Take my thoughts with you, and when you look behind You will surely see a face that you recognize.
stackson au: Where Jackson remains in Beacon Hills during the events of 3b and tries to lead a somewhat normal life again, along with the rest of the pack, after Allison’s death and overall chaos that ensued while Stiles was possessed by the Nogitsune. In the meantime, Stiles suffers in silence. His cries are muzzled by a feeling of intense guilt and grief. He blames himself deeply for what happened, still unable to comprehend the loss the pack has experienced.
Remembering how it felt like, how horrible it was to be conscious inside a body that was no longer his to command, Jackson tried to reach out to Stiles. It started simple. Jackson sat with him during lunch, offered his homework, helped during lacrosse practices and asked to hang out after school a couple of times. The more time he spent with Stiles, the more Jackson realized he’s slowly shedding the cocky and arrogant layer of his personality, giving Stiles not only a friend to lean on, but maybe even something more. He was meeting Stiles’ vulnerability with his own. He was showing Stiles that he’s not alone. Not now. Not ever.
a stackson proposal fic that is both in character and insanely adorable
a stackson airport reunion fic
a stackson road trip fic
a stackson “jackson holding stiles through nightmares/panic attacks” fic
a stackson long distance fic where they still hate each other when jackson goes to london but stiles texts him just to keep him updated and then it turns into talking every day and they fall in love without ever even having to see each other in person (◕‿◕✿)
or really just any stackson fic that i haven’t already read
NOTES: I don’t even know where this came from. This is absolutely unbetaed and literally hot off the fingertips. Sorry about the probable typos!
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Stiles hates masquerades.
He hates the way everyone hides behind a mask, the way alcohol flows at the frat house and makes everyone giddy and loud. He hates the way appearance and reality no longer match.
But it’s Halloween, and this is Halloween on a college campus. More importantly, this is Danny’s frat, and he expects Stiles to show up, at least for a little while. That’s what happens when you end up being friends. You suddenly have places to go and people to see. If you can even find them among the ghosts, witches, and monsters.
Hah. They don’t know anything about real monsters.
He shows up with Scott, who melts into the crowd with Isaac and Allison, and after a time Stiles spots them on the dance floor, tangled together and moving to the beat. She is Alice in Wonderland and they are the Mad Hatter and the Dormouse. Isaac is the biggest Dormouse Stiles has ever seen, but it somehow suits. They fit together, as they always do.
He drifts through the house looking for Danny, thinking that maybe he can say hi, chat a bit about the project they have due next week, then having dispensed with his friendly obligations, he can get out of the place. But he can’t find the dimples anywhere, and he knows that would have to be Danny’s tell. That smile glows from across a room.
“Oi.”
A hand catches his arm, pulling him out of the flowing movement of the crowd, into the shadows at the side of the room. Stiles jerks his hand free and stops short of giving the guy an elbow to the gut (or lower). This is a party, not an attack, although the sudden flash of blue eyes doesn’t make him feel better about it.
“Werewolf,” Stiles says.
“Black sheep,” the stranger counters, his accent lilting just a bit. British, maybe, but not quite.
“A wolf in sheep’s clothing,” Stiles retorts, because he knows what he saw. “If you even think about biting me, I will shove a stick of mountain ash so far up your—”
“I wasn’t going to bite you.”
The stranger stands there, easy and calm against the wall, arms crossed. It is as if he expected Stiles to recognize what he was, despite the puffs of black wool and the painted nose. The fingers on Stiles’s arm ease, drifting up to grip his shoulder.
“Then what’s the plan here? I was looking for someone.”
“Danny’s upstairs and he doesn’t want to be disturbed.”
Oh, so this guy must be one of Danny’s housemates. Frat brothers. Whatever they were called. Stiles raises his fingers up by his mouth. “Does Danny know you’re…” He crooks his fingers, miming fangs, and the other man laughs.
“Oh yes, he definitely does. He told me you’d be here.”
Oh.
Oh shit.
Stiles feels his face go hot and red, his heartbeat speeding up. “Look, whatever Danny told you…”
“You. Like. Wolves.” On each word, he moves, turning Stiles so that his back is agains the wall, pressing in close, lifting him up just enough that he can’t easily run. “You like danger.” The strange wolf dips his head, pressing his mouth against the pulse on the side of Stiles’s neck. “You like men and women equally, which makes you just my type. You like to be pushed around. You like it a little… rough.” Those fingers grip his shoulders tightly, digging in, and Stiles swears he feels claws.
The problem is, he can’t deny any of it. But he can be angry. “Danny wasn’t supposed to tell anyone that.”
“He didn’t think we’d meet up when he told me.” The wolf nuzzles his throat, teeth and tongue burning against Stiles’s skin as he speaks. “He thought I’d be staying in England. But I’m here now, and you’re here… and it seems like I’m your type.”
“Fucking asshole.” Stiles wants to push him away, but at the same time, that low growl that’s rumbling through the werewolf is really hot, and he kind of just wants to drag him up and kiss him senseless. So he does.
He doesn’t care that this is a werewolf that has taken innocent blood. He doesn’t care that it’s a stranger, because he knows Danny, so he must be somewhat safe, right? Stiles doesn’t care about anything other than the taste of a mouth filled with sharp teeth, the slide of a tongue against his own, and the rough snarl as the kiss is turned back against him and his mouth is plundered deeply until Stiles whimpers and presses back against him.
The kiss gentles, slows, that tongue teasing at his mouth until Stiles chases it, tasting blood on their lips and wondering why that is arousing, too. It shouldn’t be, it really shouldn’t be, but it is, and he whines his assent as the kiss continues, tongue licking into his mouth again.
When they break, the only thing he can see is the dark is the flash of blue eyes. Stiles tries to wrestle his breathing back under control as his mind catches up to what’s been said. “What… England?”
It explains the accent. Sort of. Except. It isn’t really a British accent and as teeth flash in a familiar smirk, Stiles suddenly knows exactly who this is. He wedges his hands between them, shoving hard. “You asshole!” It pushes him into the light and even though there is a mask over his eyes, Stiles would recognize Jackson anywhere. “You fucking asshole. I’m going to kill Danny for telling you that, and I am going to kill you more for using it against me.”
The corner of Jackson’s mouth tilts up. “Why? You liked it.”
“Yeah, I love being made a fool of.” Stiles can feel the anger burning hot under his skin, ready to boil out again. When Jackson grips his wrist, Stiles tries to pull away but Jackson’s fingers bite in, pulling his hand down to press against Jackson’s pants.
The hard ridge in Jackson’s pants.
Stiles’s eyes go wide.
“Yes, you idiot, I liked it, too. Do you really think I would have yanked you into a dark corner and snogged you senseless to embarrass you?”
Now that Stiles recognizes the voice, he can pull out the old accent and hear where it mixes with the new, the influence of more than two years in London. He doesn’t have a response for that, so he simply pulls his hand back and stares at Jackson, uncertain.
Jackson leans in, stepping closer and pushing Stiles back against the wall, both hands on either sides of his shoulders. His face is close, nose to nose. “If I wanted to embarrass you, I would have done it publicly,” he murmurs. “I would have done it in the middle of the dance floor and left you standing there, hard and aching with everyone looking on. But I dragged you into the dark. Why?”
By the time the words are done, Jackson’s body is flush against Stiles, pressing him into the wall so that Stiles can feel his reaction, feel the way they press against each other. His entire body is hot, wanting more of this despite his gut instinct reaction that Jackson means danger.
Of course, danger equals hot, so that doesn’t help much.
“You didn’t want anyone to see if I rejected you,” Stiles finally says quietly.
“Exactly. And you didn’t, because you don’t want to.” Jackson dips his head, teeth light as they scrape along the side of his throat. “You want this just as much as I do.”
“I don’t want to be at this party.”
“Then we’ll leave.”
Stiles blinks, and nods quickly. “Okay.”
They pause on the way out when Danny calls out Stiles’s name. Jackson waves him off, pulling Stiles in and kissing him thoroughly, and they both hear Danny’s laugh.
Stiles has a feeling that Danny might have leaked that personal information on purpose.
Right now, he can’t find it in himself to be angry about it.
His room’s going to be empty for a good long while, as long as Scott’s out with Allison and Isaac, and Stiles intends to put it to good use, since it seems like he’s Jackson’s type.
God knows, Jackson’s exactly what he was looking for, sharp tongue, long teeth, deep growl and all.
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Prompts are now closed for the Kiss Meme. I have a whole bunch in my queue to work through at 2-3 per day.
Want to read other things I wrote? Check out my AO3 archive.
Jackson’s captain of the Lacrosse team (co-captain asswipe), guys want to be him, girls want to be with him. He’s not obsessed with Stiles, whatever people say, the guy just gets on his nerves all the goddamn time, that’s all there is to it… right?
‘What the hell is your problem?’
‘What, apart from the fact that you hit me in the face with your Lacrosse stick, on purpose?’
‘It’s a violent sport, you should man up and learn how to take a hit.’
‘Yeah, well you should man up and fucking kiss me already.’
"Stilinski, I might be an asshole, but I’m not a complete dick.“
Stiles is so sure that Jackson was the “fuck ‘em and leave ‘em” type, and most of the time, he’d be right. But Stiles is different, and this time, Jackson doesn’t want to leave.
shealwaysreads 