I Just Need Some Space So I Can Think, Stiles Muttered, Offering A Small, Sad Smile. I Just Wish That

“I just need some space so I can think,” Stiles muttered, offering a small, sad smile. “I just wish that you were less reserved with us.” He turned and walked away, leaving Derek behind.

The werewolf sighed and shook his head, pinching the skin above his nose in irritation. He’d just had a fight with his boyfriend, Stiles, because it was their anniversary and Stiles was mad that Derek hadn’t been more “Involved”… whatever that means. Derek was more on the reserved side and he absolutely despised PDA, especially since he was supposed to be a tough alpha werewolf. He didn’t want to hurt Stiles’s feelings, but he knew that rival packs would look down on an alpha acting all lovey-dovey with another man. He had to protect his tough guy image if he wanted to protect his territory.

He’d tried explaining that to his boyfriend when he’d refused to hold Stile’s hand as they walked along the Pier, only causing an argument.

“Man, that was painful,” he heard another man’s voice from behind him.

Derek turned around to glare at a pale, skinny guy who reeked of the sickly aroma of magic, making him bare his teeth at him. “What do you want?” he growled.

The guy held his hands up in front of himself in mock defense. “I’m just a friend,” he playfully pouted.

Derek sniffed at the air and growled again at the sugary stench that wafted off the smaller guy. “You’re a trickster,” he spat, puffing out his muscled chest and stalking closer threateningly. “Now get the fuck out of my territory before I end you.” He leaned in closer, baring his elongating fangs to intimidate the trickster.

The tricker shrugged his thin shoulders. “Fine,” he nonchalantly muttered with a flick of his wrist as he turned around. “But just know that I came with a peace offering, but forget it. Enjoy knowing that you lost Stiles forever.”

The werewolf stiffened and fought the whimper that threatened to escape his lips. No matter how tough he had to look, Derek wanted Stiles by his side as his mate, and he knew that he had to work hard to win him back. He would never admit it to him out of fear of looking like a sap, but Stiles was his world.

“Wait!” Derek called out, rushing forward and placing a hand on the slender trickster’s shoulder. “Help me, how?”

The trickster smirked, sending a shiver down Derek’s spine. “Follow me,” he whispered, leading the werewolf into the mens’ bathroom, which was empty. Once they were out of sight of the other pier patrons, the trickster dug through his backpack and pulled out a hot pink tank top.

“What’s this?” Derek asked as he examined the offered fabric.

“It’s a tank top,” the trickster answered matter-of-factly. “It will help you reconcile with your need to over-exaggerate your masculinity and win Stiles back.”

“How?” Derek asked, looking over the tank top. He even sniffed it, wincing at the cotton candy scent that wafted off it in waves.

“You don’t think wearing hot pink in public will help with your overcompensation?”

That did make sense. “Alright,” Derek muttered as he peeled out of his black t-shirt and leather jacket.

The muscled up alpha werewolf squeezed his massive bulk into the tight-fitting fabric that was skintight, making it look as if he’d simply spray painted his torso the bubblegum color instead of wearing a top. The hunk fought the grimace that threatened to appear on his gruff face as he stared at his reflection in one of the bathroom mirrors. From top to bottom, the hot pink shirt was plastered on Derek’s bulk. His massive pecs practically spilled out over the top swoop, only the bottom third of them being covered by the bright neon fabric. Derek cringed when he could easily make out the faint outline of his nipples thanks to the thinness of the tank top. The straps were so thin that they practically disappeared within his looming traps and round shoulders. Even the bottom of the bright tank top was skintight, wrapping around his waist in a constricting manner that showcased his chiseled abs. When he raised his powerful arms, the bottom pulled upwards and stopped above his navel, looking like a cut off, making the macho man blush.

The smooth fabric of the tank top sent a tingling sensation across Derek’s skin, and the werewolf’s senses were assaulted with the sugary stench.

“There you go!” the trickster clapped, a wide smile on his face. “Now you can go win back your boyfriend.”

Derek didn’t quite understand the plan. Sure, wearing pink was stereotypically less masculine, but he doubted that would be enough to get Stiles back. Putting a hand on his hip, he looked over his reflection in the mirror. 

“Like, how is this even supposed to help me win back my man?” he asked, his voice taking on a higher octave while also having a new feminine inflection on his words. The werewolf’s eyes widened at the words that left his mouth and he slapped his hand over her his lips.

“It works!” the trickster cheered.

Derek knew that it wasn’t possible. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Like, testing…” he trailed off as his heart fell at the overly gay sounds he uttered. “Like, what did you even do to me?!” He wanted to lean threateningly towards the trickster, but instead he twittered his hands in a fret and stomped his feet, making his bulky muscles shake with the movement.

“The tank top eliminated all of your masculinity,” the trickster explained. “Oh, and the best part is that only Stiles can take it off. Bye!” He snapped his fingers and seemingly evaporated into thin air.

Derek’s stomach fell as he grasped the full weight of the situation. “Oh em gee! I hafta find Stiles, like, right now!” he chirped, wincing at the words that left his mouth. He rushed towards the bathroom door, wailing when he walked with his arms tucked at his sides and his pecs pushed outwards. With every mincing step he took, he waved his bubblebutt from side to side, seemingly advertising it.

He burst through the door, his face feeling red hot when the large crowd of people at the pier stopped to look at the alpha werewolf in the hot pink tank top.

The old Derek would’ve growled at them and yelled at them to fuck off, but the tank top forced him to giggle nervously. “Like, why is everyone staring at my sexy body?” he playfully whined, feeling himself bounce both of his large pecs tantalizingly. He could hear and feel everything he did, he just didn’t have any control.

He slapped his hand over his mouth and shuffled his feet down the pier in the direction Stiles had left. As he walked, he felt an odd tightness in his jeans and it wasn’t long until he heard a loud RRIIIPPPPPP!

The werewolf froze and looked over his shoulder, screaming as he looked at the massive bubblebutt that had torn its way through the back of his jeans, the inflated globes on full display for the entire pier to see.

He tried to shield his massive ass from view with his hands, but it was so big that the attempt was futile. “Like, what is even happening to me?!” he panicked.

Derek felt an odd weight on his chest and the werewolf nearly passed out when he looked down to see his pecs starting to slowly inflate like balloons. The muscle mounds packed on more meat, rounding and jutting out from his torso. His nipples grew larger and sprang out of the tank top, hardening as the ocean breeze blew over them.

“Oh no! My muscletits!” he cried, grabbing at them in horror, not even caring how he’d just referred to them. He had no idea that the tank top was going to change his body, taking his previously masculine muscles and warping him into some curvy-looking himbo.

He hurried down the pier, bristling at the feeling of his asscheeks and pecs bouncing with every step he took. Despite himself, the sensations of his larger additions sent ripples of pleasure throughout his body, and he felt as if he were rock hard. For some reason though, the trickster must’ve made it so that no one around thought that a man running around the pier with his inflated ass hanging out for all to see was indecent.

Finally, Derek saw that familiar red jacket and his heart fluttered in his chest… and his cock painfully throbbed.

“Babe!” he yelled out, blushing since he never referred to Stiles as anything but his name. He picked up speed and and hurried to his boyfriend, placing a tender hand on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

Stiles turned around, his expression going from confusion to complete shock at the sight of the warped alpha werewolf. “Derek?” he gasped. “What happened to you? Y-you look like a…”

“Like a slutty himbo,” Derek finished for him, wincing at his words, but brushing it off. “Look, Babe, I like totally ran into this trickster who gave me this cute little tank top, and it made me all sooooooo gay. And it made my ass and muscletits grow.”

“That’s not all it did,” Stiles muttered, gesturing down at the werewolf’s crotch.

Derek looked down and felt feint at the barely present lump in the front of his jeans. Although he was as hard as ever, due to being the presence of his hot boyfriend, there was barely any sort of bulge in his pants. Not caring who saw, the werewolf unbuttoned his jeans and peeked into his boxers, staring at the three inch tiny cock that he possessed.

“Like, that’s totally unfair!” he whined, stomping his foot in frustration, making his bubblebutt bounce like crazy.

“Why would you do this?” Stiles wondered aloud.

Derek rolled his eyes. “Like, I didn’t do it on purpose, Babe!” he explained, moving his hands a lot as he spoke. “The trickster told me it would help me win you back! I had to stop acting like some macho douche so that I could get your sexy ass back.”

Stiles jerked back. “Wait, you did this for me?” he asked in disbelief.

“Yes!” Derek huffed, stomping his foot again. “Like, Babe, I’m totally in love with you!” He leaned forward and wrapped the smaller man in his arms, shoving him against his muscletits. It felt so good to have Stiles in his arms and his breath against his inflated pecs only turned Derek on even more, and he unconsciously wiggled his hips, grinding his little nub against his boyfriend. It didn’t take long before the werewolf tensed up and shrieked out, “Oohhhh!” An embarrassingly small amount of cum squirted out, and Derek blushed both at cumming in public and at the realization that his stamina had been reduced to mere seconds.

“I love you too,” Stiles admitted, and Derek felt his nub start to throb all over again.

“Well, Babe, you gotta like, take this cute tank top off me,” he chirped. “It’s like the only way to get back to my boring body.”

Stiles nodded and grabbed the bottom of the hot pink tank top, yanking it off from the horny, himbo, ditzy werewolf.

As soon as he he felt the ocean breeze across his chest, Derek let out a sigh of relief.

Stiles just stared at him, his jaw hanging low and his eyes wide.

“What?” Derek asked, confused, his voice still high. He looked down at himself and wailed out in frustration.

His pecs were still inflated, capped with the larger and perpetually erect nipples. His bubblebutt was the size of two basketball strapped to his back and they formed a near right angle from his back. Worse was that his cock was still a tiny nub, and when he grabbed at it in disbelief, he shuddered and came, his stamina still small.

Derek grabbed at his hair in frustration. “Like, how am I even gonna make it looking like this?” he gestured down at his caricature of a body, paling at the thought of having to spend the rest of his days with inflated pecs and ass and a shrunken cock. His new ditzy behavior only made things worse, and the alpha shuddered at the thought of rival packs coming to his territory and him not being able to scare them away.

Stiles placed a hand on his broad shoulder, and Derek frowned as his three incher throbbed with want, invisible from his sight due to his inflated pecs. “If it’s any consolation,” Stiles offered, “I still think you’re really hot. And maybe I could try being the top.”

Derek stifled a moan, so incredibly turned on at the thought of his boyfriend fucking his giant butt. His unconsciously flexed his cheeks and grabbed a tight hold of Stiles’s hand. “Okay,” he sighed, “let’s go home then, Babe.”

Stiles smirked, keeping the pink tank top in his other hand. “And maybe you can wear this while we do it?” he asked, a hopeful smile on his face.

Derek tried to force a scowl on his face, but he couldn’t do it. Instead he playfully bounced his muscletits for Stiles, feeling the muscle mounds bounce a lot more than they used to. “Maaaaaybe,” he teased, his nub already oozing at the thought.

Dylan O’Brien sat back in the leather chair, enjoying the cool A/C as he waited in the office for the producers to return. He’d been called in to talk about a role in a TV show, which sounded nice, but the actor was more into movie roles. However, his manager had convinced him to hear them out.

The door opened and the producer, a buff looking older man, sauntered back into the room. “Hello there, Mr. O’Brien,” he warmly smiled. “It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise, and please call me ‘Dylan’,” the actor blushed.

The produced nodded as he took a seat on the other side of the large, wooden desk. “Very well, Dylan,” he grinned. “So let’s cut to the chase: we want to reboot Teen Wolf, and we would really like you to reprise your role as Stiles.”

Dylan bit down on his lower lip and twiddled his thumbs in front of himself. “Yeah, that sounds interesting, but canonically I believe the character of Stiles would no longer be a teenager, so I don’t really see myself fitting in well…”

The producer cleared his throat. “Oh, I didn’t quite explain it very well,” he hurriedly said. “This is more of a spin-off than it is a reboot. We’ve been doing a lot of research into the fanbase and I’m sure you’re well aware of the ‘Sterek’ phenomena. The show will be a hit if we focus it on you and Mr. Hoechlin’s character, and how the two of you develop your werewolf-human relationship.”

Again, Dylan wasn’t convinced. “I know Tyler’s busy with other projects, and I don’t think that he would be too keen—”

“He’s already on board!” the producer interrupted.

Dylan jerked back. “Really?” he gasped. “But I thought Superman & Lois was doing well?”

The producer nodded and pressed a button on the desk. “It was, but we managed to convince him to join our project instead,” he explained, the sounds of approaching footsteps audible on the other side of the office door. “He was a little apprehensive about being typecasted as a werewolf, but now he can’t imagine anything but playing canine characters.”

Dylan thought that that was an odd phrase, but before he could say anything, the door opened up.

“There he is now!” the producer cheered. “Tyler, come see Dylan!” He clapped his hands, making the actor cock his eyebrow in wonder.

“Woof! Woof!” Tyler Hoechlin barked like a dog as he scampered into the room on all fours. The older man was completely naked, letting his bulky muscles flex for the two other men in the room to see. He’d even let his chest hair grow out, and his hairy ass wiggled to and fro like an excited dog. More surprising to Dylan was the large dildo that stuck out of Tyler’s ass, sticking straight in the air and wagging back and forth like a makeshift tail. Tyler’s tongue lolled out of his mouth and when his eyes landed on Dylan’s horrified face, he lit up and hurried over.

“Wha—?!” Dylan panicked, speechless at the sight before him. He’d worked with Tyler for years and never before had he ever seen the man behave in such a manner. It didn’t take him long to know that there was something else afoot, his heart starting to race wildly in his chest.

“Woof!” Tyler excitedly barked as he rested his arms on Dylan’s lap, leaning forward to lick his face like a happy little puppy.

“Aww, he missed you,” the producer cooed, taking in the sight as if a grown man with a dildo stuck in his ass and licking another man was a normal sight to see.

“What did you do to him?” Dylan cried out, pushing against the man’s buff, hairy chest, only earning a whimper. 

However, his panicked fingers accidentally brushed against a protruding nipple, making the man-dog shudder. His bulky muscles tensed up and he rolled over on the ground onto his back, his large cock hardening to its full impressive length of eight inches. He held his arms close to his sides as a dog does on its back, looking at Dylan and whimpering with want, his hard cock bobbing in the air.

“Mr. Hoechlin here originally tried to turn us down, saying that he wasn’t interested in playing a werewolf again,” the producer mused. “So we had one of our departments convince him that he was made to play wolves. Right, Tyler?”

At the sound of his name, the man-dog flipped back over onto all fours and happily barked. “Woof! Woof!” He then felt his canine urges and crawled back over to Dylan, propping himself up as he began to hump his leg, grinding his hard cock against the shocked actor.

Dylan was too shocked to stop the man-dog from humping him, turning instead to stare down the producer who relaxed behind the desk. “Turn him back!” he demanded.

“He already signed the contract,” the man shrugged. “He’s stuck like this, so if you really wanna be a good friend, you’d join in on the project. It seems he’s taken a real shine to you. Besides, this is an interesting dynamic we’d like to explore on the show.”

Before he could answer, Tyler tensed up. “Arrooooo!” he howled as he came, shooting his load all over the other man’s jeans. When he was spent, his tongue hung out of his mouth and he panted, staying put at Dylan’s feet.

Dylan didn’t know what to do. Tyler Hoechlin was one of his best friends, and seeing him hypnotized to act like a dog all the time was a horrifying fate. As he stared down at him, Tyler looked up and wagged his tail.

“Fine,” Dylan sighed. 

The producer smiled widely. “Great!” he cheered. “We’ll send you the script tomorrow. For now, why don’t the two of you bond? I mean after all, he is your dog now.” He handed the actor a leash and a black, studded collar.

Feeling as if he were dreaming, Dylan affixed the collar around Tyler’s neck and snapped the leash on. The man-dog immediately jumped up on all fours and barked wildly, bouncing around like a dog who was excited to go for a walk. When the two men left the office, Tyler kept pulling at the leash, nearly dragging the smaller Dylan behind him.  Dylan was trying to piece together all that had happened, unsure if he were dreaming or not. His previous coworker was acting like a dog, and he appeared to either have no control over it or the old Tyler was completely gone, replaced by this man-dog. Dylan tried to look deep into Tyler’s eyes for any indication that he was in there somewhere, but all he saw were the loving and admiring eyes of a puppy staring back up.

“Woof!” Tyler happily barked when the two of them exited the building, sticking his nose into the air to sniff the outside breeze.

“Shit!” Dylan hissed when he realized that he was walking a naked man with a dildo shoved in his ass outside in public for all to see. The sidewalk was full of people coming and going, and the two men were out in the open. Despite being the one in control of his body and being fully clothed, Dylan’s face was cherry red with embarrassment for his friend.

However, nobody seemed to look twice. Some people did a double-take, only to comment to their companion that they’d seen the actors from Teen Wolf, not even caring to mention that Tyler Hoechlin was naked and wagging a footlong dildo back and forth like it was a damn tail. Someone even walked too close to them, and Tyler responded by placing himself in front of Dylan, puffing out his hairy chest and growling, baring his teeth.

“No!” Dylan scolded, tugging on his leash. “Bad dog!” He winced at his words, but shook it off and led Tyler to his car. Tyler leapt into the passenger seat, positioning himself like a dog in the small seat. Dylan hurried into the driver’s seat and sped off, eager to get his friend out of view from prying eyes.

Tyler leaned over as he drove, nuzzling against the other man and licking his face again.

Needing to focus on the road, Dylan sighed and rolled down Tyler’s window, somehow knowing that Tyler would lean his head out like a dog. He looked over at his man-dog of a friend, vowing that he’d take care of him.

“Don’t worry Tyler,” he promised the man-dog, “it’ll be okay.” He moved pat him on the shoulder, and at the slightest touch, Tyler’s cock shot to life.

Officer Counihan ticketed a strange guy for speeding, and the next morning when he woke up, his head was hilariously tiny. His squeaky voice and awkward proportions made him humiliated at first. However, the hot cop eventually came to enjoy the way his tiny head made his muscles look all the more bigger by comparison.

Derek was already a little annoyed with having been volunteered by Stiles to play for the company’s baseball team, but when one of the other players starting to comment on his musculature, he was trying his best to swallow his rage.

The player in question looked like one of those stereotypical depictions of steroid-abusing athletes. His large, grotesque muscles strained against the red uniforms of the team and the top few buttons of the team shirt were left undone because they couldn’t close around his bulbous pecs that resembled melons. 

“Maybe we’d be winning and you wouldn’t have struck out if you went to the gym some more,” the meathead said, giving Derek a sideways glance.

The alpha werewolf clenched his jaw, trying his best to ignore the idiot next to him. Yeah, Derek had struck out… but it was only because he’d kept swinging the bat too fast, missing the baseball over and over due to his werewolf speed. 

“I hit a home run,” the muscleman next to him continued, giving his pecs a little bounce. “I guess I got some strength behind my swing.”

“I’ll hit it next time,” Derek grunted, trying not to bare his teeth. Although he knew it was just a silly game, he was feeling miffed at having struck out in front of his entire company… and especially in front of Stiles who had given him a pity-clap when he’d slunk back to the dugout. 

Derek looked over at the bleachers were he saw Stiles happily chowing down on some popcorn. He looked and made eye contact, giving him a small wave.

The other player scoffed. “Not with those puny muscles,” he countered, going so far as to actually reach over and grab a hold of Derek’s fleshy pecs. “Those are hardly there. There’s no power behind you.”

Derek was stunned silent that the other man had had the nerve to grab his chest… which he wanted to argue was muscular, but of course it’d look unimpressive next to the steroid-user’s.

“I got my homerun, and my boyfriend doesn’t complain either,” the man smirked, gesturing at some random dude in the bleachers. This guy waved at the muscle man, using a much more animated wave than Stiles had when he’d waved at Derek.

The werewolf scowled to himself as he looked down at his own chest which did appear a little flat. The man’s groping hands had left a little tingling sensation behind, making Derek’s chest feel like it was buzzing. 

Derek’s team wound up losing, much to the werewolf’s dismay. As he and Stiles drove home, he was silently fuming. Due in part to being a sore loser and the muscleman’s condescending words, Derek kept his lips pursed into a thin line. And he was a little (or a lot) irritated that the muscleman’s boyfriend had given him a larger wave than the one Stiles had given him.

Plus, his chest still tingled uncomfortably to the point of feeling sore, like he’d just completed a killer Chest Day at the gym.

Stiles, trying to cheer up his husband, placed a small hand on Derek’s shoulder. “It’s just a game,” he meekly offered. “Besides, I’m pretty sure that the other team had some werewolves on it too.”

It didn’t; Derek would’ve sniffed them out. “Uh, yeah,” Derek muttered.

They stopped at a red light and Derek looked down at his chest, his frown deep on his face. His baseball uniform was a little baggy and completely obscured his muscles, giving off the illusion that he was thin and weak, whereas the jerk on his team was approaching bodybuilder proportions.

“Hey, um…” he hesitated to say, blush forming on his face, “do you think… uh, don’t laugh. B-but, do you think I have a nice chest?”

Stiles flinched and looked at Derek wide-eyed, not used to seeing his husband act self-conscious. “Of course,” he answered honestly.

The tingling in Derek’s chest began to grow in fervor, almost like there was pressure forming in his pectorals. He shook it off.

“So, you don’t think I need to be bigger?” he continued, avoiding eye contact with Stiles at all costs. The light turned green and he was thankful he had an excuse to watch the road.

Stiles chuckled. “Is this because of Shawn?” he laughed, referring to the muscleman. “I mean, sure that guy has some big pecs, but who cares?”

Derek swallowed the jealous growl that wanted to escape his lips over Stiles talking about the idiot muscleman. The pressure in the chest continued to grow until it seemed as if a bubble burst within him, the tingling dissipating across his pecs.

Pop!

Derek and Stiles both went quiet as the top button on Derek’s baseball uniform popped off, shortly followed by the second. 

“What the—?” Derek wondered aloud as he looked down, his jaw dropping when he saw his own pectorals inflating at a rapid pace. The previously toned pecs ballooned out in front of him, filling out the confines of his shirt and stretching it to the limit. They puffed out and rounded, completely engulfing his neck and forcing him to adjust his arms around them as he drove. The huge pectorals burst out of the top layer of his baseball uniform, leaving him in his red tank top, showing off how top-heavy he now looked. His nipples had even pumped up, looking hard and erect as they protruded off the massive mounds that had become his chest. 

Stiles was silent as he watched his husband’s pecs balloon out, completely warping his toned physique to make him look like a guy who was obsessed with benchpresses. As the car traveled down the road, the rumble of the engine and the little bumps in the asphalt made Derek’s muscletits jiggle and bounce constantly.

“What the fuck just happened?!” Derek panicked, pulling over to the side of the road. He winced as his buff arms kept colliding with his huge pecs as he drove, and how he had to shift his seat back to stop his new muscletits from pressing against the car horn. He looked down at himself, shocked that he couldn’t see anything beyond his new shelf of a chest which blocked the view of his lower body. He could barely make out the tips of his nubby nipples which poked out of the straps of his tank top.

“Derek,” Stiles breathed in awe. “Holy crap! Your pecs are huge!” He reached out with a shaky hand and gave one of the inflated pecs a tentative squeeze.

“Oh shiiiitt,” Derek moaned, his head rolling back and his entire body spasming, which made his giant pecs jiggle even more. His perky nipples were burning now, a sensation he wasn’t used to. 

“Sorry!” Stiles immediately cried as he jerked his hand back. “Did that hurt?”

Derek’s already red face deepened even further. “No… they’re just really sensitive,” he panted, his cock feeling as if it’d burst through his pants simply from having Stiles give his huge chest a squeeze.

Even Stiles was deeply turned on. When Derek had asked him earlier if he’d needed a bigger chest, Stiles had wanted to tell Derek that he would love it if Derek had massive pecs that were disproportionately huge. But he hadn’t wanted to hurt his feelings because he’d picked up on how Derek hated Shawn’s guts. However, as he stared at the panting Derek whose inflated muscletits heaved with every breath and whose nipples looked so utterly tweakable, he was getting hard too.

“So,” he said, a devious plan forming in his mind, “you must like it when I do this…”

Stiles reached forward and ran his thin fingers through the wisps of chest hair that covered Derek’s inflated pecs, sending a shudder through the other man.

Derek struggled to form coherent thoughts. He knew that he should be panicking that his pecs had grown to the size of basketballs somehow, and that they were now the most sensitive part on his body. However, all of that turned to mush as his husband groped his larger pecs, causing him to see stars. His cock throbbed with want and the werewolf couldn’t stop but moan loudly from every touch.

“And what about this?” Stiles smirked as he reached down to pinch and toy with Derek’s erect nipples.

“Uuughh!” Derek squealed loudly as he came on the spot, shooting what felt like the largest load in his life. A big wet mark was on the front of his pants, and he blushed again at having gotten off by having Stiles play with his nipples, which used to never be sensitive, but now the man craved it. He knew that he should be panicking and trying to fix whatever had happened to him, but instead he found himself immediately looking forward to Stiles pecfucking him when they got home.

“You know,” Stiles added, “I think your pecs are about twice as big as Shawn’s.”

Arousal radiated off Stiles in waves, and Derek couldn’t help but growl playfully at his husband. “I suppose we gotta go find some shirts that will fit over these,” he chuckled, bouncing each of his muscle mounds, loving the hungry look on his husband’s face.

-- -- --

[Base Photo Source: @bigmusclenm ]

As Coach Benson stood in the locker room, he forced himself to ignore the snickering of the football players. The muscled athletes around him did their best to avoid eye contact, some covering their grins with their hands while others red in the face from trying not to burst into hysterics.

The football coach grimaced and cleared his throat a couple times before trying to deepen his voice to resemble anything like the booming, manly tones he used to possess. "Alright boys," he squeaked, the chipmunk-like voice making him sound like he'd been sucking on helium, "we're going to face off against--"

Despite their best efforts, the football players lost their composure and each one of them (including the water boy) started to laugh at the cartoonish sound of the older man's voice.

"Fuck this..." Coach Benson huffed as he stormed off back to his office.

He used to be an imposing figure who oozed masculinity and who could easily get what he wanted just by puffing out his beefy, hairy chest or by using his baritone to bark orders at people he viewed smaller than him. However, he'd tried to push around one of the science nerds who didn't feel like tutoring his QB, and then he became one of those freak's science experiments.

Coach looked in the mirror that was in his office, a frown set deep on his face as he stared back at his reflection. He still had all of his hard-earned muscles that bulged with power and stretched the confines of his polo to the limit. However, now that was capped off with a head the size of a ripe apple, complete with a squeaky voice.

Now instead of obeying his every order, the former alpha man felt like he was butt of every joke. All of the football players now mocked him for his tiny head and silly voice instead of treating him with the upmost respect. And none of the other nerdy teachers or coaches would listen to him try to bark out demands. Shoot, even his girlfriend left him for a guy with smaller muscles... but a normal-sized head.

"Fuckin' nerds," Coach irritatedly huffed to himself in his squeaky voice, already planning on begging the nerd to change him back after the game.

"H-hey, what kind of chemicals are in the pool? My chest feels funny... and heavier..."