How does Jason feel about his jeans tightening? Does it mess with his self-image? Feel like he's growing into himself? Just mildly perplex him when he throws on an outfit he hasn't worn in a while?
honestly, Jason’s such a generally chill guy… i don’t think it would phase him. like… he’s self-conscious, but it’s very internal — how he comes off in public, how he’s perceived, how people feel about him. not how he looks, y’know? he’d notice his clothes getting tighter, because he is pretty self-aware. he knows he’s been eating more than usual, knows that the girls are a bad influence on his waistline. does he… care, though? his diet was shit before meeting them, and he’s really enjoyed being spoiled…
also, jason’s weight has fluctuated throughout his life, though he’s always been on the Big Boy side. he had a period in middle school when he was The Fat Kid in class… and it didn’t impact him emotionally as much as you’d think? he’s just. used to extra weight. what goes up will eventually come down. why not enjoy himself when he’s still got a college kid metabolism on his side?
here’s a quick fic of the moment jason actually brings it up!
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫
~ 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐣𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧
content warnings: stuffing, weight gain, candid discussions of wg
He muffles a belch into his palm, slumping back against the cozy armchair. This is the only position that lets him breathe freely; otherwise, Jason’s sure his jeans are going to burst open.
“Oh man,” he exhales, dazed. Jason can’t even catch his breath. There’s no room to fill his lungs when he’s already packed full-to-bursting — a large pepperoni pizza with extra cheese, mozzarella breadsticks, garlic sauce, and two cans of Sprite. He’s overdone it tonight. Gone way over his limit. Eaten enough to pop (his buttons, at least).
The worst part is, he loved every second.
“Too much,” he manages to groan… and then his stomach gives a roll of digestion, and his eyes flutter shut. There’s something weirdly euphoric about feeling the process start. His body is racing to catch up with everything it’s consumed. Systems in overdrive, belly stretched to its limit… actually working through it all will be like running a marathon. By the time this meal’s digested, he’ll be exhausted.
That’s the beauty of a food coma, Jason supposes.
A tiny hiccup jolts him. He rubs a hand over his jaw, licking his lips like a satisfied cat. He feels lazy, weighed down… as if he’s sinking into the chair, deeper with each shallow breath.
“You okay?” asks Jenna, leaning over him. She’s the real culprit tonight — she bought the pizza. His friend’s hair is pulled into a messy bun; she’s wearing an oversized band t-shirt, leggings, and an inscrutable look on her face. Kind, of course — Jenna’s always kind, she’d find a way to be compassionate even while pushing someone into a volcano — but something in her gaze drinks him in. By now, Jason knows hunger, and can recognize it in her hazel depths. Like she wants to consume every detail about him, from the crumbs on his face to the straining button of his jeans.
“Mmm-hmm,” he manages with a small smile. “Doin’ great.”
“You look like you’re gonna burst.” Ofelia, on his other side, sounds thrilled.
“I feel like it,” Jason agrees. He’s way past the point of shame. The girls just watched him decimate a whole pizza
— they know what he’s made of at this point. (Mostly carbs.)
The funny thing is… he wasn’t like this until becoming friends with them. Yeah, Jason could always eat — whenever his Mom makes her famous chili, he’s a bottomless pit — but he was more… restrained before. He’d never have ordered a giant pizza for himself. He’d never go for seconds in the dining hall, or drank a whole two-liter of soda, just ‘cause he felt like it. Even after becoming friends with the girls, his diet didn’t change overnight… but they were always up for sharing their food. Sometimes they’d make him brownies, or set food in front of him during meals, like he needed more flesh on his bones. He hesitates, at first — until one day, Sanaa asked “why not?” and he realized he couldn’t think of anything. Not a single reason not to indulge.
He realized how hungry he’d been without ever noticing.
So… that was it. Now, Jason eats.
His friends must’ve seen how much he needed stress relief tonight. Ofelia was the one to suggest this local pizza joint — and she placed an obscenely large order. Sure, they got a few different things, but Jason was the only one to get a whole pie to himself.
“You look like you need it,” Jenna had said — except he knows for a fact that’s not true. Have they seen him lately? He looks like he could use a Weight Watchers diet and a gym membership, not a Cheese-Lover’s Supreme.
Feeling hazy, Jason plants a hand on his gut. It feels solid beneath his t-shirt, rounded out like a bowling ball. Every breath makes it rise and fall like a shallow tide. He can’t run a hand over it without triggering a rumble of digestion; his stomach is oversensitive, packed so full, even the slightest touch triggers ripples of discomfort.
Unable to help a groan, Jason squeezes his eyes shut. His hips tense, and his first instinct is to stop touching his belly… until a hand settles over his own, holding him in place. It begins to guide him in slow, smooth circles.
“There you go,” murmurs Jenna. “Just what you need. This feels better, right?”
Jason belches in reply.
His friend laughs aloud. “Okay, good! We’re doing something right.”
That’s an… insane understatement. This belly rub feels like a dream. Jason’s eyes flutter shut, a wave of syrupy calm washing over him… and for a while, he’s not sure he isn’t dreaming. Slow circles are being massaged into his stomach; his belly works overtime to digest the heavy dinner. Each burp and hiccup taste like cheesy garlic — echoes of the best dinner he’s had in ages.
Only when something releases at his middle does Jason startle, blinked dazedly back into wakefulness.
“Wh- wha—“
For a second, he’s sure he’s popped a button. Jesus, he’d never live that down… His hazy gaze takes in the full swell of his belly, a mountain of pale flesh, dusted with freckles and soft hair. Now fully exposed, he can make out the painful, bright-red indents where his jeans were constraining him. Jason’s brows furrow. He raises a hand to brush, almost tentative, over the tender flesh.
“Sorry,” Sanaa says quietly. “I unbuttoned your pants… they looked painful. Is that okay?”
More than okay, actually. It’s such a relief to be able to breathe. Jason hiccups, nodding. His fingers continue to trace the indents left by his pants, and he flinches when the overstrained skin reverberates with pain.
Behind him, Jenna clicks her tongue. “You need some new jeans, babe. Those aren’t made for you anymore.”
“They fit fine last month,” he murmurs, and hiccups.
“Last month, you outgrew, like, three t-shirts.”
Yeah, and they’d been some of Jason’s favorites. He’s still grieving his old Science Planet tee… and the VEX Robotics World Championship shirt he had since he was fourteen… yeah, he ordered a larger size, but it’s not the same.
“Whose fault is that?” He grumbles, letting his head loll back.
For a moment, the room is quiet. Weirdly quiet.
Shit, Jason didn’t mean to kill the vibe. He cracks his eyes open again, already prepared to apologize… but the girls are exchanging sheepish looks. Sanaa is trying to hide a blush, while Ofelia is grinning outright.
“Okay,” Jenna says, breaking the tension. “You noticed?”
Jason raises his brows. “Noticed you’re trying to make me fat?”
“We— we’re not trying,” Sanaa protests lamely. “That’s not the goal.”
“We wouldn’t do that to you,” Jenna reassures.
“No, we would,” counters Ofelia. She doesn’t even look apologetic about it. “Not in, like, a ‘fatten up the pig before the fair’ way. We weren’t trying to make you a heavyweight. You just have a really shit diet, y’know? Like— you used to eat chips! All day. You’d go the whole day only eating chips. Like, you’d get a bag of Doritos, finish it in one day, and call that a meal. C’mon, man. You want scurvy? That’s how you get scurvy?”
“Is that even—“ Jason interrupts himself with a low belch. “A thing anymore?”
“People still get scurvy.”
“Who?”
“You. Bet you already had it.”
“Shit, news to me.”
“That’s the scurvy talking.” Ofelia pinches a roll of fat at his hip, and Jason giggles.
“You hardly ever ate in the dining hall before,” Sanaa chimes in, her voice quick and earnest. “Sure, it’s not the healthiest food, but at least we can pretend the fruit is fresh.”
“You need actual meals,” Jenna says firmly. “That’s how it started.”
Jason’s head lolls back; he blinks up at them with soft, guileless cow eyes, which still manage to pierce them like arrows. Really? his gaze asks. Are you sure about that?
Color creeps high on Jenna’s cheeks. “We— we didn’t mean to fatten you up!”
“Didn’t even realize it was happening, at first!” adds Sanaa.
“Really?” he scoffs. “You didn’t have a clue? I’ve been chunking up for months, and you guys— what, thought you were just being generous?” No way. He’s not an idiot — and not actually oblivious, either. The innocent act might work on their professors — might even work on their boyfriends — but Jason knows his friends way too well. “And the belly rubs were accidents too, right? Mmm. Not once for a second did anyone stop to think ‘whoa, Jason’s getting huge?”
A snicker startles out of Ofelia. When all eyes turn to her, she just smirks. “I bet plenty of people are thinking it. You ain’t subtle.”
“I know I’m not,” Jason huffs. “I broke a chair last week!”
He doesn’t mention that the stool in the robotics lab was off-balance to begin with. At some point, it was bound to break… and it finally happened when Jason planted his big ass down. Though, from the way the girls’ eyes go huge, their expressions ranging from aghast to thrilled, he’s sure the details don’t really matter.
“No way,” Jenna murmurs, sounding choked. “You— br- are you okay?”
If it didn’t seem important enough to mention, clearly he wasn’t traumatized by the experience. Jason shrugs, rubbing his stomach languidly with one hand.
“I mean… I’m kinda turning into a whale here. Whether you guys are trying to fatten me up or not, like… doesn’t matter. It’s working.”
If they weren’t trying, they wouldn’t have ordered him an entire pizza. Again, Jason tactfully leaves this detail unspoken. From the way the girls are exchanging glances, they know they’ve been caught in the act — and apparently Jason isn’t as oblivious as they’d assumed. For some reason, he’s not even mad about it.
“We’re sorry,” Sanaa offers, wringing her small hands. “If you want us to stop—“
Who said anything about stopping? Jason’s brows furrow; he must make a sour face, because a moment of silence reigns over the group.
Hesitantly, Jenna ventures, “Or if you want us to help you lose weight…”
Jason considers it. For, like, three seconds. “Nah,” he says. “I’m good.”
The girls look absolutely baffled.
“But you just said—“
“Yeah. But it’s fine, y’know?” He shrugs his shoulders… then grimaces, massaging out a cramp in his gut. After a moment’s patience, it passes, dispersing in a low groan of digestion. The sensation is like a ripple of pleasure coursing through Jason’s whole body…
And that’s why exactly why he doesn’t want to stop. Not now, at least. Strange as it sounds, he’s been having the time of his life these last few months — certainly the time of his stomach. He’s never eaten so well, enjoyed food so much… or felt so cared for.
And, hey, the girls are enjoying it too. Why stop everybody’s fun so soon? Just ‘cause he’s outgrown a few pairs of jeans?
“If it gets too much, I’ll tell you guys,” he reassures; his free hand grasps Sanaa’s own, giving her a tiny squeeze. “But for now… I mean, I’m cool with it.”
He may as well have just declared himself dictator of Belgium, with the way the girls are staring at him.
“You’re way too cool,” Jenna finally says. “About a lot of things.”
It’s the nicest compliment Jason’s ever gotten. Here he is, laying around like a beached whale, crumbs in his stubble, his belly on full display… and she’s still calling him cool. Damn, he’s got the best friends. How’d he get so lucky?
“Quit makin’ me blush,” he teases — and gives his belly a light slap to repay the favor. Jenna turns a very satisfying shade of crimson.
A group of girls in college find another student slumped in the hallway, in an extremely drunken state. He doesn't belong here, but he's not capable of getting home on his own. Will they take care of him… or make his situation even worse?
content warnings: intox, drunkenness, burping, overeating ; 3.2k words
Jenna's been studying for her statistics midterm for hours. It’s dragged on for so long, she’s seeing line graphs with her eyes closed. She curses the day she enrolled, the day she paid her tuition, even the day she chose college over a respectable fast food career.
A sudden commotion outside her room… sounds like deliverance.
Maybe the dorm’s on fire. They’ll all have to be evacuated… maybe hospitalized for their injuries… she can’t take her midterm if she’s in a coma, right? Automatic excuse!
Of course, she doesn’t get that lucky.
Instead, when she pushes the door open, she just finds a guy. Some dude, with messy auburn hair and a thick-set frame, reeking of Bacardi. The back of his t-shirt is covered in grass stains; he even has a clump of grass in his hair. (Did he fall down a hill?) He’s fumbling with his keycard at the door across the hall, rattling the handle and cursing under his breath.
Problem is, she knows who lives across the hall. This guy isn’t Monée, and he’s definitely not Samantha… unless they’ve changed drastically since this morning.
“Umm... the hell are you doing?”
The guy glances over his shoulder; without making eye-contact, he mutters something incoherent, slumps against the door, and belches.
Jenna blinks. “Wow. For real?”
“Yuh-huh,” the guy slurs. He’s still working on the door. After another failed try with the keycard, he groans loudly. His forehead hits the wood with a dull thud.
By now, the drunk idiot attracting a crowd. There aren’t many girls in their dorms at 1am on a Saturday night; some students commute, other students party, and Jenna knows a few girls who could sleep through a hurricane. Those who are around, though, are drawn to the stranger in their midst — like a circus clown wandering into a psych lecture. You just can’t look away.
“What’s going on?” Sanaa asks.
“Oh my god, where'd you come from?” Ofelia looks downright delighted. “Is he even, like… present right now?”
In response, the guy clutches his stomach. His shirt rides up, exposing a pale, lightly-furred gut, as his shoulders curl in on themselves. He grunts, riding out an audible gurgle, It roll up his throat in a sour “aaAUURP!”
Jenna’s going to go with nope, definitely not present. Probably not even okay. She shoots her dorm mates a warning look — Ofelia’s already taking out her phone to film this trainwreck — and takes a step forward. “Hey,” she broaches. “Hey, guy? Hi.”
She tries to keep her voice gentle… but then he turns, all glassy eyes and vacant, uncomprehending expression. There’s something vulnerable in his face — so thoroughly out-of-it, Jenna’s left stunned.
“Oh man,,, you’re so fucked up,” she exhales.
“Mmm.” The guy smacks his lips. He’s still got a hand beneath his shirt, hiking up the hem to leave his belly hanging out. Jenna he's got a healthy gut, soft flesh being kneaded by his thick fingers like a ball of pizza dough. She has to tear her eyes away.
“A li- lil’ fucked up, yeah.” The guy nods vaguely. “Buh— buh ‘m not drunk.”
“Nope” agrees Ofelia. “Big difference.”
“There is,” he declares… and then jolts with a boozy hiccup. “Ugh. ‘Scushh me.”
Ofelia’s holding up her iPhone, trained on the interloper like she’s getting a paparazzi’s paycheck. Behind the screen, her dark eyes shine.
Sanaa gives a nervous giggle. “He’s wasted, but still has manners.”
Chuckling along with them, the guy slumps back against the closed dorm door. If he realizes he’s not supposed to be here, he doesn’t let on. Instead, he reaches up, ruffling his hair into an even bigger mess. Something about the way he slouches suggests he’s had more than booze tonight. Weed? Edibles? His eyes are pretty red.
“Yeaaah, my Mama raised me good. Did’n raise no… no… drunk guy.” He waves a sloppy hand. “‘S not me. Some other guy.”
Ofelia angles her phone a little closer to his face, like she’s capturing a historic event for posterity. “Right. Some other guy spilled Bacardi all over you?”
“Wasn’t me." He gives a resolute hiccup.
Oh, this is downright tragic. Jenna sighs through her nose; sometimes, she hates being the mom friend. Always the responsible one — so used to wrangling her own friends when they get wasted, she doesn’t even bat an eye.
“What’s your name, babe?”
The boy just blinks at her, brown eyes soft and dumb as a cow.
Again, Jenna sighs. “Okay,” she mutters, stepping forward. The boy gives no protest when she puts her hands on him — even as she reaches for his hips, gently patting down the pockets of his jeans. “I’m gonna find your ID, okay?” Jenna tries to speak slowly, clearly, so he can understand… but the guy’s not showing any signs of distress. A shaky giggle escapes him as she slips a hand in his pocket. It says something about him that he doesn’t get all grabby back. (A drunk guy who can keep his hands to himself? They’ve found a unicorn.)
“Let me just..."
Jenna extracts the card from his pocket, exhaling a huff of relief as she spots his glossy photograph. Their student identification cards are thick and clunky, a pain to carry around… but very useful in moments like these.
“Your hair smells nice,” the boy slurs. He’s got a dreamy look on his face, like getting felt up by a pretty girl was all he wanted tonight. A twinge of concern ripples through Jenna’s chest. Someone this drunk shouldn’t be wandering around. He could get into trouble so easily... even get taken advantage of. Rule #1 of college partying: never leave your drunk friends alone. Where the hell are this guy's friends? Who’s looking out for him?
She pats the boy's chest, just trying to reassure him. He hums in pleasure, slumping back. By now, he's practically melted against the door, too sloppy to hold himself up on his own.
Squinting down at the name on the ID, Jenna’s brow furrows. “Jason Hellert,” she reads out, winning a hicc! of confirmation. “Cool. Hi, Jason. I'm Jenna. And you’re definitely not in the right place.”
Jason grunts. “‘M goin’ to my dorm.”
“Your dorm isn’t here.”
“Nah, ‘s… ‘s around here.”
He turns first to the door behind him — which still audaciously refuses to open — before his gaze wanders up and down the hall, taking in rows of identical thresholds. Each door is adorned with colorful accessories: stickers, whiteboards, cut-out letters, custom license plates bearing the occupants’ names. Nothing looks familiar. Not to mention, the keycard in his hand is bright blue — for the Blueberry Grove dorms, across the quad. This hallway is painted bright orange. Even a very drunk guy can put these pieces together (though it takes him a while).
“Somewhere,” he mutters, slumping in on himself. “I jushh… uhh, was goin’ that way, an’— an’— someone held the door for me.”
He looks so lost, it’s not even funny; it just makes Jenna feel protective, like he’s a puppy they’ve pulled from a storm drain. When he blinks up at the girls, his brows are furrowed. His expression wavers there's absolutely no sense in those big brown eyes. “Is this… not my dorm?”
“No, babe,” Jenna says gently. “We’ve never seen you before.”
“Oh.” He slumps back once again, defeated. “Shit.”
By now, they’ve gathered a crowd of a dozen girls, in various states of bedtime and back-from-a-night-out attire. No one knows this guy. No one pipes up to say “oh yeah, that’s Jason from my lit class,” or “I worked with him on an engineering project”. Everyone is looking at him like he’s a baby deer who’s just wandered into the grocery store: kind of amused, kind of curious, mostly just baffled.
“What have we learned tonight?” Ofelia is saying to the camera. “Never mix our jungle juice with rum. One or the other. This is a cautionary tale!”
Jenna shoots her friend a look that could deep-freeze Hawaii.
“Cookies,” mutters Jason.
“Huh?”
“Cookies. Big ones.” He slaps his belly — it makes a heavy, drum-tight sound — and cracks a sheepish grin. He’s got a crooked front tooth, and a round, good-natured face. “Friend brought ‘em tonight. They had ‘the good stuff.’”
Oh, Lord. “How much ‘good stuff’ did you have?”
“Jus’ one,” he reports, like this is self-control worth being proud of. “An’… an’ a half. And—“ He pauses, chewing the question over for a minute, before grinning. “A buncha pizza. Whole bag of Doritos. Booze, an’… an’ rum, an’.. what's Bacardi? An' some shit I don’ even know the name of…” He trails off, then belches heavily into the open air. It reeks of rum. A look of pure bliss crosses his face, either from relief or the memory of his munchie-fest. “Ugh. ‘S been a great night.”
Yeah, Jenna is starting to get the picture. A few giggles ripple through the crowd; Ofelia is zooming in for a close-up on the poor bastard’s face. Without missing a beat, Jenna strides over and blocks the iPhone.
“Hey, what the hell?” yelps Jenna. “This is gonna do numbers on TikTok!”
“You’re not Mr. Beast, bitch, put it away,” Jenna snaps — and stares Ofelia down, gaze searing, until the other girl decides it’s not worth the trouble of fighting. Jenna’s no saint, but she doesn’t film strangers just to get a viral moment. The guy will already be hungover tomorrow; he doesn’t need social media making his life even worse.
By the time Ofelia finally lets up, the crowd has begun to disperse. A few of the girls are heading back to their dorms, shutting the doors tightly behind them. Sanaa stands off to the side, frowning down at the drunken boy. Down, because Jason’s made his way to the ground, where he’s slumped over with his head in his hands.
Ohh god, Jenna’s been here before. She had to peel her freshman-year roommate off a McDonald’s bathroom floor. Once drunk people settle down, chances are, they’ll stay there all night.
“Hey, nope,” she calls out, rushing back to the kid’s side. Unconsciously, she’s using the same brisk voice that trained her childhood beagle. Jason responds on pure instinct, his head jerking up.
“Wha’?”
“No floor time,” Jenna says firmly, offering him a hand. Whether he takes it or not, that’s his business — but she’s not letting a random guy pass out in the middle of the hallway. It just seems… inconsiderate. A shitty thing to do. And probably a fire hazard. “You can’t stay here.”
They agree on this point, at least. “Gotta get back t’ my dorm,” says Jason.
“Uh-huh.”
He doesn't even try to peel himself off the floor. For a long moment, Jenna just stares at him.
“Like. Tonight,” she prompts.
“Yeah.” Jason nods, then raises a fist to his mouth. Jenna holds her breath — puke? please, no — but it's just another burp, rumbling up from deep in his gut. A low groan rolls out of him as he flops onto his back.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“‘M so full… feels like ‘m floating. And— and swimming, all ‘t once. ’M I swimming?”
He’s not even enunciating. Jenna sighs, massaging her temple with her free hand.
At her elbow, Sanaa pipes up, brows knit with concern. “We should call campus safety. They’ll come and get him… take him back where he belongs.”
Finally, someone with a sensible idea. The best notion she’s heard all night. Jenna’s brows arch, and she nods, bracing both hands on her hips. Calling security is the only thing they can do; it’s not like any of them can carry the guy all the way across the quad. Jason’s almost two-hundred pounds of dead weight.
“We can’t just… leave him here, though,” she mutters, gesturing to the drunken puddle on the floor. “Like. Laying in the hallway? It doesn’t feel right.”
“Someone could trip,” Sanaa agrees.
“Didn’t trip,” pipes up Jason — following roughly half the conversation. “Laid down. Different things.”
He curls in on himself with a muffled snort-snore. The two girls exchange deeply unimpressed glances.
“Get him off the ground,” Jenna sighs, “then we'll call for help. Sounds like a plan.”
Peeling Jason off the floor is its own challenge. Easier said than done — and Jason isn’t feeling helpful at the moment. He’s not unconscious (thank god, or else Jenna would be calling campus EMS) but he is sluggish, groaning and complaining as the girls try to haul him up by the arms. All that alcohol in his system… not to mention the edibles, and the truckload of food sitting in his stomach… it weighs him down. Sedates him. Jason’s head lolls on his neck, ragdoll-limp. Gazing up at Sanaa, he offers a loopy smile.
“I like your… uhh…” He gazes transfixed at the gold-checquered silk of her hijab. “Thing. ‘S real pretty. Not a hat. What’s it called? Your, your…”
He hiccups, then loses his train of thought. His head drops forward again; in unison, the girls roll their eyes.
They have to give him credit, though. For a drunk guy, he keeps his hands to himself. No touching, no hanging off them, not even an inappropriate comment. Apparently he really was raised well. Jenna feels a swell of relief; plenty of drunks are belligerent, aggressive, or downright destructive. God knows she's dealt with enough of those guys at frat parties. Not Jason, though. Jason’s just… an idiot. Sleepy, stupid, but not a bad kid.
They haul him over the threshold of Jenna’s room, and let the door slam shut behind them. Jason doesn’t flinch at the loud noise — just grunts, head lolling forward. He’s still cradling his belly, as though all the motion is stirring up its contents. Jenna is fighting for her life, trying not to stare at the pale, swollen dome. Would it kill him to pull his shirt down?
Once they have him laid out on the couch, she gently does it for him. It’s about dignity, nothing else. He’s too drunk to be modest, so she’s just… helping him out. (Nothing to do with how the sight of him, packed full of food and sloshing with liquor, floods her with heat like a tidal rush. Those thoughts are not appropriate to have about the complete stranger blackout drunk on her couch.)
Luckily, Jenna has a room to herself. As an RA-in-training, she enjoys a bit of privacy; Jason can enjoy it too, for now. She and Sanaa get him comfortable, tucking a pillow under his head and pulling his shoes off. By the time they’re finished, he’s gazing at them both, eyes soft and half-lidded.
“Mmm. You guys ‘re like… dorm room angels.”
"Aww," says Sanaa.
"'M I..." The drunk guy blinks hazily at them. "'m I dead?"
"Uhh," says Sanaa.
Well, it's a valid question. Between the cameras in his face and the Bacardi burning through his bloodstream — plus the hallway's vivid orange walls — maybe he thought he was on a one-way trip to the afterlife. Clearly, he has no idea which way's up right now. Jenna just shrugs. “Super depressing purgatory.”
“Think that’s the point,” he agrees… and burps shamelessly into the air, breath reeking of rum. He’s so drunk, it takes him a moment to realize that sound came out of him. Cheeks coloring, he offers the girls a sheepish smile. “Sorry ‘bout that. I keep... doin' that." He huffs again, shaking his head. "Too much pizza."
“Don’t worry,” Jenna reassures, smiling way. She gives his shoulder a pat — he’s so warm to touch, almost overheated — and takes a step back from the couch. “You’re safe here, alright? Rest for a few minutes. I’m going to call campus safety and get you all sorted out.”
He makes a thin, keening sound, like a dissatisfied kitten. “Please don’t. I gotta bone to pick with Carl.”
Oh, this ought to be good. She’s going to assume Carl is one of the safety officers, or else he really is delirious. “Yeah?”
“Mmm. Stole his golf cart… last s’mester. Drove it into the pond.” He swallows thickly, palming his belly like a kid clutching a stuffed animal for comfort. It gives a low, audible gurgle at his touch. “Can’t ’fford another write-up.”
A sinking feeling settles in the pit of Jenna’s stomach, and only goes lower. She understands what he’s saying — can sympathize, even. That doesn’t make it safe for either of them to let him pass out here, in her dorm room.
“Babe,” she says gently, “you won’t get in trouble. You need to—“
“Pleeease?” he croaks again, snuggling into the couch. He just looks so… pitiful. Like a kitten left out in the cold, finally brought inside for warmth. “Just… wanna lie here. So sleepy. Head’s spinning, okay?” He raises a hand to his mouth, letting it hover there for a second before releasing a soft hiccup-burp. “Gut’s grumbling. Jus’… wanna sleep, Jenna...”
He makes a compelling (if not coherent) argument.
It’s a bad idea. Jenna knows that for a fact. Letting some rando crash in her room, letting Jason go the whole night without care in case something happened…
But nothing will happen, because he won’t be without care. She’s going to be up half the night studying anyways. Why not just… let the guy stay?
She levels him with a stern, steady look — so piercing, it even cuts through his haze of drunkenness. Jason blinks up at her like an intoxicated owl. “You promise you’ll behave?”
“Cross m’ heart." He makes a clumsy ‘x’, closer to his bellybutton than his heart.
Well… fuck it, the effort counts. After a moment, Jenna’s shoulders slump. Calling for help would be the easy thing to do. The right thing, what a responsible RA should do—
But she’s not in-charge yet, and there are no rules against letting a friend crash in your dorm overnight. They’re practically friends at this point, right?
“Fine,” she sighs, taking another step back from the couch. “I sleep across the room. If you need anything during the night… literally just call me. Just shout my name.”
The drunk guy meets her eyes again — conveying confirmation and sincere, almost painful gratitude, all at once.
“Got it,” he murmurs. “Jus’ shout for you. But I think…” He trails off, voice wandering as if through a dream. “Think I got… everything I need. Right here.”
Tentatively, she reaches out. Jenna’s hand lands in his hair — just to brush it back from his brow, that’s all she wants to do, but at her touch, his eyes flutter. When she strokes, he preens; when she scratches gently at his scalp, a whine escapes him. Oh, she thinks distantly, I’m in trouble.
“Don’ stop,” he beseeches with a tiny shiver of pleasure. “Feels so… good. I feel…”
Wordlessly, Sanaa sets a bucket down beside the couch. Just in case, her eyes say. Jenna exhales a sigh of relief.
“I know,” she murmurs, and continues her stroking. “Shhh. Just… get some sleep.”
“Sleep,” he echoes faintly, eyes fluttering. “Yeah, that’d… that’d be nice…”
The words are thick in his mouth. All it takes is a few more minutes of hair-stroking, and… the guy’s out.
Jenna exhales a sigh, folding her hands in her lap. Idiot, she thinks, frowning down at the boy. If he’d ended up in the wrong dorm, around the wrong people… anything could have happened.
Instead, he’s here, drooling on her couch. With his eyes shut, face relaxed, shirt hiked up above his plush hip to expose a round, overfull belly… he looks like a big, drunk baby. Peaceful, in a way.
Shaking her head at her own silliness, Jenna returns to her textbooks. She still has studying to do… and their special guest isn’t going anywhere for a while.
He actually thought he could get away with not mentioning it. Like if he didn't acknowledge the day, it wouldn't exist. And it hasn't existed, for the better part of twenty-four hours... but somehow, with five hours left to go, Jenna found out. Which, of course, means Sanaa... and Ofelia... and once she finds out, it may as well be blasted over the campus loudspeakers.
He shrinks in his seat, wishing he could melt into the carpet. "I mean.... maybe?"
"It's maybe your birthday?" Ofelia tilts her head. "What, did your mom leave you at a fire station?"
"Jesus," groans Jenna.
Jason shrugs, shuffling his feet. He's wearing his new, sleek Nike's, and is a vintage jean jacket --- Jenna knows all the best thrift stores. Underneath, his shirt is an unapologetically loud pattern. He's been growing into himself lately. Learning it's okay to take up space (in appearance and in body --- in last week's Psych lecture, his chair was groaning underneath him). It's been a big year, and he really couldn't ask for anything more. Especially not... for his birthday. Jason hasn't done birthdays in a long time.
"It's just not really my thing?" He offers a helpless shrug. It always seemed to make sense, but now, with the combined stares of his friends upon him, he isn't sure. "Not a fan of April 1. There are worse days of the year, it's not like I... hate it I just..."
(Had two parties in a row in elementary school where no one showed up. His mom insisted he had to invite his whole class, and somehow, not one person came. It happened again in middle school. After that, Jason lost all enthusiasm for his birthday.)
"Well, that's bullshit," Ofelia declares. She leans against the desk, bracing her manicured hands on either side, and presses into Jason's space. "C'mon, get dressed. Let's go to the club. I mean, come on, you're twenty-one!"
"That's one of the big ones," Jenna agrees.
Except Jason's already shaking his head, shoulders terse. "I really don't wanna---"
"Come onnnn, Jase, pull your fucking pants up and----"
"I don't want to!"
His words come out... louder than he meant them to. Not a shout. Just... loud enough to be heard.
In the aftermath, his friends are left staring. That stings worse than anything.
Just as he's beginning to pull away from this whole conversation, putting a few miles of mental space between himself and his friends... Sanaa lowers herself into the chair beside him. She doesn't speak for a minute, just regards him with dark, patient eyes. "Hey," she finally says. "That's okay. No one has to celebrate their birthday. Just..." She hesitates, bites her lip, then ventures: "Isn't there anything that would make you happy today?"
"We wanna do something special for you," Jenna agrees, lowering herself down on the bed.
Well... now that they mention it. Jason never goes out for his birthday, and he has no desire to throw a party... but there is one thing they could try. One mode of celebration that actually might be fun. It won't help his waistline, but... hell, no one could judge him for it.
After a beat, he peeks up at them, gaze tentative yet hopeful.
"You, uhh... think we could hit up the supermarket?"
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
In the aftermath, Jason feels woozy. He's left lolling in bed, blanket curled around his legs as his head sags against the wall. Lazily, he drags the back of his hand across his lips. It comes away smeared with blue frosting. "Whoa," he murmurs... and tries to say more, but when he opens his mouth, a deep-bellied belch rumbles out.
The girls smirk at him. Heat floods his cheeks as Jason turns his head away. "Sorry. Shit, that--- that's the booze, gettin' to me."
To be fair, eating an entire pizza hasn't helped. Neither has the better part of a whole birthday cake. During their EasyMart raid, Jenna and Ofelia both had the same idea; while Sanaa and Jason were comparing alcohol brands, they snuck away to the bakery aisle, and each returned with a bounty. Jenna got a dozen cupcakes --- decorated in springtime colors, nothing to do with birthdays --- and Ofelia got a whole cake, with baby-shower themed decorations along the sides. (Apparently, he's having a girl! Jason strokes his belly, stretched so taut, he can almost believe it.)
Pizza, cake, the Dune movies, and an unholy amount of beer. This birthday is fucking amazing.
"Easy, big boy," Jenna teases, and raises a new can to his lips. Jason sips, relishing the foamy richness as it slides down his throat. After a minute, he gets greedy. He begins to gulp like a man lost in the desert, chugging down mouthfuls of bitter alcohol. He's no newbie --- like any respectable party boy, he can shotgun a beer without pausing for breath. It goes down like water.
When the can is empty, he turns his head away and exhaled a rumbling aaAuUrp. There's no time to cover his mouth; shit, he practically burps in Sanaa's face, but she just giggles. By now, they've all had a little too much to drink, and a bit too much to eat. His friend presses her own face into his chest, murmuring how soft he's getting. A flush of pride rolls through Jason --- and he won't even try to explain it, just like he won't unpack why it feels so good to be bursting out of his jeans. Every breath makes the button strain; he's determined to pop it before the night is out. That would be a birthday to remember.
"Hey, I'mma... gonna need another one of those, uhh..." Somehow, his words are even slower than his thoughts. He gestures vaguely towards the tupperware of--- tiny cake things? no, that's not the word--- and his friends thankfully get the picture. Ofelia selects another cupcake, heaped with pastel frosting, and passes it over.
"Thanks," Jason slurs, and takes a greedy bite.
He has no idea how he's still eating. They've been going for two hours, and his appetite hasn't faltered. Every bite has begun to hurt, straining in his overpacked gut. He feels like a beached whale, gurgling and panting from the excess... but has no desire to stop yet.
It's 11pm. He's going to keep stuffing his fat face until this birthday is over, and drown himself in booze 'til he can't even read the clock.
"This'ssh so... huuulp..." A lazy belch rolls out, and he makes no effort to stifle it. "Ohhh god. 's the best birthday ever."
"Yeah? You think?" Jenna's voice is gentle. She settles a hand over Jason's belly, swelling out beneath his t-shirt. He's become so used to this routine, he doesn't even blush when she eases the fabric up, revealing the full, churning heft. It presses down on him, almost smothering him beneath the weight of indulgence... and Jason can't get enough.
"More," he pleads --- almost a whine --- and because he's the man of the hour, his friends don't even tease him. Sanaa guides the rest of his cupcake to his mouth, making sure he takes it all in one bite... and he washes it down with another swig of beer.
A few overstuffed hiccups roll up, pure foam and excess. He groans, delirious with pleasure --- or maybe just drunk. God, they should have asked to borrow Nadia's bong, then this would really be a party...
Two realizations hit him at once: he's never had friends go out of their way to celebrate his birthday before --- and, over the last year, his friends have turned him into a massive glutton.
"Jesus," he mutters, not without relish. "You guys... 're ruining me. Got me addicted to this stuff..."
"No, babe," reassured Jenna. "You're not an alcoholic---"
Jason waves a sloppy hand, fingers stained with frosting. "'s not what I mean. This. Gettin' bigger, and... bein' spoiled. And... taken care of... never wanted that before. Didn't know I was allowed. And the-- huurp--- the food. Jesus fuck, I'm hungry all the time. I'm snackin' at, like, 3am, and I'm hearing your voice in my head saying 'good boy'. An' when I drink! I get, like... I have one beer, an' I'm thinkin', 'gotta have four more. gotta be a good boy.' Wanna-- hLLk!! ugh--- wanna stay tipsy 24/7, just to get praised like that. 'M so-- so damn happy with the weed, and the beer, and the... never feelin' empty. God, it's so good. And it's like... mmm, fuck, what're you doin' to me?
For a long moment, no one speaks. The girls just sit there, staring at him... and Jason is far too drunk to read the emotions on their faces, but he can feel himself getting warm all over.
"Sor---" he starts --- but Jenna silences him with a kiss.
She tastes like key lime and beer, like intensity and compassion. Jason's mouth it half-open, and he swallows her up --- greedily welcoming the kiss, moaning against her lips. Instinctively, his hands drift to her hips; he begins to massage small circles into her sides, wanting to offer her some pleasure in return.
When Jenna pulls back, her eyes are bright. Jason's head reels like he's spent three hours on the Tilt-a-Whirl. Before tonight, he never thought about Jenna like that --- never let himself think about any of them like that --- but now, suddenly, he craves another kiss more than all the booze in the world.
"Happy birthday, Jase," his friend declares... and leans back, satisfied.
"My turn," Ofelia says in a hoarse voice.
"Me next," Sanaa pipes up, leaning forward.
The final hour of his birthday is lost in a haze of heated kisses... and Jason doesn't mind at all.
I went back and re-read Jason Hellert's story... he's so cute! Since he likes jewelry, but doesn't let himself wear it... would you consider writing a piece where he gets something as a gift from one of the girls?
!! i'm always excited to write more with jason! this story takes place not long after this one, where he's taken in by a group of sympathetic college girls. what happens when you accidentally get yourself adopted? this, apparently.
content warnings: intox (weed edibles and beer); domination; a bit of puppy play; stuffing mention; not-really-noncon (he's out of it and the girl's are turned on, but nothing happens)
Their first mistake is giving him the lavender gummy. It’s… a bit too much, even for Nadia, a connoisseur of all things edible. But when he sees the tiny purple flowers, Jason’s eyes light up. He doesn’t say anything — they’re quickly learning that Jason rarely asks for what he wants — but the desire in his eyes is plain.
“You’re gonna be soaring,” Nadia warns him as he gulps the flower down.
“That’s okay,” he replies with a crooked grin. “That’s… kinda the point, right? Tonight, we’re all gonna get a little fucked up?”
“The best way to have a self-care night,” Ofelia declares, stretching her legs out. She’s already taken a bubble bath; her skin is smooth, soft as velvet, glistening faintly from the bath oils. Jason eyes the long, tanned leg… then swallows, glancing away.
“Nothing to worry about,” Jenna assures him, hovering around the room like the mother hen she is. According to her, she’s the only responsible one in the friend group. The girls have all seen her after a few Jell-O shots; they don’t buy it for a second.
“We’re just going to… wash your hair.” Shameless, Nadia drags her fingers through Jason’s scruffy auburn locks. “Give you a shave. Let’s see what a little moisturizer will do to you — shh, baby, you need it.” She runs a hand gently across Jason’s neck, tracing his collarbone. The boy shivers. “And… hmm. What if we pierced your ears?”
“W-what?”
“Too much?” Nadia shrugs languidly. “That’s okay. But we are gonna do your nails.”
A flush of color floods Jason’s cheeks… but inwardly, he’s pleased. Ever since That Night (the one he only remembers in flashes — bright orange walls, a door that won’t open, giggles and coaxing hands and someone gently rubbing his back) the girls have… adopted him. That’s the best way to put it. He and Jenna text all the time; Sanaa sits next to him in class; they even eat lunch together, which is cool, ‘cause Jason usually spend his lunches in the robotics lab.
Alone. That’s… fine. It was fine, at least, until the girls came along.
Now, he finds himself missing their company. They don’t mind when he rambles, they think his jokes are funny, and during lunch, they keep pushing food in front of him. Jason’s never allowed himself three desserts before… but if Ofelia bought them for him, it’s rude to refuse.
(And so what if he’s ended up a little too full, having to stifle burps and unbutton his pants under the table? The truth is, the girls have seen worse.)
“Jason,” Nadia coaxed, her long nails grazing the side of his face. Unconsciously, Jason tilts his head back, chasing the touch. Is he already starting to zone out? Damn, this gummy is strong.
“And we got a few of these,” Ofelia offers. Reaching under the bed, she pulls out… a case of beer. Montano, Jason’s favorite brand, rich and foamy, loaded with carbonation. His eyes light up. He swallows hard, and just manages to shake his head.
“I don’t wanna… get wasted, y’know?”
“Of course not,” Jenna agrees. “We wouldn’t let that happen.”
“We’re taking care of you tonight,” Sanaa adds gently. Her smile is soft, patient… like she sees right through him. Already, Jason’s head is starting to spin.
“O-okay.” His breath trembles as he releases it from his lungs… and reaches out, taking the beer as it’s passed to him.
Self-care nights are actually a lot of fun. The girls plant him in a chair and stick his feet in a weird water machine, letting it burble around him. Jenna’s not afraid, so she cuts his toenails — “seriously, you need it!” — and rubs a rose-smelling lotion deep into his skin. When she starts to massage, pressing her thumbs into the arches of his feet, a jolt shoots up Jason’s legs. He giggles.
“That— whoo. Wow, it’s… I like this, I think. Kinda like this.” He looks around, flashing a goofy grin. Sanaa is painting Ofelia’s nails; Nadia is doing something intricate with her curls, rubbing a glossy oil into them. They’re all… so beautiful. Like butterflies. A purple haze surrounds them, making their movements slow. The air feels like syrup. Jason’s head drops back against the pillow, but he’s still grinning.
“That’s it,” Jenna murmurs, massaging his ankles. “Easy, now.”
Jason takes a long drag of his beer — he has trouble raising it to his lips, his mouth isn’t where it should be. The alcohol bubbles in his tummy. A foamy belch rises up, and he just lets it go.
As the girls giggle, his face flushes a little deeper. “‘Mmm… sorry?”
“Don’t apologize,” Jenna scolds, giving his calf a little pinch; it jars Jason back to reality like a tug on a leash. “You’re doing great. This night is all about… feeling comfortable.”
“‘M def’nitely… comfortable, alright.” The word feels awkward in Jason’s mouth. Like he’s chewing a mouthful of silly putty. Or Laffy Taffy, that thick, sweet candy. A low moan slips out of him as his palate starts to water. He could go for some sweet stuff right now.
Another drag of beer. Did he just take one? He doesn’t remember. Ten seconds ago feels like a dream. He’s been sitting here forever… right here, in this spot, like he grew out of the ground. He’s only a statue. A… heavy stone statue of some ancient god, an altar where beautiful girls come to worship. They’re polishing his feet. Massaging his scalp. He doesn’t deserve it, doesn’t deserve any of it…
“Oh, he’s gone,” a voice above him rumbles.
“Told you that gummy was too strong!”
“Shh, he’ll be fine. Just has to come down.”
“How long does it take?”
“Umm… a few hours? Then he should be able to remember his name, at least.”
His… name. God, what’s his name? It’s on the tip of his tongue. Jason fumbles around for it, trying to form the word on his lips, but… it’s too far away. He knows who he is, but not who he is. Isn’t that funny?
“Shh, Jase.” Someone strokes his head, running their nails over his scalp. Jason shivers. “Wow, he’s so giggly.”
“He’s… out of it.”
“Completely.”
“Heyyy, Jason…”
His head lolls to the side. All the voices around him are slow and spacey, coming in echoes. The ancient gods, speaking to him. As his head lolls, he recognizes one… the silky headscarf, the syrupy dark eyes. Like rich whiskey. Like a flower blooming at night. Jesus, she’s so beautiful.
“Jason,” the goddess prods again. “Are you with us?”
He’d go with her anywhere. “Uhh… yuh-huh.”
“Good boy.” Another voice… another goddess. Someone tilts his head up, and he catches a flash of silky dark hair, mischievous eyes. Something’s being pressed to his lips. He gulps on instinct, drinking it down…
Another beer. The flavor grounds him, something he recognizes… something that feels good. Eager to please, Jason gulps and gulps, letting the dense liquid slide down his throat.
“Mmm, that’s right. You’re doing real good, baby.”
Someone’s massaging his Adam’s apple. His throat spasms. There’s a hand on his chest, beating gently. Oh god, he can’t—
aaAAOOUURP!
The belch releases in a rush of hot air. Jason blinks, dazed. He knows he should apologize, but his mouth has been turned to Laffy Taffy; he can’t get a single word out. The goddess above him only laughs.
They wash his hair. They scrub his face. They rub sweet-smelling lotions into his skin until he’s slick and glistening. Jason lolls in his chair, a completely vacant look on his face; his eyes follow them vaguely, but there’s no recognition, no awareness.
“He’s like a puppy,” Ofelia muses. She scratches his head, coaxing her nails along his scalp. Jason gives a soft whine, leaning towards her. “A very good puppy. Oh damn, this is doing things to me.”
The other girls bite their tongues, cheeks flushed. It’s doing things to all of them, but it feels wrong to admit it.
“He’s so zonked,” Jenna finally says. “He doesn’t even know what he’s doing.”
“Yeah,” Ofelia agrees, unashamed. “That’s the best part.”
“Yeah, but he didn’t… we have to talk this out. When he’s sober.”
“Yeah,” Ofelia agrees absently. She’s still stroking Jason, letting him nuzzle into her side. His head slowly lowers to land in her lap; the boy’s eyes flutter, blissed out. Ofelia’s eyes gleam with suppressed heat. “Yeah. Totally. Talk it out.”
“He only signed up for a spa night,” Jenna says firmly.
“And flying high,” Nadia adds with a giggle. (She’s had three gummies. Her tolerance is terrifying.)
“That too,” Jenna agrees, a faint smile crossing her face. Slowly, she leans down. At the sight of Jason lying there, his expression totally blissed, floating on another planet… the girl grins.
When Jason finally comes back to himself, he’s laying… on something soft. A lap? Someone cuddling him? The flash of hope strikes like lightning… and quickly fizzles away. He’s bundled up in a colorful blanket (bright pink, with Christmas trees on it), laying on the cozy chaise in Jenna’s room. There’s a soft pillow under his head. The room is warm, quiet, lit only by a string of fairy lights along the far wall.
Hazily, he lifts his hands to inspect them. His nails are… a bright, metallic blue. A soft laugh escapes him, surprise and delight all rolled into one. “Pretty,” he mumbles faintly; one hand rises to scratch his face.
On the floor, someone stirs. It’s Sanaa, splayed out with soft-eyes and faintly dilated pupils. She’s been staring at the ceiling for an hour, enraptured by the beautiful, rippling fireworks. For some reason, no one else can see them. That’s okay with her.
“Hey,” she murmurs, shifting closer to Jason. “You back with us?”
“Umm… I think?” His mind still feels like soup. Warm, happy soup. “‘S just so… I feel so nice. Ev’ry… ev’rythinng…”
When her hand lands on his chest, his words fizzle out. Sanaa hushes him, massaging all the heavy thoughts away; they slide like syrup, dripping out of him in a soft moan. It fades into a giggle at the end, his gaze hazy and reverent. Now, he knows who she is — sweet, steady Sanaa. He knows who wrapped him in a blanket and made sure they are all warm — dependable Jenna. He knows who gifted him this beautiful haze — adventurous Nadia. And he knows who adorned his finger with a shiny, silver-and-onyx wring… knows who draped a silver necklace around his neck, knows who pressed false studs to his ears.
“I don’t look… like myself,” he muses hazily, gazing at himself in the mirror. It’s around 4am; a few people are passed out, but Jason wants to walk around. Stumble, really. Ofelia is babysitting him.
“I know,” she agrees, tucking a lock of auburn hair behind his ear. He smells faintly of cherries. It makes his stomach growl. “You look cooler. Like, this is an awesome version of Jason. I’d see this guy across campus and totally think, ‘wow’.”
“Wow, he’s a goofball?” Jason murmurs.
“Wow,” Ofelia corrects, giving his hair a twinge. Instinctively, Jason curls toward her, giving her his full hazy attention. “This guy knows who he is. He’s cool being himself.”
“I don’t… know who I am, though.” It’s a hazy confession, something he’d never admit aloud. Jason’s eyes flutter.
When Ofelia leans in, close enough that her lips brush his temple… a shiver runs through him. He wants so badly to lean in. Wants all of her. Wants her to lay him bare, take him apart in pieces until there’s nothing left but raw pleasure — a senseless, purely human thing.
Ofelia just gifts him with a tiny kiss… and then pulls away. Jason’s temple tingles.
“Try this you out,” she encourages. “He’s pretty cool. And if you like it, great. If you don’t… we’ll still love you anyways.”
A thrill of pure pleasure runs through Jason — a wave of peace, of belonging. A soft noise drifts from his throat, almost a whimper. Ofelia smiles… they all do. His girls, hazy and soft and eager to take care of him.
For some reason, they care.
Jason’s never had that before.
“I- I—“ His voice is weak. He’s way too high for this. “I’m so glad… to be here. to have you guys.”
All of them. He loves every one of them. Jason’s hand drifts to the necklace around his neck, clenching it absently. The cool silver seeps through his palm, grounding him.
They’ve given him so much tonight… but this is the greatest gift of all.
“Oh, Jason,” Jenna sighs, reaching for him — and without hesitation, Jason lets himself be tugged back in.
What would college-boy-Jason think of those probiotic sodas, like Ollipop? I found that the flavors are really good (and where else can you get banana soda?) but if I have more than one, the extra fiber messes with me in some... fun... ways.
Oh my gosh, I'd never even heard of these... they sound hardcore! Are they popular with college kids now? ( Oh god, I sound so old... I've only been off-campus for two years, I'm not such a grandma! ) I can totally imagine him trying these out; maybe one of his guy friends gives it to him, maybe they're using them to bulk up and convince Jason to try them out. ( Jason has no interest in bulking, but these sodas look really yummy... he can never resist Banana Cream! )
So, for the next two weeks, Jason is living off these sodas. He always has one on-hand, always sipping one in between classes... he doesn't pay attention to how much he's drinking, but it's like... 2-3 sodas a day. And... yeah, it's definitely having an effect.
He's going much easier. More frequently, too, if he's being honest. Sometimes, he's just gaming or sitting in class, and all of a sudden, his stomach gives a deep grumble... it's contents turn over and begin to stir, and urgent pressure building in his gut. Very urgent. The next gurgle (loud enough to turn his classmates' heads) tells him, oh shit, it's time to go.
He's never actually shit his pants before, but for some reason, it's become a real concern lately. He's spending... a lot more time on the toilet. And his jeans are starting to feel really tight...
"You're bloated," Jenna murmurs, curled up beside him in bed. Jason's shirt is pulled up to expose his round, plush belly; his pants are unbuttoned. As she slowly massages his gut, it ushers up a series of soft hiccup-belches... jolting him, rattling his chest. Jason doesn't bother stifling them --- Jenna likes to know her work is having an effect.
"Don't know why," he mutters. "Haven't been eating big lately."
Her keen gaze flickers over to him.
Jason flushes. "I mean... too big. Haven't been stuffing myself. I've actually been sane at the dining hall lately... no third helpings."
"Mmm. That's a shame," Jenna murmurs, and gives his soft hip a pinch. Jason squeaks, then snorts a laugh. She can tease him all she likes, but he's not going to be embarrassed about his weight. It's very comfortable.
The bloating, though, is getting annoying. His stomach feels heavy and taut; it's getting hard to button his pants, and it's constantly gurgling. Loud enough to distract people in class, and leave him flushed as he makes his way across camps. Some days, he feels like there's a lead balloon in his belly, and it's just slowly blowing up, getting rounder and heavier...
Jenna massages the bottom of his round tummy, right where the gurgling is strongest. Jason isn't expecting it. A massive belch takes him completely by surprise, rolling up his gullet with a thick gurgling sound. He follows it up with a few smaller belches, mouth hanging open in shock. God, he needed that. He really--- aaauUUURP-- needed that.
By the time he's on Week Three of drinking Olipops, there's no denying the bloating. He's running for the toilet at inopportune moments... and when he raises his hand during a lecture to answer a question, a thick belch slips out instead. Jason's eyes widen; around him, people snicker and stare. His stomach gives a loud, insistent groan... and he has to adjust his sitting position. Stupid fucking gas. He's plagued by it. There's no escape, no moment he can forget what his stomach is brewing. The constant gurgles are proof of that.
Sanaa is the one to finally snap, snatching the can out of Jason's hand and dumping the rest into the sink. Jason springs up to protest... but his belly is huge and round, taut at a drum, and he can't move quickly. "Hey!" he gasps, and burps in distress. "I need that!"
"You," Sanaa declares, "have a problem. If you don't drop these awful sodas soon, you won't even be able to get out of bed. Look at your stomach, Jason! Does that seem normal to you?"
Reluctantly, Jason lowers his eyes to his belly. God, it's huge. Hidden beneath heavy winter clothing, it's not so noticeable, but now that his belly is out in the open... there's no hiding it. Although softened by a layer of chub, his stomach is a round dome, with very little give. When he presses a tentative hand into it, his guts rumble... and he has to clench against a burst of gas. Jesus, he's filled with it.
When he opens his mouth to reply, a wet hicc-UUrp escapes instead. His cheeks flush. It would be nice to control his gas, that's for sure.
"It's not a problem," he asserts. "I'm just crazy about that Banana Cream flavor. Tastes like heaven in a can. I mean..." The longer she stares at him, the more flustered he becomes. "C'mon, it's protein! It's healthy for you!"
"In moderation," Sanaa replies, the silky folds of her hijab rustling as she crosses her arms. "How many have you had today?"
Jason doesn't answer. He's already on his second--- and man, if he doesn't get to a bathroom soon, he's gonna have a problem.
Sanaa's gaze is crisp and cool; she stares him down, almost tranquil in her disappointment. It's a weird feeling, being seen straight through. Her eyes are a deep amber brown, with a hint of green when the sunlight hits just right; her expression is tranquil, like she could do this all day.
Finally, Jason gives in. "Alright," he says, holding up his empty hands. "Okay. Maybe I have... an issue. I'll work on it."
"No, Jason, you have to quit."
"But... but I've got... a whole pack at home..." He gestures weakly to an invisible case of protein soda. Not like the stuff's cheap.
"Give it to a friend," she sighs. "Or... drink it all in one night and blow your guts out. One last hurrah."
This thought actually makes Jason shudder (which is probably a good sign). If he drank the entire case, he wouldn't leave the toilet for a week. He'd have to set up shop there. Move his desk in, bring a pillow, change his damn zipcode. 18700-BATHROOM.
How gut gives a deep, low rumble... and that decides the problem for him.
Wordlessly, Sanaa steps aside, allowing Jason to hasten towards the bathroom. His bloated belly makes it impossible for him to run; it's more like a very determined waddle. Watching him go, Sanaa slowly crushes the empty soda can in her hand.
I rather love that Jason can't fit back into his old mold: physically and mentally, masking, trying to blend in, trying to hide in dull shirts and dull colors, just doesn't fit anymore. That he's very literally grown into himself.
And the thought of him trying get the girls' approval, even when they're not there... well, I don't think any of them are going to complain about there being a little more Jason to go around.
ohhh, corruption is such a beautiful kink... especially when the victim doesn't realize what's happening until they're already too changed to go back. in some way, i feel like jason did know... but he was already well on the road to corrupting himself, with all the drinking and putting on weight in college. at least, with the girls, it feels more controlled. feels like he's doing it for someone else, making someone happy... thus, it becomes 100x more rewarding. he doesn't mind being fat and lazy, but he desperately wants to be someone's good boy.
especially since the girls are doing it with the very best intentions?? they genuinely love him. they want him to be happy and self-confident. their efforts are changing jason for the better in so many ways... but he's definitely getting bigger. getting hungrier. and he's enjoying it so much more.... ahdshksdk, the odd crossroads between loving someone and making them worse. i adore it!!
Out of curiosity... had Jason been kissed before that last story? You've mentioned that he gets too nervous on dates...
ooooh, great catch!! i didn't even think of that... your first makeout session would be a hell of a birthday present, huh?
actually, jason has been kissed before. in 2nd grade, he was best friends with jamila prebuskar --- a little girl who always wore butterfly hair clips, was obsessed with american girl dolls, and wanted to be a bug doctor when she grew up. jamila was odd. jason was odd. they were a good match. they'd play together at recess every day --- usually some intense pretend game, "the kingdom is falling" or "the universe is being taken over by robot goblins". one day, they were hiding in one of the playground slides --- yeah, hiding together, from the goblins --- and they were tangled up in a puppy pile, and jamila said "do you think kissing's gross?" and jason said "i dunno" because he's genuinely never thought about it before...
and that's how he had his first kiss.
the next year, jamila wasn't in his class anymore. they just... kind of drifted apart. it happens all the time with kids. as an adult, he's never been kissed, and never been in a relationship... but he looks back on that childhood moment in the slide with a smile. it's nice to remember that --- at least for a little while --- tiny jason had a friend.
Do any of your characters especially like spice? Are there any who Cannot Handle It?
i mean, i know jason can't handle it at all. like, call an ambulance if this man eats a hot pepper. once he made the mistake of trying chili at a friend's house, and... the less said, the better. it was a horrific experience. not only did he almost start crying, and have to chug half a gallon of milk to ease the burn... the combination of spicy chili and dairy wreaked absolute hell on his belly. two hours of torment later --- breathing unsteadily, unable to sit still, his stomach groaning audibly as he sweated through his clothes, holding in the worst gas of his life --- he had to run to the bathroom. within five minutes, it was a literal crime scene. poor boy escaped that house and could never go back, he was mortified.
( weirdly enough, Lady Adeline also cannot handle spice. like... she's not used to human food,and doesn't generally indulge, but she can tolerate almost everything --- except spicy foods and gummy candy. for some reason, they both make her absolutely ill. gummy candy bloats her up, leaving her holed up in her rooms as she nurses a painfully-taut belly... and spice just makes her ill. have you ever heard an etheral eldritch sorceress belch? or even worse, watches her sprint to the bathroom? not an experience you forget in a hurry. )
also. richard. don't even try with the spice. he avoids spicy food like a plague, because he knows it's just going to end in tears. spice gives him horrendous stomachaches --- like, can't leave the bed, can't even wear clothes because he's so uncomfortable, what-the-hell-is-going-on-in-my-gut aches. rubbing his own belly is the only thing that offers a shred of relief... though having someone rub it for him might be even more effective.
as for those who actually do like spicy food, and eat it often : corvinus definitely has the stomach for it. more than that, he enjoys intimidating / horrifying people by showing off just how much he can eat. the man's poker face is too strong. he could eat a carolina reaper and not even bat an eye. dinah really enjoys spice, i feel like --- she got to try authentic new orleans gumbo on a family vacation, and absolutely loved it. ( alfred is literally a victorian british boy, one taste of spice might kill him. ) hank adores any kind of spicy food, even though he knows it makes him incredibly gassy. he'll try to hold it in --- his momma raised a gentleman, after all --- but if things get dire, he'll step outside or turn his head away to release huge, belly-deep belches.
