Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Stiles should have known that it would become a problem. From the moment he had knocked on Derek's door and let his sharp hazel eyes lazily drag onto the soft green sweater that Stiles had hastily thrown on, because wearing one of his many graphic t-shirts with puns felt unprofessional, he had been gone.

If he was honest, Stiles should have known that his crush would be a problem the moment he responded to Derek's messages. Stilinski men were hopeless romantics at heart. Hell, he had spent over 10 years in love with Lydia Martin, and she hadn’t known his name. It's probably for the best anyways, since she definitely wasn't into the same stuff that Stiles was.

Stiles had been well aware of his chubby-chasing preferences since high school when he'd popped a boner to mukbang videos and had to hurriedly deal with himself in the bathroom. Since then, he had become intimately familiar with feederism websites. Now Stiles had the great honor of being a niche celebrity for his feeder encouragement videos. He had been very strict about not doing in-person scenes, no matter how many attractive people sent him messages. Never before Derek.

His profile hadn’t even had photos beyond a shadowy mirror picture and a picture of his scale sitting comfortably at 282; just enough images to satisfy the two-picture requirement of the website. Their interests were hardly aligned. Stiles had always preferred a gentler approach, full of teasing praise, so different from Derek's strict humiliation kinks. Derek had reached out first, overly polite with quiet embarrassment. Three months of messaging back and forth while Derek sent weekly payments for video sessions.

That first video session, watching Derek jerk off with his face covered in pasta sauce while Stiles called him a desperate pig, was euphoric. They had dozens more like that, Stiles talking in a sultry voice while Derek stuffed himself. At the end of one, cum splattered along the base of his hairy swollen stomach, Derek had whispered that he had gained 75 pounds since they started messaging. Stiles hadn’t had to time to stop himself before letting out a loud groan and splashing cum onto his webcam. He opened his eyes, saw Derek's wide, bunny toothed grin, and knew he couldn’t let him go.

The next week, Derek had asked for an in-person session and Stiles had said yes. He was only three towns over, and Derek had been a special case for awhile now.

So Stiles had hopped into his Jeep, left Scott with strict instructions to call the police if he wasn’t back by five am (he was horny but he didn't have a death wish) and took the 45 minute drive north from his college apartment to Derek's little green craftsman-style cottage. He stood in Derek's entryway, cheeks burning and very much pretending that he wasn’t already rocking a semi over the sliver of skin popping out from in-between the dark blue button-up.

“What’s wrong?” Derek's voice was angry but his darting eyes and fidgeting fingers told another story.

Stiles smiled. “Nothing. You're even hotter than in your pictures, that's all.”

Derek scowled, the tips of his ears a bright red. With a slight pout, he said, “If you’re going to compliment me, you can just leave.”

In an impressive show of willpower, Stiles forced his smile fall. “Are you in charge?”

Derek shivered, shaking his head.

“No, you aren't. Pigs don’t give orders,” Stiles said, letting his hands dance up Derek's arms and pull gently on his hair. “Where’s the food piggy?”

With a whine, Derek led him through the hallway, past an impressive stainless steel kitchen and into the warm dining room. The dark wood paneling matched the walnut circle table. Across the surface lay a family-sized tin of alfredo pasta, a small plate of fried chicken and a blender with a greyish-beige colored shake.

“Alfredo again? You must really like pasta.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Derek bristled.

God he was adorable. Stiles reached up and pulled his hair again, doing his best to ignore the wanton moan Derek let out. “You had it last time, don’t you remember? I figured a glutton like you would want to put that nice kitchen of yours to use.”

Derek bit his lip, pressing down his noises. “It has the highest calories for cheap delivery. I don’t cook.”

“You don’t cook?!”

“Mhm-mm. Too much work.”

“That figures. Fat slob like you wouldn’t want to move more than you need to, huh?”

Derek's lip was bright red now, bunny teeth causing indents. “Yes, yes, please.”

Stiles couldn’t help it, a smile tugged at his lips again. “Show me.”

The second Stiles let go of his hair, Derek dropped into his chair and pulled the pasta to the edge of the table. Stiles sat beside him, watching him shovel the fork into his mouth. He let his hands explore, forcing himself to drag his nails across Derek's skin instead of gentle caressing.

“God, look at you. What a fucking slob. Do you like that, feeling the sauce drip down your face?” Stiles ran a finger up the side of Derek's cheek, collecting the runaway alfredo sauce and shoving it into his mouth around the fork. He let his finger feel along the center of Derek's tongue as he drew it out, a thin line of spit following.

Derek moaned again as Stiles brought his hand down, lightly smacking the top of his flabby belly. “Did I tell you to stop eating? Fat pig like you can't be satisfied yet and I sure as hell am not.” Derek nodded, shoveling more into his mouth.

Derek got halfway through the pan, Stiles whispering dirty words into his ear the whole time, before he grabbed the fork and threw it to the side.

“You don’t need a fork, do you? You didn’t get this fat by acting human. Show me what a sloppy pig you really are Derek.”

Handful by handful, Derek shoved pasta into his mouth. Finally, it was empty. Without prompting, he reached for the chicken and began to sloppily bite into the crispy legs. Stiles didn’t stop talking, using one hand to better tuck his hard-on into his jeans while intermittently poking at the growingly harder stomach.

“You see that steam? It’s still warm isn’t it. Fat fucking cow like you ate so fast it didn’t even have time to cool. Did you know it took you fifteen minutes to eat that pasta?”

Stiles leaned forward and stuffed a third of a chicken thigh into Derek's mouth, holding it there until Derek made eye contact. “Finish that chicken in less than 15 minutes and I’ll unbutton those pants. I would hate if that flabby gut was hindered by some pants because you thought you could take your time.”

Derek moaned, the grease and spit mixing on the corners of his glistening lips.

It didn't take long for him to quickly clear the plate. Derek leaned back, rubbing greasy fingers over his hairy gut and groaning. Stiles had to choke back the desire to kiss him silly and instead reached down to yank open the pants that were dangerously bulging out. “What a fucking pig.”

Derek was panting, letting out small whines and huffs while vigorously rubbing at his overstuffed stomach as his head was leaned back. His eyelids fluttered, thick brows pulled down. Stiles leaned forward, slowly pushing his hand down until Derek let out a wet burp. “Hey, look at me.”

After a minute, Derek opened his eyes and whined. “You said you’d make me finish.”

Dear lord, he's perfect. With a low chuckle, Stiles slapped his stomach forcing another belch out. “Oh you’ll finish it. I just want to know where your funnel is.”

Derek moaned. “Kitchen, abo- ah -above the sink. P-please, I’m so hungry.”

“Pigs like you are always hungry, Derek.”

It took some time but he found the funnel tucked into the back of the tiny cabinet above the sink. Stiles let himself hover in the archway, admiring Derek, before sitting back down and pushing the funnel into his mouth. Without warning, he slowly dumped the shake into his mouth. Bit by bit, Derek finished off the thick sludge.

Derek's eyes were sealed shut, small tears hanging onto his long eyelashes. “F-full, I’m so full, please Stiles p-please.”

“Shh, all done Derek. You finished it all.” Stiles reached down to rub at his belly but Derek's hands batted him away. “Hey, c’mon dude. You did it, let me reward you.”

Derek peeled open one eye to give a half-hearted glare. “Stop.”

Stiles bit his lip and pulled back. “Sorry, didn’t mean to ruin your afterglow.”

“It’s f-fine. You ca-can go now.”

“Oh. Right. You’re okay here, you don’t need help?”

Derek shook his head.

“Okay. Call me?”

Stiles had to stop to jack off at two different gas stations before he was home, thinking of rubbing his cum into Derek's stretched out, pink and hairy gut.

Chapter Text

Every week, Stiles would hop into his jeep, fiddle with the radio before giving up because as beautiful as Roscoe is, her main failing is her lack of a cassette player and spend the 45 minutes prepping himself to shove down praise.

Their sessions followed a simple pattern: Derek would grumble through small talk before gorging himself on sauce slathered noodles and whatever side dishes had been on sale while Stiles teased, pinched and pulled. It was unbelievably hot.

Inbetween, they texted. The video sessions had stopped. There was no need for them, not when Derek had someone to force him to finish and Stiles could caress every spare sliver of skin. But texting was special. Stiles would send whatever popped into his head, whether it was a disgusting fantasy or just complaints about the tabby cat that Scott kept stealing from their neighbors. Derek almost never sent texted back and if he did, they were always short. He texted with the same polite perfect grammar and punctuation as that first message, a thought that Stiles did not dwell too long on because it was truly embarrassing how much it aroused him.

Their dynamic was almost perfect. Almost. Because Derek, despite getting visibly harder when pet names slipped out, still resolutely refused not just praise but anything that wasn’t strict humiliation and teasing.

Stiles really didn’t understand it but it was becoming more and more difficult to avoid.

~

Derek was still in his suit when he opened the door. Stiles had seen it hanging up before but this was entirely different. The navy cloth had clearly been tailored to someone, likely pre-Stiles-Derek, but now it was stretched thin across his thighs and the buttons were desperately hanging on. Dereks scowl was different too, his eyebrows not pulled down in the same way that they were when Stiles got too affectionate or said something particularly annoying.

Stiles stepped into the hall and reached out to lightly pull Derek closer by his tie. “Hey, you okay?”

He let out a grunt, trying to pull back. Stiles held tight, his hands moving to rest on Dereks upper arms.

“Stop and talk to me Der. You don’t look alright and we both know its not safe to scene like this.”

Derek stared at the doorknob, refusing to make eye contact. “Its not…I’m fine I promise.”

“Derek.”

He nibbled at his lip, swaying back and forth. After a moment, Derek spoke. “I just…I just don’t want to think right now. Please Stiles, I promise I’m okay.”

Stiles paused and waited for Derek’s eyes to dart up to his face. “Look at me please.” Dereks eyes slowly traced their way up before shakily making eye contact. “Are you sure? We don’t need to scene to hang out.”

Derek hesitated. Stiles rubbed his hands up and down.

After a minute, Stiles spoke again. “Okay, new plan. Go lay on your bed.”

Derek didn’t wait or ask questions like he had expected. He quickly shuffled off to the bedroom in a concerningly quiet way.

Stiles quickly slipped into the dining room. He brought the usual pasta dish into the kitchen, covering it with aluminum foil. Next, he took the two bottles of two liter Sprite that had made a permanent residence in the fridge after the delivery driver brought the zero calorie and zero sugar version on accident.

Stiles made his way to the bedroom but not before picking up the double chocolate fudge ice cream that was steadily thawing on the table.

Derek looked miserable. He was on his back, legs spread like a starfish and still in his suit.

“Hey, come on dude,” Stiles said, dropping the stuff on the nightstand and straddling his lap. “Sit up, I’ve got an idea.”

With no small amount of struggle, the two worked together to prop Derek and form a pillow chair behind him.

Stiles began to pet Dereks hair, caressing his thumbs on his chubby cheeks. “You with me dude? I need to hear you say it or I’ll just sit here and snuggle you to death.”

“Don’t call me dude,” he drawled. “Quit babying me.”

“I’m not babying you; it’s okay if we’re gentler this time.”

“Stiles, I- “

Stiles smirked and tugged gently on his hair, cutting Derek off before he could end the impromptu cuddling. “I promise, your fat ass will still be satisfied.” With a weak moan, Derek nodded.

Pulling a bottle of the Sprite onto the bed, Stiles hooked his thumb into Dereks jaw and opened his mouth. “Here’s how this will work. You have the chance to tell me what’s wrong. Otherwise, I will have you chug this soda.” Stiles pulled Derek forward, his hazel eyed pupils blown wide. “Think of how swollen and gassy you’ll be. And not a single pound will stick to you.” That’s the part that makes Derek whine, the threat of not gaining a thing.

“But,” Stiles said as he leaned in further, their noses almost touching. “If you tell me what’s wrong, I will mix it with the ice cream. There are at least 2,000 calories in there. Imagine how fucking big that will make you.”

Derek was drooling now, moaning and writhing beneath him. His calves had wrapped around Stiles as best they could, his fat creating less of a tight hold and more of a loose ring. His cock was rock solid beneath his pants. Best of all was how he was looking at Stiles. Wide-eyed worship that made him look so vulnerable.

“So,” Stiles said, dropping Dereks jaw to twist off the cap and letting the mouth of the bottle rest against Dereks bottom lip. “What’s wrong?”

Derek whimpered. “I-I can’t…words are hard.” He was quiet and whiny and perfect.

With a smirk, Stiles tilted the bottle slowly. “That’s okay. We can try again in a bit.”

The soda began to steadily flow, forcing Derek to swallow and breathe through his nose. Stiles didn’t stop there. He kept tilting it until Derek was forced to chug the soda. His cheeks filled up as he tried desperately not to burp at the wrong time.

Almost half of the bottle was gone and Dereks face was a bright red, Stiles slowly lowered the bottle. He watched, fascinated, as Derek tried desperately to suckle for the last few drops as the bottle mouth tilted away.

He didn’t have time to move away before Derek began to belch. The first few were loud and large, the whole bed shaking as Derek heaved in breaths around gassy burps. Stiles rubbed gently on the top of his shirt, the buttons even more stretched than before around the bloating. Derek was moaning now, the loud belches turning to small wet burps pushed out by the massaging.

“God, just look at you,” Stiles marveled before composing himself. “Let’s try again. What is bothering you Derek?”

It took a minute, Dereks huffing and whining blocking his ability to speak. Stiles was lifting the bottle when he managed to squeeze it out.

“I just- I wish they liked me.”

It’s a tragic sentence. Derek is whimpering around it and he’s not crying but it’s a close thing. His hands are wrapped around Stiles calves, like he’s afraid he’ll float away.

Stiles lowers the bottle, caps it and sets it aside. “Who Der?”

“My coworkers. Its not- I just want to-,” Derek growls and throws his head back. It shakes out another burp. Stiles lets his hands slip from Dereks belly to intertwine their fingers.

“Go ahead. We’ve got all night.”

They sit like that for awhile, Derek occasionally burping and Stiles rubbing circles into his hands.

Finally, Derek speaks. “I heard them today, talking about me. I don’t- I’m not trying to be an asshole boss. Theres just so much all the time and people keep bringing up layoffs in the meetings and we just- we just can’t afford mistakes.”

“Have you told them that?”

“When would I get the chance?” Derek huffs. “I’m just the jerk who hovers too much and eats all the donuts.”

“Well,” Stiles said. “I happen to like the donut bit.” That gets a smile. “Try to hang out with them, outside of the nagging. I happen to think you’re sweet and I am a great judge of character.”

Derek sighs. They’re so close together, Stiles could just lean in. Kiss away the stress lines and taste the lemon-lime that coats his mouth. He could. He doesn’t.

“Can-can we have the ice cream now?”

One day Stiles will do it. Just not right now. “Well, you did what I asked. We should move to the dining room though. A fat slob like you is going to want to make a mess, aren’t you?”

Together, they walk (or waddle because that’s how round Derek has gotten, Jesus he’s amazing) to the dining room. Stiles goes to the kitchen, leaving Derek whining at the table. He grabs the funnel and pasta, still able to hear Derek, his whining getting louder and bordering on cries.

Stiles drifts back to the dining room, where Derek’s belly is digging into the table and he struggles to grab the ice cream just out of reach.

He lets out a giggle, pushing Derek back and pulling the melted ice cream into his hands. Derek doesn’t hesitate, setting his mouth to the lip of the quart to his lips and chugging.

“God Der. Imagine if you weren’t such a messy pig, maybe more of it would get down your throat. It’s a good look though. In such a hurry to stuff that belly of yours, so impatient. I bet I could make your coworkers like you. Who could resist seeing you splayed out like this, a sloppy whore who can’t think past his next meal.”

Stiles sets down the pasta and pulls off the foil, the air filling with the smell of garlic and tomato paste.

Derek is almost finished, moaning as the last few drops dripping onto his tongue. “Wh-urp-wha’ ‘at?” He asks around a mouthful of fudgy liquid.

“You’ll see. Finished, pig?”

Derek nods and tries to sit up. He doesn’t get the chance before Stiles has pushed him back into the chair and picked up the near-empty quart again. In one fell swoop, he tears the cardboard apart and lifts it to Dereks face. “Nice try. Lick it clean.”

His tongue darts out, moaning as he covers his face in chocolate. The middle button on his shirt pops off, sailing over the table. Finally, once the cardboard is clean, Stiles throws it aside and slaps Dereks partially revealed belly. He lets out a groan, hands trying to undo his buttons.

“Derek,” Stiles drawls, pushing aside Dereks hands and sticking his fingers between the buttons. “Are you full?”

He whines as he shakes his head.

“Good boy, of course not. Pigs like you don’t decide when you’re done, I do. But, since I’m feeling generous, I’ll let you pick.” Stiles pulls, sending the remaining buttons flying as Derek moaned. He stuck a finger in Dereks belly button, rubbing it around and gently pressing in. “Pasta or soda?”

Derek is a mess of limbs and noises, hardly coherent. He lets out a small, “Pasta, please Stiles I’m good please.”

“Yeah, you’re so good. So good that you might just have both, huh?”

He gets louder, whimpering and moaning. “Both, please, I can have both Stiles please.”

“Yeah you can. Start with the pasta big boy.”

Derek tips forward, his nose deep into the trough. Sauce coats his face as he digs in, reduced to snuffling and burps.

“Come on gorgeous, you can do it. Don’t even need a fork, just your mouth and hands like a true slob.” Dereks dick is rock hard and Stiles takes to palming at it while he talks.

“Think you’ll be able to move after this? You’ll be a whale, stuck in this chair. Maybe, I’d let you fuck me if I could find your dick.” That gets a loud moan of approval.

It takes longer, his eating broken up by small pained whines, but he even licks the pan clean.

“D-done. Full, no more please.”

Stiles almost lets it slide, his blood having been drawn downstairs way before this. Almost.

“Look at me Derek.”

They make shaky eye contact. “Tap my wrist three times to safe word. Otherwise, you are drinking at least that open bottle.”

“N-urp- no Stiles I can’t please.”

“What’s your safe word, Derek?”

“Tri-ah please- triskelion.”

“Good pig. Open for the funnel.”

And because Derek is truly a good pig, he does. He lets the funnel into his mouth, bites down and chugs the remaining liter.

“Maybe I’ll have you finish both. Do you think you’d pop? Next time, we can do mentos and see how red I can get you.”

Derek is shaking by the end but he doesn’t tap out. He groans and burps around the funnel, desperately rubbing his stomach before becoming so tired that his hands drop and twitch by his side.

“Derek, look at me. Last time, I swear.”

Derek lolls his head down before twitching it up to rest on his shoulder.

“Be my good pig and cum.”

It’s violent. Cum shoots out, half of it hitting the bottom of his red and swollen stomach and the other half reaching to Stiles’s chin. He darts his thumb out and licks it off.

Derek is out of it, a moaning groaning mess whose hands can’t reach all the way around his stomach anymore. Stiles sends Scott a text, saying not to expect him home that night. The two spend the rest of the night, breathing in each other. Stiles tells himself it means nothing.

He knows he’s lying to himself. That’s fine by him. As long as Stiles can stay with Derek, however he wants him, he can’t complain.