#creationsomine

[captaindreamcicle]

When I was growing up my parents never wanted to rent or lease, it was always about buying and owning. I guess there's something about living in a country that isn't your own that makes you want to make sure everything you own is.

exert from the memoir i'll never write

[captaindreamcicle]

Prompt inspired by: "my favorite college experience is when i had a 7am class and the kid next to me literally poured a monster energy drink into his coffee said “i’m going to die” and drank the whole thing"

(Also, this is my first time writing Stucky, sooo, hope you guy enjoy it)

James walked into his Intro to Film class ready and willing to jump out of a window. At first glance he could tell it was that class, the first row already holding nothing but kids wearing hand knitted beanies and silver studs adorning their faces. Except, well James had no room to talk, if the glint in his lip and the very obvious left ripped sleeve, emphasizing his prosthetic had anything to say about it. Even then though, James liked to think he was one of the good ones, one of the film students who didn’t flaunt his extensive knowledge of film trivia in everyone’s face.

Picking a safe seat away from the Pretentious Pile, as he had started calling them in his head, he placed his bag down on a desk near a window. “This seat taken?”

The boy was much smaller then James originally assumed, his small pointed elbows shook across the desk as a pencil scratched its way in neat circles on a starch white piece of paper.

"Hm?" He looked up startled. "Where you uh, yeah, I mean no, that seats not taken."

James nodded, but the small blonde boy had gone back to the the work in front of him before he had a chance to sit down.

.

For the most part the class wasn’t too bad. Okay no, it was great. It was one of James’ favorite classes and it really was all thanks to the professor. Professor Banner was pretty young, he’d once been a physicist that worked for NASA and James wasn’t really sure how he had ended up at NYU teaching an Intro to Film class, but he was by far the best professor James had ever encountered.

He was a pretty chill professor, not the kind that tried to be friends with everyone in the class, but the kind that generally cared about his job and what he was teaching, and he didn’t have time for the Pretentious Pile-who now had names, some among where Tony Stark, who’s dad owned a huge production company, and Brock Rumlow, who was just an asshole-bullshit. James respected him and was always eager to attend class.

The one thing he enjoyed more, although if his roommate and long time friend Natasha asked, he would deny deny deny, was the skinny kid who always happened to be seated two seats away from the window in the last row in the room. The Artist, that’s what James had named him in his head. One, because the skinny twerp always had his head stuck in the sketch book that never seemed to leave his side, but mostly because he had never once spoken in class in the twelve weeks they’d had it and so James never got his name.

.

It was the last week of the class James had learned to love and Professor Banner was going over last minute details about their final paper that was due the next, and last, time they met. Everyone in the class, including James, collectively groaned. Finals were going off all over the place and campus had started to look like the aftermath of a zombie epidemic. Students everywhere were living off of coffee and stumbling from class to class looking half dead, again James included.

That particular morning though James hadn’t been able to get his daily coffee intake, thanks to Natasha horrible boyfriend and James’ best friend Clint having decided that he was the only one who got to drink the last pot. James vowed that he would kill him, but only after stopping by Starbucks after class. To add to his misery, when he has stumbled into his seat, blond and pointy Artist boy wasn’t in his usual seat, and as James had scanned the class, he wasn’t anywhere to be found. So begrudgingly, he had sank into his seat and willed class to be over quickly.

That was until, five minutes into Professor Banner’s spew about revising our final papers, the one and only door to class flew open and a small blonde flurry stepped in out of breath. James shot up straight in his chair, catching the square jaw and blue eyes that came with the body, for only the second time since beginning the class.

"Mr. Rogers, nice of you to make it to my class." Professor Banner smiled, not even turning around.

The lanky boy stopped, eyes wide, and blushed. “Sorry professor, got a bit lost in my figure drawing class, lost track of time,” he mumbled out.

Professor Banner turned and must have game Mr. Rogers a reassuring look, because the tension in him seeped out and he began walking to his seat.

"No worries Steven, don’t let it happen again." He gave a short chuckle, knowing there wouldn’t be an again.

The Artist-Steven, took his seat next to James, quietly and class continued. James tried to calm himself at the exciting prospect of now knowing The Art-Steven’s name, but was brought out of his own at the smell of fresh coffee hitting his nose.

Slowly he turned his head towards Steven’s desk and sure enough a tall cup of coffee along with a tall can of an energy drink sat where he’s sketchbook usually evaded his desk. James scrunched his face in confusion, wondering as to why Steven would have both drinks out. 

It wasn’t until he looked over Steven’s face, watched had take a deep breath as he uncapped his coffee and reached his skinny pale fingers over the top of his energy drink, that James got what he was doing. His eyes went wide as he watched Steven pour the contents of his energy drink into his coffee, breath out again, and bring the rim of the cup to his lips, but not before muttering “I’m going to die”.

James’ hands acted before his brain could fully catch up. With his right hand he stopped Steven’s arm and with his left he pulled the coffee cup straight out of his fingers. 

"No." 

Steven looked up at him, startled, almost as if he had forgotten where he even was.

"No." James repeated placing the cup as far away from Steven’s reach as he could, keeping his metallic fingers curled safely around the it.

Steven said nothing, eyebrows drawn in confusion, before turning away and staring straight ahead for the remainder of class.

.

When Professor Banner dismissed them, James grabbed his bag and walked out forgetting all about the coffee in his hand, until he felt the pull of an arm behind him and the sound of gasping as the coffee in his hand spilled all over him.

"Oh my god. I am so sorry, I didn’t-I-I.." 

James looked up from the empty cup in his hand, Steven was stammering in front of him, and turning redder then any human his size should have been able to turn.

"I really-I will, I’m sorry," he finally finished, wringing his pale hands in front of him.

James remembered he hadn’t said a word. “It’s okay, the coffee was cold already anyways.”

Steven froze in front of him before kneeling over in laughter. His laughter was a lot deeper then James had expected and he found himself smiling.

"I-I’m still," Steven tried to calm his laughter. "I’m still sorry," he said out of breath. "I was just-just trying to ask why you stole my coffee earlier."

James tilted his head to the side and looked at him like he was crazy. Steven begin to fidget again.

"What?"

"Because you were right."

"Right?"

"Yeah, you were going to die."

James wasn’t sure what about the very obvious reason that he couldn’t let the cute blonde artist boy that sat next to him and never talked, drink the poisonous death trap in a cup he had concocted, but it sent Steven into another fit of laughter.

"Steve." he said between gasps of air.

James looked at him confused.

"My name.. Steve.. Call my Steve."

James smiled, forgetting about the sticky mess his arm was going to become if he didn’t clean the coffee off of the plates soon.

"James," Steve smiled at him. "My name is James, but you can call me Bucky."

[captaindreamcicle]

Stora Week Day 5: Hurt/Comfot

Stiles wasn’t sure how he got to the point where traveling in his cramped jeep, for forty-two hours plus, with Cora Hale as his right seater, was a good idea. Oh wait, that’s right, he never did. Instead she had hopped into his moving car, on his way out of Beacon Hills, and refused to get out cause, Stiles had decided, she was a bitch like that. 

Which is exactly how they ended up lost in a empty gas station somewhere in Waynesville, Missouri.

“I fucking told you not to get off the highway Stilinski, but nooo,” Cora growled, throwing her hands up in defeat. “You insisted that this ‘short cut’ would cut out an hour from this little trip.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, as he regarded the open map splayed out across the hood of his Jeep. “I never even invited you on this trip Hale, so please keep your bitching to yourself.”

Cora’s mouth fell open, before she flipped him off and walked into the gas station looking for something to keep hydrated.

Stiles turned to watch her leave, mumbling to himself about how the Hale’s where ruining his life-considering he was only on this trip cause he was trying to save Derek Hale’s fucking life, you’d think she would be nicer to him.

Frustrated with the humidity choking the space around him, Stiles ran his fingers through his hair, looking for the best possible route to get to New York the fastest. For a moment though, he just closed his eyes, enjoying the very limited peace and quiet he was bound to have on the rest of the trip. It was interrupted only seconds later when the bell above the door leading to the small connivence store rattled.

“Alright, so I asked the cashier and he said we’d have the best of luck just continuing on I-44, fastest route.” Cora’s voice didn’t sound as angry anymore, just tired, a lot like Stiles felt.

He nodded, folding up the map. “Think we should keep traveling a couple more hours, try and make it out of Missouri, we’ll get a place to crash in Illinois and continue from there.”

Cora said nothing as she folded herself back into the cramped front seat, placing a plastic bag on the floor in front of her. Once Stiles buckled in, she offered him the cold drink in her hand.

“I picked up some waters, a couple of energy drinks, some fruit, and some junk, figured it’d keep us good till we stopped and found some real food.”

Stiles chugged half the bottle of water, before turning to face her, face going soft. “Think you could drive till Illinois?”

Cora grinned, nodding her head excitingly. Stiles chuckled to himself, bouncing into the passenger seat Cora had left empty.

...

They got a room with two twins in Collinsville because it would be cheaper. Or so Stiles told Cora. Really he just didn’t feel like sleeping alone. Cora had gone out to get some grub at a local diner they passed entering the town as Stiles took a shower and relaxed on the squeaky bed. When she returned he was dozing off with the remote to their small tv balanced on his chest. They ate in relative silence as Stiles rehashed the next day’s plan to Cora, they had about fourteen hours left to travel. 

After fueling up Stiles laid out to watch more late night tv as Cora took her turn at their crappy water-pressured shower. Sitting on the counter, waiting for the water to turn some sort of not Alaska cold, Cora contemplated what would happen once the pair made it to New York, as far as she knew there wasn’t any plan set in place as to what the two of them would do to rescue her brother from the soul sucking clutches of the Demon that had somehow convinced him to sell his soul. Hell, Cora wasn’t even that up to date on how you banished Demon’s from earth, and somewhere in the pit of her stomach trusting Stiles made her very very nauseous. Quietly undressing, Cora payed no mind to the tears that were threatening to spill out, not trusting herself to cry until she was under the spray of hot water.

Stiles heard the soft sobs, muffled by running water, as he laid in darkness, restless against the scratchy sheets. He thought back to the last twenty-eight hours spent with Cora in his cramped jeep and knew that she was terrified that they wouldn’t be able to save her brother. They hadn’t exactly discussed a game plan on how to do so, but Stiles was very well aware that if he told Cora what he planned on doing once they got to New York she wouldn’t let him finish the trip. Still the echo of her sobs caused a tightening in Stiles’ chest that he tried to ignore every time he checked in with Lydia and she questioned if Stiles had told Cora they truth yet. Eventually he drifted off, the memory of Cora dying in his arms replaying itself over and over in his mind.

...

They were halfway through Indiana when Cora made Stiles pull over again because she was hungry and they hadn’t even had breakfast. “A granola bar and shitty coffee doesn’t count Stiles!”

The only place available at that moment was a nice little diner hidden off the ramp and Cora would have to be okay with it cause it was better then nothing. An older lady sat them in a booth near the back, giving them a knowing smile, before going off to get their coffee.

“I think she thinks we’re together.” Cora commented off handedly. 

Stiles' head whipped up, starring at Cora eyes wide.

“Don’t look so terrified Stilinksi, I’m a joy to have around.” She snapped at him.

Stiles shook his head, and went back to texting Lydia about their pit stop.

“You’re texting Lydia?” Cora said in a way that wasn’t really a question but a remark.

“Yeah.” Stiles answered anyway.

Cora was quiet for a moment, as the waitress stopped by with their coffee and promised to be back to get their orders shortly.

“Are you guys, like, together?” 

Stiles stopped texting, mulling over what to say next, to Cora his silence was enough of an answer.

“Oh,” she let out quietly. “I didn’t know.”

Stiles shrugged, not bothering to correct what he knew Cora thought. He wasn’t really in the mood to go through the crisis he knew was that territory.

“Guess I must have forgotten that in the accident,” she spoke mostly to herself as she opened her menu. “Not like you guys have really helped me out, by clearing anything up though.”

Stiles could hear the frustration in her voice, but pretended he didn’t. Cora bit back more tears as she hid her face behind her menu. When the waitress came back they both ordered the house special, then Stiles excused himself to go wash up, leaving his phone on the table.

Honestly Cora hadn’t meant to pry or go through his phone, she had just wanted to know the time, but when she had picked up his phone a small message from Lydia had popped up.

Listen Stilinski, stop being a little shit and tell her. It’s only gonna get WORSE the more you wait.

Cora felt her heart speed up, was Lydia talking about her? Another message popped up before she could place the phone back where it was.

I know you love her Stiles, but you have to tell Cora the truth about what happened that night. She deserves to know that Derek sold his soul to save her.

And suddenly just like that Cora’s heart dropped into the bottom of her empty stomach.

“What are you doing?” Stiles sounded a little panicked as he approached Cora. “Cora. What are you doing?”

Cora looked up at Stiles, eyes turning amber. Growling, she stood up. “You lied to me. You fucking lied.” Then she was out the door.

Stiles caught up with her as she was attempting to hitch a ride. Slowly he pulled his car over and jumped out, jogging towards her before she decided to run.

“Cora!” he yelled over the traffic. “Cora, please listen to me! Please let me explain!”

“Explain what Stilinski!” Her eyes shone bright yellow as she approached Stiles. “Explain how you fucking lied to me about my brother, and the accident! I died didn’t I? I fucking died that night and you let Derek sell his soul for my life.”

Stiles shoulder dropped as Cora stood less then a foot in front of him. “No.” it was barely a whisper, but he knew Cora’s werewolf hearing would pick it up. “I mean yes, you died that night. A wolfsbane bullet straight to the heart, there was nothing we could do. But, no, Derek didn’t sell his soul for you, least not at first.” Tears began to stream down Stiles’ face, he could care less care. “I-I couldn’t live with myself knowing that you got shot because you’re so damn fucking stubborn Cora, you dived in front of a bullet for me. It was all my fault and,” his hands began to shake as he remembered the blood that had stained them that night. “I had to do something. I had too. So I found a crossroads couple miles out of town. I was making the deal with the demon when your brother-fuck. Fucking Derek showed up and he wouldn’t let me finish the deal. I couldn’t just let you die!” he was screaming at this point and Cora could faintly remember the sound of a bullet whizzing by before it had gone dark. “I love you and I couldn’t let you go.” Stiles was shaking as a sob tore through him.

“So Derek made the deal instead.” she whispered as he fell to the ground in front of her.

“He made me promise not to tell you, then he took off. It took me three months alone just to track him down, another two to figure out a game plan.” Stiles was looking down at the dirt around him, Cora kneeled down and put a hand on his.

“Why didn’t you tell me about- about us?”

Swallowing back more tears, Stiles looked up at Cora. “Deaton told us sometimes memory loss was a side effect of coming back. I figured when you didn’t remember me it was best for both of us, specially with the plan I had come up with to save your brother.”

“That wasn’t your decision to make Stiles.”

“I know.”

Both teens sat on the side of the road in silence until the clouds above them formed dark shadows across the sky. Then quietly they both climbed back unto the the Jeep. 

Cora was the first to break the silence. “So, we’ve got fourteen hours left. I’m gathering by all this that your game plan is too trade your soul for Derek’s?” 

Stiles cleared his throat, before nodding. “We can’t break the contract, or you’ll die, so I just planned on changing it.”

Cora closed her eyes frustrated. “It wasn’t your place to play with death like that Stiles, sometimes what’s dead should stay dead.”

Stiles shook his head vigorously. “No. You weren’t supposed to die. I wasn’t gonna let you die.”

Cora opened her eyes to Stiles’ broken face. “I don’t remember loving you,” her voice cracked. “But I can feel it, like an old wound.”

Stiles fell silent, he wasn’t sure where to go from there. Lucky for him Cora had a new idea.

“We have fourteen hours Stilinski, think that’s enough time to learn some Latin?”

Stiles shrugged his shoulder. “I’ve done more in less.”

Cora nodded, “Good. Let’s get going then?”

Keeping his eyes on the road, Stiles steered them in the right direction. Clearing his throat again, he glanced at Cora out of the corner of his eye. “Where does that leave us?”

Cora avoided his gaze by looking out the window, watching the blurred corn go by. “I don’t know.” Fidgeting in her seat, she pulled out her phone, beginning their search of Latin. “We can figure it out later. Right now we have a couple of souls to save.”

[captaindreamcicle]

Stora Week Day 4: Angst (mostly an AU)

(20 minutes late, but whatever, inspiration struck laate)

Basically the one where it's a Need For Speed AU cause I'm hella obsessed with the movie and Allison is Little Pete.

It’s very likely that if Stiles hadn’t disobeyed Jacksons orders to not drive that car Allison might still have been alive. The snowball effect of epic proportions might have given him back two years in jail for manslaughter that he didn’t commit, Lydia wouldn’t hate his guts, he never would have lost his dads garage and his friends would be okay. But no one could really blame Stiles for driving the car. The truth was Jackson wouldn’t have been able to get that beauty to two-thirty, and the buyer, Derek would never have bought it. So when Jackson challenged Stiles to a race for the 2.7 million dollars, winner take all, well Stiles never thought Jackson would be heartless enough to do what he did. Either way, it was all in the past. Stiles couldn’t bring back Allison, and he couldn’t take back the decision to drive the very car he was in, twenty-eight hours from California, with Cora Hale as his right seater, all he could do now was race in the De Leon and beat Jackson at his own game. All for Allison.

[captaindreamcicle]

Stora Week Day 3: AU

Rumor had it they were sisters, all three of them, the werewolf, the hunter, and the banshee. They went by the last name Winchester, but if you ever really got a look at them you knew they weren’t even closely related, all three girls looking like they’d come from different ends of the universe. If you were a high level hunter, as Stiles liked to call them, or just knew the right people, you’d know that each girl did come from different ends of the universe. For starters the werewolf was the last living member of the Hale Pack, an old werewolf family that had ruled the east. The hunter was the daughter of Chris Argent, a hunter that came from an family that had once lived by the Code. Lastly the banshee was once a normal girl, from a wealthy family that ruled the Upper East Side, until an unfaithful day she was attacked by a werewolf. Wether it was destiny, which Stiles did not believe in, or just a huge coincidence all three girl where brought together thanks to one unlucky werewolf.

It didn’t really matter to Stiles, all he knew was that the girls weren’t really related, that Lydia Martin-or Winchester whatever, the banshee, had once used him for intel on a pack of witches then handcuffed him to a radiator for a maid to find, and that his best friend Scott was currently in love with her sister Allison, the hunter. Honestly Stiles probably could have lived his whole life with these three facts being true and no other relation to those awful girls. But being a Stilisnki meant you had to have the worst possible luck in the world, which was how he found himself stuck working a case with them, or two of them anyways, since it was the third one’s fault that they even had to be in the same room.

It had all started two weeks prior to the day they checked into the very crappy motel Stiles had purposely picked. Scott had called to let him know he wouldn’t be coming home cause he was visiting Allison who was passing through town. Then the next day Scott hadn’t show up for work and Stiles knew something was wrong. Mostly he had suspected that Allison had found out Scott was a werewolf and chopped his head off, but considering one of her sisters was a werewolf, Stiles really doubted that would happen. He’d shown up at the diner Lydia had requested they meet when she had contacted Stiles in question of where Allison was, that was when Stiles had known something was definitely not okay. Scott was supposed to have been with Allison and now they were no where anyone could reach them.

They had just disappeared, no trace, no scent, no nothing. Stiles suspected it was aliens, which Lydia assured him didn’t exist, but she was a freaking banshee and Cora was a werewolf, so aliens totally existed. Either way it was two whole weeks of mindless searching and calling in every contact they knew before they got any sort of lead. Even then their lead wasn’t completely trustworthy when it came in form of a very staticy voicemail of someone who sounded a lot like Allison asking for help. Still it was better then nothing, so they ended up in Utah under fake names in a very crappy motel that Stiles was starting to regret picking.

They’d only booked one room, it was easier and safer if they al bunked together, plus the girls were used to sharing close spaces, Stiles not so much. Which was why when Lydia had left to scope the town, he had tried to come up with any excuse possible not to be left alone in the cramped room with Cora. It wasn’t that Stiles didn’t like Cora, just that they had history. They’d grown up together in a small town on the east coast, where Cora’s pack held territory. Stiles’ father had been the town sheriff and when Cora’s whole pack and family was slaughtered he’d been the one in charge of carrying out the investigation. The problem with supernatural cases and law enforcement is that they aren’t always easy to close, and when there wasn’t enough evidence to convict anyone the case had been determined dead. Cora had then been sent to live with another pack that held extended family and she had never forgiven Stiles and his father for not convicting the hunters who had killed her pack. They had been sixteen when she had last seen Stiles and told him she hated him. Then seven years later she’d been reinvented as a Winchester and they had crossed paths once again.

“You know, I don’t blame you or your dad anymore.” Cora called out from across the room.

Stiles looked up startled, he’d been reminiscing of his and Cora’s friendship before her family had been killed. “What?” he asked confused.

“For not catching the hunters, that, the ones..” she cleared her throat. “I was young and angry, and I needed someone to blame. I’m sorry.

Stiles nodded, fidgeting with his sleeve. “It’s okay, dad knew that. He never gave up you know,” he caught Cora’s eye before quickly looking away. “Even after the case had been closed he was determined to find some sort of closure. I think the closure was more for him then for you though, losing your brother really hurt him, dad was basically mentoring Derek to be his successor as Sheriff.”

Cora gave Stiles' turned head a small smile, her older brother Derek had been a deputy and she knew Stiles’ dad had loved him like a son. “Derek would have loved that.”

Stiles cleared his throat, jumping up to stretch his legs.

“I sent flowers.” he looked over at Cora, confusion crossing his face again. “When I head about your dad passing away, I sent flowers, they were Forget Me Not’s.”

“Ahh, yeah I got those, thanks.” he walked over to the window, sneaking a peak at the empty parking lot.

“We’re gonna find them right?” Cora suddenly asked, a lot quieter. 

Stiles turned to watch her sitting on one of the beds, braiding and unbraiding her hair in a restless matter. “Yeah,” he smiled softly to reassure her. “Don’t worry, we’re gonna find them.” 

And for the first time since Scott and Allison had gone missing, sitting there in that room with Cora, he actually believed it.

[captaindreamcicle]

Stora Week Day 2: Fluff

The picture on the screen was hazy but none the less Cora could still make out all the moles that sprinkled Stiles’ face. 

“Alright, alright, Hale, get ready to be destroyed.”

Cora burst out in a fit of giggles as Stiles tried to place as many marshmallows as he could in his mouth.

“Stiles you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

In a quiet room in Beacon Hills Stiles shook his head, mouth full of marshmallows, at a semi-hazy screen. “Uwh wihhh.” he tried to muffle out.

Once again Cora burst out in a fit of giggles, causing the screen to shake up and down.

Stiles watched as Cora calmed herself, giving him a shiteating grin, and pulled her hair out of the braid it was in. Slowly her hair cascaded down around her face and Stiles forgot his had a mouth stuffed with marshmallows.

The coughing fit cause Cora to throw her head back with laughter, and as Stiles spit out sticky marshmallows into a bin, Cora slipped off her bed.

Stiles looked up when a thump echoed out of his speakers, Cora was no where in sight.

“Cora?”

Slowly a head of brown hair bobbed up beside the bed.

“Did-did you fall off the bed Cora?”

Stiles wasn’t completely sure, but he was pretty certain Cora nodded her head. Soon it was Stiles who was howling with laughter as Cora sat back on the bed, face turning red by the second.

“It’s not funny Stiles,” she pouted. “This is all your fault.”

Stiles wiped tears off his face, trying to catch his breath. “Are you, are you pouting Cora?” he began to laugh again. “I don’t see how any of this is my fault.”

Cora frowned, pouting harder. “I hate you.” she said softly.

Stiles gave her a goofy smile, glancing at the clock next to his computer. “No you don’t,” he replied leaning a bit into the screen. “I have to go Hale, have school tomorrow, but same time tomorrow night?”

Cora shrugged, attempting to hide a smile, before sticking her tongue out at Stiles, and shutting her computer.

It took a minute, but eventually the screen in front of Stiles went dark. He shook his head, chuckling to himself, and went to bed with a huge grin on his face.

[captaindreamcicle]

Stora Week Day 1: Domestic

“Stiles!”

Lights flickered in the apartment.

“Stiles!” 

A feminine voice reverberated off the brick walls.

“Stilinski! If you don’t answer me this sec-”

A head of messy black hair popped up at the end of the room. 

“What the hell are you yelling for Hale? You’re disturbing the fish.”

Cora rolled her eyes, placing a black workout bag on the floor. “I called your name like 5 times Stilinksi and we don’t own any fish.”

“First off,” Stiles called back, walking out into the room they called their living room/office. “It was 3 times and I know we don’t own fish, I’m making fish for dinner tonight.”

Cora gave Stiles a crossed look, he never made dinner.

Stiles chuckled as he walked across the room and placed a small kiss on Cora’s nose.

“Dinner. Tonight. You know, with Derek and Peter and Malia and my dad and Melissa and Scotty and Lydia and Kira and Liam and me,” he pointed at himself, voice going down an octave, the pointed at Cora. “And you.”

Cora looked up at him with wide eyes, she had forgotten all about dinner, tonight, with the Pack, where she and Stiles would be telling the them their big news. 

“Oh shit.”

Stiles let out a belching laugh as Cora darted across the room picking up objects and placing them down in other places, muttering to herself of all the things she had to do before the Pack arrived.

“How much time?” she asked suddenly, throwing her head up to glare at Stiles.

“3 hours.”

She let out a frustrated growl, giving him a pointed look.

“Why didn’t you remind me Stilinski!” Throwing her hands up, she looked around in desperation. “There’s so much to do.”

Stiles shook his head as he walked back towards the kitchen. “I took care of it all,” he gave her a small smile that only she ever really got to witness. “I didn’t want you to freak out about everything, I know how tough this is for you already. I know how scared you are about starting a family, but more about telling Derek, so I took care of it all.”

Cora could feel tears prickling her eyes. Damn hormones. Slowly she walked over to Stiles, placing her arms around his neck.

“I love you,” she whispered into his neck. “You are going to be the best father ever.”

Stiles cleared his throat, willing himself not to cry. “I know,” he whispered back, holding onto Cora with a small desperation of never wanting to lose her. “Now, go upstairs, take a nice hot bath, get ready, and remember,” he pulled away looking her in the eye. “Everything’s gonna be okay.”

[captaindreamcicle]

Alright, Alright, Alright. I keep seeing all these high def GIF's of Mr. Hottie Mc Hotters Deputy Parrish and all I could think was illegitimate son of Dean Winchester. Plus we all know I love me some SuperWolf, so here's a short drabble. ... His mother kept an old box hidden deep inside their basement filled with his belongings. It was something he was never ever supposed to find, but curiosity always got the best of him in the end and when she found him down there covered in dust, wearing an old leather jacket, and random objects spewed around him, he didn't understand why she cried. He joined the force because that's what his mother told him his father once did. Although he never met the guy, he felt it would somehow bring him closer to the man his mother once loved, but in the end it seemed all he ever did inherit were two bright green eyes, a wide smile, and a musty leather jacket. See his father hadn't been a deputy, he'd been a hero though, saved countless innocent lives and never asked for any recognition, it didn't matter though cause he loved his job and wouldn't trade it for the world. It wasn't until after his mother passed and he found himself revisiting that old dusty basement, that he found the box with his father's belongings, inside was something he had overlooked all those years ago, inside was an old leather bond journal, a journal with all his fathers secrets. So when the dead bodies start turning up left and right with weird 'animal' bites on them, the journal told him it was werewolves. And when multiple sightings of a weird lizard creature started plaguing the stations lines, it told him it was a shapeshifter. Of course he never believed any of it, least not until the Sheriff's son himself shot him a daring look with pitch black eyes and his heart stopped beating as a single word crossed his mind, demons. Until then Deputy Parrish just believed his father was a nutcase. Nothing more then a lunatic run off the rails that had somehow tricked his mother. But when the boy with the black eyes cornered him in the empty station and the word Christo slipped out of his mouth before he even knew what he was doing, Deputy Parrish knew he chosen the wrong profession. And all he had to prove it was a pair of bright green eyes, a wide smile, a musty leather jacket, and a leather bound journal with the initials D.W. carved deep into its heart. ... Edit; I'm aware the age timeline doesn't fit, that's why I'm choosing to ignore it and in this case it is an AU so it fits.