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crazyk-imagine · 6 months

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Breakfast and Shocking News

Pairing: Theo Raeken x Pack member!reader

Characters: Theo Raeken, Pack member!reader, Stiles Stilinski, Isaac Lahey, Scott McCall, Liam Dunbar, Malia Tate (Hale), Lydia Martin, Derek Hale, Peter Hale

Warnings: Fluff, post show, Theo is probably ooc, cute pack moment, Isaac should have been in season 6a/b and the movie so I brought him back, I got lost in tw fanfic tiktoks and now I'm back on tw

Word Count: 918

Is this the start of a series like my gym one for Triple Frontier? Maybe, we'll see.

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You make another bowl of pancake batter, making sure to make more than you did last time. God, that was a mess.

You had to calm down three of them and Stiles should know better than to throw a fit in front of everyone. He's older than them for god's sake.

You shake your head and scoop more batter into the second pan you have going.

Footsteps entering the kitchen alarm you but enough to make you worry.

"Hey," he pecks your cheek.

"Someone else could be up, you know."

"I already checked." He taps his ears.

"Really?" You stare the chimera with a deadpan expression.

"Yeah, really," he says sarcastically, smirking at you afterwards.

"You're not cute."

"Oh, I think you're wrong. I'm," he wraps his arms around your waist. "Adorable and as your adorable boyfriend, it's my duty to tell you that," he pecks your neck, the spot underneath your ear. "Your pancakes are close to burning."

Your eyes widen. "Oh, crap." You remove yourself from his grasp and remove the pancakes from the pans. "Go sit down. You can get started on breakfast before everyone else wakes up."

"As long as you eat with me." He turns off the stove, pulling you with him.

"But I-"

He sits down, pulling you down beside him. He prepares your plate before making his own. "Eat." His free arm wraps around your back, his hand landing on your hip, keeping you close.

"Sometimes I wonder how you were ever a bad guy," you comment, cutting up your pancake.

"Stiles says the same thing but more sarcastically."

"It'd be alarming if he didn't use sarcasm." You look for your glass and realize you didn't get something to drink for either of you. "Do you want milk or juice?" You look in the fridge.

"I'm not Liam."

You purse your lips. "Just because he's younger and doesn't like coffee, doesn't make him a child."

He gives you a look.

"Don't be mean. He's a nice guy."

You reach for a mug in the cabinet.

"He has a crush on you."

"He does not."

"He follows you around like a puppy."

"He says I'm like an older sister to him."

"So, he doesn't get his ass kicked."

"You got punched by him at least three times."

Theo scoffs. "Did he tell you that?"

"Everyone has."

He shakes his head, stabbing his fork into his food. "I let him."

"Sure, you did." You place the mugs beside the plates and sit back down. "I'd still call you to kick somebody's ass for me," you tell him, wanting him to feel better.

"Yeah?"

You nod, "of course I would. Also, not to mention how hot you look when you shifted."

"You think I'm hot?" He turns to you.

You pause in your bite, slowly swallowing. "No?"

"You do. You think I'm hot."

You scoff, pushing him away. "I didn't say that."

"You said I'm hot," he repeats to tease you.

"No," you whine when he leans in.

"What did I just walk into?"

You both freeze, slowly turning to face the human of the pack. "Hey, Stiles."

"Don't "hey Stiles" me." He points between the two of you. "What's a- what's going on here?"

"We're having breakfast."

"You're looking a little close for people having breakfast."

"What's it to you?" Asks Theo.

"Something you want to tell your friendly neighborhood FBI Agent?"

You two glance at one another and shrug. "No."

He nods and ventures over to the coffee maker. "I don't buy it."

Some of the other pack members wander into the kitchen.

"Did Stiles find out?"

"Little bit," you tell her, pinching your fingers together, leaving a bit of space between your thumb and index finger.

"I don't get it."

"He's about to figure it out," Liam tells the were-coyote.

"Oh."

"Wait- you guys know they're dating?!" Stiles screeches.

"Uh," Malia, Liam, and Brett make the same noise.

"No?" Scott chimes in.

"Oh, please. It was painfully obvious from the start."

"How did you get in?" The true alpha asks Peter.

"When I got here," Derek adds.

"When did you get in?" Stiles asks.

"A few minutes ago."

"Is everyone here?" Malia asks.

"Now, we are," Lydia interrupts.

"Great. How many of you knew these two were dating?"

Everyone raises their hands, except for Liam.

"Okay, I'm not the only one."

"I was the one who got them together."

"Oh, great so everyone knew before me."

"Guess so," you shrug.

"Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"We knew you'd judge."

He scoffs, "I wouldn’t-"

"I asked you a hypothetical question and asked how you would feel if I was dating someone from the pack."

"Uh huh... and?"

"You said rip the band aid off and I said Theo. You told me to put the band aid back on and pretended I didn’t say anything after that."

"And your point is?"

"You didn’t want to accept it therefore I didn't actually tell you."

"I can- I can accept it."

"You can't," Isaac pats his shoulder before pushing him out of the way.

"When did you get into town?"

"This morning."

"Hence the big batch for breakfast," you answer.

"You knew he was coming?"

"Of course, I did. I picked him up."

"I did," Theo corrects you.

"It was a team effort, sweetheart." You pat his knee.

"Ew. Please, I'm trying to enjoy my coffee."

"Like you need something else to get you all jittery," you tell the human.

He sarcastically laughs in return.

Taglist

@kmc1989

#teen wolf #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf imagines #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf fanfic #theo raeken #theo raeken imagine #theo raeken imagines #theo raeken fanfic #theo raeken fanfiction #theo raeken x reader #theo raeken x you #theo raeken x pack member reader #theo raeken x pack member!reader #crazyk-imagine

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tropes-and-tales-archives · 9 days

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More Precious Than Rubies: 6a

This is an alternate timeline story that has a Rafael Barba track and a Sonny Carisi track. The two paths split off in part 3.

WC: 4285

TW: Idiots in love; angst; smut (PiV, protected; mild mentions of oral sex). 18+ only.

AN: The prompt was "So...what are we now?"

In the list of all the bad decisions you’d made in your life, sleeping with opposing counsel ranked right near the top. At the very top? Sleeping with opposing counsel – twice – without protection.

When you woke up the following morning and found Barba long gone, it had taken exactly two seconds for an icy fear to wash over you. You doubted you’d end up pregnant, the timing didn’t seem likely, but you still got dressed and half-walked, half-sprinted to the nearest pharmacy for a healthy dose of Plan B. You took it and spent the rest of the weekend feeling cranky, nauseous, and headachy.

Exactly the right frame of mind to write up your motions to reopen a handful of cases that Rudnick had touched as the medical examiner. If Barba hadn’t fled in the morning like a guilty criminal, you might feel worse to be raining hell down on the District Attorney’s office. You knew that if it wasn’t you, though, it’d be someone else. The sharks were circling.

It may as well be the scrappy, underfed public defender shark instead of a sleek or overfed Calhoun or Buchanan.

********

Barba didn’t see you for a few days. He spent the weekend lying low and feeling guilty, and when his guilt eased up, he thought about how you had looked when you had rode him early that morning. Then the guilt returned threefold. In retrospect, he was pretty certain that you’d been sober enough to consent, especially for the second round, which made him feel worse for fleeing.

It wasn’t until the very early hours of Monday morning that he woke up with a gasp, the realization of what he’d done truly sinking in. He’d had sex with you twice without protection, and he had no clue if you were on the pill or not.

His forehead broke out in a fine sheen of sweat as he considered the implications. He was probably fine. Probably. But what if he – and you – weren’t fine? He’d only ever had one close call before when he was much younger. Logistically, he was in a much better place to handle an unplanned pregnancy…his mind reeled, and he felt himself get stuck in a ruminative cycle of thinking, worrying over the same point over and over: what if he’d gotten you pregnant?

He saw you the following Wednesday, and you looked too stern to be pregnant. You were coming out of the floor that held the Clerk of Courts, and when you saw Barba, your stern look turned to one that was positively predatory.

The fact that you were carrying a wide, stretched out accordion file – now empty – made his stomach sink even further.

You looked like you were just going to walk past him without a word, but he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in a few days. He turned and fell in beside you, and he laid a gentle hand on your elbow. “Can I have a word, counselor?” he asked.

You jerked your elbow out of his hand, but he stuck by your side and matched you step for step, so you finally huffed and stopped walking. “Fine,” you snapped. You looked around and then gestured towards the stairwell. “Come on.”

He followed you, and once the heavy fire door slammed behind him, you turned to face him.

“I want to apologize,” he started, but you cut him off.

“Don’t bother. Anything else?” When he didn’t answer right away, you went to step past him. As you reached for the door, he stopped you by laying a hand on your outstretched arm.

“Are we…okay?” he asked.

You tilted your head. “What do you mean, ‘okay’?”

He exhaled a heavy breath through his nose. “I mean, we didn’t use protection.”

You looked at him a long minute. “It’s fine. I took my body-weight in Plan B, and I have a clean bill of health.” You smirked and added, “compassion isn’t sexually transmitted, so you’re safe.”

He bit back a smile that threatened to cross his face. “Thank god. I’d hate to have the urge to hug criminals.”

You didn’t seem to feel a compunction to smile at him. Instead, you stared at him another moment, and to break the silence, Barba tried to apologize again.

“I said not to bother,” you reminded him. “Besides, I got my revenge.”

“How so?”

You held up the empty folder with that vulturine grin, all teeth like some sort of predator. “You ever see the movie ‘Groundhog Day’? How would you and your office like to relive some of your greatest hits?”

He inhaled sharply. “You filed a motion to reopen a case? Which one?”

Your smile widened. “Which ones is the better question.”

“How dare you…”

“How dare Carl Rudnick,” you snapped, talking over him. “I have to go. You should probably go too. You have some work to do, Mr. Barba.”

Then you stepped past him and shoved open the stairwell door, and while his temper was stoked to a heated pitch, his gaze still slipped down to watch your ass as you marched away from him.

********

You had filed four motions, and all four were granted. Two were pleaded down with both clients out immediately on time already served. Another had his conviction completely overturned once an outside lab handled the testing. The fourth would go back to trial, but without the “expert” testimony of Rudnick, everything else was circumstantial. And now you could play the sympathetic, unjustly convicted card with the jury.

And you had been right – your four were just the beginning of a rapidly cresting wave that was crashing around the District Attorney’s office.

You did, ultimately, feel bad for Barba. You saw him in the courthouse, and he looked positively haggard. So did O’Dwyer and Callier and every other employee of the D.A.’s office. It wasn’t their fault. They were just reaping the bitter harvest of what a serial killing medical examiner had sowed.

The sting of Barba’s cowardly fleeing after your hookup lost its fire too.

You were leaving a local precinct after meeting with a new client, and you glanced down at your watch. It was late afternoon, when most people were wrapping up for the day, but you knew Barba would be in for a long night. Maybe you could bring a peace offering.

His admin assistant was already gone by the time you got there, so you knocked on the door and waited for him to call you in. When he did and when you entered his office, you didn’t miss the slight smile he gave you. He was sitting on his couch, with case files scattered beside him and on the ground in front of him.

“I come bearing gifts,” you said as you held up the coffee. He stood up and gestured for you to sit as he shifted his paperwork off of the spot beside him. Then he took the coffee from you with a murmured thanks.

He took a sip and groaned at it – you’d sprung for the good stuff, since a man with such nice suits would never settle for a Starbucks blonde roast. “This in no way makes up for all the motions you’ve filed,” he said.

“I filed four. I heard Calhoun filed more than that.”

He groaned again, this time in pain. “Yeah, she filed more than twenty. Rudnick worked on a lot of cases. And this doesn’t even count the internal investigation in other cases that Rudnick ruled as suicide or accidental deaths. The state is re-opening everything to make sure nothing untoward slipped through.”

“Long days?”

“And long nights, and long weekends.”

“I’m sorry to hear it, Barba,” you said, and he glanced over at you. His eyes had the bleary, blood-shot look of a man who’d been reading all day.

He snorted. “Sure. This is your revenge for me acting like an ass.”

“Someone else was going to file first,” you pointed out. “I just got mine in before the avalanche.”

“Worked out for you. You got one conviction completely overturned.” He sipped his coffee. “Quite a feather in a young lawyer’s cap.”

You heaved a sigh and turned to face him, tucking a leg under you on the couch. “This isn’t about recognition for me, Barba.”

“It’s about hugs.”

There he was. He had been a tired, pitiable specimen when you’d come into his office, slumped over a pile of cases that he thought had been closed. But revived with strong Italian roast, he was back to his snarky, asshole self. You should have gotten him a Starbucks after all.

“Look,” you said, and you held up a finger to start ticking off your points, all the reasons that the right to competent counsel was an important hallmark of American justice. Before you could even start, though, he plunked his coffee down on the side table and was on you. He laid his hand on the back of your head and pulled you toward him just as he was leaning closer to you.

“Let’s skip the arguing, just for today,” he said, and his eyes scanned your face for any emotion that might betray your disapproval or approval. You nodded faintly, and he closed the gap between you.

His kiss was firm but his lips were as soft as you remembered. And you’d thought about your evening together numerous times, too many times, so it didn’t take much to restoke that flame. You tilted your head a bit and parted your lips, and he took advantage and slid his tongue into your mouth. You could taste the bitter coffee on him, and beyond it, the familiar taste of him that brought you back to that night in your apartment. It sent a bolt of uncomfortable desire straight to your core.

Maybe he could taste you too because he groaned into your mouth and pulled you closer to him. It was an awkward angle on the couch. Neither of you seemed willing to break the kiss, though, so you each adjusted by fractions, fumbling against each other. You tried to pull him to you first, but he was stronger, and you found yourself straddling his lap. Your pencil skirt strained against your thighs, and it was pushed up to an almost obscene height.

You ran your hands over his broad chest, and his own hands were on your waist, tugging your silk blouse from your waistband so that he could touch the bare skin of your back. His tongue claimed your mouth, and it reminded you of the other ways he’d claimed you. You rolled your hips against the growing bulge in his pants, and he groaned as he broke the kiss.

“We should stop,” he said. His voice was a low growl that made you even wetter than you already were.

You wanted to point out that he started it, but you only nodded and tried to dismount. His hands still held you fast though, his warm palms stoking the fire already burning in you. You looked at him, confused, and his irises seemed even more of a brilliant green against the red rims of his eyelids. You wriggled against him – not to turn him on, even though it made him inhale sharply – to try to climb off, but he moved one of his hands from your back to your head and pulled you back down to kiss him.

You broke away after a moment. “Wait, do you want to stop?” He shifted his head so that his mouth was near you ear. You could feel his breath, heavy against you, and it sent a delicious shudder through you.

“Absolutely not,” he growled. His hands drifted down to your hips, and he pulled you against him to drive home the point. “I only said we should.”

Your voice was shaky with lust. “Well, we don’t have protection, so we need too.”

He sighed against your ear, then pressed a gentle kiss on the hinge of your jaw. You could feel the disappointment coming off of him in waves: he was tired and over-worked, and he probably needed a release as much as you did. You climbed off of him, and he didn’t stop you this time.

“Hey, wait,” he said. He stood up and strode over to his desk, and he pulled open the middle drawer. You heard him rifling through the junk – heard the rattle of loose coins, the rustling of paper. “Here,” he said triumphantly, and you stood up and walked over to join him behind his desk.

He held his hand out, a fistful of condoms in it.

“You keep condoms in your desk, Barba? Gross.” You pulled a disgusted face at the implications. “You having a lot of sex in here?”

His look of triumph twisted into concern when he saw your face. “No, it’s not like that. SVU hosted an enthusiastic consent seminar at Hudson University. See?” He tossed you one – one side of the wrapper had the NYPD logo. “Rollins stuffed a bunch into my briefcase when I wasn’t looking. I came back to my office and there was a whole pile in there.”

You snorted at the ridiculousness of an NYPD-branded condom. “Nothing gets college kids horny like the police.” You tossed it back at him, and he fumbled it. He laid the entire handful on his desk and reached for you again. He pulled you flush against him, and you could feel him still, mostly hard and growing harder by the moment.

“We don’t have to stop now,” he murmured.

“But we should, probably.”

“Probably. This is a terrible idea,” he agreed. He laid one hand on your ass, pulling you closer to him. The other hand was on the back of your head, pulling your mouth back to his.

You laid your own palms on his chest again, sliding them under his ludicrous suspenders. “Nothing good can come of it.”

“Yeah,” he huffed. “You might get mad at me and dump a pile of work on my office.”

You pulled your head back and glared at him. “I was mad because you fled my apartment like it was the scene of a crime, you…”

You caught his grin as he leaned forward and captured your mouth, cutting you off before you could build up any steam.

It was a short distance from kissing to fucking. Neither of you seemed to need any foreplay beyond what you’d already done, and you both seemed too desperate for the other’s touch. He sat you on the edge of his desk, and then he unzipped himself and unrolled one of the NYPD-approved condoms onto his length.

The only words you exchanged from that point was when he asked if you were sure, and you had smirked and told him that you enthusiastically consented to him fucking you. He placed his hands on your knees and spread your legs apart, and he stepped between them. He stroked a lone finger against the fabric of your panties, growling at how soaked they were, and then he pushed the fabric to the side and pressed the tip of his cock against your entrance.

He looked at you again, probably for signs of hesitation or reluctance, so you pulled him closer to you. You reached down and grabbed his ass and drew him into you, loving the feel of fullness as he settled his full length into you.

Barba hissed something garbled, and he put a hand on the small of your back as he drove into you. He reached down with his other hand and wrapped your left leg around his waist, and then he picked up the pace, fucking you steadily. You wrapped your own arms around his shoulders, and he bent his head to bury it against your upper chest. Your heart was pounding so hard that you were sure he could hear it.

You wrapped your other leg around him, helping him drive into you. Every time he bottomed out, his pelvis ground against your clit, and your orgasm overtook you quickly. You gave a low moan, tried to keep quiet in case anyone was around. You could feel him shuddering against you with his own release, and you trembled against him as your vision was awash in white stars behind your eyelids.

“Jesus,” he muttered against you once he recovered, and he pulled out of you and turned away, oddly shy as he cleaned himself up as best as he could. You slid off of the desk on shaky legs and straightened your own situation.�� You smoothed out your skirt and tucked your blouse back in, and you tried to tuck the loose strands of hair behind your ears.

Then you turned to leave. He caught your movement out of the corner of his eye. “Are you leaving without saying goodbye?” he asked, incredulous.

“Now you know how it feels, Barba.” You walked carefully, your legs still a little weak, and reached the office door.

“Have a good night,” he called out.

“You too,” you replied, not even catching yourself until you caught his bark of laughter behind you. You turned to look at him, and you shook a chiding finger at him.

“That wasn’t me saying goodbye,” you said. “You’re ordered to feel badly now.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “You’re the boss,” he said, but he smirked as he said it.

********

Barba knew it was a terrible idea, hooking up with opposing counsel.

On the other hand, the forbidden nature of it made it even hotter – and it was already pretty hot without any help. Those pencil skirts you seemed to prefer made your ass look amazing, and when you put your feisty mouth to other purpose, it was enough to drive Barba wild.

You seemed to feel the same. He caught you at least once openly ogling him. He had been in a waistcoat with his sleeves rolled up, and he made a mental note to loosen up his clothing more around you.

And in all the times you coupled, you reached for him first at least half of the time. It definitely wasn’t one-sided.

It started with incidental hooking up. You’d drop off some paperwork for him, he’d stop by your ridiculously small office to talk plea deal. You’d handle business and then get to separate business.

There was the time he bent you over your desk and fucked you from behind, savoring the sight of your ass as he plunged into you. The time you knelt in front of him with a smile that was almost shy and showed him what your mouth could do. The time he knelt in front of you and showed you the same.

That time had been especially memorable. He had to go to arraignment after that, and he had given the judge the salient details of the charges with the taste of you still in his mouth.

There was even a feverish episode in the men’s room of the courthouse, after hours. His office was being vacuumed by the custodial staff, so he had pulled you into the restroom and fucked you against the stall as he held one hand over your mouth to muffle your sounds.

From the incidental hooking up came a more essential sort of hooking up. It started when he called you one night, lonely. He truly just wanted to hear a friendly voice, even if the voice was usually giving him hell about his job. But you had offered to come over, and even though Barba knew it was just a hook-up for you, he had jumped on the offer.

You’d been in a nice dress, and he had felt a sting of jealousy when he imagined you on a date, but you were with him then and there. He had carried you to his room and taken his time with you, extending your time together.

But you had still left afterwards. Barba always tried to draw it out at the end, get you to stay a moment longer, but you were young and in excellent cardio health. You got dressed lightning-fast and were out the door, leaving him sated and a little sad.

Another time, you called him. You sounded tipsy over the phone, but by the time he got to Brooklyn, you were sober and a little sheepish about calling him. He had wanted to take his time again, but you had begged him to just fuck you, so he did. When you didn’t ask him to stay, he went ahead and left, but he made a point to kiss you gently and tell you goodbye this time.

He knew it was a terrible idea, falling for you. He knew you had an armor around you that rivaled his own, and he had an idea what had caused it. He tried, here and there, to chip away at it. You seemed impervious though.

********

In college and even before that, you had an inkling that being a public defender would be draining work. Everyone always talked about how it was thankless, the pay was low, the burnout potential high. Public defenders were overworked with caseloads so heavy that they couldn’t give any single case the care and attention it deserved.

You had no real idea how bad it’d be though. It was thankless – cops hated to see you walk into their precincts. Clients tended to distrust you. The public could be especially cruel when you were defending someone who was obviously guilty or observably violent.

Your life had settled into a dreary pattern, like a heavy lead sky hung over it. Work dominated everything. You slept poorly and ate poorly. You went for training runs, and that’s all that counted for fun in your life.

You didn’t have anyone to really talk to. Even if you’d still been with Sonny, you knew you wouldn’t have been able to talk to him. You’d veered close to learning that lesson when you were still in collage.

Sarah and Chauncey were lawyers too, but they were in private practice and were always trying to lure you in with stories about less hours, less heartache, and more money. Aside from them, you had no one. Your own family had imploded a long time ago, and while you still talked to your dad, you purposely kept it light for him.

You could maybe talk to Barba. He always gave you a hard time about wanting to heal the world with hugs, but you would bet that he’d understand if you wanted to talk. Unfortunately, neither of you got much talking done – it was either squabbling over cases or sex.

Not that you’d ever complain about the latter – even if nothing good was going to come of your illicit liaisons with Barba.

-----

Barba was over at your apartment. It was a Saturday night, you’d been in near tears about a new case collapsing on you, and you just needed…something. It was becoming a habit for both of you to call the other when you needed a hook-up, and you wondered if sometimes the hooking up was just a reason to be with someone familiar.

You had called him, a little embarrassed as you always were to feel so weak. He had rushed over. Your mind had been reeling with your case, you were caught in circuitous thoughts about what to do, and your pulse had been racing. All you wanted was something hard and fast, no talking.

All you wanted was to feel something other than the panic that was rising from deep in you.

Barba had other ideas though. You had reached for him, but he’d only pulled you into a hug. You had kissed him hard, but he’d only kissed you back gently.

When you finally got him into your bedroom, he had been too leisurely. Too insistent that he gaze into your eyes, which felt way too intimate for you. Ultimately, the two of you had joined in a way that felt good – that was the thing with Barba. Even when you were on completely different wavelengths, it was still good.

Afterwards, though…he tried to cuddle up against you. Worse than that, he tried to talk.

“So…what are we now?” he asked. He looked at you with those bright green eyes.

You knew as soon as it was out of your mouth that it was the wrong thing to say. A hurtful thing to say. In the days that would follow, you’d do a lot of soul-searching to try and understand why you had said it. Barba was a good man, possible even a great one, but you didn’t treat him well in that moment.

You snorted at the question. “We’re opposing counselors who occasionally hate-fuck each other for release.”

The look on his face would bother you for a long while afterwards. The faint hopefulness on his face when he asked the question disappeared, and it was replaced by a stony mask. “This is hateful to you?” he asked.

And you took too long to reply, so he got up without a word and got dressed. You stammered out something nonsensical about hooking up, tried to make a joke, but it was too late. You can’t un-ring a bell, and you couldn’t pull back those hateful, disappointing words. You felt an immediate shame at what you’d done.

“Hey,” you tried to say as you pulled a blanket around your naked form and followed him out of the bedroom.

He only looked at you once as he pulled on his coat and left. The look in his eyes was pure hurt.

#rafael barba #rafael barba x you #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba x reader #law and order svu fanfiction #law and order svu #tropes and tales

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onmyyan · 2 years

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Straight Venomous ch.6

A/N: I’ll give u 2$ if u pretend this was posted in a timely manner. No but seriously thank you for sticking with me I love this story!! Feedback is always welcome please lmk what y’all think if you want more of a certain character or what!! Also if you want to be added to the Taglist lmk!! This chap is pretty Tim/Jason/Bruce centered but next chap will have everyone!! EDITED 1/11/2023

TW: cannon typical violence, Yandere themes, Cursing

Taglist: @foggyturtleknightangel @j-ma26-rb @bandaged-despair

”This wasn’t the kind of protection I imagined-“ You paused both Symbiote and human left too stunned to speak at the looming gates of Arkham, old and imposing as ever. Seriously all they needed was a moat and the dungeon vibe would be complete.

“-When you said it be somewhere He’d never look.” You finished with a squint at the Halloween attraction that was Arkham Asylum.

”Well I didn’t lie did I?- he won’t.�� Oswald smiled, more to himself than anyone in particular, his magenta-tinted Versace shades glinted in what little light Gotham offered.

”If you're telling the truth about him being interested in you, you’ll be out in a breeze. Think of this as my final test, your last hurdle.” He finally turned to look at you, his form as ridged as ever from the back seat of his Mercedes.

”If you survive I’ll genuinely have some use for you.” His sleek black car sped off without another word, if you didn’t know better he seemed almost uncomfortable, like if he got too close the building's jaw would open and suck him back in.

No more than a second passed before the stone-faced man beside you set his firm grip on your arm.

The man currently dragging you like a raggedy Ann doll was dead silent, letting the wails from within echo that much more. It took more self-control than you anticipated not to rip the arm off of you (and off in general)

‘I get to eat these ones right?’

“We’ll see buddy.” You muttered, too uneasy to care that you’d responded out loud, if anything it made you fit right in.

The guard ‘escorting’ you in had an iron grip on your arm like you were gonna book it the second you could. The almost eerie silence of the lobby was immediately replaced with screaming from all directions.

The air inside Arkham was sterile and thick, if anguish had a smell it is the one invading your lungs, they gave you the almost cartoonish black and white striped uniform the rest of the inmates dawned and shoved you into the common area, after your third ignored question you figured it is best to observe, men and women sat in the large cage, a few tables and torn up sofa chairs adding to the bleak atmosphere. With a huff, you managed to find an open seat, the whispers, and eyes following your every move.

It didn’t take long for the biggest man in the room to lumber over, his brooding figure stood above you. A perfectly shaped brow rose in question at his sudden appearance.

“I’d ask if I can help you but I really don’t wanna.” You spoke at the giant, eyes flickering over your nail beds. “The names Al.” He leaned on his knuckles, hot breath wafting over your skin making you wince.

“You start a fight? You ask me first. You need to piss? You ask me first. I run shit in here and I’m only gonna tell you’s this once.” He spoke in a gravelly voice. A bit of spit landed on the table in front of you. “Are you high? It’s amazing they let inmates smoke.” His hands slammed into the metal before you, shaking it with enough force to knock over the tray of food beside you. “You’s looking to get that pretty face of yours fucked up huh? I don’t tolerate that kinda’ shit bitch or not.” Once more his breath fanned over you in a hot wave, and your expression twisted into a grimace. He took that as a sign of fear, grinning darkly from across you.

”I’m in a forgiving mood, maybe if ya get down and put that smart mouth to use-“ your hand twisted his collar, smashing his head to the table twice before releasing the now bloodied man. He stumbled backward into another inmate, clutching his broken nose, tears streaming down his face.

”Y-You bitch! Yer fuckin’ dead for this shit ya’ hear?!” He barked out, blood splattering through his fingers, a loose tooth falling from his maw as the surrounding people didn’t spare you a passing glance, all except the ginger staring at you with the stars in his eyes, an almost eager look on his face. Like he was waiting to see what you’d do next.

You stood with a sigh, stepping over the small pile of blood he’d left in his scurry backward. You now towered above the trembling man, as he tried to stand you kicked him in the chest as hard as you could, a crack of something breaking echoed throughout the loud room, his limp body slid back hard enough to crash into the wall, your eyes widened at his now still form. “Oops. Too hard.”

‘Can I have a bite? Just a nibble, as a treat.’

”Absolutely not.”

’you never let me have any fun!’ The child of a Symbiote grumbled in your head. You heard the rushed footsteps of a group of people, most likely guards quickly storming their way to the commotion. On instinct, you sat as far from the body as you could, which just so happened to be on the busted-up sofa, near that oh-so-attentive ginger. He watched you with a wide, skin-splitting grin, his green eyes were almost too vibrant, and pale skin contrasted against bright red hair.

“That’s certainly one way to make an entrance doll face.” He grinned even wider, resting against his fist, eyes flickered over every inch of your resting frame, you mimicked his stare, fighting the urge to look at the now scrambling guards, two of them held batons, electric you imagined, they bullied their way past the straggler’s lingering around the body, freezing at the sight of the corpse. “Move! Every one of you pieces of shit against the wall!” The shorter of the two barked out, threateningly pointing his baton at the group of inmates.

“Come on sweet cheeks - we better get moving fore’ they get twitchy.” The redhead pulled you up and to the side, with a speed you hadn’t anticipated from him. He stood tall against the peeling wall, much too eager at the sight of blood.

”Alright- which one of you shit stains did this huh?!” The same guard from before spoke again, making his way down the line of people, most were too delirious to comprehend his demand, and the few still coherent said nothing much to your surprise. When he made his way to you, he lingered. “You see something interesting meat?” He sneered down at you, the crackling baton dangerously to your eye, it took more self-control than you’d like not to shove said baton up his ass.

”Oh I’ve seen something real funny.” The ginger spoke from beside you, it made you tense, would he be so quick to snitch?

The stodgy guard spit at the taller man’s feet. “Valeska. What am I gonna have to do to get you to shut the fuck up?”

”Hm, maybe a gag? Although you’ll have to use your own, I left mine back with your mother-“ the electrified tip was pressed to his chest before the snark could be finished, he crumpled to the floor with a twisted laugh, the cackle trailing into a moan at the end, his lanky form slumping against the dirty wall.

”Oh Johnny boy- I love it when you get rough with me.” The guard kicked at the still-twitching man, quickly ushering another guard to help him. “Of course it was you. Fucking lunatic.”

The drooling redhead is dragged out by his wrists and ankles, his piercing green stare not breaking until they pulled him out of sight.

“Okay, that was a fluke. Heads down from now on V.”

There was a vaguely irate huffing sound in your mind.

‘This is lame. I get a little bit of action and you’re pussying out.”

”Bite me you leech.”

‘I AM NO SUCH THING (Y/N) TAKE IT BACK RIGHT NOW.’

Elsewhere

Tim was conflicted, he was almost always confident in himself and his plans, but this one was making him uneasy. He knew where you worked, and the people you were surrounded by. Penguins club wasn’t the place for someone like you, but he knew his best option was to wait for an opening to get you out, considering the circumstance.

His original idea was to ‘run’ into you again and arrange a meeting where he could get you alone for a few hours. Get some of that electric-nerve-punching banter in again. Then he’d casually ask for your number and thus would begin your epic romance, he had everything mapped out to a T, even his family’s unusual interest in you couldn’t deter him from his bliss.

That is until you had to go and run.

Then again, he should have considered Bruce would make a move before him, should’ve planned for him to scare you off, but he didn’t. He was distracted, consumed with thoughts of you flashing through his mind like a projector on the wall. You’d taken up permanent residency in his day-to-day thoughts, and it had made him sloppy.

You’d gotten away, slipped through his fingers just as he was closing in, you had no idea but he was planning a little ‘staycation’ at a cabin well off into the woods a few towns away from Gotham. He’d been getting to know you, the real you hidden in your private browser history and your late-night searches, and he was smitten. He’d done the math, ran the numbers, and knew the two of you were perfectly compatible, from your star sign to your favorite movie, he had all your likes and preferences listed alphabetically, and the scarily accurate list had been memorized in no time. In his frenzied- but thorough- planning he’d neglected to anticipate you pulling such a stunt but he wasn’t worried. It will never happen again.

He returned to the cave this morning, popping in briefly wasn’t out of the norm for Tim as the internet down here was much faster than the Portable server he had on him, and he needed this information quickly, he’s certain Bruce wouldn’t mind, he wasn’t home anyway. Alfred greeted him with his usual brand of warmth and eagerly saw him to the wall of computers he’d spent countless hours in front of.

All was normal until the older of the two paused in his retreat upstairs, Tim could tell something was on his mind, he cocked his head at the man hovering beside him. “Everything okay Al?”

“You’re going to see some unfinished work when you start her up,” he spoke, dismissing his question entirely, “Master Bruce had an emergency at the corporate office, which means you should have ample time to give that unnamed file a proper look.”

The grey-haired male paused as if worried about the way he delivered whatever message he had, “I believe your father would benefit from your assistance before he lets his passions get the best of him…again.” The older man spoke cryptically, patting a comforting hand on his shoulder as he retreated back upstairs. Tim paused, dark brows furrowing as he processed the old man’s words. He put a pin in his original plan for coming down here, instead of focusing on that pesky mystery file, he knew it burn him up inside if he didn’t at least peek through his father's new dirty little secret.

The last thing he expected to see was your face, every possible angle of that perfect face. A concerning amount of shots of your dark (e/c) eyes, in a few you even stared directly at the camera, almost as if you knew you were under the harsh eye of Gotham's most dangerous predator. A scoff bubbled up past his lips, his free hand was now aggressively squeezing the little red stress ball that had sat before him, the flesh of the toy nearly burst from the force he used. It took him a few minutes to calm down, once he could think a little clearer, the plan began to form behind his eyes.

He now knew of his Mentor’s dark obsession, his twisted focus on your life and being. Honestly, Tim was worried about his Father, it wasn’t healthy to harbor such intense feelings for someone you didn’t know- Bruce didn’t know you, Jason didn’t know you- Dick sure as shit didn’t know you. None of the others did, not like Tim. He’d be able to read you in ways you’d always wanted someone to. But before your happily ever after could start, he was going to use his family’s dark obsession with you to his advantage, this and this alone is what pushed him to tell Dick you lived with Jason, Why he was letting the older male crash on his sofa bed, and it was the only reason he’d been pulling the strings behind the scenes. It didn’t take much to find your current location, all he had to do was give himself access to every camera in Gotham and run that Gorgeous mug of yours against them, granted once he actually found you he nearly had a heart attack, why in the hell were you beating the bricks off some schmuck in Arkham? After forcing himself in check he quickly saved the footage of the incident, his mind running a mile a much on how to spin this in his favor.

He made a point to linger in the cave, Bruce was back within an hour, his steps rushed, eager, and Tim knew just who he was rushing to.

”Hey Bruce.”

The older man paused his trek to his desk, finally noticing the man in his seat.

”I didn’t know you were stopping by.” He responded gruffly, his long fingers moving to nimbly undo his tie.

“Well, I was in the neighborhood, needed Ol’ reliable’s for some intel. Nothing too fun.” Bruce made a noise of acknowledgment, now undoing the buttons on each sleeve, “Find what you were looking for?” Bruce was calm as he rolled up his sleeves, if Tim was anyone else his calm facade may have worked. But he wasn’t just anyone. He was nervous. The thought made Tim smirk, he dropped his face to a more neutral expression, turning to face his Father and Mentor.

“Sure did.” He rose from the seat without pause, “Even had time to look into that folder for you- Alfred said you might need a little help.”

Bruce didn’t falter in his movements, his expression remained in its usual stoic demeanor.

The tension in the air had Tim’s heart pounding against his ribcage, Bruce Wayne was the variable he couldn’t plan around, and it made him dangerous.

The older man had an aura of authority around him in or out of the suit, Tim knew this could be a monumental setback if he reacted negatively-

Bruce quickly sat with an amused huff, turning on the monitors with practiced ease.

Just like that the tension evaporated.

“Exactly how are you going to help me, Tim?” The statement had weight behind it, two dark pools of blue clashed in the reflection of the computer, his fathers accompanied by a lifted brow, his facial expression almost daring Tim to say the wrong thing.

The younger of the two wordlessly typed in a few words on one of the smaller screens pulling up the feed of Arkham’s common area. The video was dated today and was only about an hour old, the footage itself was your run-of-the-mill CCTV quality, so it wasn’t the clearest, but Bruce immediately recognized you, and his heart all but stopped, forced to watch as you were put in the exact kind of situation he was fixing to keep you from. His fists clenched so hard the skin on his knuckles turned white, he wasn’t so shaken at the way you’d brutalized the man, but rather the fact that you were surrounded by such individuals in the first place. Logically as a Metahuman he knew you were the strongest person in the room, but this fact didn’t give him comfort. It did the exact opposite. You’d found yourself cornered in the most dangerous situation and he was all but helpless to get you out.

He knew he couldn’t waltz in there and pull you out, okay he very well could, realistically he could leave now and have you back in time for dinner, but he also knew he needed to pace himself. Because Batman doesn’t break people out of Arkham, no matter how badly they don’t belong. His nostrils flared at the screen. His original plan to observe you from afar was thrown out the window the moment Damian took an interest in you, this Bruce could understand, he even planned for the scenario of you running from him, he hadn’t anticipated this is where you’d run through.

A beat of silence passed between them before Tim began making his way back upstairs, just before the elevator doors could close he made sure to get in one last quip to seal the metaphorical deal, something that would give Bruce no choice but to intervene.

“I hope that poor girl is safe in there.”

As the doors shut on his Father, a small but genuine smile grew on his face. Now that he’d gotten Bruce in the game it wouldn’t be long until you were right where you belonged, right where Tim could see you without a screen in the way.

Elsewhere

Jason does a lot of thinking now’a days. He thinks about where it all went wrong when you started hiding things from him. Of course, he couldn’t be upset with you for feeling unsafe enough to run, he hunted murderers and scumbags on a daily basis, if you were intimidated by his occupation, he could understand. But the longer he sat with the thought the less sense it made, he could keep you safe, he could keep the bad shit away, and you knew that he’d saved you as the Hood once before, so what could have changed your opinion so fast? That is if it was a what.

If it wasn’t a what it had to be a who.

As Jason’s mind worked a mile a minute, he paced, and when he had walked a dent into the floorboards, he turned to his favorite outlet. Some people preferred to jog or write when they got stressed, and Jason liked to clock into work.

Usually, he started with a steak-out, leaned against his Harley Davidson* custom in some rank alley, the flickering fluorescents occasionally catching his helmet in a menacing shine. He always chose the most time-sensitive task he caught on the police scanner not-so-legally installed in his bike, but his brain was far too muddled with thoughts of you to put his all into work. It had been a grueling 12 hours since you’d made a break for it and ripped his sense of peace out with clenched fists.

You’d taken up permanent residence in the worst way, he tormented himself with the most gut-wrenching kinds of scenarios. The intrusive kind where you came under harm because he wasn’t strong enough to stop you- no he wasn’t prepared to stop you. The moment you left was playing on loop, specifically, that split second he had where he could’ve taken you out from behind, gently subdued you until he could find out what had you so scared.

But he didn’t, he couldn’t force himself to move in any way that would harm you, it went against every cell in his body.

And now you were gone.

A bitter lump had taken up in his stomach, made of ice and nails, every moment he didn’t know where you were, its spikes dug their way in deeper. He feels stuck in that moment of the horror movie where you see the monster coming but the girl doesn’t, but unlike the movies, Jason can and will be doing something about this monster. He just has to find it first.

No one was talking and that meant one of two things.

You were working close to someone with enough connections to concern Jason, or you were-

He had to physically shake the thought away. Not willing to entertain the idea for even a second. He could feel it, you were fine. In a ludicrous amount of danger yes, but alive. And that’s all he needed. Because when he found you again, he promised himself he’d keep you safe, he knew something major had happened that night forever ago when you crept into the apartment so eerily, leaving a trail of murky water as you passed. You’d been different, in little ways, offering to get the takeout instead of ordering in and always coming back unscathed despite where you lived. Of course, he had to follow you, he vividly remembers a man running through busy traffic to avoid you, of course, Jason marked it as odd from his view above the streets, but he couldn’t have known you were well whatever you were, from that alone, what really clued him in was how confident you’d become before he could only hope you’d chime in the conversation with him and Roy, desperately trying to include you and praying it wasn’t obvious, now you spoke your mind no matter what, almost like you couldn’t help it, and it made your light burn even brighter.

He was beyond excited when you began to open up, the two of you bonding in the kind of way people wrote stories about, slowly, surely, at your pace, you’d begun to unravel the layers of each other. And then someone came along and ruined everything.

Jason also thought a lot about what he was going to do to this person when he got his hands on them.

The only reason he wasn’t beating the answer out of someone right now was because he was running on fumes and he knew it. Roy had just barely managed to talk him out of his gear. “I care about her too Jay.” The redhead gave Jason’s back a comforting squeeze. “I’ll ask around some places you can’t okay? This is (Y/n) we’re talking about, wherever she is, she’s in control.” It was that last thought that pacified him enough to passively pace himself into a silent almost boiling anger. It was in this quiet, dangerous moment, his least annoying sibling strolled in the front door like it was an everyday occurrence.

“You are bad, Roy was right to call me.” The voice of his replacement spoke suddenly, Tim had been snapping his fingers in an effort to clear that dark haze that had begun to fog over his brother’s eyes.

Tim was concerned, that much was obvious from the tone he used like he was speaking to a wounded, feral, animal. As he snapped a few more times in front of his face, Jason’s eyes focused on his successors, “I’m fine. How long have you been there?”

”Long enough J.”

The older of the two sighed deeply through his nose, his thumbs rubbing long circles into the sides of his temple.

“Yeah okay, I spaced a bit who cares? You really here to check on lil’ ol’ me?”

”Nah, mostly just to tell you your little girlfriend there works for Oswald.”

His smile fell instantly. You were forced, no choice, blackmail maybe? Debt? Did you gamble? Cashed a favor?

“Are you absolutely positive?” Tim’s face held rather calm at the ever-growing frustration of his predecessor. He could tell how worked up Jason was, to think (Y/n) had such an effect on him, he looked like a puppy dog waiting on its owner to come home.

“You need some serious sleep- and that’s coming from me so,” Tim said not answering the older man’s question, with a deep sigh he shoved the taller of the two onto the couch, soon sitting beside him, it didn’t take long for Tim to set up his two favorite machines, bulky things he’d built himself that way too many people wanted to get their hands on, lots of dirty little secrets embedded in their code.

Tim was worried. More worried than Jason could comprehend. Because he knew exactly where Oswald had put you- a glance at the unusually shaken man beside him was all he spared as he continued to type- now wasn’t the time to share, that would come later. A time for everything as they say.

Right now all Jason needed was a way for you to get out of the snakepit you found yourself in, so that's what Tim gave him.

"Bruce has a file on your girl, think it has anything to do with her new occupation?" He spoke offhandedly, silently observing Jason’s reactions. That’s all he needed to say, the show had officially begun.

"No." Jason's answer was quick and concise, the lost look had faded from his gaze, hardening into his thinking face. His back straightened, muscles coiling like a snake in the grass.

He cracked his neck, tired eyes once more meeting Tim’s, “Bruce n’ I need to have a little chat, that’s all.” He was out the door before Tim could stop him, not that he would, this was all going exactly as he’d anticipated. The match had been lit, it was only a matter of time before the fuse blew, the question of the hour was who would break first? Tim’s bet is on Bruce.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere dc imagine #fanfic #yandere dc #straight venomous #yandere damian wayne #yandere batfam #yandere jason todd x reader #yandere tim drake x reader #yandere bruce wayne x reader

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invisible-storyteller · 1 year

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Part 1: Lydia is not Stiles's anchor (pre-6A)

First of all, let's discuss why Lydia is NOT Stiles's anchor.

(And here, let me take a moment to say that I'm not trying to bash Stydia. I do think, however, that just because you're romantically interested in someone - I use the word "interested" here because I'm gonna mainly talk about Seasons 3-5 when they weren't officially together yet - that doesn't mean that the person of your romantic affection will be your anchor.)

The idea of Lydia being Stiles' anchor was introduced in Season 3, and consequently, that was the season when TW writers tried on multiple occasions to use this new-found prospect of their relationship as a plot device.

The first time Lydia was implied to be an anchor to Stiles was in Episode 11 when Stiles, Scott and Allison sacrificed themselves to the Nemeton to save their parents' lives. Seemingly, Lydia worked as an anchor here but I also have to point out the (imperfect?) execution of this idea. The purpose of the pairings in this scene, according to Deaton, was to pull the person back from (what I assume was) bardo but we also saw that when the three of them reemerged from the water, none of the others was standing beside them. (In which case, I don't understand the importance of such "emotional tethers". Was just the thought of Lydia supposed to bring Stiles back? Because Stiles was clearly not thinking of Lydia, the three of them got basically thrown back as soon as they found the location of the Nemeton.)

Additionally, the person serving as an emotional bond to the one being sacrificed wasn't necessarily an anchor in this situation. Despite their close relationship, I doubt that Scott had Deaton as his anchor, even though the vet was the one holding him down. Therefore, Lydia might not have been an anchor in this episode, only an emotional connection to Stiles - someone who could have been easily replaced by Scott himself if he had been available at the time.

The second instance suggesting Lydia's role as an anchor was within a series of nightmares Stiles experienced at the very beginning of Season 3B - courtesy of the Nogitsune trying to crawl into his head. Stiles had this dream with Lydia being in his bed when he suddenly noticed that the door to his room was ajar and he got up to close it. My question is: Why did dream!Lydia tell him to leave the door open? If she was supposed to be an anchor and Stiles was supposed to use her to keep - and in a way, guard - his sanity (like Derek did with dream!Stiles when Kate broke into his loft), shouldn't Lydia have encouraged him in closing the door to his mind?

Deaton made it clear that the problem after the ritual sacrifice was the metaphorical doors remaining ajar inside their minds which the Nogitsune was using as a rift to take control of Stiles. So why wasn't Lydia protecting him like an anchor? Maybe I'm just misinterpreting this scene. But if the writers decided to use Lydia as an anchor, then at least she should have succeeded in doing that, right? (Unless she's not an anchor here, which I'm gonna come back to in a bit.)

Another scene where Lydia could possibly be viewed as Stiles's anchor was the time when she entered a possessed!Stiles's mind alongside Scott to banish the Nogitsune. Lydia did make an attempt to get through to Stiles but her struggle to get his attention came to no result.

If she was his anchor in this scene, shouldn't she have been able to get Stiles to hear her? Scott reached him, though, and I know it was because of the Power of the Pack (which is nice, I actually liked that) but that only proves that Stiles here had to rely on something else to reclaim control over his mind.

But is Lydia really an anchor? And more importantly: Did Stiles actually choose her to be?

The first time around it was Deaton making that important decision, pairing them up because of the obvious romantic interest (and because there was no one else there to help Stiles, but that is beside the point). The second time, it might have been Stiles's brain conjuring up Lydia after being basically told that she should be his anchor. Alternatively, it might have been that Lydia was just a small part of the Nogitsune-induced nightmare - something created and used by the fox spirit to keep the door open inside Stiles's mind. On the third time, Stiles didn't even have a say in it. Lydia just got sent into Stiles's head by Peter and that was pretty much it. Stiles never actively chose to rely on Lydia as an anchor.

The only time Lydia could be considered a successful anchor to him was during Season 6A when she managed to bring Stiles back from the wild hunt. (I strongly believe that the anchor aspect of their relationship was the key distinction and explanation for why Lydia was the only person who could ultimately bring him back when even Scott - Stiles's best friend - and the sheriff - his literal father - couldn't succeed in doing so.) Consequently, this might mean that Stiles, along the way, changed his anchor as Derek had been long gone from his life by that point.

Still, before the events of Season 6A, Lydia doesn't function as an anchor. Which leads us to...

Part 2

#teen wolf meta #sterek

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beforeastorm · 3 months

Text

Wake my Spirit Cold

New fic is posted 🥳 It's probably not technically Evil Author Day since it's complete, but I had originally shelved it and decided to post anyway - so maybe mildly inconvenient author day? Wake my Spirit Cold

Buck/Eddie, 11.2k, Mature

Author: Beforeastorm

Tags: Angst with a happy ending; Buck needs a hug; suicidal thoughts; mental health issues; Bipolar disorder; Buck has a mental breakdown; worried Eddie; canon through 6A then veers sharply.

TWs: Suicidal Thoughts, Mental Health Crisis

Summary: Hen paused, for seconds that almost dragged into a minute. “You know,” she started softly, “We’ve all been going through it the past couple of years. Pandemics, shootings, break ups, mental breakdowns, spleen removals, buildings falling onto people. Kidnappings all around. Just one thing after another. And now, that things are settling down – there’s,” Hen hesitated, looking for the word, “a void.”

Buck breaks all the way down after 6A. Featuring; Buck being bad at math, drives with Karen Wilson, Lena Bosko wearing floral print dish gloves, Sue Blevins using slang like she’s a youth, incoming DSM diagnoses, and Eddie Diaz: amateur kidnapper.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53819071

#ao3 fanfic #ao3 #911 abc #911 fanfic #watch the tags and trigger warnings #buddie #fanfiction

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colethewolf · 1 year

Note

When Hoechlin left in season 4 the ratings *tanked* (the writing of season 4 didn't help). When Dylan left after season 6A what little ratings were left tanked *again*. With JD now killing Derek off and Dylan not coming back, he'll never get anyone to watch anything TW related he does further. Wow, smart thinking JD. Real genius move.

He's such a brilliant writer who definitely thinks about what made his show successful in the first place................NOT.

#teen wolf spoilers #spoilers

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postsofbabel · 3 months

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#posts of babel #screenreader unfriendly #HTML posts of babel

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rongasm · 1 year

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This is a random question, but I’ve been rewatching TW and Im finally at 6A (a fav) I just watched episode one and at the part where Stiles says “Lydia, you’re so smart, I could kiss you right now” and then Lydia says “Do not kiss me”, why do you think that was her response? It could’ve just been brushed off, but she chose to very clearly say please don’t, which It almost seemed to egg Stiles on to then actually give her a smooch. It’s a very cute scene and it was interesting to see their roles almost reversed — Stiles confident, Lydia nervous.

YES that was a fun role reversal, agreed!!!

I can't quite remember what I felt about this at the time, but I think you're right and she just full out panicked. She thought he meant the mouth and she didn't want it to be like that, she didn't want a kiss to be just a kiss with him or be, god forbid, silly with him (she'd rather not kiss him at all). So she was like oh wait no I'm not ready I don't want it like this do not kiss me. And then instead of kissing her on the mouth, he kissed her on the cheek, which was adorable.

Side note, how lovely is it that Lydia Martin, a person who has been deeply sexualized by the men in her life ever since she was a middle schooler, got a cheek kiss from Stiles because she was so smart he couldn't help but kiss her? I am plotzing over them.

#answered #tw ask

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deliahscrush2003 · 2 years

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Hiii! I meant to send this last week, but I forgot. You mentioned you wanted to gush about TW? Gush away! What are the popular or unpopular ships, whether canon or fanon, that you don't get, and why? :-D

Hey @wordspin-shares ! No worries, we all lose track of things!

That is an excellent question and I just want to thank you for giving me the chance to rant about Teen Wolf and stuff because it really gives me motivation to write!!

TW: Before I go on, I know the fandom can be sensitive about ships, so let me make it clear for anyone who comes across this, this is just MY opinion. This is not fact, this is not hate, this is just ships that I don't personally get and why I don't get them. If anyone wants to have a civil, rational discussion about any of this, you're free too. I am a flexible person, so I like to rationalise and understand my perspectives and other people's perspectives. I'm all for respecting others (unless of course, others are spreading hate or toxicity).

Teen Wolf Ships I Don't Get (Just My Opinion, Don't Hate Me)

Stiles Stilinski x Peter Hale

I kind of understand how people came to ship it. The two have great banter, witty moments and interactions, especially in Season 1 and Season 3a. Season 6a, they were stuck in the Ghost Rider's train station so that was bound to get everyone in love with the Forced Proximity trope hot under the collar. Not to mention Peter is hot.

Things that don't engage me about this ship:

Peter is old enough to be Stiles' dad.

Stiles is a teenager for a good portion of the show (16 - 18) and Peter is in his 40s.

Peter is Malia's father, who Stiles canonically dates.

Maybe if I saw more fics where Stiles was out of highschool before he was paired with an older man, than maybe I could enjoy it but I can't.

Another thing that I don't get is why Stiles is constantly positioned as a timid, damsel in distress to Peter's big bad wolf?

One of the things I love about Stiles as a character is that he might be in the most terrifying situation, but he's anything but timid. He'll verbally kick the ass of every single Teen Wolf big bad and that's like erased in fanon when he's suddenly next to a big bad wolf?

Additionally, the narrative that Peter is the rescuer to help empanicpate Stiles from his supposed abuser and villain, Scott, doesn't really make sense to me but that applies to almost every single Stiles x villain pairing so…

Scott McCall x Malia Tate

Look, their sexual chemistry was pretty good, all thing considering. It just that Scalia had no romantic build up. To me, when I was watching Teen Wolf, it came out of nowhere with no hints of anything between them prior to Season 6b.

There was not a strong relationship between them besides friendship and packmates before Season 6b. I guess you could count him being the one to turn her back to human in Season 3a as a form of connection, but to me this only meant that she became part of his pack.

Maybe if their relationship had grown from that moment in 3a instead of Stalia's (which didn't have so much as chemistry but a fantastic build up and plotline), then maybe I would be able to understand it and even enjoy it.

Honestly though, after Allison, Scott's best canonical relationship was with Kira, who matched him well in both personality, development and storyline. Ironically enough, my favourite Malia ship is also with Kira. I just love Kira, guys.

I think there are some ships that are better platonic, and I especially find Scott and Malia's relationship lacking in fics where they just come off as stoic co-leaders rather than actual romantic partners.

Jordan Parrish x Lydia Martin

I understand that from a narrative standpoint, their connection as Hellhound and Banshee would obviously leave them with some sort of tension and that would have probably engaged me if their human identities were completely different.

Specifically, if Parrish was not, say, 24, a grown man, and a police officer. Whereas, Lydia is, what, 17-18 Season 4-5a, but still a teenage girl in highschool.

The power imbalance between their human identities is just off-putting, and if there's one thing about me that you should know it's that I can't ship two characters who are not equals in someway or another. It's not as bad as Stiles and Peter, but any young girl getting into a relationship with a man in position of authority just isn't my cup of tea. If there's a huge disreprency in respect, age, trust, power or authority, than it just puts me off.

Maybe if their connection was approached differently from on the show? If anyone knows fics that could help me acclimate this ship, that would be great?

If anyone has anymore questions about my personal Teen Wolf preferences and headcannons, I am open to discussion at anytime!

[[ RE: Discussion, not Hate. If you send Hate, you will be blocked. If you send Anon Hate, it won't see the light of day on my blog, so why bother send it?]]

#teen wolf

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