his friends (even if Derek did have a stupid crush on him) getting cursed was not supposed to be sexy. He knew that, but every time Stiles poked and prodded his plump body, Derek had to fight back a wave of arousal so strong he felt sick with it.

Thank god Stiles wasn’t a wolf. Derek was sure the scent of his lust was choking the air, but all Derek could smell was Stiles, warm and musky like he always was, but spiked with something different, something he’d smelled on him before but hadn’t been able to place. It was distracting, but not as distracting as the play of his long, elegant fingers on soft, chubby flesh. He wanted so badly to touch. He closed his eyes.

“Derek? You okay, man?”

“Fine, Stiles.”

“You sure? You look a little red. Oh my god, are you jinxed? I mean, you took a hit of that powder stuff, too, man.” Stiles came over to kneel in front of Derek, one hand on his knee in a gesture of comfort as his eyes scanned his body, no doubt cataloguing and analyzing the differences. Derek twitched at the contact, wanted to pull away and to pull closer. But he couldn’t let Stiles see why he was red, why he was acting so weird. Derek moved his leg out from under Stiles’s hand and it felt cold, now.

“I’m fine.”

“Okay, dude, just checking.” Stiles rolled his eyes and went back to sprawl on the couch. He was pouting, legs spread wide with his lower lip jutting out, shining wet and plump and –

"What," Derek spat out, frustrated and unkind.

"I can't go to the party like this, man." Stiles waved a hand to gesture at his pudgy body. "I know people in Beacon Hills are blissfully ignorant to the supernatural goings on here, but I think even they'd notice I've somehow gained like 50 pounds in four hours. Ugh, and look, this shirt is already pretty much un-wearable." 

But Derek didn’t need to see. He knew what it looked like; the image was seared into his brain and Derek felt like he was barely functioning. The shirt had gotten tight, so tight it was straining against Stiles’s little belly. He could see the bright blue of the costume underneath, peeking through the spaces in between buttons. It looked about ready to burst open at any moment, and Derek thought, wildly, that if it did… If it did, this whole thing was about to get very, very embarrassing for him.

He was a little relieved when Stiles’s fingers moved to undo the buttons, but shamefully disappointed. When the shirt was open, Stiles pulled the hem out from his tight waistband with difficulty, and let it rest, draped over his body, gaping open to reveal the tight red and blue material underneath and Derek couldn’t tear his focus away from the shadow that marked the hollow of Stiles’s belly button. He imagined what his body would look like in just the costume, right now.

He shook his head to clear the image. "We'll figure this out, Stiles."

"Yeah, I know, I know. I was just looking forward to this party, that's all. I mean, how long has it been since we had any fun? Wait. How long has it been since you've had any fun?" Derek rolled his eyes. "That long, huh? Well I'd invite you to the party but since I'm not going looks like you're my date for tonight." Stiles leered in Derek's direction and Derek tried hard to keep his face impassive. Stiles didn't need to know how Derek's heart skipped a beat at the idea of being his date, for god’s sake, what was he twelve?

“Hey, we should order pizza or something, I’m starving.” 

Derek was suddenly sure he wasn’t going to survive this.  

Scott looked up from his phone and chimed in, “Yeah, you do that. Lydia and I are gonna go look around the bokor’s shop, see if we can find anything. You wanna come?”

“Naw, dude, I’m good right here,” Stiles replied.

Scott’s face scrunched up in sympathetic understanding. “Derek?”

Derek paused, though his answer came to him too immediately to process. “No, I’m. I’ll stay with Stiles.”

Scott looked at him like he’d just told him he found his calling as an interior decorator. “O-kay. Whatever. Be back later.”

They spent the next half an hour in vaguely nervous silence. It was completely unnerving, and Derek hated it. He missed the constant sound of Stiles’s chatter. But hell if he would tell Stiles that, he’d never, ever hear the end of it.

Finally, Stiles broke. He was folded over on the couch, hiding, expression pained. “Derek. What if. What if we can’t fix it? What if I’m stuck like this, like – what if I just keep getting bigger? At this rate I’ll probably be dead inside a matter of days.”

Stiles was working himself into a panic, his movements twitchier and more agitated. “Stiles, you’re gonna be fine, okay? We’re working on it. You’re going to be fine.”

“You don’t know that, Derek.”

“No, but I do know you. And I don’t believe for a second you’re just going to sit back and let it happen. And I know Scott and the rest of the pack, they’ve all… we’ve all got your back.”

Stiles looked touched, even with the faint acrid stench of fear still permeating the air around him. “…Would you hate me forever if I gave you a hug?" 

Derek flushed at the thought of having Stiles’s plump body pressed tight against his and his heart kicked up in his chest. Not for the first or likely the last time, Derek was so glad Stiles wasn’t a werewolf. 

“Yes.”

Stiles's expression softened a little and he smirked. “I don’t believe you.”

“Whatever.” Derek went back to reading Deaton’s old, crumbling tome on hoodoo magic. “Maybe you can get some answers out of Deaton,” he suggested. 

“Scott said he couldn’t get in touch with him, earlier.”

“So try again.”

To his surprise, Stiles actually took his suggestion, pulling out his phone and going through his contacts. It rang for too long, the smell of Stiles’s anxiety getting a little stronger each time. But finally Deaton answered, and Derek focused his hearing on the voice coming through the speaker.

Deaton got straight to the point. “Stiles, I hear you’re having some trouble with an extremely advanced practitioner of hoodoo magic? Scott’s here. He tells me you might have some questions.” 

Stiles sat up urgently, with some difficulty and said, “Yeah, yes. So, we both got blasted in the face with some kind of dust?”

“Yes, that’ll be sachet powder.”

“Yeah, we figured that part out. And since then I’ve, well. Been putting on weight? Like, a lot of it.”

“And Derek?”

“I…” Stiles looked up, curiosity sparking behind his eyes. His gaze roamed Derek’s body in a way that made him squirm. “I don’t know. Nothing that I can tell? But he got blasted too.”

“Well, Stiles. Here’s what I can tell you - spells that powerful, they’re not made to last. The effects of the physical change should be complete by midnight, if I’m not mistaken, and it is likely you will return to your normal body by the end of the week. I’m not overly concerned. However, I understand this must be… uncomfortable for you. I’ll be keeping my eye out for this priest. In the meantime, try and take your mind off of things. 

“Easy for you to say, doc.”

“I mean it, Stiles. Try and relax. It’s nothing permanent.”

“Thanks.” Stiles breathed a sigh of relief.

“I’ll be in touch.” Deaton hung up without further comment.

“Feel better now?” Derek asked.

“God, yes.” He collapsed in a heap against the couch cushions, and they spent the next few minutes in companionable silence. Stiles had calmed enough to where Derek could focus most of his attention on the book instead of him.

Some time later, the doorbell rang, and Stiles tried to hop up to get it but the added weight of his body threw off his already unspectacular balance. He fell back against the couch, flesh jiggling uncontrollably. As heat flooded his system at the sight of it, Derek was suddenly thoroughly annoyed by this entire situation. How was he supposed to deal with this for an entire week? He was maybe a little gruff with the pizza boy, but tipped well in apology.

Barely a second passed between Derek putting the pizza box down on the coffee table and Stiles ripping it open, stuffing a huge bite in his mouth and moaning at the taste. He finished that first one so fast, he was onto his second before Derek came back with drinks.

Watching Stiles eat was torture. He was sure the priest didn’t intend for it to be, not in this way, not for Derek, but he couldn’t have picked better if he tried. Derek made a substantial effort not to look, but he had to. He had heard tales of Stiles’s stomach capacity when confronted with his favorite foods, but Derek had never gotten a chance to witness it for himself. He was sure he would have had enough trouble before all this, but now? Derek felt faint. It was everything he never knew he wanted all at once.

He’d been in-between fully and partially hard for what felt like hours, but he was completely erect now, painfully so. The onslaught of Stiles’s obvious gluttony, coupled with his new fat body, topped with the fact that it was Stiles, the one person Derek wanted most, it was too much for Derek to take. It was almost like he could see Stiles growing before his eyes, with every bite he swallowed. The thought sounded impossible, but -

Halfway into the pizza, Derek heard a pronounced pop as the button on Stiles’s slacks burst open, his slightly bloated belly jiggling and shifting forward to fill the space. Their eyes locked at the realization, and Stiles’s chubby cheeks flushed bright red with humiliation.

Derek wanted, he ached, to touch. His head was swimming with lust. But he knew Stiles needed a distraction from his embarrassment. He tried to shake off his own hopeless arousal, but couldn’t, not entirely. He couldn’t think of anything to say, so he decided to tease a little, like friends did. But his voice came out too rough, too low, too suggestive, not only in tone but the words he chose. “You’re not gonna stop there, are you, Stiles?”

“Uh, dude. Clearly I’ve had enough.” Stiles patted his belly for emphasis, and Derek’s eyes were drawn there automatically, watching the jiggle of the Stiles’s new flesh.

“I heard you could demolish a whole pizza by yourself,” Derek said, lacing his voice with challenge. He couldn’t stop the words from coming, but he knew how bad of an idea this was. Derek couldn’t possibly watch Stiles eat the whole thing and make it out with his dignity intact, but he wanted to.

“One time. I did that one time. And I was stoned, so it practically doesn’t even count.”

Derek shrugged, feeling that same combination of disappointed and relieved, and made to grab for the box. “Alright, guess I’ll go stick this in the fridge then.”

But Stiles grabbed for the edge of the cardboard and said, “Hold up, I never said I was done.”

He looked into Stiles’s beautiful eyes and something revealing must have shown on his face, because Stiles tilted his head to the side, calculating. Stiles snatched up another slice, taking a big bite and washing it down with soda. He settled in with a look of determination, eyes darting up often to watch Derek watch him eat, and Derek felt heat pool in his belly. There was something in the energy between him and Stiles, and Derek was totally unsure what it was, what it meant.

Over the next few minutes, Stiles swallowed every last bite, pace never slowing or faltering. He sped through each slice with relentless, fervent greed. By the end, he looked absolutely stuffed and self-satisfied. He leaned back, legs spread wide, licking his fingers clean. His belly was pushed out from his open pants and gaping shirt, encased in shiny spandex, an extra-large pizza sitting inside. That’s when Derek noticed that Stiles was hard, too.

He had to look away, couldn’t take it anymore, it was too much. He wanted. But the sound of Stiles’s voice shook him out of it, and Derek couldn’t help the way his eyes were drawn right back to him. 

“Sorry if you wanted any, I can never resist pizza.” Stiles struggled to sit up, stifled a burp, and closed his eyes, panting, used both hands to massage his swollen gut.

It took Derek a moment to be able to form thoughts, but when he did, he smirked, sarcasm in his voice. “It’s fine. Sure you don’t want any more? I don’t think you’ve quite had enough.”

Stiles moaned in pain, looking faintly embarrassed, now. “Funny, real funny. Don’t even talk about food; I’m so full.”

Derek got lost watching the motions of his hands on that belly, reveling in the little indulgent noises Stiles made. But then Stiles spoke again, quiet and a little hesitant, “Hey, Derek. Um, could you. I mean. I know this is weird and kind of gross and I’m really sorry, okay? Um, could you, you know. Do the. The thing.” Stiles wiggled his fingers at Derek, placing them on his belly.

Derek was hit by a wave of lust so powerful he gasped out loud. The thought of touching Stiles like this was way too much; he couldn’t handle it. When he gained the ability to function again, Derek said, “You brought this on yourself, you know.” 

“I disagree. Pizza has very powerful hypnotic powers that are impossible to resist. Also, in case you forgot, you’re the one who was all ‘I thought you could eat a whole pizza, Stiles.’ So really, this is pretty much all your fault and you should do your utmost to help me out.”

“Sure, Stiles.”

“Please?” Stiles flashed his pouty doe-eyes at him and Derek’s heart seized in his chest. He was so fucking stupid for letting Stiles get to him like this. It was getting worse, every day.

Derek sighed and huffed out a, “Fine,” with as much nonchalance as he could muster. 

If he wasn’t mistaken, there was a flicker of mischievousness in Stiles’s eyes. “Thanks, man, you’re a lifesaver.”

Derek got up and immediately felt like he was on the edge of a precipice. He sat on the couch next to Stiles, and carefully placed his fingertips on the dome of his belly. There was a thick layer of softness on top of his full stomach, and it was so warm, heat seeping through his costume. He began to leach pain from Stiles’s body, veins blackening, and he felt it only for an instant before his own body healed him.

“Fuck,” Stiles said, breath heavy and labored. He whimpered, subconsciously lifting his hips to press his belly harder into Derek’s hand. Derek couldn’t take it, needed to stop, but he was weak. There should have been no more pain for Stiles then, but Derek kept his hand where it was, started rubbing circles into the fat, eyes on Stiles’s face. His mouth was wide-open, eyes closed, and cheeks flushed pink. He gasped, “Derek,” reached his own hand over to grip Derek’s wrist, pressing his hand down harder, and Derek couldn’t hold back a strangled moan.

Derek’s phone rang, and the shock sent them both jumping away from each other, but Derek was still frozen to the couch, staring at his phone buzzing on the chair he had been in earlier. When it stopped ringing, Derek leapt over the coffee table to grab it, look at the ID, and call them back. “Scott?”

“Hey, man. We couldn’t find him. I asked Deaton to keep an eye out. You want us to head over? I’ve got the stuff.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

When he hung up, the sound of fabric ripping echoed sharp in the air around them. Derek looked over to where Stiles had just heaved himself off the couch. It was Stiles’s slacks; they had burst at the seam separating one leg from the next, straight down his plump ass. The fat on his whole body rippled with every movement. He was bigger even than just half an hour ago, incrementally, but Derek had been paying very close attention. He noticed. But he needed to stop staring, say something useful. Something to cheer him up, distract him, anything.

Derek struggled for air enough to say, “Scott and some of the others are coming over. Since you can’t go to the party.”

For a moment humiliation and curiosity fought for control on Stiles’s face, before it settled into pleased surprise. “What? Really? They don’t have to do that.”

“Tell them that. They insisted”

“That’s so sweet, wow." 

Derek felt heat in his cheeks at the indirect praise. He wasn’t going to tell Stiles, but he wrangled and in some cases threatened the whole pack into coming over to cheer him up, at least for part of the night. At Lydia’s suggestion, they were turning it into something of a mini-party. And as much as Derek didn’t want a hoard of teenagers trashing his loft, he wanted to chase the frown from Stiles’s face even more.

“Go get into costume.”

Stiles cringed, blushing and looking down at his tight, ripped clothes. “Okay. Uh. I’ll be right back, then.”

Derek was ashamed to admit, even to himself, that he watched Stiles’s fat butt the whole way to the bathroom, clenching his fists against the desire to touch.

When Stiles emerged he was just in the Superman costume, glasses still in place. The tight spandex clung to every bulging curve on his frame, the red belt rested right under his round little belly, and it was just obscene.

“It’s not too bad, right?” Stiles asked, “God, I can’t wear this, I look like Captain Underpants.” He was tugging on the fabric, trying to hide, suck in.

Derek couldn’t hold in a snort. “No, it’s. You look good, Stiles.”

He looked vaguely interrogatory. “Huh. You. Think it looks good?”

“That’s what I just said.”

“Hmm.”

“Just wear it.”

“Okay.” 

Stiles’s heart was pounding, and Derek wondered if he should say something. If what happened earlier was… If Stiles…

But before he could summon the courage to speak, to touch, Stiles looked Derek up and down and asked, “Is that supposed to be a costume? Because, wow. That’s just terrible. Don’t tell me… you’re a mountain man. A sexy car mechanic. A, a-”

“No. Stiles, I’m not dressing up as anything, don’t even try it.”

“You have no holiday spirit.”

“I don’t even have a costume; I wasn’t planning on doing anything tonight.” 

“Okay, well, you have plans now, man. Don’t worry, I have an idea.” Stiles smiled, grabbed his wrist and dragged him over to his dresser. He rifled through a drawer of shirts until he found a white wife-beater. “Here, put this on.”

Derek huffed, but did as he was told, stripped out of his Henley and into the wife-beater. When he looked up, Stiles was going through his closet, a red flush on his neck, and, god. His body in that costume. Derek allowed himself to be manhandled into a leather jacket and dragged into the bathroom.

He was a little terrified when Stiles broke out the hair products and asked him to sit on the toilet so he could see what he was doing, but he did it anyway.

In a strange way, this whole process reminded him of when he was a kid and used to let his little sisters dress him up, or put makeup on him. It made Derek feel warm inside, to be close enough to someone again, to trust them enough. So he let it happen, with probably less protestation than Stiles expected.

He was almost positive Stiles spent more time than necessary running his fingers through Derek’s hair, pressing them into his scalp. But he couldn’t bring himself to draw attention to it; he never wanted it to stop.

“Alright, all finished, you gorgeous specimen of wolf, you.”

Derek cringed preemptively, and stood up to look in the bathroom mirror. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t his hair to be separated into two segments that curl into points on either side of his head like horns. “Ta-dah! Wolverine,” Stiles yelled, excited, grinning. He should’ve expected this. 

He glared at Stiles’s smiling face until he added, “God, that’s perfect. I’m good. Could use some more sideburns, though.”

Derek wasn’t sure why he did it, he shouldn’t have been encouraging him, but he let out his wolf just enough so that a little more hair scattered on either side of his face. 

Stiles laughed, delighted, scratched his fingers through his sideburns, and Derek shivered. “Okay, now it’s perfect.”

Derek would have done almost anything to hear that laugh, so he kept them.

*

When this first happened, Stiles had resigned himself to an evening alone. Best case scenario, with Derek, if he'd let him stay at his loft out of pity or misguided guilt. But clearly he'd underestimated his friends.

Scott showed up first, of course, with a case of beer (probably overkill considering Stiles, Allison, and Lydia were the only ones who could get drunk off of it). As Derek had predicted, he was dressed up. As a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. It was awesome. Allison was next, dressed as a lady pirate, and she and Scott heaved some expensive looking sound equipment into the room.

Erica and Boyd brought a stack of horror classics and a trash bag full of candy respectively. Erica was in full-on Black Canary costume and Boyd was wearing a Michael Meyers mask.

Lydia brought some tweaked wolfsbane punch, dressed like a cute little witch. And by the time Jackson (no costume), Danny (Waldo), and Isaac (Dracula) showed up, their little makeshift party was in full swing.

Pulsing, violent music played in time with flashing neon lights and Scream ran on a projector. It was fucking amazing, okay? But the thing was – he was sure it couldn’t have been Scott who pulled it all together. When he came in he'd said, "I was told to bring plenty of beer for my best bro, who would otherwise be forced to spend the best holiday of the year with Derek Hale. And I just couldn't let that happen to you, man."

Not to mention, what Jackson and Danny had said lead him to believe they'd been threatened into coming. Stiles was pretty sure none of the others would have even thought to do any of this.

Maybe Lydia. Maybe. But he had his money on someone else. One very threat-happy someone else.

By the time he built up the courage to ask, Stiles was a little tipsy already. He'd downed several beers in rapid succession, fascinated by the swelling of his stomach and the pull of the tight fabric against his growing body.

He slid an arm over Derek's strong shoulders, inhibitions lowered enough where he didn’t even think twice about it. "I didn't know you knew how to throw a party, Derek."

"There are only ten people here, Stiles. This isn't a party."

"So you admit it!"

"No." 

"Oh c'mon. I know it was you, you big softy." Derek rolled his eyes, blushed and darted his eyes away, and that was all the answer Stiles needed. "Thanks, Derek."

He clapped him on the shoulder, couldn’t help but let his fingers linger on the muscle. Derek looked up at him, eyes shining with a smile that barely graced his lips. Stiles leaned over to smack a quick kiss on his cheek. Derek scoffed and half-heartedly tried to dislodge him, but they both knew that if Derek really wanted to stop him, he could have done it while ODing on wolfsbane, both hands tied behind his back with active electrical wire.

Stiles heart swelled in his chest and he couldn’t breathe for a moment after he pulled back, tingling from the feeling of Derek’s stubbly skin against his lips. But then he was breathing too hard, they were too close, and he was too goddamn gorgeous and Stiles couldn’t. 

He stepped away with a smile, turned and walked away a few steps before looking back, catching Derek's own tiny smile for half a second before Erica bounded out of nowhere and dragged him into a dance.

It was silly for the first song, just shaking his hips and flailing his arms, making Erica laugh. But the next song was something Rob Zombie with a sexy rhythm, and Erica drew him close, whispered in his ear so low he could barely hear it, "He's watching."

"Who?"

"Don't play dumb, Stiles, you know exactly who. Let’s make him jealous."

She dragged him tight against her, ground into his thigh and wound her arms around him. "Um. I hate to break it to you but there's no way in hell Derek's gonna be jealous of me."

Erica just sighed and looked at him like he was the dumbest person who ever lived.

"What?"

Okay, fine, Stiles knew what. He was resolutely trying to ignore the what. The thing that happened, earlier. It made too little sense and was obviously some kind of a fluke. Derek had never, ever showed any interest in him before, so why would he start now? Especially with something so…

But it nagged at the back of his mind. Earlier he’d been so sure. He’d teased Derek with the weirdest fucking shit on some kind of deranged instinct, and impossibly, it had worked. But Stiles wasn’t thinking about it. He wasn’t. And neither was Derek, okay, because that was just crazy.

And anyway, how would Erica even know any of that? She could probably smell it on him, or something. Fucking werewolves. 

Erica shook her head and rolled her eyes. "C’mon Stilinski, make it look convincing." She spun around and wiggled her ass into Stiles's crotch and Stiles was totally at a loss of what to do, but he was feeling loose and foggy and relaxed and didn't really care about looking stupid. He grabbed her fishnet covered hips and ground back towards her to the rhythm of the music and actually, he was having fun. Who needed big parties when he had his whole pack there, his pack who cared enough about him to abandon their plans and hang out with him instead, and Derek was the one who had organized it all.

He was riding high, laughed delightedly into Erica's neck, and then he felt a pair of hands grip his waist and a tall figure slide up against his back. For a second, hope flared and his heart hammered in his chest, until he turned his head only to see Isaac's smirking face behind him. Stiles laughed again, and the three of them swayed together for the next song. That was when Erica twisted in his grip so they were facing each other, put her lips to his ear and whispered, "It's working."

Stiles's head whipped back and caught Derek's glowing red eyes across the room, jaw clenched in rage. "Oh my god."

Stiles pulled away from both of them. He was suddenly sure he’d read everything wrong. Maybe he and Erica were really… It would make so much more sense for Derek to have a thing with Erica than himself. What had he been thinking, that maybe, maybe Derek wanted him? Like this? The idea was ludicrous and in the shitshow that was their life, that was really saying something.

But Stiles had another thought then, and it made him sick to his stomach. Maybe this, all of this, had something to do with Derek’s mysterious sachet powder. Fuck. He should have seen this sooner.

"I don't wanna die, please don't let him kill me."

Isaac chimed in, "Don't worry about it, if anything, we’re the ones who are gonna get killed. Worth it though." He high fived Erica and they continued dancing with each other.  

Shockingly, none of that made Stiles feel any better, at all. Whether Derek was interested in Erica or he was actually under the effects of some sort of love spell, either way it was a kick right to the balls.

He made a beeline for the food table.

*

Derek wasn't sure why he was being punished like this. Was it for lusting after too-young, too-good-for-Derek Stiles? For wanting him even more like this? Plush and round and perfect?

Stiles was driving Derek crazy. He was dancing and he wasn’t even trying to be sexy; he was probably going for funny, but it was sinful the way he moved his hips. Derek had always thought Stiles would be as awkward and ungraceful on the dance floor as he was everywhere else, and he had only really seen Stiles’s deliberately ridiculous dancing. But he had a natural rhythm, and maybe not grace, but style, definitely. 

That would have been bad enough on its own, but the way he could see every bit of extra flesh jiggle as Stiles moved was torture, pure and simple. Not for the first time, he cursed the existence of that fucking vodou priest.

When Erica started dirty dancing with him, Derek felt a surge of possessive rage. He reined it in because he had no right, Stiles wasn’t his, no matter how much he would have liked him to be. But the thing was, Erica knew how he felt about Stiles. She was maybe the only one that knew for sure, and she was doing this deliberately. Erica flashed a smug grin at him and Derek growled, loud enough for the wolves to hear over the music.

And if he had thought Stiles's silly dancing was attractive, it was nothing compared to how he looked when he was grinding on someone. His hips swiveled in a way that too closely resembled fucking, plump ass flexing and barely concealed by his tight costume, and Derek felt dizzy with want.

Then Isaac joined them and Derek was livid. They couldn't touch Stiles like this, they couldn't. Stiles should be his.

He was getting more and more irrational, he could barely fight the shift and suddenly Stiles was looking right at him with wide, startled eyes, backing away from Isaac and Erica. Derek could hear him speak because every part of his being was focused on Stiles.

But what? Why would Derek kill him? When he wanted nothing more than to do the opposite? To care for him, keep him safe. The fight went out of Derek and he followed Stiles over to the table, where he was shoving chocolate candy in his mouth.

“What’s up, man?”

 He looked nervous, fidgety. Derek laid a calming hand on his arm and Stiles flinched.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, Stiles, Jesus. I’m not mad at you.”

Stiles let out a breath. “Thank god. Look, I didn’t know you and Erica. Um. Whatever is going on there, I didn’t know, okay? So I’m sorry. I won’t. I’m not gonna do anything, I wouldn’t.”

“What? There’s nothing going on between me and Erica.”

“Wha - really? Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Oh.” There was a war on Stiles’s face between two completely different emotions. Derek couldn’t figure it out.

But he still wasn’t operating on full brain-capacity. He was desperate to lay his own claim on Stiles, ached to be near him. The scent of Erica and Isaac all over his skin was killing him. And then he said something really, really stupid. “You wanna dance?”

Stiles looked behind him as if Derek maybe had been talking to someone else. As if there was anyone else. He pointed between them and said, “With you?”

Derek sighed, rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

“You. Wanna dance with me?”

“Yes.” 

“Ooookay.” Stiles looked thoughtful, popped another chocolate in his mouth, swallowed. “Let’s go, studmuffin, I haven’t got all day.”

He grabbed Derek’s hand, started pulling him towards the makeshift dance floor and suddenly Derek was terrified. He didn’t know how to dance. But it was too late to back out now; he had to face it. And Derek would have done much worse things just to get close to Stiles.   

Stiles who was gorgeous as ever, maybe more gorgeous than ever, if the way his raging hard-on seemed to feel about Stiles’s new body was anything to go by.

He couldn't concentrate, couldn't shift his focus to something less arousing because Stiles consumed his entire world. Stiles pulled him by the wrist into a stupid, embarrassing dance, smelling amazing, shaking his body so it jiggled with motion.

He was powerless to resist, as he always was in the face of that wild enthusiasm. The energy was contagious, and Derek found himself caught in a mob of teenagers who all smelled like pack, and he was dancing. Probably not well, but Stiles was grinning at him, unrestrained, and Derek tried frantically, reflexively, to tamp down the warmth blooming in his heart. It only ever led to heartbreak, loss. But the feeling overwhelmed him, blocking out painful memories, and he let go.

Stiles's arms wrapped around his neck and his expression was one of such pure joy, he wasn’t even sure he'd ever seen it on Stiles's face. He wished he had, every single day, because Stiles was so beautiful. 

Derek's hands came up without his permission to rest on Stiles's waist, so soft now, pliant under his fingers and Derek was grateful for the loud music and so many people because it blocked out the musky scent of his arousal, his too-quick, thumping heartbeat.

He wasn’t even sure what they were doing, he and Stiles. What had happened earlier was. Unintentional. Up until now, the cues Stiles had been giving him all pointed to this is something we don't talk about, ever, pretend it never happened, but I’m gonna continue to flirt with you as always, because I enjoy making you squirm. But now, now Stiles was so close. He was dancing with Derek.

He wanted it to mean something, but the way he'd danced with Erica and Isaac earlier... This was tame, friendly compared to that. He was suddenly overcome with jealousy, sharp and thick in his throat. 

Not thinking, Derek brought Stiles into his arms, and finally, finally Stiles’s soft, fat body was pressed against his. He was pulsing with lust, wanting so badly to take Stiles to his bed, feel all of that chubby flesh against his bare skin.

If he had any doubts whether Stiles wanted him back, they were obliterated by the way he straddled Derek's thigh, grinding his erection into his hip, leading him in a heated dance. Derek squeezed his eyes shut and shuddered all over, gripping Stiles's pudgy love handles in tight fists.

Stiles moaned deep in his throat, and Derek wanted to hear him, hear every sound Stiles made when he was out of his mind with pleasure. 

That's when the song ended, a too long pause until the beginning of the next. Stiles stiffened, backed up, heartbeat panicked. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean. Fuck." He flushed with shame, made a hasty retreat to the bathroom, and Derek was left stunned, hands still grasping at the air by his thighs where Stiles had been. Scott went after Stiles.

He stood there too long, too still amongst the crowd. The room felt suddenly so small, too stifling. He needed to get out. Derek didn't notice his pack approaching until Boyd and Erica were already at his sides, Isaac at his back, gripping his shoulders.

They guided him to the couch, where they surrounded him and dragged him into a conversation. He couldn't focus on it, but he appreciated the effort. They didn't seem to mind that he contributed even less than usual.

*

Stiles had fucked up, hard.

He had got to thinking, after the dance. Well, after the threesome dance, not the Derek dance. But he realized that Derek was likely cursed in some way, and the only thing that was different now seemed to be how he was acting around Stiles, like he couldn't control himself, like he wanted him. Which was too fucking ridiculous to even consider a part of reality. So what if it wasn’t?

If Derek was under some sort of love spell, Stiles could not take advantage, just because he was already crushing way too hard, was in too deep. Derek had gotten taken advantage of enough in his life, without Stiles adding to the mix.

But on that makeshift dance floor, when Derek pulled him close, Stiles forgot for that blissful moment that it wasn't real. He lost himself, and how could Derek ever forgive him if he went any further? For doing even that? When he shouldn’t have danced with Derek at all. He knew that. 

But Stiles found it impossible to even consider, wouldn't have been able to handle seeing rejection reflect in his beautiful eyes as he said no. So he didn’t. And watching Derek’s dorky, stupid dance, the lit up expression on his face, it was almost worth everything. He just... should have controlled himself. Shouldn’t have let his emotions cloud his judgement.

But now Stiles was sitting on Derek's toilet in a fucking Superman costume, wallowing in self-pity, replaying Derek's crushed face as he walked away over and over. But he'd thank him after all this was over, Stiles was sure of it. Or, well, as much ‘thank you’ as Derek was capable of. 

There was an insistent knock on the door, immediately followed by Scott bursting in. 

"What's the point of knocking if you're not gonna wait to be invited in?”

"Stiles, what happened? You guys looked like you were finally getting your shit together and-"

"Scott, it's nothing, don't wo - Wait. Finally? What the hell does that mean?"

Scott rolled his eyes dramatically. "Stiles, seriously, what happened? I don't know if you saw Derek's face but he looked wrecked, man. Why did you run away?"

"I saw... Scott. Derek, Derek doesn't want me okay? It's not real. It’s the curse."

Scott’s face was one of complete disbelief. "What?"

"Dude, I know you're my best bro and everything, but tone it down with the dramatics okay? You can tell me Derek freaking Hale isn't attracted to me in normal, every day life. My fragile ego can take it, promise."

"Dude. How are you seriously this oblivious?” He looked around as if to see if there was anyone behind him, and whispered, so low Stiles almost couldn’t hear it, “Derek is way into you."

"Scott, listen to me very carefully. It's. Not. Real."

"Not just today, Stiles, always."

Stiles’s heart kicked up in his chest, but was sure his face couldn't possibly be more incredulous. "I don't need you to placate me. Look. Facts are, Derek got cursed, this is what happened. Not a lot of room for interpretation. So I just have to stay away from him until we fix this, capisce?"

Scott heaved a great world-weary sigh. "Whatever you say, Stiles. You should tell him, though. Why you're not… He's like heartbroken, dude, I can smell it from here."

Stiles's own heart hurt in sympathy, and not for any other reason whatsoever.

“Yeah, I guess.”

Scott helped him heave his body off the toilet seat. His leg muscles hurt, not used to carrying this much extra weight. With a hand on his shoulder, Scott guided him back to the living room. 

When he saw the back of Derek's head, he panicked, stopped in his tracks, tried to get away, but Scott's hand was firm and werewolf-strong. "Calm down, Stiles. You can do this."

"No, I. Gimme a minute, I can't." Stiles wrenched himself away, fled into the kitchen and leaned against the counter with both hands, trying to control his heartbeat, his breathing.

He was terrified. Telling Derek this would probably also mean telling him about Stiles's feelings. He couldn't see very many ways around that. Derek was too tenacious; there was no way he wouldn't at least guess. With any luck the curse would wipe both of their memories, but when had Stiles ever had luck on his side?

He searched around the kitchen, a little frantic, found a lone bottle of beer in the fridge. Stiles downed it in big gulps, wanting the numbness it offered him, the liquid courage. He could feel his stomach swell just that much more, stretching the fabric of his costume tight around his gut. It felt. It felt really good, but he couldn't focus on it, he was too anxious.

"Stiles?"

Stiles almost choked on his drink, he coughed and it dripped down his chin. He wiped it away and leaned casually against the counter. "Heyyy, Derek. Did Scott send you?" 

"Yeah. He said you wanted to talk."

Scott was right, Derek looked… not well. Not nearly as amused as he normally would’ve been at scaring the shit out of Stiles. In fact, there was no trace of humor on his face, at all; it was stone cold.

"Fucking traitor." He took a deep breath and a sip of his beer. “So, uh. About earlier…”

And then Derek’s face shut down, looking about as crushed as Stiles felt. His eyes were so vulnerable; all Stiles wanted was to soothe away the ache that made him look that way. Before he could speak, Derek muttered, “It’s fine, Stiles.”

“It’s…what? No, it’s not fine. I’m trying to say that I. I know you’re upset right now, believe me when I say that I am too. But you’ll thank me, tomorrow, for not letting you do this. Just. Just trust me, okay, Derek? Please trust me.”

His expression clouded with confusion, and there, that was better. Now, if Derek could just accept that as his answer and let it go until this all blew over, Stiles would be set. But alas, Derek asked, “…What are you even talking about?”

“Derek, you’re cursed. That’s why you think you’re attracted to me, why you keep letting me – I think it’s a love spell. It’s not real, what you’re feeling isn’t real.”

Derek looked at him like he was stupid, which Stiles thought was really unfair. He was the one who figured this out, after all. He didn’t need Derek’s condescension. 

“Stiles, I’m not under a love spell.”

“You might think that, but how would you know? I saw you get hit, dude, you’re definitely something. Like when was the last time you felt me up, before today, huh? Never. That has happened approximately never. Trust me, I would definitely have remembered. Which brings me to my next point, if you weren’t under a curse, why would you ever get with this? Especially considering, all this.” Stiles grabbed a handful of his belly, shaking it for emphasis. It was blown huge, bloated with pizza and candy and beer, and his fat jiggled under his handling. 

For a moment, Derek was silent, eyes on Stiles’s body as a flush rose high on his cheeks. “That doesn’t bother me.”

“Wow, dude, so romantic. Take me now.” 

“So, let me get this straight-“

“So to speak.”

“Stiles.”

“Sorry, go on.”

“You think I’m cursed with a love spell but you’re not? It’s not like you regularly dance with me like, like that, so don’t put this all on me. You said it yourself; you inhaled some my powder, too. Jesus, this explains so much. Except… Why did you stop, then?”

Stiles breathed deep, tried to steel himself. This was what he’d been afraid of. Trust Derek to see right through him. “Derek. I’m not cursed. I’m sorry. You’re essentially, like, magic-roofied. I couldn’t do that to you, no matter how much I wanted you. That’s why I stopped. God, this is gonna be so awkward later."

Not to mention completely fucking devastating.

“What are you saying?”

“That I like you, asshole. Jesus Christ, I thought you were supposed to have super-senses. You’re the worst. Can’t you, like, smell it on me? Don’t you hear the way my heart skips when you – do, like, literally anything?” 

Derek grinned, small and barely there but blindingly gorgeous. And he said, breathless, tentative, “I like you too, Stiles.”

Stiles’s heart skipped a beat as if to perfectly punctuate his point, before he remembered. That wasn’t real, either. “Yeah, no shit. Cursed, remember? We literally just went over this. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go drown myself in candy. And if you could do me a huge favor and get one-day-only amnesia so I don’t have to live with this humiliation, that’d be great.”

He trampled out of the kitchen as fast as he could on exhausted legs, swiped a bag of fun-size Snickers, and bypassed everyone else for the balcony.

*

Derek tried, really genuinely tried not to follow Stiles immediately, to let him think things through. How could he tell Stiles about his feelings without him thinking it’s all a part of the spell? Derek needed a plan. He paced the room a few times before Scott grabbed his arm, looking something between amused, concerned, and confused. “What are you doing?”

Derek sighed. He hated asking for help, but he was totally out of his depth with this. “I’m not cursed. Not like that.”

“I know, dude. You’re like, painfully obvious.”

Derek glared at him, but had to concede that it was probably true. He wondered, for a moment, if everyone knew except Stiles. “How can I get him to believe me?”

“Honestly? I don’t think you can, the man is ridiculous stubborn. You’re not gonna like this, but think your best option is to wait it out until the jinx is lifted.”

Scott clapped his shoulder bracingly, and Derek burned with the need to know. “Scott… does he really…”

“It’s not my call to tell you that. You’re gonna have to ask him, after. Don’t worry, we’ll fix this. Now go comfort him, it looks like he’s gonna eat his way into a sugar coma.”

“Thanks.”

Despite Scott’s advice, Derek had to try. He wanted to get his hands on that body just this once, while he still had the chance to, before the spell reversed.

Derek didn’t so much have a long-term strategy as he had an opening gambit. He decided to just go for it and hope he would think of something.

*

"Do you want any help?"

Stiles gasped and flailed his hands. “Shit. Hey.”

Derek smirked and stood next to Stiles, shoulder to shoulder, where he was leaning against the window. He glanced down at Stiles's swollen gut and wiggled his fingers just inches from it.

Stiles's heart sped up. He was full, sure, but it didn't hurt. Not like earlier. But Stiles couldn't help but want Derek to do it anyway. And if that made him a horrible person, well. There was only so much he could do. "Oh! Help. Uh, yeah. If. If you're offering."

The touch of Derek's fingertips sent a numbing kind of electric current and waves of pleasure rushing through Stiles's body. "Oh, fuck."

Without any actual pain, it was sort of like being high on some grade-A opiates. And Stiles knew, from his experience as a somewhat less-than-coordinated child who loved to climb things and may have ended up with one or two broken bones in the process. 

The feeling gradually lessened, dissipated, until he was just leaning back, boneless against the window with Derek's hand resting on his fat belly.

"You're not even in pain, are you?"

"Uh." He looked Derek in the eye and saw amusement there. "Oh," Stiles sighed as Derek began rubbing circles into his stomach. Stiles felt like he was melting, god, it was amazing. He had never been aware his stomach was an erogenous zone, but wow, it felt really good, like connected-straight-to-his-dick good. But he managed to hold it together until Derek's hand moved lower, gripped the fat on his lower belly, sliding against the slick spandex.  

“S-stop.”

Derek did stop, and Stiles ached with it.

“Stiles. Do you know the moment I realized I wanted you?”

“Um, I’m guessing about-” Stiles checked his watch. “Six hours and 45 minutes ago?” 

Derek rolled his eyes, and it was honestly upsetting that he could still be exasperated at Stiles even under the effects of a love spell, but whatever. 

“No. It was…” The pause was pregnant with vulnerability, and Stiles wanted to reach out to him, didn’t trust himself not to get carried away.

“After the kanima, that summer, when you helped me, helped my pack. Even though you didn’t have to. You were always helping me when you didn’t have to, and you always saw me when no one else did, and I realized I trusted you. With my life. With my pack’s lives. And that’s when I started to feel it, but I didn’t… The moment I knew I wanted you, you were right here, in the loft, and you were ranting about Star Wars instead of talking about the alpha pack, and you were waving your arms around like a total lunatic, and… you were so beautiful. I could have listened to you, watched you all day.”

Stiles didn’t even remember that day; it could have been any day, but it wasn’t. It was one of the best days of his life and he hadn’t even known it. That is, if any of this was real. It had to be, right? A stupid love spell couldn’t make you invent the moment you fell for someone, could it? His - admittedly minimal - research had pointed to the fact that love spells don’t induce love, not real love. They just create infatuation, attraction, obsession. But this didn’t sound like that, it sounded like, like. Real feelings.

He was overwhelmed, didn’t know what to do anymore. He wanted Derek, more than anything, and it sounded like he wanted Stiles back. So why was he resisting, still? Did he really think all that was fake? Made up? When it sounded more honest than anything Derek had ever said to him?

*

Stiles’s dark amber eyes opened wide, taking in Derek’s face, which was probably absolutely wrecked, and he said, “Oh my god.”

Derek took the opportunity to knead his hand into Stiles’s soft belly, almost innocently, just to burn the feeling into his memory for when it was gone.

But then Stiles’s scent, the one Derek couldn’t place earlier, overwhelmed him. He had to plant his face in his neck and breathe. Stiles tilted his head to offer his throat in a subconscious gesture of trust, and Derek growled with his human voice, low and possessive. The scent, it was lust, of course it was. Derek couldn’t get enough, he was playing with Stiles’s doughy lower belly and nosing at his neck and he wanted more.

“Derek, a-ah!”

He bit Stiles’s throat, soft, with blunt, human teeth, and Stiles gasped. So Derek kept going, licked the spot, nibbled and sucked until Stiles was writhing under his mouth, his hand.

"Fuck, fuck," Stiles whispered, breathless. He was hard, Derek could smell it, and he couldn’t stop. "Don't stop."

Derek made the tiniest ah on an exhale, and Stiles gripped his arm. He pulled his head back to look at Stiles’s face and his eyes snapped open. Stiles looked ruined, he was breathing hard, through his mouth, and his cheeks were stained red.

"Oh my god." He grasped at Derek’s neck, his hair. “Derek. We, we should stop. Just in case, you know?”

“Yeah. Okay, Stiles.”

Stiles shuddered out a breath and said, suddenly annoyed, "We need to get this shit reversed, like right now. Derek, go get your keys, we're going to see that bokor fuckface and make him fix this."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"You're right, let’s send Scott."

As if on queue, Scott came sprinting out onto the fire escape, clutching his phone. “Sorry to interrupt, but, thought you guys might wanna know. Deaton found him. Well, he found Deaton. He’s at the clinic, so we’re gonna meet them there.”

“Do I have to go? I don’t see why I really need to be there." 

Scott looked confused. “What the hell is wrong with you, man? Of course you need to, come on.”

Stiles let himself be dragged back inside. “Yo, Derek, do you have some clothes I could borrow?”

*

Derek parked the Camaro a couple of blocks from the veterinary clinic, after taking the stupidly scenic, roundabout way to get there. Weirdo. Stiles unbuckled himself, opened the door, and he could barely lift his newly heavy body from the low seat. Derek came around to help lift Stiles up; it was humiliating.

His clothes were still too tight, the waistband of Derek’s sweatpants dug into the flesh underneath his overhanging belly. At least the hoodie he'd accidentally left in Derek’s loft a few weeks ago had once been baggy and very stretchy. At least he was covered and nothing was ripped open. But it smelled like Derek, and Derek was right there, supporting him under his arm as he waddled towards the storefront.

Stiles could not stop thinking about what happened back at the loft. God, it was so hot. At the very least he was gonna jerk off to that memory for the rest of his life, but ideally he wanted it to happen again and again and again.

But Stiles wasn’t that stupid. There was still the nagging possibility that he unintentionally took advantage of Derek under the influence of an extremely powerful love spell, and he felt like such a shit.

And if that was true, he was also not stupid enough to think Derek could have wanted him otherwise, whether he was fat or thin. After they got the jinxes lifted, Stiles thought he might have to flee the country and change his name to avoid having to think about the shame and embarrassment that was his life ever again.

Unless. Unless it was all real, in which case Stiles wasn’t leaving, ever. Derek would get so sick of him.

Derek pushed open the door, making the little bell jingle, and the vodou priest greeted them first. “Ah, Monsieur Stilinski, Monsieur Hale. Lovely of you to join us. I see you’re still feeling the effects of my little jinx.”

Derek growled, and Stiles said, “Yeah, just a bit. So how about you fix this before we kick your ass, huh?”

“Patience. Let’s go over the terms of our agreement again, shall we, Dr. Deaton? Monsieur McCall?”

Deaton cleared his throat. “He’s not going to produce, use or sell any kind of seriously harmful jinxes, especially to use against us, and in exchange we allow him to remain protected on our territory.”

“How do we know his definition of ‘harmful’ is the same as ours? I’d say he’s already done a pretty good job at harming us,” Derek said, with barely restrained irritation. 

“Monsieur Hale, I find it insulting that you think that was the worst I could do. I was just trying to give you a little warning. Teach you a lesson. No harm intended, I can assure you.” 

“And what lesson would that be?”

“Stay out of other people’s business, of course.”

“This is my business. You made this my business.”

Scott jumped in. “Guys, this isn’t helping. Mr. Chouteau agreed not to do it again, so can we just drop it for now?”

Derek growled, looking anything but placated, but he nodded his acknowledgement.

Deaton lifted up a sheet of paper. “He made a list of all the common spells he uses in his practice, and I approved the ones I thought were safe. Here, you can look for yourself.”

He handed Derek the piece of paper, and Stiles sidled up to him to look over his shoulder. “Oh my god, that’s so cool. You can contact the dead?!” Stiles felt their eyes on him, all judgy. “Not important, carry on.”

“If you go back on your word, there will be consequences,” Derek snarled, in his best threatening alpha voice.

“Understood.”

Chouteau shook all of their hands, though Stiles was extremely hesitant to get that close to him again.

“Now, come here.” 

Stiles and Derek moved slowly, tentatively towards the bokor, who pulled out a bottle of off-white speckled dust. He poured some into his palm and said, “Visualize the powder cleansing your body. Open your mouths and breathe in deep. It will be more powerful if it combines with your saliva.”

“Oh god, gross.”

Chouteau smiled at him, and held up a handful of the stuff. “Ready?”

They nodded in unison, opened their mouths, and closed their eyes. Chouteau blew the powder into their faces. Stiles inhaled the earthy, salty fish taste, and coughed, gagging a little. 

“How long will it take to wear off?” Derek said, wiping white dust from his face.

“For you? Near instantly. For Monsieur Stilinski? The effects should begin shortly, and be fully in effect come morning.”

“Is that everything?” Scott asked.

“Yes, I believe that should do it.”

Scott nodded in recognition. He stayed behind with Deaton, as Stiles, Derek, and the priest exited the clinic.

Stiles couldn’t leave without knowing something, though. He stopped in his tracks halfway down the alleyway, Derek hovering beside him. “Hey, Monsieur Chouteau? Uh, what was the powder you hit Derek with earlier? A love spell?”

He turned around and with a creepy-ass smile, said, “A love spell? Non, mon petit cochon, it was a simple hot foot powder. To keep unwanted people away.”

He and Derek looked at each other with wide-eyed recognition. Stiles’s heart started beating erratically in his ears.

In the back of his mind, Stiles had been wondering why they’d been so reluctant to get in on the action, today. So to speak. But if the sachet powder was designed to keep them away, no wonder they spent the whole day in Derek’s apartment, almost completely uninvolved. It made sense, and Stiles felt so dumb for not realizing it sooner. 

“Thanks.”

They walked out to the car in absolute silence, but Stiles’s brain was running at maximum speed. If that wasn’t a love spell, Derek was acting on his own impulses; Derek wanted him, just as much as Stiles wanted Derek. But it was more than that. He remembered what Derek had told him on the fire escape. Derek had feelings for him.

Stiles opened the door to the Camaro, and plopped into the passenger side. He was a little thinner already; he could feel it. It shouldn’t have been disappointing, but it kind of was.

But now he had something even better. He smiled, huge and crazed. “So you really like me, huh?”

Derek started the car and rolled his eyes dramatically before pulling out. “I did tell you that.”

“Yeah, but now it’s like, official.”

He tried to suppress a smile, but Stiles saw it anyway. “Guess it is.”

“So are we dating, now?”

Derek looked like he was biting at the inside of his lips to keep his closed-mouth smile as small as possible. Stiles wanted to see it in its full glory; he never had before.

“Whatever you want, Stiles.”

Stiles spent a few seconds admiring Derek’s profile, thinking about trailing his fingers along the skin of Derek’s hand on the gearshift.

“Do you wanna know the moment I realized I wanted you?”

Derek’s eyes glanced at him quick before returning to the road, and his face was carefully blank. He gripped the steering wheel and said, low and breathless, “Yes.” 

“It took me too long. I should’ve realized before this, but. There was this one time, after you came back, I went over to your place early in the morning, I forget why. And you had this weird bed-head, and your beard was too long, and you were wearing these ugly, baggy, soft pajamas, and you were eating fucking Fruity Pebbles, and it was the most adorable fucking thing I’ve ever seen, ever. The fact that you let me see you like that with your guard all the way down? God, I was so smitten, dude. I think it was the first time I’d really seen you out of your tight grey clothes and styled hair and prickly attitude, and all I wanted was to cuddle up with you. Make you feel safe like that all the time.” 

Derek’s face was cracked wide open, jaw dropped, eyes sparkly and helpless. He pulled off to the side of the road, put the car in park, and turned to Stiles, grabbing his face in both hands. The kiss was achingly soft, sweet with feeling, and Stiles melted, heart beating double time. When Derek pulled back, he was shaking, they both were.

He said, "Stiles," pleading, and Stiles kissed him again, grabbed Derek’s shirt in his hands and slid their tongues together. Derek fucking moaned, and Stiles felt like he was on fire, hot and wild and so, so good. 

He pulled his mouth away, panting, and Stiles chased it, but Derek said, “Come home with me.” 

Stiles’s mind ran blank. He was clearly not grounded in reality, had to be dreaming. “Yes. Fuck, Derek… Wait, isn’t there a pack of werewolves and werewolf associates back at your place?” 

“No. I asked them to leave.”

Stiles grinned. “Oh yeah? Couldn’t wait to get all up on this, huh? Can’t say I blame you.”

Derek looked at him like he couldn’t believe this was who he was choosing to get with. Stiles knew the feeling. 

*

They didn’t even make it inside before Derek found himself with an armful of plump Stiles, tongue down his throat. The kiss was immediately wet and hot and desperate, and only got sloppier when Stiles pressed his body flush to Derek’s. Derek had his hands on fat sides, squeezing the extra flesh as he sucked indulgently on Stiles’s lip.

Stiles pulled back to breathe. “Fuck. Fuck, come on.” 

He dragged Derek towards the building, into the stairwell, but Derek pushed him back out, and into the elevator. Once inside, Stiles shoved Derek against the wall, pinning him there under his weight. He looked at Derek from under long eyelashes and slipped his thigh in between Derek’s, grinding into his cock. Derek let out a short groan, and his head fell back, thumping on the elevator wall. Stiles grabbed his face, kissed him hot and dirty.

When the door finally opened, Derek pushed Stiles out and into the loft. Their mouths were still attached, trading deep, hard kisses. Derek unzipped the hoodie Stiles was wearing, finally getting his hands all over the soft plumpness underneath, and it was perfect. “You feel so good like this, Stiles.” 

“Yeah?”

“God, yes.”

Stiles kissed him again, and whimpered, stripped off the hoodie and threw it. He fisted his hands in Derek’s wifebeater and tugged him towards the bed, ripping it off in between kisses.

With a hand on the back of his neck, Stiles dragged Derek on top of him as he collapsed onto the low mattress. Stiles was so achingly soft, pliant beneath him as he bucked up, breaking the kiss to moan, shaky and broken already. Derek needed to hear more.

Their skin pressed together was giving Derek goosebumps that felt more like fireworks. He was so warm, perfect and doughy soft in Derek's hands. At first he was just feeling Stiles's sides, gripping his love handles to pull him closer, mouthing at his throat to feel the vibrations of Stiles's moans against his lips.

But he wanted, he wanted to touch Stiles everywhere. He wanted to touch that belly again, and though Stiles had liked it earlier, it seemed weird, out of context somehow, to do it now.

"What the hell are you doing? C'mon man, don't leave me hangin' like this, not cool."

It was only when Stiles spoke Derek realized he'd stopped, was just panting into Stiles's neck. He lifted his head up to look at Stiles's face and started, "I want..."

Stiles reached for Derek's neck, propping himself up on one hand. "What? What do you want?"

But Derek couldn't say, not in words, not yet. He slid one hand, tentatively, to rest on the soft, fat curve of his belly. Stiles stuttered out a breath and let his eyes flutter shut. He whispered, “S’that what you want?”

Derek nodded, letting his hand caress the smooth expanse of fat flesh. “Is that okay?”

"Yes. Holy fuck yes."

And then, then Derek was insatiable. He began to knead Stiles’s chubby belly with one hand first, and then Derek sat up, straddling his thighs and used both hands at once, pushing Stiles back against the mattress. Stiles let his head fall back on a silent scream and he arched into the pressure. Belly still bloated from so much food and beer, the contents of his stomach made his gut look even bigger, and Derek could hear the soft sounds of digestion, the sloshing of heavy liquid as he jiggled its weight.

He patted the sides of his belly lightly, to see the ripples that followed, to see it shift back and forth, and Stiles made a noise at that, barely suppressed and caught in his throat. Derek did it again, harder, and Stiles gasped.

“Keep, keep doing that. I like it.”

Derek groaned and jiggled Stiles’s belly, slapping the underside with a little more force this time.

“Ah-ah, fuck. Harder.”

Derek smacked harder, once, and then twice more, reveling in the waves of motion in Stiles’s fat belly, the blotchy, hot redness in his skin, and Stiles was moaning, wild and unrestrained, head thrown back and eyes shut in pleasure.

“Fuck, Derek. Touch me.”

His tone of voice was rough, harsh like a demand and Derek felt heat rush up his spine, hand following the order before his brain even caught up. He reached one hand down to cup Stiles’s hard, leaking dick where it bulged inside Derek’s too-tight sweatpants, and Stiles groaned out a “Yes.”

Derek’s other hand roamed up Stiles’s soft gut up to catch his nipple between his fingers, and he gasped as Stiles yelled, “Ah! Ah, fuck, shit, oh-ohh, god. That’s. That feels. I need. Fuck, fuck.”

The sound of Stiles’s voice, deep in the throes of pleasure, gritty with sex, it was the hottest thing Derek had ever heard. He’d always imagined Stiles would be vocal in bed, and it was even better than he’d imagined. He could get off on just that alone, but coupled with that was the visual, of beautiful Stiles, all soft blubbery flesh, writhing under Derek’s hands… Derek felt too close, already.

He had no idea what he'd done to deserve something, someone so perfect.

And oh, the feeling of all that fat, even the little breasts that formed on his chest, it was sinful, so soft in his hand. He jiggled it in his palm as he thumbed the nipple, leaning down to lick it into his mouth. Stiles was mumbling a litany of broken curses and choked cries, grasping at Derek’s hair, his neck, as he sucked.

That little pocket of fat in his mouth was so yielding, so soft. Derek wanted to run his mouth over every part of Stiles. His cock pulsed at the thought of getting his lips, his tongue on Stiles’s stomach, and he groaned, biting at his nipple.

“Ah! Derek, you f-fucking tease, I said touch me.”

Derek choked on a sound, fingertips tracing the waistband of his pants. It was tight, Derek couldn’t slide his hand all the way under, and he gasped, trailing his fingers against the bumpy marks left behind on Stiles’s skin. 

“Stiles. Can’t. They’re too tight, I can’t. Ah, fuck.”

“Oh holy fuck. Guess I got pretty fat, huh?”

Stiles giggled a little, making his belly fat ripple, and Derek shuddered out a quiet moan, dropping his head to Stiles’s chest. He could hear his voice vibrate in his ribcage as he said, sort of tentative, “…Do you like that, Derek? How fat I am?”

“Yes, I like it, I. Stiles…”

“Shit. I-I can’t handle you, god, I can’t believe you like it. You’re so fucking weird. Fuck, I need to take them off right now, okay? Do you wanna?" 

Derek pushed himself up, panting, put his knees on the floor and dragged Stiles by his fleshy hips closer to the edge of the mattress. Stiles was looking at him with hooded, blackened eyes, leaned up on his elbows to see over his gut, chest heaving with harsh breaths. And Derek clenched his fingertips in the waistband of his sweatpants, saying, “Stiles, lift your hips for me, baby.” 

Stiles looked like he was about to go into shock, suddenly, but he did as he was told, clenching his exhausted, shaky leg muscles so Derek could wiggle the pants off his hips. It was slow, laborious, easing Stiles’s hard cock out from under too-tight material, down chunky thighs, and once there was enough give in the elastic, Derek ripped them off. Stiles collapsed, panting for breath, and Derek slid his hands up Stiles’s bare, chubby thighs. 

When he gripped Stiles’s cock in a tight fist, Stiles shouted something unintelligible, strangled. Derek looked up and saw his flushed face, painted with lust. And then he looked back down to Stiles’s big, heavy gut. He wanted.

Derek leaned in to brush his nose against the skin and Stiles sucked in a breath. He glanced up and asked, “Can I?”

Stiles stared him down, frustrated and incredulous. “You know, I’m beginning to see why you didn’t get how fucking into you I am, you oblivious piece of shit. Fuck, do I have to spell it out for you – O-oh my god, oh my god.”

Derek shut Stiles up, more or less, with a hot swipe of his tongue on his silky smooth lower belly. And Stiles started to make little choked off noises, but so did Derek, because it was like nothing he had ever experienced. Stiles’s flesh was so supple, had so much give to it. He loved it; Derek sighed into the feeling of tracing his lips over such softness. It was so big, there was so much, Derek moaned, licking and kissing fervently, across every inch of flesh he could get his mouth on.

Stiles was squirming under the attention, making his fat ripple around Derek’s face, and he shuddered, gripping helplessly, mindlessly at Stiles’s chubby side, sliding his erection in his hand.   

But it was too much. He yanked back the hand that was playing with Stiles’s fat and, quick and efficient, he popped the button of his jeans, tugging down the zipper and sighing in relief as he gripped his own dick, dry, but so, so good.

“Oh, fuck. Are you touching yourself?”

“Y-yes.”

“Oh-oh my god. Derek. Derek, come back up here, okay? I need to feel you.”

Derek’s heart tripped in his chest, anticipation pumping in his veins, and he stood up, feeling shaky and exposed. Stiles had a hand outstretched, calling to him, and he collapsed onto Stiles, melted into his hot, plush body. Their cocks were touching now, sliding together between their stomachs and Derek moaned against Stiles’s neck, feeling it echo in the skin under his lips.

Then suddenly, Derek was flipped onto his back, and Stiles was straddling his hips. “Stiles.”

One of his hands reached automatically to grab one chubby thigh, and the other went to his belly. Stiles leaned forward, grinding his hips down in little circles, pressing their cocks back together, and it was the sweetest, hottest feeling. Sizzling electric current was dancing across Derek’s skin and he was so, so far gone.

Stiles’s weight on top of him, that soft belly against his cock, it was incredible, but Derek wanted more, just a little more.

He sat up and wound his arms around Stiles’s pudgy waist as he kissed him, sucked his tongue into his mouth, bit at his plump lips as Stiles continued to grind against him. Derek grabbed two huge handfuls of Stiles’s ass, and Stiles said, breathless and cracked at the edges, “Ahh, Derek. Gonna, ah, gonna.”

“Fuck, Stiles, do it.”

“Ah! Come with me.”

The instant he felt Stiles shudder, a split second before slick wet heat filled the space between their bodies, Derek climaxed on a near-silent, breathless cry. When Stiles came, he whispered “Derek,” against his lips, and his world was reduced to sensation.

Pleasure and energy flowed in waves through his body in pulsing, relentless waves and he shivered, clutching Stiles almost as tight as Stiles was clutching him. But then he was loose, tingly. So warm.

He fell back, boneless, with his eyes shut, and absently he felt Stiles tug off his jeans and clean him up with a tissue from the bedside table, and then lay down next to him.

Derek frowned, opening his eyes and turning his body to face Stiles. He hooked a leg around Stiles’s and wrapped an arm around his fat belly. Derek caught Stiles’s blinding grin for only an instant but in the warmth of his neck, he could smell Stiles’s happiness, his satisfaction, sweet and clean and soft. He felt Stiles’s arm curl around his back, his fingers running across the skin of his hand.

“I can’t believe that just fucking happened. Oh my god. Wow. That was. Wow.” 

Derek shook with a silent chuckle, and pressed a kiss to Stiles’s throat. “Feeling’s mutual.”

“Hey, Derek?" 

“Hmm.”

“So are you like, my boyfriend now?”

Derek lifted his head to pillow on Stiles’s shoulder, looking him in the eye as he asked around a smile, “Do you want me to be?”

“Do you really need to ask me that? Yes, okay? I really, really want that... More than anything.” 

Derek kissed him, light and quick and packed with feeling.

“Okay, then.” He dove back in to breathe the saturated scent of Stiles, nuzzle his neck possessively. “Go to sleep, Stiles.”

“Mmm.” He already sounded half-asleep, heartbeat slowed and breathing deep. Derek’s heart fell into the same rhythm as he began to drift.

Right before he fell asleep, Derek grinned to himself, thinking tomorrow – tomorrow he’d have a whole new body to explore. He’d learn it all again, with his hands and his mouth. And though it would be hard planes rather than curves, bones instead of fat, it was Stiles. Derek was going to wake up next to Stiles tomorrow. 

Somehow everything in his life had added up to this, to everything he could have really hoped for. In this perfect moment Derek had a pack, a ragtag, makeshift family, a home, and maybe. Maybe someone to come home to. He didn’t know how he got it, didn’t think he deserved it, but Derek clung to his life, to Stiles, fervently.

*

Stiles woke up in an unfamiliar bed. But no, that wasn’t quite right. It was familiar in a distant way, but at the same time vivid in clarity, like a memory he’d tried hard to preserve.

And suddenly he remembered. He had been bleeding, drifting in and out of consciousness, infected claw marks cut too deep into his arm, but he was wrapped in the soft feeling of a warm bed, familiar smell of Derek filling his nose, and when he could open his eyes he saw the faces of the people he cared about. But every single time, Derek had been there, offering comfort with his presence, but not his touch.

Stiles could feel it; before he even opened his eyes, he knew that’s where he was. For only the second time, but this time he wasn’t hurt, and this time there was a body next to his, curled around him, hot with werewolf blood. But not just any body, it was Derek, and Stiles remembered.

He opened his eyes. Oh. As promised, his body was back to normal, skinny and unremarkable, but Derek was petting the hard planes of his flat midsection with a smile on his face, and he didn’t look disappointed at all.

“Morning,” he grumbled, voice rough with sleep.

“Hey,” Stiles grinned.

“You want breakfast or sex first?”

That was definitely a phrase he thought he’d never hear coming from Derek Hale’s mouth, not in a million years, and it wasn’t fair for him to keep touching Stiles like that; he couldn’t think past wanting Derek’s hand around his aching morning wood.

“Oh, god.”

“I’m gonna take that as sex, and then breakfast, and then more sex.” He ground his hard-on into Stiles’s hip and sucked a nipple into his mouth.

“Fuck, Derek.”

“You should stay here, in my bed, all day.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, breathless. He grabbed Derek’s waist, threaded their legs together and got in close. Stiles ached for Derek’s hands playing with his belly, like last night, but realized with a pang that even if he did, it wouldn’t be the same.

Suddenly, he was overcome with insecurity. Derek had really, really liked his body yesterday. And while he didn’t seem to be explicitly not enjoying it today, he needed the words like air. He needed Derek to tell him it was okay. “Ah. It’s just. I thought. It seemed like you liked the way I was? You know, yesterday. Um. I didn’t know if you’d wanna keep doing this.”

Derek’s hands stopped their movement and rested on his back.  “Stiles. I don’t care about that. You’re fine the way you are.”

“But it’s just, you liked it. And you never made a move before, when I was skinny.”

“I wanted to.”

“…Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know. I never thought you wanted me back.”

“Oh my god, are you serious? Why would you ever think that, you dumbfuck?”

“You’re surprisingly difficult to read, when you want to be.” Derek smiled a little, as if dumbfuck was a pet name rather than an insult, and he started kissing Stiles’s neck; it was nice, sweet. Surreal, seeing Derek be so openly affectionate, seeing him smile, but he wasn’t complaining. Stiles sighed, laced his fingers through Derek’s.

“Hey, Derek?”

“Hmm?” He pulled back, to look Stiles in the eye.

Stiles fidgeted a little, licking his lips nervously, darting his eyes around. “If I, hypothetically speaking, wanted to make yesterday’s scenario more like, uh, a regular thing. You know, a real thing. How would you like that?”

Derek narrowed his eyes and asked, "Which part? Cause I think we should probably take a break from hoodoo magic for awhile."

"Ha, ha. No, the. Um, the. You know."

Derek's eyes tracked the increasingly wild motions of his hands, brows knitted together in confusion. "Um, no. I have no idea what you're talking about."

Stiles let out a nervous sigh and licked his lips. "I mean, what if I did gain weight. Like... for real."

He couldn't read Derek's expression and when he spoke he sounded strange, breathy. "What?"

"What if I-"

"I heard you." 

Stiles waited for a reaction for all of half a second, but he needed to know how Derek felt. Was all that just some strange sex detour that he never planned to revisit? He seemed to enjoy it a lot at the time, but now Stiles was unsure.

"Well?"

Derek paused, looking torn. “You don’t have to do that, Stiles.”

"But. You liked it, right? The weight, I mean."

"Stiles, you know I did. But you don't have to... you don't have to change for me."

“I know, but. What if I wanted to? What if I liked it, too?”

Derek pushed him flat on the bed and propped himself up on an incredibly muscular arm to look down at him. “You liked it?”

“You don’t even know, man.”

Derek kissed him, passionate and uncontrolled. “Stiles.”

“I take it that’s something you’d be interested in?”

“Yes.” 

“Fuck yes.”