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 Jacksonâs house and, noticing his parentsâ cars were MIA, decided to walk right in, backpack slouched over one shoulder.
Jackson didnât come out to greet him, which wasnât unusual. He was more of the âyou come to meâ 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 wasnât exactly sure what happened, because he was about 98% sure whatever heâd done had absolutely nothing to do with getting fat. But heâd figured a way to reverse the spell heâd cast last night and that should do the trick.
And if it didnât, well. Heâd address that later.
âYo, Jackson? Â Iâm here.â
Jackson shouted back from upstairs. âNo shit, Stilinski. I could hear you a mile away. Literally.â
He went up and stopped outside of the door to his room and said, sort of hesitant, âCan I⌠Come in, or?â
Jackson opened it himself, a look of vulnerability hidden under layers and layers of arrogance and determination and oh my god. Stilesâs eyes widened, taking in the sight.
âOh my god. You. Werenât kidding.â
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 didnât know.
But the lacrosse t-shirt he was wearing was tight across his chest and that big. Fat. Belly. Stilesâs 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 Jacksonâs face just in time to see it twist into a mask of fury, and Jackson stalked closer.
Stilesâs heart was beating rapidly in his chest, and he only dimly recognized it wasnât 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 Stilesâs chubby stomach just slightly.
Stiles could feel his own pulse, too strong, and weirdly tingly in his neck. As his eyes met Stilesâs again, they were flashing ice blue. âDonât say a fucking word, Stilinski.â
âWell thatâs gonna make spell casting a little difficult, but Iâm sure I-â
He tugged Stiles by the strap of his backpack and shoved him into his room, slamming the door.
âHey, easy on the merchandise, buddy. Iâm here to help you.â
