We learn more about her past and learn more about where she came from and how she became in that film. The notion of exploring that even further in her own film would be great, and we have some development work with that.
anyone up for sleepover saturday? (▰˘◡˘▰)
- embarrassing stories
- descriptions of your crushes (SERIOUSLY OK)
- cheesy jokes/puns/pickup lines
- assumptions about my life (idk man)
- curious/tmi questions
- for advice (life/blog, ect)
- for a blog rate/compliment (if you want one!!)
- truth or dare!!
Stiles goes away to college. His school happens to be where Derek and Cora settled down. It’s a freak coincidence. No big deal.
"What in ever-loving hell—”
She turns around and Stilinski’s gaping—not in an entirely unattractive way, just mouth slightly parted and eyes totally bugged out. He’s staring at the coffee shop across the street, frozen. “Are you one of those people that get offended by Starbucks? ‘Cause if so, this buddy thing is so not gonna work out during school—”
"No, I—" He seems to come back to himself, shakes his head a little and looks back to her. "D’you come here often?"
She grins, can’t help herself. “I thought we had the boundary talk—”
"Fuck, no" he groans, and then he’s pulling her behind the closest tree. "Do you go there," he grits out, hands alternately running through his hair, twitching towards his pocket, "to that Starbucks, have you been there during—the past six months—”
She knows that look, sees it enough working at the student help-desk and her volunteer hours at the psych ward. He’s manic, fluttering everywhere, and it would be just her luck to be assigned the freshman with either caffeine or paranoia issues, or both.
"Stilinski, calm down—" She reaches for him and he flinches back, her fingers just brushing over the rope of scar tissue in the crook of his elbow. Shit fucking hell she did not sign up for this, but better her than the other dumbasses who qualify as mentors—"Stilinski, I need you to breathe. I am not going to touch you, but you need. To. Breathe. With me, now.” And she breathes, in, holds a few seconds, blows out, breathes in again, makes sure he’s following along. He is, back and hands clenched against the rough outer bark of the tree, eyes hazy for a few long minutes before his breathing is back to normal.
She lets out a sigh she didn’t know she’d been holding.
“Fuck me,” his voice is a little rough, but not raw, and thank god because she doesn’t deal well with tears—but it’s also probably not a great idea to make another dumb sex joke. “Okay,” and it’s eerie how quickly he pulls himself together, shaking it off and straightening his spine like he’s done this before, a lot. “I know this is weird, but I just need to know—that Starbucks, have you been there lately?”
"Yeah." She’s still a little off balance from the way he suddenly isn’t it, but he seems to be just fine by the way he’s sticking his head out from behind the tree to stare across the street again. ”Uh, yeah. That’s where I usually go on campus, it’s better than the other one, stuff’s fresher—are you okay?”
"What?" He’s grimacing when he turns back around to face her. "Oh yeah, it’s not really—I mean, you did better than the last person who had to deal with that. Uh, sorry.”
"I’m your student buddy," she says firmly, more confident than she feels. "I’m supposed to be here to help you." Stilinski’s focussed on something behind her again; she gets the feeling she wouldn’t be able to see it. "Hey, tell me—what should I do if it happens again?”
"It won’t—" he looks at her face and stops, "but if it does, what you did was good.” She nods, relieved, and he continues, “I told you—the last girl, she kissed me, so you’re already ahead of the field.”
"What a consolation—she sounds smart.”
"She’s pretty great, actually," Stilinski grins fondly, "we were all just—really stressed at the time.” He winces again, more rueful than annoyed. “Listen, that guy in there. Dark, stubble, kind of scary vibes? Do you know him?”
She leans out around the grizzled trunk to get a look, tries to think back to to her long, fuzzy hours typing up notes, begging SPSS to work, buying another drink if the place was filling up and she’d been there since opening. “I don’t—" The barista at the window straightens from wiping a table, and she actually does recognize him. "Oh, Derek?"
“Fuck me,” Stilinski says again, heartfelt.
"He seems like a nice guy, kinda quiet. His sister works there too, sometimes. They’re—" staring over at them right now, actually, the both of them, Derek at the window and Cora behind the cash register. "Uh, I think they saw us."
"Of course.” He knocks his head back against the tree. “Well, my cover’s blown. Might as well go in and hand over my number.”
This job involves making sure her freshman doesn’t crash and burn, even if she didn’t think it would extend to this kind of situation. "Stilinski—" and he’s stepping off the sidewalk, looking across the street both ways, "even if you are, I’m pretty sure he’s not gay—”
“‘m both teams, actually” Stilinski says absently, waiting for a banged-up Prius to pass them.
"Sure, whatever, safe space and all that—" He starts crossing and she has to follow out of some vague sense of responsibility over this weird kid. "Look, he’s never responded to guys or girls hitting on him. Neither has his sister! You don’t want—”
"Oh, don’t get me wrong," Stiles says, and they’re there, they’re at the Starbucks and he’s opening the door, voice rising in volume, "I’m going to hit him alright—Derek Hale!”
HE’S GONNA HIT THAT
Isaac is the first one to notice. Of course the one time it would be helpful for him to not catch a scent, he does.
There’s a swift intake of breath through the nose and then a slight furrow of his brow before,
“Stiles, you and Cora?”
His meaning is clear to everyone at the table, evident by the scrunch of Allison’s mouth before she silently laughs and the smirk on Danny’s lips as he bites into an apple.
Stiles whitens as he looks around the cafeteria before focusing on Isaac. “Oh my god, you cannot tell anyone. Especially Derek. Actually, you can tell anyone you want except Derek.”
"Hate to break it to you, but he probably already knows," Isaac says.
the night before
Cora is in his room for only the second time ever, and it’s unnerving how quiet she is. It’s very Hale-like, Stiles thinks, to be this aggressively silent and hot at the same time.
"So you knocked?" He nods his head toward the window, where Cora had entered.
She’s now sitting on his bed, next to him. Close. Stiles’ face is hot, and he doesn’t know what’s going to happen next, but suddenly Cora’s face is inches away from his.
"What’s this? What’s happening?"
Her lips turn up slightly, and her nose sniffs like she’s either stifling a laugh or taking in Stiles’ scent and, woah, that really turns Stiles on in a way he did not expect. You’d think he’d know by now, having spent the past year running around with werewolves. But, yeah, minus a few confusing dreams about some people who will not be named, nothing has felt as sharp and bright as the press of Cora’s lips against his.
Stiles basically whimpers. It’s embarrassing, but Cora seems amused. She doesn’t pull back to whisper, “I’m awake. This is the next time.”
Stiles frowns. “Huh? I don’t—" And his voice is, wow, way too high for this situation. But Cora kisses him again anyway. She kisses him and pushes him down, so his back is flat against his bed, and straddles him. And, yeah, Stiles could get used to being manhandled by a werewolf is it’s like this.
“Stiles,” she hisses. “Shut up.”
Stiles shuts up.
He falls off the bed while getting out of his pants, but he sure as hell shuts up.
Scott’s expression is two parts impressed and one part terrified when he finds out.
Stiles winces at that one and, tight-lipped, says, “Mhmm.”
"Cora Hale took your virginity.”
"Okay, you don’t have to act like it’s something that happened to me. I was a full and willing participate. Very willing, actually. Now I know why Allison had sex with you. Doing it with a werewolf is—"
"Okay, okay. I really don’t need to hear anymore about your sex with Derek’s sister."
But he pats Stiles on the shoulder.
Avoid Derek’s loft for a while.
It’s disconcerting, to say the least, to receive this text from Lydia, who is a freaking banshee and only says these cryptically ominous things when they’re about to find a dead body. Stiles’ hopes it won’t be his.
Yeah, he’s definitely going to listen to Lydia.
"So everyone knows."
Cora raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. She’s in his room again, and she’s close. Not just physically, but she just feels warmer and lighter and like she’s somehow lifting some of that dark weight off his heart.
He touches her arm gently, and she doesn’t move away, so he thinks it’s safe to talk.
"I didn’t tell them, I swear. I wasn’t, like, going around bragging or anything. Not that I wouldn’t want to brag about you because, uh, yeah, wow, you know you’re hot. And the werewolf thing totally works for me apparently. But they just knew, mostly because they’re all werewolves with insane noses and slightly gossip-y, and anyway I hope this doesn’t ruin the possibility of us, you know, again—”
But then Cora’s lips are on his, and, oh yeah, there’s going to be a next time.
Sometimes you need chocolate chip cookie pie. Right now is one if those times.