fandom-madnessess said:Can you do #56: poetry reading for Stackson? ♥ Hope you enjoy this, bb! It’s sappy Stackson!
Dark Things. Stiles/Jackson. Teen. Jackson takes Stiles out for a date night surprise.
“If you had me dress up just to have another paintball
rematch, you’re going to be sleeping in the wet spot for the next month.”
Stiles turns his head and gives Jackson his most serious ‘I mean business’
look.
Jackson is totally unaffected, of course, and merely rolls
his eyes as he smoothly changes lanes despite having so little room that Stiles
isn’t sure whether to be envious or pissed off at the risk taking. “You and I
both know that I’d beat your ass in a fair
game.”
109.
“Life is a highway, and I’m always drunk. So I’m not driving.”
thank you, baby! this is the last one I got, too 😀 i feel so accomplished.
–
“Life is a highway, and I’m always drunk. So I’m not driving,“ Jackson announces from his place sprawled in Stiles’ lap. Stiles is the only one listening to him either way, the rest of the pack either drunk on dealing with the ones under influence.
“You got the drunk part right, alright,” Stiles laughs and kisses Jackon’s cheek sloppily because Jackson won’t bat him away when he’s like this.
He still tries though, pushing weakly at Stiles chest even as he leans in to burrow closer into Stiles. “Hush your pretty face and take me home,” he demands, all sulky and cute.
“Your wish is my command, babe. Now get up so we can go to the Jeep.”
Stiles laughs again when all Jackson does is cling to him more.
“Don’t want to move.”
“Well, I’m not the werewolf in this relationship. I can’t carry your perfect butt
all the way to the car,” he gives said body part a loving squeeze.
“You’re perfect the way you are,” Jackson tells him out of nowhere, then nestles his head in the crook of Stiles’ neck, snuffling softly. “Just shut up so we can sleep.”
Stiles makes himself as comfortable as he can in the loveseat, leaning back and holding his boyfriend close.
Stiles woke to a mouth that tasted like ass and someone’s
hair tickling his thigh. It took him a
minute to gather the will to open his eyes; the room he was in was dark, but he
still had a groggy kind of headache that seemed to thread through to his stomach,
reminding him that he’d maybe had one too many drinks the night before.
The bedroom was small, slightly cluttered, and
unfamiliar. Flat light split through the
cracks in the blinds and the clock on the nightstand told him it was barely
past six in the morning. In his sleep,
he’d managed to take up most of the top half of the bed, a pillow mashed under
his face and another tucked like a stuffed animal in the crook of his arm; the
sheets pooled just beneath his navel and when he shifted, he heard a quiet groan
and the hair tickled further up – high up enough to make him twitch away with a
little snort of laughter.
A few quiet, sleepy minutes ticked by before Stiles felt a
hand curl around his thigh and a body move up, and a second later, Danny’s face
appeared from beneath the blanket, hair a mess and expression soft and
sleepy. His lips ghosted into a smile.
“Morning,” he murmured, voice hoarse.
Stiles leaned up on his elbows to see him better. “Morning.”
“It’s early.”
Stiles nodded.
“We had sex.” Danny paused, then scrunched up his nose
slightly. “I’m hungover.”
“A good night was had by all?” Stiles offered.
Danny grinned. “Yeah,” he agreed, then pressed his face
against Stiles’ thigh. “Sleep.”
tonight, i’m going to lose it all (playing with fire)
There’s no doubt that Jackson receives thousands of tweets and subtweets from his fans on a daily basis. Sometimes he gets bored and reads through them, but mostly, he ignores them. Most of them are calling him Daddy, which really freaks him out, and many ask if he’s gay.
Jackson likes the fact that he hasn’t come out yet. It keeps the media and his fans on their toes. He stretches out across his bed, scrolling through his feed on Twitter. Honestly, his notifications are overwhelming. He used to want this. He used to so power-driven; he used to think that nothing else would bring him happiness. Well, now he’s here, and now he’s bored. He’s bored, tired, and unhappy.
He has the day off, which almost never happens these days. No one ever tells you that when you become famous you have to go here and smile there and hold that product super casually as you walk from your limo to a store. No one tells you that the paparazzi sucks but sometimes the fans suck more. There’s no guide.
He hit it big with his one modelling gig that landed him a job on a high-profile movie. Jackson found himself swept up in this world that he’d longed to be part of for so long. For what? So he could go to red carpet events, one arm wrapped casually around his best friend Lydia, kiss her cheek, and have the headlines splashed with questions about whether they are together or not. He loved Lydia, really he did. She made those stuffy, boring, kiss-ass events amusing when she’d lean in real close and whisper some snarky remark about the people around them.
Jackson stops scrolling when he sees a particular tweet.
[img tweet from stiles: stiles24: honestly jwhittemore should try dating me – his life would be immensely better fr]
Jackson snorts. Who does this kid think he is? He clicks on his twitter profile just for shits and giggles. His tweets aren’t overly interesting, but they keep Jackson on his profile longer than he should be.
“If I send a mass text to all the people I like, I don’t need to get all of them gifts, do I?”
Scott snorts. “How many people do you like these days, anyway?” he asks.
“God, I don’t even know,” Stiles says, shaking his head. “Let’s see, there’s Lydia, Danny, Erica, Malia, Derek, Jackson, you…”
“And I told you, if I wasn’t with Kira, I’d be all yours,” Scott assures him, chuckling. “Wait, Jackson?”
Stiles shrugs and tries to play it cool. “Yeah, kinda? I mean, he’s hot. You know, objectively.”
“Yeah, he is. He’s also a dick.”
“I know,” he says, nodding a little frantically. “I know. He’s condescending, and arrogant, and infuriating, and a jackass, and awful, and I should hate him, only it’s all so obviously an act, you know? He’s obviously a mess, he just won’t let anyone see it. But he could let me see it–he could let me see a lot of things, actually, if you know what I–”
“Okay, okay,” Scott interrupts, waving a hand to cut him off. “I get it. So what exactly would this mass text say?”
Stiles hums, thinking it over. “I don’t know, something like ‘Hey, I know we’ve hated each others’ guts since kindergarten and you’d probably rather repeatedly stab yourself in the face with a fork than be anywhere near me, but wanna put your feelings aside and have some fun, or at least some hate sex, in the spirit of Valentine’s Day?’”
Scott raises a brow. “That sounds like it’s directed at one person in particular.”
Stiles just smiles sheepishly, a blush creeping its way up his neck.
“Look, man, I want you to be with who you want to be with, really, but I don’t want you to get hurt. And Jackson would hurt you without even thinking twice about it,” Scott says, looking at Stiles sympathetically.
“Yeah, no, you’re right. It’s stupid,” Stiles says. He nods and tries to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. “I totally have a shot with Malia, though, right?”
shealwaysreads 