I saw your reply to Erica said you'll accept any prompts. SO how about Stiles/Jackson with whatever YOUR favorite trope is???
*Cracks knuckles* Stackson Coffee shop AU it is because I can’t get enough of that shit - Let’s see how I do.
Stackson - Coffee Shop AUTeen-ish
It wasn’t that Stiles hated working at Bean Street Cafe, it was just that he hated the new guy, Jackson, with a fiery passion. He was smug, good looking (and he knew it), and acted like he was too good to be working at a coffee shop. Stiles was having none of it, it was hard enough to wake up at 4:30 AM for a shift, but it was even harder when he had to deal with the very punchable face of Jackson Whittmore when he got to his otherwise enjoyable job.
“Stiles, I swear to god if you say one more thing about Jackson, I will pour this pot of coffee on you,” Erica said, flicking her long blonde hair over her shoulder as she spoke. “I get it, you want to fuck him, next time he works take him in the back and just get it out of your system.”
“I- what? I don’t want to fuck Jackson Whittmore, I want to punch him in the face,” Stiles sputtered out, his voice an octave higher than usual. “His smug, perfect face.”
“Do you want to punch him in the mouth, with your mouth?” Erica asked, laughing as Stiles turned bright red, “I’m on to you Stilinski, you like guys who act like total douchenozzles but are really just misunderstood assholes under all the muscles.”
“Name one other person who fits that description,” Stiles squawked indigently.
“Derek Hale,” Erica said, her voice smug. Stiles mouth snapped shut. “That’s what I thought.”
“Okay, but we’re never mentioning this again,” Stiles hissed out, “If he ever found out he would hold it over me forever and I can’t quit this job, I have to pay rent.”
Moments later Jackson strode into the show, his apron slung over his shoulder, his hair artfully gelled and his cheekbones looking like they could cut glass. “Reyes, Stiles,” he said, sauntering around the counter and punching in before going into the back to get ready for his shift.
“I thought you were on a double with me today?” Stiles asked, his eyes flicking to the swinging door that lead to the back as he spoke.
“Oh, did I forget to mention that Jackson asked me to swap for his shift tomorrow?” Erica asked, batting her brown eyes innocently. “It must have slipped my mind.”
Without another word, Erica walked around the counter and out of the shop, the bell over the door tinkling as she did.
Stiles stood stock still, eyes anywhere but the door to the back. “Erica leave already?”
“Looks like it,” Stiles snarked, eyes sweeping over the emptying shop. It was a Sunday night, the slowest night at the shop, they hadn’t had a customer since an hour before Jackson got there.
They were quiet for a minute, an impressive feat for Stiles, before Jackson spoke. “Why am I here, it’s dead.”
“Why do you work here if all you do is complain,” Stiles retorted, thinking about the shiny Porch that Jackson drove and the designer clothes he wore, “Do you even need this job?”
Jackson grunted, looking up at the door like he was willing a customer to come in, no one did.
“Come on Jackson, we’re got all night of just the two of us, might as well have a conversation,” Stiles said, jumping up to sit on the counter where they put finished drinks. “Why do you have this job if you don’t need it.”
“Who says I don’t need it,” Jackson muttered, looking up at Stiles for the first time since they started talking, his blue eyes boring into Stiles’ brown ones.
“You drive a Porch, you wear Brooks Brothers everything, except when you’re in Hugo Boss, your hands don’t have a single burn mark that comes from time spent working at a restaurant or coffee shop, you have an iPhone 6plus, you wear Armani after shave, should I go on?” Stiles asked, then shut his mouth, realizing that he had kind of just admitted how much he pays attention to Jackson.
“My parents cut me off,” Jackson admitted, looking incredibly vulnerable. “I got kicked off my college lacrosse team for juicing and then just kind of spiraled, I don’t have any money of my own so I need this job, okay Stiles?”
“Sorry dude, that sucks,” Stiles said, reaching out and squeezing Jackson’s shoulder. “I had to take a year off when my dad got shot to try to help pay his medical bills, it’s not the same, but I kind of get it.”
“I just didn’t think they’d really do it,” Jackson confessed, his eyes soft, “I- I just wanted to make them proud.”
“Dude, I bet all you would have had to do to make them proud was do your best,” Stiles said, for once he wasn’t being snarky or sarcastic, his voice was as genuine as it had ever been.
To his surprise, instead of throwing a snarky comment back, rolling his eyes, or giving him a biting look, Jackson smiled a small smile. It lit up his entire face, his eyes crinkling in the corners and dimples appearing in the corners of his mouth. Stiles realized that he had probably never seen a real smile on Jackson’s face until that moment.
“Wow,” Stiles breathed out slowly, his hand moving of its own accord, caressing Jackson’s cheek.
In another surprising turn of events Jackson didn’t shove his hand away, instead he leaned into the touch, closing his eyes and softly smiling. “I’m going to, yeah,” Stiles muttered, putting his other hand on Jackson’s face and lightly guiding it to his own. He stopped when they were an inch apart, giving Jackson an out. He didn’t take it.
Suddenly their lips were slotted together, Stiles’ hands in Jackson’s hair, pulling him impossibly closer. Their teeth clacked together with the force of the kiss. Jackson’s arms wound around Stiles waist, hands creeping under the hem of his shirt and Stiles choked back a moan, nipping at Jackson’s lip as he did.
Somehow Jackson ended up flush against him, between his legs as Stiles sat on the counter. Stiles detached from the other man’s mouth for a second before sucking a kiss onto his neck, letting his hands roam down his back towards his ass. He heard Jackson groan as he squeezed the muscular cheeks and the sound when straight to his cock.
They were so wrapped up in the kiss that neither of them heard the bell over the door tickle. “I left for thirty minutes,” Erica said, her arms crossed over her chest, a smile playing across her lips. “That’s all it took for you two to be all over each other? If I had known that I would have locked you in the cooler a month ago.”
“Erica,” Jackson growled, not stepping away from Stiles, “Why are you back here?”
“I forgot my jacket,” She said, skipping to the back and coming out a moment later for her leather jacket slung over her shoulder. “As you were.”
Stiles looked at the clock on the opposite wall and then at Jackson, “Do you think anyone would notice if we closed early?”
“Nah,” Jackson said, vaulting over the counter with the agility of a former athlete and locking the door, flicking the lights off, and then grabbing Stiles by the arm, dragging him out the back door.
“We didn’t even dump the coffee,” Stiles said with a half laugh. Jackson didn’t seem to care because once they were outside he had Stiles pinned against the door of his Porch, his hand under his shirt and his mouth nipping at Stiles ear. “Yeah, Erica can do it tomorrow.”
Jackson didn’t respond, just kissed him, and Stiles didn’t mind one bit.
