"I think it's completely unfair." Stiles says, hands on her hips. Her hair has grown out some—still shorter than most girls go, but enough so that Lydia took her recently to get it styled. They couldn't even go into the salon because of Stiles condition.
"What is?" Peter asks, opening the fridge and grabbing a container holding yogurt. Derek stared at her as if she was insane and the others just filtered out of the room silently.
"How about the fact that I have little were-babies growing inside me, and yet they still haven't been able to overcome the air-born chemicals of hair dye. I had to sit out in the middle of the street to have my hair cut." Stiles stomped over to Peter and grabbed the yogurt from him; opening the container and just sticking her fingers in to get to the food. "And whose fucking idea was it to have me carry children? They're sticky and gross and all dependant on people."
"Lovely," Peter started, placing a hand on Stiles neck. "We've had this talk, you wanted cubs." He caressed his thumb over her pulse point.
"Why? My back feels like I've been hit by a train, my ankle are swollen and I don't have to see them—not that I can—to know that. They keep kicking my ribs—and why does it have to be my ribs? Why can't it be my bladder like normal babies? And it's constantly hot all the time, and all of you hovering, like furnaces with legs does not help any. Although I really enjoy having sex all the time, and the fact everyone gets me food and does their own laundry now." Stiles sighed. "I guess it's not all bad."
"See? Now let's get a spoon. Derek doesn't seem to appreciate you eating with your fingers." Peter reached to open the drawer with the cutlery. Grabbing blindly for a spoon and handing it to his pregnant female.
"Well Derek can go fuck himself." Stiles huffed and ignored the spoon in favor of dropping it onto the counter. "My hands still taste like your semen from our nap a while ago; it goes well with the vanilla flavour."
"I'm never eating yogurt again." Was barely heard as Derek growled and stomped out of the kitchen, leaving his cereal behind.
"Does that mean you wouldn't be opposed to giving me a blow job?" Peter asked casual while he brushed Stiles bangs out of her face.
"I told you, I'm carrying your spawn, that means you have to please me." Stiles glared at him, ignoring the disappointment that blossomed briefly across his face.