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OK here we have part of the next chapter of the Woke Up Fat!Jackson fic aka Wake Up, Fatass. Which I might change the name of, because idk if I like it, hahaha. Anyway this is Stackson with fat!Jackson and chubby!Stiles, aw yeah.
Stiles pulled up in front of Jackson’s house and, noticing his parents’ cars were MIA, decided to walk right in, backpack slouched over one shoulder.
Jackson didn’t come out to greet him, which wasn’t unusual. He was more of the ‘you come to me’ variety. Usually that attitude would annoy Stiles, but he was actually, shockingly, feeling a little guilty over what had happened, underneath all his vindictive joy at Jackson getting a tiny taste of what he deserved.
But the guy already had enough identity issues to last a lifetime.
Anyway, he wasn’t exactly sure what happened, because he was about 98% sure whatever he’d done had absolutely nothing to do with getting fat. But he’d figured a way to reverse the spell he’d cast last night and that should do the trick.
And if it didn’t, well. He’d address that later.
“Yo, Jackson? I’m here.”
Jackson shouted back from upstairs. “No shit, Stilinski. I could hear you a mile away. Literally.”
He went up and stopped outside of the door to his room and said, sort of hesitant, “Can I… Come in, or?”
Jackson opened it himself, a look of vulnerability hidden under layers and layers of arrogance and determination and oh my god. Stiles’s eyes widened, taking in the sight.
“Oh my god. You. Weren’t kidding.”
His voice was strangled with shock and. And.
Stiles noticed several things at once. Jackson was Fat with a capital F, outweighing Stiles by probably close to a hundred pounds. He was stuffed in these tiny clothes, probably the only things from his wardrobe he could get on, and Stiles felt a sizzling rush at the thought. Probably from having some semblance power over Jackson or something, he didn’t know.
But the lacrosse t-shirt he was wearing was tight across his chest and that big. Fat. Belly. Stiles’s gaze was locked on the sheer expanse of it, on the way a sliver of pale skin peeked out underneath the hem.
He was staring, fuck, he needed to stop, oh, god. And he looked up at Jackson’s face just in time to see it twist into a mask of fury, and Jackson stalked closer.
Stiles’s heart was beating rapidly in his chest, and he only dimly recognized it wasn’t out of fear before Jackson was up in his face.
But his belly clearly took up more space than he was used to, and he looked a little flustered when he glanced down to where it brushed against Stiles’s chubby stomach just slightly.
Stiles could feel his own pulse, too strong, and weirdly tingly in his neck. As his eyes met Stiles’s again, they were flashing ice blue. “Don’t say a fucking word, Stilinski.”
“Well that’s gonna make spell casting a little difficult, but I’m sure I-”
“Shut up.”
He tugged Stiles by the strap of his backpack and shoved him into his room, slamming the door.
“Hey, easy on the merchandise, buddy. I’m here to help you.”