Of course it’s okay, Nonny! Your prompt was really cute and I hope you like what I came up with for it! And I hope you’re still around to see the fic^^°
Beta-read by the wonderful @ohfuckthisshit, who also did some much needed cheerleading! Thank you ❤
Five times the pack tried to help Stiles’ love life and one time they did
Subtitled: Alpha knows best
Stackson, 4k, T, no warnings apply
1. Erica
Erica realises it first: Stiles and Derek are totally in luuuurve.
They have been spending a lot of time together lately; most of the time, Stiles is already at Derek’s when the rest of the pack arrives for pack meetings or movie nights and the like. Their scents have even started to mix! At first Erica thought that they were keeping it quiet, being secretive while the relationship is still new, but eventually she comes to the conclusion that nothing is going on, that they are just that oblivious.
Boys!
It’s obvious that they need help. And Erica knows exactly what to do – a healthy dose of jealousy has revealed many a secret affection yet.
So for the next pack meeting she chooses one of her lowest cut shirts, the shortest skirt, and her favourite red lipstick. Dressed to kill, she makes sure to bend over a lot in Stiles’ vicinity, cuddles up close to him on the couch, and sucks seductively on her straw. Stiles reacts appropriately for the most part, blushing at her antics, staring at her breasts for an ego-boosting, but not creepy amount of time, and flirting back slightly awkwardly.
But Derek doesn’t really react satisfyingly – he perhaps rolls his eyes a little more than usual, but even now, with Beacon Hills safe and at peace and no danger looming on the horizon, his basic setting is ‘grump’, so there’s no telling whether Erica’s flirting makes him grumpier than usual. The only suspicious behaviour comes from Jackson, who suddenly develops a hacking cough that night. In fact, Stiles might have spent more time asking Jackson whether he’s alright than flirting with Erica.
To add insult to injury, Stiles takes her aside after the meeting to ask whether everything is alright with her and Boyd. And then he hugs her and reassures her that while he appreciates her body, and fuck anybody who doesn’t, he loves her mind and soul, and that there’s no need to use her body as a weapon among the pack. It’s all terribly sweet, and yes, there might be tears and a few more hugs involved.
All in all, Operation: Red Wolf, Trial 1 is an all around fail.
The thing is, until he opens his mouth, the guy ticks all of
Stiles’ boxes.
He’s tall and broad shouldered and handsome. He’s got a jaw that could cut glass and the
prettiest eyes Stiles has ever seen. He’s
wearing a well tailored suit and there’s a subtle smattering of freckles on his
nose and he has that kind of swagger in his walk like he knows he looks good.
It’s like he’s stepped straight out of Stiles’ wet dreams.
Except.
Except then he opens his mouth.
He opens his mouth and says “hey, can I get some service?” in
the same impatient, smarmy tone that Stiles has heard a thousand times. From people like this guy, dressed in clean
cut suits with perfectly groomed hair, from groups of moms with screaming kids,
from bitter old people who tap their foot and act like waiting for more than a
minute will ruin their whole week.
The point is, it’s the kind of tone that instantly makes
Stiles’ hackles rise.
Stiles isn’t expecting to find Jackson standing on his front porch at nearly midnight.
The sound of the doorbell draws Stiles’ attention away from
the case file he’s been studying for hours. A quick glance at the clock tells
him it’s after eleven, which is too late for unexpected visitors. Did he order
pizza? He sometimes unconsciously sends in an order on his phone while he’s
hyperfocused on a case, especially when he hasn’t eaten in a while, so maybe
that’s who it is. Just in case, he grabs his wallet as he walks to the door.
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?”
Stackson AU: It’s their senior year of high school, and both Stiles and Jackson are broken and alone. They both are going through an existential crisis which seems to come with not knowing what to do after high school. Jackson didn’t get accepted into Harvard, the only college he bothered to apply to, to pursue law like his father. Stiles is facing the omnipresent question of what he wants to do with his life, because suddenly he isn’t so sure law enforcement is exactly his thing. It’s Jackson who starts it with a text, it was supposed to be a booty-call, but in their drunken stupor only cuddling ensued. Their senior year passed in a blur of fucking and booze, “C’s get degrees” and trying to figure their shit out. They talked more about life and future plans, than they did about the fact that they hated each other. Than slowly the “I think I’m going to”’s turned into “I think we should”’s. They decided that San Francisco was far enough away from home, and the John Adams Community College was a good start to getting credits without having a major set in stone. They rented a tiny apartment, that was somehow a mess all the time. Stiles got a job as a waiter at a hipster diner that had blossomed in the middle of downtown. Jackson worked in the library to reshelve books. They didn’t have to worry about money, because of Jackson’s inheritance, but they wanted to be self sufficient, so they stick with the money they make to pay their bills and to buy food. Sure, money is a bit tight, but their figuring shit out, and they have each other. They are both stupid and oblivious, because it’s Scott who points it out. “So are you two dating yet?” and it runs through Stiles’ mind on repeat till mid way through a very quiet meal together does Jackson finally sigh and ask what’s wrong. Stiles blurts out the question, which makes Jackson blink then a huge grin splits onto his face. “Yeah, I guess we are.”
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