Sterek Summer Spectacle – Week 1: Summer
Team: Bubble Tea Emoji
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Rating: T (language)
AO3: LINK
——–
“No, it’s not a wolf den. And it’s not completely in the middle of nowhere. I’ve showed you a million pictures.”
Stiles wagged his finger at the screen, doing his best to balance his notes on one knee, a pen in one hand and a forkful of microwave lasagna in the other. Skyping with Derek while studying for his history final – and trying to eat dinner – might not have been the best idea, but hey, he was the king of multitasking. “And how do I know that’s not just your neighbor’s house, sourwolf? Have you been biting people again and brainwashing them to your sourwolfy ways?”
“I’ll bite you,” Derek threatened, grumbling, and Stiles grinned his best shit-eating grin at the screen. “I’m not even an alpha, idiot.”
“Prove it,” Stiles challenged him, scribbling one last reminder to himself on his notes, swapping his pen for a highlighter and yanking off the cap with his teeth, spitting it onto his desk. When he glanced up, Derek’s eyes were glowing crystal blue at him, fangs bared in a wide smirk. His heartbeat fucking fluttered at the sight. Thank god Derek’s werewolf senses couldn’t pick that up over a Skype call.
How was it that, of everyone from home, besides his dad of course, he missed Derek the most? He hadn’t talked to Lydia beyond hurried texts and snapchats in more than a month, hadn’t seen Scott in more than four months, hadn’t had time to answer the e-mails from Kira and Danny and Mason sitting in his inbox, but he talked to Derek at least twice a week, and it only made him miss Derek more.
Tag: getting together
prompt, if you’re into it: likes the way that I stare. thank you, have a good one 😊
The first time Derek can remember taking note of Stiles’ gaze, they’re both sixteen and definitely not in the same social circles. If Derek was being more honest with himself, he would have said that he found Stiles attractive in a mildly annoying, irritating way at least.
But as it stood, he wasn’t ready to admit anything to himself. Not in the wake of his break-up with Paige even though they were still friends. Not when he had a shot with Kate who was an entire year older and easily one of the hottest girls in school.
So instead of being an attractive irritant, Stiles was just irritating. And staring at Derek. Who really needed to finish his homework if he was going to be able to go out with Kate during the weekend.
Despite being sixteen, his mom still insisted on making sure they all had the right priorities. He couldn’t wait for the day when he could be on his own. Parents were such a drag.
So here Derek was trying to study, but Stiles wouldn’t stop staring at him. Derek’s pretty sure he hasn’t blinked in the past twenty minutes.
He can’t ignore it. It’s too weird.
Before Derek even knows what he’s doing, he’s in front of Stiles, slamming his hands down on the book Stiles hasn’t looked at in the past half hour.
“What is your problem?” Derek hisses.
Stiles jerks back and glances at Derek like he’s seeing him for the first time.
“Huh?”
“You’ve been staring at me for the past half hour. What is your problem?” Derek repeats angrily.
He can feel his eyebrows doing that thing that Laura always mocks him for.
Derek only feels a little bad about it when Stiles starts to look genuinely freaked out.
“I’m sorry, man. I guess I just got comfy eyes going on,” Stiles says with a shrug.
“What the fuck are comfy eyes?”
Now Stiles is staring at him like he’s the freak which is just totally not real.
“You know, when you zone out and are looking at something or someone,” Stiles gestures toward Derek, “without actually seeing them.”
Derek doesn’t have a good answer for that. Usually when he’s not actively looking at someone, he’s looking down or focused on something else.
“Whatever. Just don’t let it happen again,” Derek mutters as he heads back to his table.
The next time he looks up, Stiles is gone and Derek thinks that’s the end of that. He’s got better things to worry about.
Shower Boyfriends
Derek’s always been a force-of-habit kind of guy. When he was little, this meant having the same breakfast every morning: Cheerios, two spoonfuls of Laura’s Honey Nut mixed in for flavor, and a perfectly ripe banana sliced on top before the milk was poured in. The milk would preferably be 2%, although he did accept 1% when they ran out and his mom was too tired to drive to the store.
When he was a teenager getting used to the new dynamics in high school, he volunteered to make shopping runs, and carried his habits over to his lunches. He carefully assembled his sandwiches each night, since he would’ve had to get up at the crack of dawn to avoid the jostling – and attempts to sneak extra treats into his lunchbag – that would inevitably happen once his mom and sisters were in the kitchen. Derek had never been much of a morning person.
That didn’t change in college, even when he got stuck with 8 AM classes his freshman year, rolling bleary-eyed out of bed to the shower and then down the hill to the history building, eating a banana or a granola bar on the way.
By his second year, he’s ironed out a new routine. He’s arranged his classes for the afternoons and evenings, and talked the housing office into letting him and Boyd keep their room. He’s gotten used to the showers – they’re some of the better ones on campus, according to friends who live in buildings with shittier rooms but nicer views or more convenient access to the student union. He’s lucked out, too, with the laundry room, which is newly renovated, thanks to a guy named Greenberg who’d had some sort of mental breakdown two years earlier, deciding to express his existential despair by systematically flooding all the washing machines and then trying to light his books on fire in the dryers.
And Boyd’s a pretty great roommate, as they go. Derek had worried a little about sharing a room with someone – it’d taken some trips to the hardware store and two rows of slide-locks to keep his nosy sisters out of his room – but Boyd’s on the quieter side, respecting Derek’s space and demonstrating a subtle, wry sort of humor that Derek appreciates.
Derek’s carefully mapped out schedule includes waking up a couple hours after Boyd, getting in some reading and finishing up homework assignments, if necessary, or spending that time working out if he’s all caught up, then slipping into a towel and his shower shoes and padding down the hall to what he’s come to think of as his stall.
He’s always there at roughly the same time of day – that sweet spot between morning and afternoon classes, when most of his floor’s already cleared out, or scrambling to grab lunch before running to their lecture halls. The bathroom’s on the larger end, with a line of tiled, curtained off showers and a row of chrome sinks bolted to the opposite wall. He prefers the stall at the far end of the room; it tends to stay cleaner for longer, probably because the other guys are generally too lazy to walk the few extra steps from the door.
That trend had held true for most of his first year, anyway. The part of Derek that’s always thrown off-kilter by changes should’ve expected something to shove a wrench into his plans.
Floating in a Blue Lagoon, Boy, You Better Do It Soon
Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Rating: T, Word Count: 998
Fluff, Angst, POV Stiles
♥
Read on AO3For @sterekwriters Summer Bingo prompt: Boating
‘We’ll come get you once you’ve sorted
stuff out!’ Scott shouts from the boathouse, waving enthusiastically.‘Asshole!’ Stiles yells back. He flips
Scott the bird, then sits down on the plank that serves as a bench.They’re slowly drifting to the middle of
the lake, and with no oars, they’ll probably keep drifting until they reach the
other shore. At least it’s not cold out, though that’ll happen soon enough in
the middle of the lake. It’s sunset, and Stiles can already see some of the
stars. It would’ve been quite peaceful, even nice, if things between him and
Derek weren’t so awkward.‘Sooo,’ Stiles says when he can no
longer take the silence. ‘What stuff do you think Scott needs us to sort out?’Derek raises his eyebrows. Okay, Stiles
knows what stuff Scott meant.He drums his fingers on the side of the
boat, hoping it’ll annoy Derek into talking, then the awkwardness will be
broken by their usual banter, and they can figure out a way to make Scott pay
for tricking them.Scott had said he’d wanted to go on the
lake with the boat, and Stiles had of course agreed to go with him. When they
got to the boathouse he’d found Derek already untying the ropes. He’d
considered going back into the house, but then figured Scott would be enough of
a buffer to avoid any tense moments. Derek had gotten in first, with Stiles
right behind him. Stiles had barely sat down when Scott gave the boat a shove,
pushing it onto the lake with all his Alpha werewolf strength.By the time Stiles’ fingers start to
hurt from tapping them repeatedly against the wood, Derek still hasn’t said a
word. He just keeps looking at Stiles like he’s trying to see into his brain,
or explode it.‘Well, this is awkward,’ Stiles points
out the obvious.‘Yeah. That happens when you kiss someone
then run away from them as fast as you can.’‘I… I can run faster.’
‘Now you can. You must’ve gotten in
quite the workout when you realized you’d forgotten your keys and decided you’d
rather run home instead of going back upstairs to pick up your keys.’Stiles groans. Derek is pissed at him, and
he has every right to be. Stiles had
kissed him, by accident of all things. They were saying goodbye after pack
night at Derek’s, and he’d just leaned in and laid one on him. It had felt so
normal, almost like a reflex, until Stiles remembered that he and Derek weren’t
actually dating, and then he’d run for it. He’s been avoiding the other man for
a week now, feeling too embarrassed and guilty about what happened.‘I’m sorry,’ Stiles says.
‘About which part? The kiss or the
running?’‘Both.’
Silence falls between them again. Stiles
stares at the scuffed noses of his shoes.‘You’re really sorry about kissing me?’
Derek asks. His voice is so soft it’s barely audible over the gentle lapping of
the waves against the side of the boat.‘Yes! I mean, I just kissed you. Out of nowhere. Without
knowing if you even wanted to.’ Stiles sighs and pulls his hands through his
hair. He’s already kissed Derek, might as well have it all out in the open.
‘That was just not how I imagined our first kiss. If we were gonna have one, it
would’ve been after I romanced the shit out of you. And we’d definitely be
alone, not surrounded by our entire pack.’‘Really?’
Stiles nods vigorously. ‘I would’ve
pulled you close and cupped your jaw and kissed you like it was the most
important thing I’d ever do in my entire life.’Derek scoots forward until his knees
touch Stiles’. Then he leans over, places one hand on Stiles’ waist and the
other against the side of his neck. He pulls lightly, enough for Stiles to get
the hint and move forward. There’s a suspenseful moment where they almost
capsize, but the boat steadies when Stiles lands in Derek’s lap. It’s not very
comfortable, the edges of Derek’s plank-bench press into Stiles’ shins and his
butt is only half on Derek’s legs. But Stiles doesn’t really notice, because
Derek is leaning in closer, until there’s barely a breath left between them.‘Like this?’ Derek whispers.
Stiles closes the tiny gap. When his
lips touch Derek’s, relief washes over him, followed by pure joy. The kiss is
gentle, almost tender, and neither of them feels any desire to deepen it. Their
lips moving against each other, the pressure of Derek’s hand on Stiles’ hips,
Derek’s thumb stroking Stiles’ cheek, Stiles’ forearms resting on Derek’s
shoulder, it’s all perfect.‘Exactly like that,’ Stiles says when
they finally pull back. He grins at Derek, who grins brightly back at him.
Stiles’ heart does a little backflip at the beauty of the sight before him.‘Oh my god,’ Derek huffs, breaking the
spell.‘What?’
‘There are oars in the boat.’
‘What?’ Stiles repeats. He turns his
head to where Derek is looking.There are two slim wooden beams lying on
the floor of the boat. Stiles moves off Derek’s lap and kneels down to pull one
out. Yep, that’s an oar.‘As I see it, we have two options,’
Stiles says, sitting back down on the bench opposite Derek. ‘Option one is we
just row back ourselves. Option two is we stay here and make out a little
longer, definitely until we’re even further across the lake, then still make
Scott come pick us up.’‘I like option two best,’ Derek
proclaims. Then before Stiles realizes what’s happening, he has a lap full of
Derek.‘Me, too,’ Stiles manages to get out,
suddenly breathless. He settles his hands on Derek’s hips, letting his fingers
wander beneath the hem of Derek’s shirt.They kiss slowly, taking their time, because
they have all the time in the world. Or at least until Scott comes to pick them
up.
Picture this: Stiles and Derek reconnect at John and Melissa’s wedding after not seeing each other for nearly six years.
Derek has been back in Beacon Hills for a few months, he’s working as a contracted consultant with the Sheriff’s Department and rebuilding the old Hale house, but making it a place where the ghosts won’t haunt him anymore. He’s been seeing a therapist and dealing with his PTSD and his other problems. He’s happy, or at least he’s mostly happy.
Stiles just graduated from Columbia, Summa Cum Laude bitches, and is moving back to Beacon Hills where he’ll be basing his new bookstore and supernatural consulting agency that he started in New York City.
Stiles moved back just a week before the wedding and things were so busy helping his dad and Melissa get everything together that he hasn’t even really seen Lydia and Scott, let alone Derek.
The wedding itself is lovely. It’s small and perfect for John and Melissa. Stiles and Scott stand up with their parents and mostly Stiles tries to pay attention to the service, but he may have gotten distracted by a certain someone in the crowd.
He may have spotted Derek in the third row and lost his breathe for a second because Derek aged well. He’s just shy of 30 with flecks of grey in his full beard, his hair a little longer then Stiles had seen it and he looks amazing.
Derek spotted Stiles too and he almost missed the vows and kiss because Stiles’ grew up well. He had looked good when he was 17, but Derek had felt a little creepy eyeing a 17 year old so he didn’t make a move, but now, now Stiles is 23 and a little taller then Derek remembered, and his hair is shorter but no less disheveled, he even had stubble.
After the service, once the reception started, Stiles found himself hiding in a coat closet and face to face with Derek Hale for the first time in almost 6 years.
“Did Scott’s great aunt Maria get to you too?” Stiles asks as he looks over the stricken look on Derek’s face and the smudge of gaudy pink lipstick on his cheek.
“Does she do that to everyone?”
“Oh yeah, my ass still has bruises from last Christmas. She’s a handsy old lady.”
Next thing they both know they’re sitting on the floor in the coat closet, Stiles snuck out and got them snacks and a bottle of champaign. Derek forgot how funny Stiles is, how his laugh can fill the cracks in his heart,
And Stiles, well he’s seeing a new side of Derek Hale. He’s seeing the lighter side that he always knew existed, that he saw brief glimpses of, the side he had always been drawn to.
By the time Scott finds them almost two hours later, they’re both a little buzzed and grinning like idiots.
They end up slow dancing to the last three songs of the night, Stiles’ head on Derek’s shoulder. Derek might have even kissed Stiles on the temple at some point. It’s sickeningly sweet and Scott had to leave the room because all the emotions and smells were driving him crazy. He didn’t ever need to smell that amount of arousal coming off of his best friend and his returned pack member.
Lydia gets some really great pictures of them dancing and even manages to snag one of the temple kiss. When she goes to drop them off at Stiles’ apartment a few weeks later there’s a rather conspicuous black Camaro parked next to the beat up old Jeep.
She leaves the pictures in the his mailbox and gets out of there as fast as possible because the window to Stiles third floor apartment is open and she never needed to hear Derek Hale make those kind of noises.
omg imagine a pack vacation, what would it be like? or even them separating in couples and sterek being left by themselves while each couple goes to do what they choose and what would sterek be as tourists? would they like museums, sights, hiking? bookstores, cafés? shopping? they would like to do the same thing or they would fight? their room would be messy or clean? omg chaRLIE STEREK AS TOURISTS
“You can’t be serious.”
“I’m dead serious, Stiles.”
Stiles groaned loudly and grabbed his hair- well, raised his hands to dig his fingers into the cap he was wearing backwards, the cap he had thrown on to hide the mess of brown hair on the top of his head, and he clawed at it in frustration.
“Lydia, you can’t seriously want to spend the whole vacation sunbathing by the pool. You’re in Paris, the city of love!” he exclaimed, throwing his arms up. “Explore it!”
“I’m well aware that I’m in the city of love,” Lydia started, still not turning her head to look at him through the big sunglasses she was wearing, “which is why I’m spending every second here with my girlfriend and enjoying it.”
Allison smiled from where she was laying next to Lydia and squeezed her girlfriend’s hand, their fingers laced together. It was kind of gross and Stiles was only a little bit jealous. Not because he was still into Lydia, no he was over that. He was jealous because he didn’t have what they had.
“You can spend time with your girlfriend exploring the city with me. Come on, Lydiaaa,” he whined, his shoulders slumping and his brows furrowing. If he were Scott, he would absolutely be making puppy eyes.
“Scott and Kira are off doing couple-y things with Erica and Boyd, Danny and Jackson are off doing whatever, and Isaac is off flirting with that girl he met. You two are all I’ve got and I can’t go exploring the city by myself!”
“I can go with you,” came a voice from the opened door to their hotel room, a voice belonging to Derek.
soft werewolf, sleepy werewolf, little ball of fluff
Summary: There were things that Stiles was in no way prepared for. He could handle blood now, could stand up to face monsters of just about any kind imaginable, he could deal with werewolves on a full moon almost like he was trained for it. But nothing could’ve prepared him for the sight that greeted him in the loft when he came back from college.
1.5k || G || AO3
AN: based on this doodle from aredblush, Coloured version here.
Stiles
thought he was prepared for everything. After all, he saw Derek topless more
often than strictly necessary – he still didn’t understand why clothes seemed
to fall from the werewolf’s body all the time – and he survived without making
a fool out of himself. It was a close call that one time when Derek shifted
into a wolf and then Stiles caught a glimpse of him naked when Derek shifted back. He saw the man work out, fight,
lounge on the surprisingly comfortable couch in the loft, and all that went by
without major flailing on Stiles’ part.The one
time when Stiles almost lost his composure was when he saw Derek smile for the
first time. It wasn’t the flirty smile he once threw at the officer in the
Sheriff’s station, nor the smug grin Derek reserved for when he was right about
something – the one that was always a little more smug when it was Stiles who was wrong, but Stiles wasn’t
going to read too much into that. No, it was a genuine, shockingly soft smile,
accompanied by a proud expression when Scott did a particularly good job at
being an Alpha.But even
those moments have not prepared Stiles for what he walked in on when he came
back from college. He knew that Derek was back in town, Scott had told Stiles
about the additions to what was now the McCall pack – Cora was around too,
though less than her brother because she was at college most of the time. That
was why Stiles went straight to the loft, wanting to have proof that Derek was
indeed there.
Oh look another one ❄
“Have you been eating well?”
Stiles snorted as he hung their coats in the closet. Leave it to Derek to get all mother hen the moment he stepped foot in Stiles’ new apartment. Not that his concerns were completely unfounded. Stiles had been surviving on a steady diet consisting of ramen and Mountain Dew for weeks. He was a college student after all.
“Hey, I know I’m skinny but I’m not that skinny,” he teased back, closing the closet door and leading Derek to the living room slash bedroom, waving an arm to encourage him to take a seat.
“I didn’t― That’s not what I meant,” Derek forced out gruffly. He looked so disgruntled, forehead furrowed as he wrestled with his words, that Stiles couldn’t help but laugh and playfully slap him on the shoulder.
“I gotcha, big guy. I gotcha. I’ve been eating just fine,” Stiles placated. Heaving a sigh, Derek tossed a skeptical glance at the small kitchenette, raising a brow in silent question at the empty counter and cabinets. “Okay, so I mostly just use the microwave and those takeout menus but― Uh, I’m not really helping my case right now, am I?”
“No,” Derek answered deadpan. He strode into the kitchenette, eyes critically sweeping over the ancient rusted oven, the dated linoleum tile counters, the battered wood cabinets. He swung the refrigerator door open to inspect its meager contents: a twelve pack of soda and cartons of leftover Chinese takeout Stiles had been meaning to toss. Stiles winced, waiting for Derek’s harsh judgement and scathing criticism. Instead, Derek straightened, gently closed the refrigerator door and turned back to Stiles. After a moment he walked out of the kitchenette and towards the front door, Stiles jogging after him.
“Wait! You just got here! What’s the rush?” Stiles asked once they’d gotten to the closet where Derek pulled out his jacket, slipping it back on over his shoulders.
Reaching back into the closet he pulled Stiles’ red hoodie from its hook and handed it to him, with a succinct, “We’re going out.”
“Uh, sure. Okay,” Stiles said, hastily pulling on his hoodie and zipping it up to his chin, following Derek out the door.
hurricane during a beach trip au~?
“Oh god,” Lydia cringes beside Stiles, and he looks up from where he’s arranging their bags in the trunk, glances over her shoulder.
“What? Are Scott and Allison making gross, sappy—” he trails off as his eyes land on Derek, wearing board shorts and flip flops.
Derek has feet.
Nice, perhaps slightly over excessively hairy toes.
Toe nails.
Two years of frat boys at college has still not adequately prepared Stiles for the sight of Derek Hale wearing flip flops. And board shorts. Black ones, of course— heaven forbid he actually deviate too much from the norm— but also a bright red vest that clings to his waist, and shows off his arms and, oh Jesus.
“Christ,” he blurts out.
“I know,” Lydia agrees, for no doubt totally different reasons. “What a mess.”
Of course, she’s worried about his apparel for its style related reasons. Not because Derek looks hot like the burning sun, and Stiles might have a meltdown before lunch.
Derek glowers across at them, “What. What are you looking at?”
“Shins,” Stiles says faintly, and then shakes himself when Derek arches an eyebrow and Lydia turns to stare at him incredulously. “I mean, I just— have never seen your uh, calves before.”
National Send a Nude Day
Jackson had come back to Beacon Hills at the end of their high school
careers, attending the graduation and taking part in the ritual to settle the
Nemeton that demanded all the members of the pack to be present, estranged or
otherwise. Stiles had immediately been acutely reminded of why he had such
trouble getting on with Jackson in high school – it was just like before he
went to London – but worse. Because Jackson was now settled into his own skin,
so Stiles now had to contend with him being hot as the sun and not being a
total ass. Lydia and Jackson had gone away for a couple of days to his parent’s
beach house, and come back with the messy tatters of their relationship
resolved. Their love had banked down into the kind of lifelong friendship and
understanding that both of them valued and protected. Jackson also happened to
casually come out to the pack as bisexual when commenting on one of Stiles’
rants about bi-erasure in popular media. All of this is to say that Jackson was
more relaxed (though still snarky in all the best ways), completely unattached,
and batted for both teams. Therefore, Stiles knew he was utterly screwed.
After Jackson’s departure back to London and his life there, the pack
made sure to maintain contact with group chats and regular Skype calls. Jackson
even sent the occasional post card if he was travelling in Europe, which
happened more and more as his career as a model started to take off while most
of the pack were going to college or getting jobs. It was close to the end of
Stiles’ time at the police academy that all of the pack was on a break from
their respective colleges and gathered in the McCall living room catching up
and eating Mellissa out of house and home. As they often did, the pack was
taking videos and pictures and sharing them with Cora and Derek down in
Argentina, and Jackson across the pond. Stiles was smugly showing off how he
could now do press-ups with the petite weight of Kira sitting on his back (yeah
okay so the academy fitness programme wasn’t all that bad after all) and Lydia was snorting as she sent the video
off to their far flung friends.
As he settled himself back into an armchair to watch as Scott jumped
into the centre of the room to demonstrate his feats of strength to a chorus of
‘not fair – you’re a werewolf!’ – Stiles’ phone buzzed in his pocket. As he dug
it out of his jeans he noticed Lydia watching him from the corner of her eye
and he squinted at her suspiciously before turning his attention to the message
on his phone. It was from Jackson, but not into the group chat the pack usually
used to communicate – this was a conversation thread that only he and Jackson
were a part of. It had started with a message wishing him a happy birthday the
previous year and the two of them had maintained pretty consistent contact,
sharing how their day went through messages and photos and anecdotes. Stiles
tried not to let on to the rest of the pack just how much he treasured those
personal moments that Jackson chose to share with him only, and tamped down at
every opportunity the growing desire to see Jackson’s smile in person again. He
was a grown up now, and had enjoyed college and all of its sexual and romantic
adventures to their fullest. So he was still vainly trying to pretend to
himself that he hadn’t fallen once again into his personal trap of losing his
heart to people that might care about him but never in the way he wanted, never
people that he could actually have more than a snowball’s chance in hell at
being with.
That being said, he’s sure every werewolf in the room heard his heart
skip a beat when he noticed the message from Jackson was just for him. Then he
opened the chat thread. Now it was likely that every were in Beacon Hills could hear his heartbeat
accelerating and thudding heavy in his chest. This was not a selfie like any of
the others Jackson had ever sent him, usually full of ridiculous duck mouth and
funny faces. Oh no, this was serious. This was a full frontal, fully nude,
fully overwhelming photograph that
surely to every deity out there transcended mere ‘selfie’ territory because holy wow that was Jackson naked and looking
right down the camera with his eyebrow raised just so and- and Stiles was
aware his mouth was gaping wide and hastened to snap it shut before anyone
noticed what was going on. Never mind the sudden readjustment of his seating
position to conceal any possible…effects of seeing, well, all of that.
Sudden bursts of laughter from the sofa dragged his attention away from
his phone screen and back to the group, and a giggling Kira turned her phone to
show him the group chat thread in which Jackson had shared the same photograph.
Stiles’ heart sank – of course he wasn’t being singled out and having a naked
selfie sent to him by Jackson of all people. It was a mistake. But then he
craned forward and saw that in this version of the photograph Jackson had put
laughing cat emojis all over the more…delicate parts on display. And had put
the ridiculous message ‘happy national send a nude day everyone!’
Stiles laughed along with everyone else, the cat faces were funny after
all, and the fact that Jackson was so relaxed with the whole group – enough to
share his frankly surprisingly goofy sense of humour – warmed Stiles’ heart. He
thumbed off a quick message to Jackson in their private chat, letting him know
that he had accidently sent the uncensored version to him, all the while trying
not to even think about the moral quandary he’d find himself in that night when
trying to delete that photo from his phone. He’s well aware he’s no saint. By
now the group is debating the merits and pitfalls of the naked selfie and if
they’ve ever done it, and Stiles relaxes back into the chair while he waits for
Jackson’s response. Probably a not-that-embarrassed ‘oops’.
But what he gets is another picture, this time one of him – clearly
taken at the gathering he’s currently at. It’s of him sitting in the same
armchair looking down at his phone with a totally, awfully obvious look on his face. His mouth is open, and his eyes
are wide and a treacherous blush is covering his cheeks and peeking up from the
collar of his t-shirt. It’s painfully clear what his reaction to the photo
Jackson sent him is – clear, unadulterated want is written clear across his
countenance. Before he can even begin thinking of what excuse he’s going to
give, what explanation is going to get him out of this potentially friendship
ruining exposure, another message blinks into existence before his eyes.
J: wasn’t a mistake. not if
that face means what i hope it means.
J: stop freaking out man. im
not fucking with you – not like as a joke anyway.
J: 😉
Stiles blinked at his phone, pretty sure his face was about as confused
as it had ever looked. And then his brain suddenly started working again as he realised
the angle from which the shot of him was taken – and he darted his glance over
to Lydia. His suspicions are, as usual, spot on – she held his glare and lifted
her head, her eyes flashing as she motioned for him to join her in the kitchen.
“Stiles, come help me with some snacks – you know I prefer your
popcorn.”
He dragged himself out of the chair and slinked out of the room after
her, dreading the conversation they were about to have. No doubt another
rendition of the ‘you have to stop doing this to yourself Stiles, attaching
yourself to unattainable people is a method of distancing yourself from real
emotional connection’. Yeah. The police academy has also demanded he see a
shrink. It had kind of helped in some ways, despite the clearly skewed version
of events he had fed her. But instead of being greeted with any kind of pitying
gaze, Lydia’s eyes were bright with mirth and she leant in close to him.
“So – what did he say?! Did you see your face?”
On seeing Stiles’ blank face and lack of immediate response Lydia
clearly filled in the blanks and grabbed him close to her, a rare embrace from
the girl who still sometimes seemed far away in her own head.
“Oh Stiles, come on,” she whispered by his ear. “Surely you must have
realised that the majority of those postcards have been for you?”
She sighed heavily and drew back, keeping her hands on his shoulders to
give him a gentle shake.
“I should have known better than to think this stupid naked idea would
work but you’re going to thank me for playing along in about 5 years, I’m sure.
No – shh. No. Let me speak. Yes he meant to send you that, no its not a joke.
Yes he likes you like that, no – he hasn’t told anyone other than me. He’s been
worried that if you weren’t interested back it would cause even more rifts with
the pack.”
Stiles opened his mouth to speak only to have one of Lydia’s tiny,
perfectly manicured, hands firmly placed over it.
“Need I remind you that we are currently in a house full of werewolves
and I’m pretty sure they’re going to start listening in shortly? I suggest you
go home and call him – video call so you can see he’s not joking. I’ll cover for you.” She leaned in to press a
kiss to his cheek. “Look after him, and I expect to get free reign on the
planning when you two get married in five years, okay?”
With that, he found himself unceremoniously shoved out the back door of
the McCall’s house with the door slammed shut behind him. With his mind ticking
over at about a million miles an hour, Stiles decided that he’d let Lydia’s
wisdom guide him in this instance and so he hopped into the Jeep and headed
home. Once there he headed up to his room, still filled with the echoes of his
youth – he wouldn’t be making enough money until he graduated the academy for
his own place – and pulled out his
laptop. When he opened Skype Jackson was already online and he picked up the
call as soon as Stiles made it. It was nearly nine at night in Beacon Hills so
Jackson was either up crazy late, or crazy early because of the time
difference. When the video call came through on his laptop screen Stiles had to
catch his breath because Jackson was perfectly put together, his hair styled
and his skin sun kissed. It looked like he was in a car with blacked out
windows – probably on his way to a shoot – and he was smiling at him.
“Hey, um – morning –
you’re up early?”
Jackson snorted and shook his head ruefully.
“Yeah, yeah it’s…pretty early here. But I wanted to catch you on a
night I knew you’d be off – didn’t want to keep you up too late on a school night.”
Jackson smirked, he knew Stiles hated it when he called the academy ‘school’
but it was just another part of the companionable snark that they had developed
over the last year. “I, uh,” the smirk fell away to be replaced by a slightly
pensive expression. “Lydia mentioned that just sending that picture with no
message might have been a douche move?”
It was Stiles’ turn to snort this time. He looked away from the screen,
avoiding eye contact in case he gave too much away, sill unsure of what exactly was going on here.
“Yeah I…I’m still not sure exactly what you’re trying to say and-” he
glanced up at the screen and saw Jackson’s eyebrows drawn together, and
returned his gaze to studying his knees. “And I really don’t want to get
anything wrong here so if you could, just, I don’t know. Explain? Or – I mean.
Lydia was kind of cryptic but was this some kind of prank…or-“
“No!” Jackson almost shouted,
interrupting his rambling concerns. “No. No this is not a prank, I wouldn’t,
this – this isn’t that.” Jackson clenched his jaw before continuing. “I should
have just listened to Lydia but I thought you’d like the photo and got carried
away. In my defence – I was up half the night winding myself up so maybe I got
a bit ahead of myself.”
Stiles just sat watching Jackson speak, at how it was apparently his
turn to stare at his knees and look nervous. Which, frankly, wasn’t a sight
Stiles had ever seen before. Nervous Jackson is not something that he thinks
many people have ever seen. Seeing
him like this made something flutter in Stiles’ belly, something that was on
just the right side of anxiety – more like excitement. More like hope.
“I sent you that picture because, yes, I’m an ass okay? But not in the
way I know you were thinking.” Jackson raised his face then, maintaining eye
contact with Stiles that felt electric even if there were thousands of miles
between them right now. “I did actually think you’d like the picture. I wanted – no – I want you to like the picture. Because I want you to like everything
I do.”
Stiles felt his mouth drop open again, for what felt like the hundredth
time that night. Was Jackson saying what he thought he was saying?
“I want you to like my postcards, I want you to like my editorials. I
want you to laugh at my jokes, I want to you be proud of my achievements.
Because. Because when I write those postcards I’m thinking of you, okay? And
when you laugh I just – your face just lights up and I could look at it all
day. And apparently I don’t care what anyone thinks anymore, and I’m glad of
that, but I care about the kind of person you think I am.” Jackson’s eye
contact hadn’t wavered, but Stiles could see the way he was clenching his jaw tightly.
The nervousness was still there in every inch of Jackson’s body, his eyebrows
drawn together and face earnest.
“Shit Jackson, do you- I mean- are you saying this because you value
our friendship? Because you know I’m proud of you – my classmates at the
academy always point out the magazines you’re in because they know I’m always
on the lookout for them.” Stiles couldn’t help the smile that stole across his
face thinking of it, and of the way all of his classmates also teased him mercilessly (though not meanly) about his clearly
massive crush on ‘Golden Boy’ as they all referred to Jackson.
“No, Stiles,” Jackson smiled again, but was shaking his head. “No,
though I’m happy to know I have my own PR machine back home, and I do value our
friendship – and I always will okay? Regardless of how this conversation goes.
But I mean that when I say I could look at your smile all day, the only thing I
want more is to kiss it.”
Jackson outright laughed at whatever wide-eyed look of absolute
surprise that crossed Stiles’ face at that remark. Because this? This was
beyond what Stiles every even let himself hope for. This was what he’d been
quietly, desperately wanting in that secret part of himself he hadn’t even
shared with Scott for the last three years. He realised that Jackson’s laughter
had trailed off and he was now watching Stiles with a look of apprehension, and
was clearly waiting for a response.
“Jackson, I mean. If you were here? If you were here, right now, I
can’t think of anything else I’d want more than to be kissing you.”
He felt the blush rise in his cheeks, and his stomach lurched at finally
admitting this out loud after so long. Jackson was fidgeting in his seat and
his eyes were looking out of frame, Stiles could hear the murmur of someone
speaking. It was probably time for Jackson to go to work. As fast as his hope
had come true, reality crashed in – Jackson was thousands of miles away, he’d
made his home in London and that was something they would have to contend with.
Stiles would be happy to have a long distance relationship but already he ached
to touch Jackson, just to hug him and feel that this revelation was real.
Jackson nodded at whomever was speaking to him and refocused on Stiles, his
face softening as he looked at him.
“I’ve got to hang up now okay? I’ve got to do something, but I’ll talk
to you really soon. This is a conversation we are gonna have but I just wanted
to be sure you knew this wasn’t a joke. Is that alright?”
Stiles nodded dumbly, still smiling despite the slight reality check
that Jackson’s busy work life was giving him.
“Yeah Jackson, just call me when you’re done and we can talk – and
don’t worry about waking me up. This is worth staying up for.”
Jackson laughed and nodded, gave a little half wave, and hung up.
Stiles was left with a blank screen that just reflected his own face back at
him, a combination of overjoyed and bittersweet that he didn’t get to have that
conversation face to face with Jackson. A loud rumble from his stomach broke
Stiles from his reverie and he dragged himself from his bed to go downstairs
and find some food, having been unceremoniously thrown out of Scott’s place
before the take out even arrived realised he was starving.
He was leaning against the fridge, trying to figure out what to cook up
for himself, when he heard a knock at the front door. His dad was out so he
figured it was just one of the pack come over to check on him, maybe Lydia if
she had been in on the Jackson thing the whole time. She would probably want to
see how their cunning plan had worked out, and make sure that Stiles was okay.
Their friendship had developed into a deep bond that had begun when they had
knuckled down to do the research to put the Nemeton to rest, and had blossomed
over the intervening years.
“Come in – it’s open!” He yelled from his position in the kitchen,
still mulling over whether he could be bothered cooking anything when he could
always call in a pizza.
He heard the front door open and then close, and soft footsteps through
the house but then nothing but a knock on the frame of the kitchen doorway.
“It’s good to know the future sheriff keeps a tight eye on security,
letting any old stranger into his father’s house.”
Stiles whirled around at the familiar voice, deep and warm and so much
richer in person rather than through a video feed.
“Jackson?! How? What?”
He was aware that he was probably gaping unattractively but this was
Jackson, in his kitchen, not some glamorous set in Europe. Jackson had one hand in the front
pocket of a worn, soft looking Beacon Hills lacrosse hoodie, and the other went
to rub at the back of his neck as he looked down, a bright smile on his face
and dimples in full effect. Stiles felt his knees go weak at the sight. It had
been six months since he’d seen Jackson in the flesh and yeah, maybe Jackson
looked a little tired from the transatlantic flight. But, God, he was gorgeous.
“Yes, me. How – airplanes, they’re these amazing things that fly in the
air, you might have heard of them? What. A conversation, which you – no – that
we deserve to have in person.” Jackson moved forward, within reaching distance
and so Stiles did reach out. His fingers brushed against the washed cotton of
Jackson’s top and he felt the warmth of him through it and suddenly he needed
more than that. Stiles practically threw himself at Jackson, wrapping his arms
around his neck and leaning into his warmth, needing the solid fact of his body
so much after the rollercoaster of emotions his evening had turned out to be. The
fact that Jackson didn’t hesitate for one moment before curling his arms around
Stiles’ waist and holding him tightly to him made Stiles’ chest feel tight. He
could almost cry for the relief that washed over him. Jackson really had meant
it, and he had come for Stiles. Instead of ruining the night with being an
overly emotional sap he contented himself with a deep inhale, the faint scent
of Jackson’s expensive cologne filling his senses. Jackson clearly took that as
permission to do his own scenting, slightly more thorough and definitely of the
werewolf variety. He rubbed his jaw along Stiles’ and then buried his face in
Stiles’ neck, his chest expanding with the deep breaths he took there. He
slowly drew back, his hands falling to hold Stiles’ hips as he put some small
distance between them.
“I hope this is alright? I’m not overstepping here, am I?”
The fact that Jackson would come all this way, plan this whole thing,
and then be willing to step back and give Stiles the room to say he was
overwhelmed was the clincher. Stiles brought his hands to Jackson’s face,
cradling that sharp jaw and rubbing his thumbs gently along his cheekbones,
knowing the smile on his face must be of huge proportions but simply not
caring. He leaned in slowly, giving Jackson plenty of time to stop him, and
then gently, softly, brushed his lips against Jackson’s. Jackson sucked in a
sharp breath at that first contact, and then a shivery exhalation against
Stiles’ lips, which were buzzing in anticipation. The hands on his hips gripped
tighter and pulled him in, their bodies once again aligned from knee to chest,
and Jackson leaned in to press their mouths together more firmly before drawing
back infinitesimally to draw his tongue along Stiles’ bottom lip.
“I have wanted to kiss that smile for an embarrassingly long time,”
Jackson murmured against his mouth before diving in to deepen the kiss further.
The admission only made Stiles smile even more, a grin breaking out across his
face and making kissing impossible. Jackson didn’t seem to care, dropping
feather light kisses across Stiles’ smile and cheeks and neck. And Stiles would
have been content to let him carry on all night, but his stomach chose that
moment to once again make itself known and grumbled loud enough that his human
ears heard it. Jackson smothered a snort in Stiles’ neck and then pulled back,
that same slightly bashful grin on his face.
“Let me treat you to pizza, order in, because I’ve been flying for
hours and I’ve been out of my mind worrying about how this would go so I couldn’t
eat a bite all day. Lets eat, and talk, and then you can decide how you want to
do this, if you want there to be an ‘us’. Okay?”
“Yeah, pizza sounds like a great idea. And lets decide this together,
because if there’s going to be an ‘us’ it’s got to be both of us choosing it.”
Jackson’s smile was blinding and he nodded, leaning in again for
another kiss, another kiss, another kiss.
—————————————————————————————
It turned out that Jackson could do his job based in California just as
well as in Europe, and it meant that various pack members could join him on his
round the world travels. Stiles graduated from the academy with flying colours
and was on the fast track to becoming the youngest sheriff Beacon Hills had
ever had.
Lydia was wrong in her prediction. It only took them two years before
they decided to get married. She did hold Stiles to his promise though, and
orchestrated a beautiful day for the two of them – intimate and full of family
and pack. Jackson never tired of kissing Stiles’ smile, and Stiles never tired
of showing Jackson how proud he was of him.
for @inell for always gracing us with her amazing stackson fics and for sending me the best inspo pics for ficlets – although this one turned out a wee bit bigger than I’m used to writing! thank you bby – and look out for the smile 😉 ❤
@eeyore9990 @poetry-protest-pornography and all the other stackson lovers out there
inspiration pic: here – nsfw peeps!
shealwaysreads 