Teen Wolf Imagines

Human Contact - Jackson

"You don't need excuses, big guy. If you wanted a hug, all you had to do was ask." Stiles jeered with a smirk stretched across his face.

Derek rolled his eyes, the corners of his mouth turning up as he held back a grin. "I'm serious."

"Well," Lydia shrugged innocently, "Scott has been pretty stressed out lately. Wanna test Derek's theory?"

"What theory?" Isaac inquired as he strode into the loft.

"Apparently, human contact can relieve stress for werewolves." Lydia snickered.

Scott raised an eyebrow. "I guess I'll try it." He seemed to be a perfect candidate for the experiment, his mind always whirring with new ways to ensure the safety of the entirety of Beacon Hills - there was no way he wasn't stressed.

"Stiles, all you." You blurted, raising both hands up.

Scott barely had time to send you an offended glance before Stiles had his arms wrapped around Scott's torso with his head nuzzling into Scott's shoulder.

"Hi, buddy." Stiles chuckled.

Everyone watched in anticipation as Scott's eyebrows furrowed together in bewilderment.

"Scott?" Kira's voice gently broke the silence.

He shook his head in wonder. "I think this is actually working."

Stiles pulled back, his hands still placed along Scott's waist. "Wait, really?"

"How is it possibly working? Why wouldn't it have worked with other humans?" You wondered aloud.

Isaac shrugged. "Maybe it only works with humans in your pack."

It made sense when you thought about it; Scott always seemed calmer when he and Stiles merely touched thighs while perched next to one another on the couch, and even Liam, with his intermittent explosive disorder, seemed to be at ease after a simple handshake with you. You'd brushed it off as the pack being comfortable with one another, but perhaps Derek was right.

And so, from that point on, you and Stiles involuntarily relieved stress of the shape-shifters within the McCall pack.

Your first encounter was six minutes before a trigonometry test; Scott came barreling down the hallway and skidded to a stop at your locker.

"Scott?" You inspected his ruffled hair and shortness of breath.

"Yeah, I can't find Stiles, so -", he cut himself off and enveloped you in his arms.

"Hey!" You began to protest, yet your complaints slowly died out as you reminded yourself that this was harmless. Scott was struggling in school because of his demanding title of Alpha, so you told yourself you'd let it go this one time and help him out just as he helped everyone else.

Scott pulled away and huffed out a breath of relief. "Thanks."

"No problem, Scott," you presented a gentle smile. "And good luck on the test. Wanna walk to class together?"

He gladly agreed and the two of you headed to class, sharing last-minute tips and advice on the upcoming assessment.

Your next occurrence wasn't as pleasant.

It was at an upscale Italian restaurant where you worked, Cucina Raffinata. As one of the well-trained waitresses there, you were meant to look and act sophisticated, refined, and upmarket. A friendly smile, proper posture, elegant strides; as if you were serving royalty.

All of which was quickly destroyed.

None other than Isaac came barreling into the restaurant and quickly spotted you serving food to an elderly couple at their table. The boy nearly tackled you to the ground, causing you to spill chicken parmesan all over the woman.

"My god, Isaac!" You shrieked, shoving the boy off of you to glare at him with wide, offended eyes. You were ready to start yelling at him, yet stopped short when you were met with the sight of his shattered self. He was practically sobbing, his entire body trembling, and you quickly pulled him into a tight embrace - the angry pair of senior citizens was the last thing on your mind.

You held Isaac's sobbing figure for a few minutes until it gradually died down. He pulled away and rubbed the back of his neck shyly.

"I'm sorry about that," he murmured as he shuffled under the critical gazes of the customers surrounding you.

"Hey," you placed a comforting hand on his arm. "Don't be. It's okay."

What wasn't okay was your boss who was on the verge of firing you and the woman with chicken parmesan in her lap who looked as if she was ready to kill. You couldn't bring yourself to care - pack always comes first.

"Allison," you asked her a few days later while walking home from school, "how come I never see you getting attacked for hugs by the guys? It would work with you too, you're human."

She shrugged and flashed a stunning smile. "I guess I'm just lucky."

You rolled your eyes and playfully shoved her. "I'm not. The other day, Liam got us both detentions for interrupting my history test so he could hug me."

Allison's grin grew larger. "I heard Derek showed up at the Sheriff's station and was basically cuddling Stiles for a good ten minutes."

The two of you giggled and told more ridiculous stories about the wolves within the McCall pack turning into softies for hugs. You waved goodbye to Allison as she arrived at her house and continued the walk to your own.

A few minutes before reaching your destination, your phone rang.

"Hello?" You cheerfully answered.

"Can you come to my house?" A strained voice responded.

You stopped in your tracks. "Jackson?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's me. Look, can you come over or not?"

"Uh, yeah. I'll be over in a few minutes."

Jackson hung up, no reply given. Your eyebrows furrowed and you turned around, making your way to his house with confusion tracing your thoughts. You and Jackson hardly ever spoke with one another, and he wasn't a fan of pack meetings, so you couldn't quite come up with a reason he'd want you to come over.

As you reached Jackson's doorstep, you hesitantly knocked. A beautiful woman answered who you'd assumed was Jackson's adoptive mother.

"Hi, um," you played with the straps on your backpack. "Is Jackson here? He - he called me."

"Oh, of course!" The woman stepped aside and gestured for you to enter. "Come on in, honey. His room is upstairs, first one on the left."

"Thank you." You smiled gratefully and made your way up to his room, only to be met with his closed door. You felt even more hesitant than before to knock, but you did.

"Jackson? It's me."

The door whipped open and you were met with Jackson's disheveled state. He looked tense; his posture was stiff and his hair looked charmingly messy. His room was a disaster - clothes strewn all over the floor, his computer desk looked as if it was pushed over, and a broken picture frame lay amongst the laundry.

You inspected his face in alarm. A few tears slipped from his eyes and were wiped away within seconds.

"Are you okay?" Your voice came out quieter than intended.

He gently shook his head. "I can't do this with Stilinski, but if this works for everyone else, maybe it'll work for me."

There was no time to ask him what he was talking about as he pulled you into his arms and wrapped them around you, resting his chin on the top of your head. You suddenly understood and remained silent, willing for this to work. Based on the current condition of his room, you'd assumed he went on some sort of rampage previous to your phone call.

The two of you stood in his door way for what felt like minutes, hugging one another. You began to sway back and forth in your spot and traced soothing patterns on his back with your fingers.

"Thank you." He whispered.

"No problem." You replied, pulling him closer to you.