Stiles works at a hotel and Derek is a very grumpy guest. I would love to see Stiles trying to do things to make Derek a happy guest but they just don't go as planned. Thank you.
This is super cute and thanks for leaving it in my inbox!! I hope this is along the lines of what you’re looking for :)
“Hi, welcome to Stilinski Bed and Breakfast,” A chirpy young man with bright eyes and a welcoming smile greet Derek as a cheery little bell rings over his head. It makes his head hurt, assaulting his sensitive ears.
He takes a quick whiff of the room and finds nothing but the comforting scent of baking and hot cocoa and the subtlest layer of a woman’s perfume mixed witht he fresh cinnamon scent of what can only be the boy behind the counter. Derek glares at the boy, looking at his name tag - Stiles, what the hell is a Stiles? - and grunts and he drags himself further inside.
“Oh, you got caught in the storm, didn’t you?” Derek’s glare intensifies because why else would he be sopping wet and disheveled if not for the freak storm that he managed to get stuck in on his way home. He had been driving from LA to visit his parents and the rest of the pack for a few days of vacation pay after a particularly grueling case back at the precinct.
“I need a room,” he says, gruff and no-nonsense because he really just wants to fall over and hope naively that the storm passes by morning.
“Yeah, of course, dude.” The boy -Stiles, his brain reminds him - starts tapping something out on the computer while Derek rolls his eyes. What kind of customer service calls their patrons dude? “We’ve got a room open on the third floor, one bed and hasn’t been used in a few weeks.” Stiles looks up with a mindful look.
“Uh, yeah, that sounds good.” Derek nods and just hopes this finishes soon. The boy nods, his scent flushing with a pleased rush of pleased lavender and pine. A strange mix but it’s easy on Derek’s nose and somehow unaffected by the muting that tends to happen in rainstorms. He hands over his credit card and fills out some papers while Stiles apologizes about tradition and old filing systems he hasn’t updated.
“Cool, follow me.” Stiles walks around the counter and stops in his tracks turning on his heel quickly, with eyes wide, “Wait do you have bags to- no, you don’t and I just reminded you that you have nothing to change into. Wow, way to go, Stiles.” The kid is muttering to himself by the end and Derek might have found it oddly charming but he’s to agitated to be anything but annoyed.
“I’d like to go to my room now,” Derek huffs. The kid’s head snaps up form where he had been glaring at his shoes and flushes as he shakes himself out of it.
“Oh, yeah! Of course, uh, right this way. Sorry.”
They walk up a set of stairs and down a hallway, the walls decorated with picture frames filled with smiling faces from spots Derek recognizes from around Beacon Hills. Some of them more noticeably aged than others. Each frame unique and homey in its own way.
Stiles stops in front of a door and unlocks it, deftly removing the key from the ring and handing it to Derek as he opened the door further to allow him in. He takes a searching breath and finds a surprising lack of scents. There’s the scent of laundry detergent that doesn’t choke him and tea? Derek internally shrugs and walks inside. The bed looks wonderfully soft and all Derek wants to do is collapse.
“Hopefully everything is comfortable for you. Breakfast is at nine if you don’t dash out too early. I make a mean omelet. Have a good night.”
I was stirred from blissful sleep by a pleasurable sensation in my groin. I slowly opened my eyes to the flickering light of candles placed around the room and looked down to see Ryan stroking my cock and Scott massaging my belly. A cacophony of aromas surrounded me and I realized that platters of delicious looking foods were placed around the room. Scott softly patted my marshmallowy stomach and murmured “he’s awake.” Was this a dream? I rubbed my eyes, sat up, and before I knew it Ryan was licking my cock and Scott was holding a gooey brownie to my lips. I closed my eyes and chomped down. This wasn’t a dream, it was a sexual fantasy come to life.
I spread my legs further and let Ryan swallow my cock until his nose was buried deep in the flesh of my FUPA. I gulped down the brownie and Scott grabbed a mixing spoon to lift a mound of chocolate mousse to my lips. Ryan’s tongue moved from my cock to my underbelly crease. I was surprised by the newfound sensitivity of that area and a glob of precum fell from my dick as his scruffy face pressed into my softened flesh. He growled like an animal stalking its prey and pushed my belly back letting the cold air brush against my underbelly. Scott then scooped up another mountain of mousse dripping with chocolate syrup and poured it where Ryan’s face had just been. The food somewhat tickled and began dripping into my pubic hair.
“Go at it piggies,” Scott said.
Ryan dipped his head back down and licked my body clean.
“More,” he growled and Scott obeyed.
Progressively Scott began pouring the sugary concoction in new places; in the creases of my thighs, around my cock, and all over my belly. I laid back in sheer pleasure as Ryan crawled on top of me, licking and biting my body all over. Instinctually we mashed our stomachs together, slowly grinding against and caressing each other’s swollen bodies. Scott appeared overcome with lust and removed his pants so that he could stroke his pulsating member while feeding us.
Once the mousse was gone, Ryan plopped down next to me causing the bed to slam against the wall. We were sticky with sugar and sweat. Scott then placed a multilayer cake in front of us on the bed.
“Go,” was all he said.
The two of us shifted our uncomfortably bloated bodies so that we were on our knees and began chowing down on the tiered cake like we were pigs at a feeding trough. Our pace slowed midway through and we began to stuff chunks into each other’s faces as Scott masturbated. Unexpectedly, Ryan began fucking what was left of the dessert, causing cake and icing to get lost in the fat rolls surrounding his prick. I pushed him back and began eating every bit of food that was stuck to his body as he moaned with pleasure. My stomach was becoming uncomfortably distended, as was was Ryan’s, and after the cake was finished we both laid back in a state of pleasure and pain.
Ryan and I must’ve been so exhausted from our feeding session that we dozed off. I awoke to Scott strapping something to my face. I soon realized that Scott was fastening a customized dual funnel to mine and Ryan’s mouths.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“I wanted to give you a special dessert for your last night at the Inn,” Ryan replied with a sexy grin across his food splattered face, “along with making sure I get as much blubber packed onto those bones as possible before you leave.”
“And I,” interjected Scott, “am a master at making fat boys fatter.”
I leaned back as Scott began pouring a massive milkshake into the funnel.
My reservation was for three weeks, and after meeting Ryan on the first day the trip was bound to be an
indulgent one. My days at the inn flew by in no time. I quickly grew accustomed
to lying poolside with Ryan and enjoying three fattening meals a day. Against
Marcie’s wishes, Scott began to prepare lunch for Ryan and me in addition to
breakfast and dinner. He spent the majority of the day in the kitchen brewing
up expansive and delicious spreads. The first few days of such feasting left me
slightly nauseous and unbearably bloated. Eventually though, my body began to
adapt, and by the weekend I was packing it away like a pro. Still, I could never
come close to challenging Ryan, who truly was a bottomless pit. Scott informed
us that while I was putting away 4,000-7,000 calories a day, Ryan was almost
Our days were especially languid and
primarily spent laying by the pool or eating. It was too hot for even the
mildest of activity, and driving to the tourist spots felt like more of a chore
than an adventure. As such, I rarely changed out of my bathing suit, and when I
did have a shirt on, it was unbearable. Button ups would barely close and took too
much sucking in to get on, and T-shirts were too clingy in the humidity. I
truly felt as if I was living in a gainer’s paradise. I had a fat guy to fool
around with all day long and a loyal cook to stuff us silly. All that was
missing was a few tanned server boys to fan our fat, sweaty, asses by the pool.
On the last day of my stay came an
unexpected surprise. After finishing breakfast, I was walking down the stairs
in my bathing suit to join Ryan by the pool. Standing in the entry way was two
old friends from college, Rico and Sandy. They had been a couple since freshman
year and were now married. As I reached the bottom of the stairs they both
shouted my name in surprise. I walked over to greet them.
“How crazy seeing you here!”
I expressed a similar sentiment and
explained I was here to work on my writing. They were on a weekend vacation.
“So you look like you’ve been eatin’
well,” said Rico as he slapped and squeezed a love handle I didn’t realize
“Rico!” scolded Sandy.
“No, it’s a compliment, it looks good
on you,“ he said. “Must mean they serve good food here.”
“Oh, they do,” I grinned.
Luckily Marcie intervened and I
slipped away to the pool. While incredibly turned on, I still felt quite
embarrassed and suddenly huge. I really had put on some weight. I realized that
my stomach protruded over my waistline significantly more than it had a week
ago. I felt totally exposed. I must have looked like such a fat slob in front
of Rico and Sandy. I asked Ryan if he thought I looked fatter. Of course, he said
I did. Throughout the rest of the day I fluctuated between feeling like a horny
fat pig and an embarrassed high school girl. Not surprisingly, this resulted in
some steamy afternoon delight with Ryan in the downstairs bathroom. The cramped
confines of which made the experience that much sexier.
Dinner time was approaching and I
suddenly felt a pang of fear. What could I possibly wear in front of Rico and
Sandy? The skin tight T-shirts were far too revealing and typically were
covered in sweat stains by the end of the meal. I was going to half to squeeze
into a button up. I would just have to suck in until we sat down and then not
eat too much. And then I remembered- jeans. I hadn’t worn anything but swim
trunks and basketball shorts in over a week. I quickly unearthed my stretchiest
pair of jeans from their drawer. I could tell there was going to be trouble
when they suctioned to my thighs, but was wholly unprepared for how small they
had gotten around the waist.
I could just barely button them, and
it was incredibly painful. There was no way I would be able to tuck in my shirt.
It would simply look ridiculous. Once I got the pants on I sat down and stood
up a few time. All was well, no ripping or popped buttons. I could do this.
When I finally was stuffed into an outfit far too small for my newfound girth,
I admired myself in the mirror. I really had gotten fat- in such a short amount
of time too. I felt myself getting hard. My pants were so tight it felt like my
dick was going to burst right through them.
The warm Georgian sun kissed my fluffy ash cheeks, causing me to stir from slumber. My body was fused to Ryan’s with a mixture of food, come, and sweat. My belly appeared larger than I’d ever seen it in my entire life and was still so full it ached. I peeled myself off Ryan and struggled to sit upright and step out of bed. I felt like I had swapped bodies with an overfed stranger since I had first checked into the Inn. The floor creaked and rumbled as I lumbered to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. Bright red stretch marks had appeared on my overhang overnight and they burned like fire. My neck was buried in fat, my chest drooped, my fingers were swollen, a wad of fat hung above my cock, and my balls no longer bounced as I walked because they were so encased with fat.
I sat down on the toilet to take a massive shit. My junk no longer hung between my legs above the bowl. Instead, it sat atop the edge of the toilet seat. I struggled to reach around and wipe my ass, mostly because last nights milkshake was still sloshing around in my stomach. Eventually, I gave up and hopped in the shower.
When I emerged from the bathroom Ryan planted a sloppy kiss on my mouth and slapped my gut. I was finally starting to feel less full and suggested we attend one last breakfast before check out.
“First,” Ryan began, “it’s time for your weigh in.”
He led me down to the main floor and then to Scott’s kitchen. I noticed my posture when I walked closely resembled Ryan’s– shoulders back, chin tucked, and gut out. With each step we jiggled. He brought me down another staircase and into the cellar where Scott was standing next to an industrial scale.
“Hop on board, chubs,” Scott grinned. “But first, no clothes.”
I did as I was told and stripped naked before stepping on the scale. I was so turned on by what was happening that my cock was slowly filling with blood. I stepped on and Scott calculate my weight. 210 pounds. I had gained almost 45 pounds in 3 weeks. Further, my BMI was officially in the overweight category and I knew it would only take a couple dozen more pounds to push me into the obese range.
“Congrats,” said Scott, “you almost put on as much as Ryan did his first stay at the Inn.”
Ryan laughed and shook his gut, “I’m still the King.”
“Now, breakfast is waiting for you upstairs,” Scott said.
After our last fattening meal, I offered to drop Ryan at the airport. We struggled up the stairs to our rooms to pack our belongings. I squeezed into a pair of skin tight sweatpants that would be retired as soon as I got home. I knew that none of my shirts would fit so I grabbed one at random. It suctioned to my skin and barely covered the thick spare tire that hung from my midsection. We made our way to the car in the thick summer air, the humidity causing immediate sweat stains under our pits, back, and ass. For the first time I had the pleasure of experiencing chub rub which set my inner thighs on fire.
We piled into my car which I hadn’t used almost the entire trip. I was shocked to see that my stomach was resting against the wheel and my lovehandles were pouring over the arm rests. Frankly, it was quite uncomfortable and it took me several minutes to adjust me seat to get things right. In the meantime I had broken into an intense sweat causing more stains under my moobs.
The drive to the airport was melancholy and filled with heartfelt exhales between Ryan and I. We had grown quite close, physically and emotionally, and were heartbroken to depart.
Once there, I hugged and kissed him goodbye.
“Keep in touch,” Ryan said. “And keep that tank full.”
“Oh I’ll be in touch. I’d tell you to stay full, but I know you need no encouragement.”
“I love food as much as the belly. I’ll miss you, Alex.”
“So will I,” I said and hugged him once more before heading back to my car. “Careful with those airplane seats now,” I shouted as he walked away, “you’re bigger than you were when you flew in!”
There has always been a perfumed smell in room five. You ask the previous owner of the bed and breakfast about it. She says a guest stayed in the room ten years ago and the smell of her perfume never left.
Every night at exactly 11:42, the sound of footsteps can be heard going up the stairs.
A couple books a room for a week. They barely speak to you the night they check in and they never come down for breakfast. Their car disappears early in the morning and reappears late at night. You never hear them leave nor do you ever hear them come back. When you go to freshen up their room each morning, it looks like the room isn’t occupied.
Someone from Omaha, Nebraska calls once a week. When you pick up, there’s never anything on the line but static.
There’s a door that opens to reveal a wall in room two. One day when you open it by accident, you find yourself looking into a room you have never seen before. When you blink, it’s gone.
An elderly woman traveling alone comes down to breakfast. When you serve her tea, she picks up the cup and says fondly, “This looks just like the teacup I used when I served my husband that last cup of tea.” Something about the way she says this leaves a bad taste in your mouth.
Everyone knows that room one is haunted. There was even a newspaper article written about it. However lately, the pillows have been moving on their own in room seven. Either the ghost has switched rooms or you’ve picked up a new one.
There have been reports of ghostly crying coming from room four ever since you bought that antique wardrobe.
When you bought the bed and breakfast, the realtor handed you a key and whispered, “Never unlock the cupboard in the back corner of the laundry room.”
Once you started to unlock the cupboard in the back corner of the laundry room. You only turned the key half way before deciding against it and locking it back up. Even so, you swear you saw a shadow following you for the rest of that week.
There’s an old painting of small girl and her dog in room three. It was there when you bought the bed and breakfast and something about the girl’s expression has always given you the creeps. Finally, you decide to put it away. However, the next day when you walk into room three, it’s back on the wall. Over the next few days, you try to get rid of the picture in different ways. You put it in the basement. You throw it out. You give it to a thrift store. But each time, it’s back on the wall by the next day. You give up.
A cat with very distinctive coloring hangs around the bed and breakfast. You’ve taken to feeding it. When you mention it to the elderly next door neighbor, he says that the owners of the bed and breakfast back in 1950 also had a cat. He describes the cat sitting on your back porch right now.
You no longer allow children to stay at your bed and breakfast. Most people assume this is because you want to create a quiet, peaceful atmosphere for your guests. The real reason? The last three children who stayed in the bed and breakfast asked about the woman in the old fashioned dress staring at them from the top of the stairs.
A guest asks what you’ll be making for breakfast the next morning. When you tell her omelets, she frowns and says she’d rather have pancakes. The next morning, every single ingredient you were planning to use in the omelets is missing. You make pancakes.
You receive a call from a pleasant sounding man inquiring about a room for a night a few months in advance. Something about the connection makes him sound much further away than most phone calls but you pay it no mind. Once you finalize his reservation, he comments that he’s lucky to have found a room at your bed and breakfast. You must be fully booked for the date by now. You’re not. In fact, so far he’s the only one who’s made a reservation for that night. You tell him such and ask why he thinks you’re full. Confused, the man says that his niece, Patricia is having a big wedding that day at the chapel across the street from your bed and breakfast. When you tell him there is no chapel across the street, the line goes dead. The next morning, you look up chapels in your town out of curiosity. You find out there was a chapel across the street until 1923. It burned down during a woman named Patricia Weiler’s wedding.
The smell in room five begins to creep into room six.