a stackson kissing booth fic in which coach forces stiles to sign up and of course Jackson taunts him, so stiles bets he can get more kisses than Jackson
and their stations are right next to each other and they trade barbs all morning until someone – probably Lydia lbr – slams down a 20 and says “just kiss each other already”
they spend the rest of the day making out in the locker room
talk to me forever about stackson getting together and jackson being convinced stiles is in this because he wants perfection, wants jackson whittemore, richest and fairest and best of the land, and so he never lets himself stray from that. he pushes himself to impress stiles more than he ever has to impress his parents, which is a lot. he keeps his grades up, even bumping up his couple b’s to a’s, and he kicks ass at lacrosse, and he works out even more, and he puts his all into giving stiles the best orgasms of his life, even though they both know he has no one to be compared to. he’s a good boyfriend, but he always plays it cool. he’s perfect.
the thing is, though, stiles is a huge fucking dork. he’s goofy and ridiculous and unapologetically himself, all the time, and jackson would hate him for it if it wasn’t so endearing, because he doesn’t know the first thing about how to be himself. he’s not even sure he knows who “himself” is. so he watches when stiles bursts into song in the middle of a sentence, or cries at a sappy movie without shame, or dances around the kitchen while he makes them a snack after school, or lets himself go completely when jackson’s kissing him. and it makes his stomach twist in jealousy, because he wants to be like that. he wants to do shit like that without thinking twice about it. but that doesn’t fit into the prim and proper and perfect version of himself that everyone expects. that stiles expects.
stiles brings it up eventually, inevitably, asks him why he’s so damn stoic all the time. and jackson considers lying, shutting him down, like he always has with anyone that ever tries to get too close, but he realizes he doesn’t want to. he wants stiles to know him, or at least, what little of him there is to know. so he tells him everything, keeping his tone indifferent and emotionless, like it wouldn’t fucking wreck him if this relationship crashed and burned.
stiles listens to him intently and laughs when he’s finished, and jackson’s eyes go wide and he prepares himself for the rejection, the abandonment.
“you’re an idiot,” stiles says, but it’s fond. “i don’t give a shit if you’re the perfect jackson whittemore. i like you because you’re jackson, okay? just jackson. whoever you wanna be is who i wanna be with.”
he pulls his phone out of his pocket and taps around on it until music starts playing, and he gets up off the couch and holds his hand out to jackson, says “come on, dance with me.”
so he does. he lets his walls come down for the first time he can remember since he put them up so carefully. they spend over an hour dancing around stiles’ living room like idiots and screaming along to every song at the top of their lungs, and that’s that.
jackson stops being scared after that, as long as he’s with stiles.
So I was watching Dylan’s old YouTube videos and I started to think- What if Stiles had a YouTube? What if, unbeknownst to his friends in Beacon Hills, he actually had a pretty big following? What if Jackson was bored one day and he decided to randomly Google the pack members? What if he came across Stiles’ videos and thought they were pretty funny? What if he watched multiple “Ask Stiles” videos in a row and winced when, after being asked if being a YouTuber makes Stiles popular at school, the younger teen laughed and said, “No, I really only have one friend. It’s okay though. I only really need one.” What if Jackson found the latest one, called “Why I Haven’t Been Updating”? What if he watched it and was shocked at how different Stiles was- longer hair, pale with dark circles under his eyes, and stiller, only his mouth and head moving in the whole video. What if he broke a little inside when he heard, “I’m sorry, it’s just- I’m dealing with the death of a friend, and I’m not entirely healthy right now, mentally or physically,” coming with a sob from Stiles. What if he couldn’t believe that this is what the ADHD spaz he left behind turned into? What if he got onto the next flight to California because he just had to see Stiles? What if he texted Lydia for the first time in months to ask what happened? What if he showed up at Stiles’ house, coming through the window because he was afraid to face the Sheriff, and held Stiles as he broke down? What if he rediscovered old feelings that he had tried to squash so long ago? What if??
Stiles spends his winter break catching up on sleep and in general being a shut-in. The doctors are perplexed by his sudden remission, and between the constant medical appointments and therapy sessions, he’s too exhausted for much social interaction. Not that anyone is feeling particularly sociable.
Scott and Lydia take Allison’s death the hardest, or maybe it just seems that way to Stiles. Scott spends a lot of time at home alone. Stiles feels like he can’t reach him, or doesn’t know how. Lydia goes to Aspen with her mom for the month of December. She tells everyone she has bad cell service when she’s out of touch for days at a time. Chris and Isaac leave for a pilgrimage to France, or whatever they’re calling it. Stiles does not understand the Argent family ways, and doesn’t really want to. Derek disappears again. Stiles worries, but he tells himself it’s not his place. Kira’s parents pretty much have her on house arrest. Stiles is left without anyone to talk to, and that’s dangerous when he starts to question his very existence.
Sometimes he texts Danny, because knowing that he knows about werewolves and the supernatural now is a relief. They shoot the shit and it’s normal. Stiles desperately needs normal back in his life. One night, his dad takes him out for burgers at his favorite diner that serves curly fries. Stiles snaps a picture with his phone and scrolls through his contacts. He can’t bring himself to erase so many of the names. Heather. Erica. Boyd. Allison. Even Matt and Aiden are in there, and he never liked either of them. They’re all dead. He scrolls through again and lands on Jackson. He texts him the picture of his curly fries. He doesn’t even check what time it is in the UK.
Stiles drifts in and out of sleep that night, and around 2 in the morning he wakes up with his sheets tangled around his ankles and the sound of an incoming text. Stiles props himself up in bed to read it.
Jackson:You sent me a picture of curly fries with no explanation attached. This is the first time you’ve texted me in 2 months.
They haven’t told any of their friends they’ve been seeing each other, because there’s nothing to tell, really.
It’s not that Jackson’s ashamed of him. In fact, since they’ve started this, Stiles has frequented the Whittemore household constantly, staying for dinner with him and his parents more often than not. Jackson’s done the same at Stiles’ house; he’d even won over the sheriff with his irresistible charm.
They just don’t want to tell the pack because they know everyone would take sides, and they don’t want to hear the endless stream of “you can do so much better” or “what the hell are you doing with him” because they don’t even know if this is anything to get worked up over yet.
So they’re doing the secret thing.
Jackson shows up at Stiles’ place one morning before school, waving to the sheriff as he heads out the door for work.
“Hey, Stilinski,” he says, greeting Stiles with a quick kiss. “Think we can squeeze in a round before class? I’ll drive you.”
“Mm,” Stiles hums, smiling into the kiss. “I love that plan, but we can’t show up at school together, dude. Dead giveaway.”
Jackson just waves him off. “We’ll be careful. Do you want me to blow you or not?”
Stiles doesn’t argue again after that.
xxx
Jackson feels Lydia’s eyes on him before he sees them.
“Yes?” he asks her after turning around to confirm that she is, in fact, staring at him.
“Something’s not right,” she says, squinting at him.
Jackson swallows. He’s pretty sure she can’t determine his sexual partners just by looking at him, but honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised. It’s Lydia.
“That shirt. Stiles has the same one,” she says finally.
super reluctant friendships where they seem like they barely tolerate each other and no one understands why they hang out but then as soon as something happens to one of them the other is so protective and like “THEY MIGHT BE A LITTLE SHIT BUT THEY’RE MY LITTLE SHIT” oh boy
shealwaysreads 