Wednesday, September 26, 2012

Fanfic - Chris Argent/Peter Hale, Allison Argent/Scott McCall/Isaac Lahey - I WIll Wait

Allison remembered being startled by the entire interaction. The violence of the punch, but more importantly, the look of barely contained lust and affection flashing in her father’s eyes. She used all of her strength to stomp out the little voice that pointed out how Chris had never looked at her mother like that.

Even a month later it still struck her as bizarre, which was way more hypocritical than she would admit considering she shared her boyfriend with another man. But no matter how many times she’s told herself that, the sight of her father asleep on the couch with his head in Peter Hale’s lap will trip Allison up every time.  She’s seen the photos of course, she knows the story as well as she can when told with Peter’s cheeky grin and her father’s warning glare. She knows they met in high school, that they stayed together until graduation, that Peter’s wolf had recognized Chris as his mate from the beginning.  

“Love at first sight!” Peter had sighed dramatically, just narrowly dodging the punch Chris had aimed at the back of his head.

Allison remembered being startled by the entire interaction. The violence of the punch, but more importantly, the look of barely contained lust and affection flashing in her father’s eyes. She used all of her strength to stomp out the little voice that pointed out how Chris had never looked at her mother like that.

“Allison?” Peter called out to her, knows it’s her standing in the entryway and doesn’t bother to look up from studying Chris’ face.

She doesn’t respond, just shuffles closer to the back of the couch and waits. They have an uneasy truce, Peter and Allison. As long as Peter continues to act like pack, to make her father happy, Allison won’t shoot a wolfsbane bullet through his temple in the dead of night.

“I left something for you on your bed.” His eyes flicker back to her face for just a moment, the irises flashing amber in the flare of the later afternoon sun.

Allison briefly considers being angry about the invasion of privacy, already picturing Scott’s indignant snarl. But the image of Isaac laughing outright, amused at the intrusion more than anything pulls a smile to her lips. As she climbs the stairs to go to their bedroom she wonders if Isaac will want to go see a movie while Scott is bust remarking his territory. She loves Scott, but sometimes she yearns for easiness of Isaac’s platonic kisses, his long fingers laced unyieldingly through hers, mimicking the way his body brackets hers as they watch mindless TV.

When she opens the door to their room she is a little surprised to see only a worn leather book at the foot of their bed. From across the room it is fairly unassuming. It looks about the length of her hand, and just slightly wider than her palm. But it is thick too, almost two inches worth of lined paper in-between the covers. When she picks it up the leather is butter soft and unmarked except on the back at the bottom right corner where someone has scratched P.H.

She wants to smack herself in the face when she expects to open the book and find love letters, odes written between Peter and her father. Instead the first page reads:

Dear Loser,

Because you are such a giant girl, I’m going to start writing you letter. Write back okay?


Which, to be honest, she should have expected from the photo of sixteen year old Peter with spiked hair and three piercings in each ear. In one memorable photo his eyes are closed to avoid the flash but his fingers are hooked through his belt loops and his tongue is forever frozen liking his full bottom lip. (Chris had actually blushed at that, his fingers deftly transferring the faded Polaroid from Allison’s grasp to his back pocket).


Why would you think this is a good idea?


p.s. Do we have a test in Econ coming up?

Allison actually laughs at that, picturing her father rolling his eyes as he scrawled the note against the garish red lockers of Beacon Hills before class. The next several pages go along about the same, Peter asking Chris to bring him lunch, let him borrow his jacket, get him the answers for such and such exam. All the while Chris remained stoic and mostly unamused in his responses. Allison has to admit the notes are funny, but she can’t really see why Pere would leave this for her. Hundreds of pages of what her father brought to lunch isn’t exactly her idea of interesting reading. She was about to give up too, bored of weeks of notes without much variation when she turned the page and a single note caught her eye.


Why did you kiss me?


It occurs to her then that all of the previous notes, weeks of sharing clothes (scent marking a voice that sounds like Stiles supplies in her head), of sharing food, they were still only friends. For weeks Peter’s wolf must have been howling at him to mark Chris for real, make him his, to claim his everything and essentially driving out every other conscious thought. The excruciating pain of being denied your mate was the reason Allison had agreed to the position she found herself in now. Scott’s wolf had demanded Allison and Isaac, would not take no for an answer, and had attempted to rip him apart from the inside out with need. There really hadn’t been another option for either of them, Allison and Isaac had accepted the idea almost immediately, preferring to share than go without. Scott and Isaac had told her later, much later, that the pain had been agonizing, but they had only been exposed for a couple days. To wait for weeks, maybe months? She couldn’t imagine.  


Talk to me.


Chris started writing letters daily, never getting an intelligible response.


Meet me in the woods.


Beneath someone had started to write something but scribbled it out so violently the next page showed through a wide rip, a gaping frown marrying the book like a battle scar.


I saw that.





The next note was written so tiny, scrawled in the bottom corner as if it wasn’t sure it wanted to be seen.

Kiss me again.

Something about it had Allison slamming the book closed with a snap, her heart pounded violently in her chest as bile flooded her mouth with a vengeance. Reading those three words savored strongly of intrusion, like walking in on two people bound together so tightly that the addition of anyone else in the room was as out of place as a gunshot.

When she finally calmed down some half hour later, her heart firmly back in her chest, she toyed with the idea of diving back in but Isaac would be home soon and something selfish and secretive reared its head as she tucked the journal into her backpack. She would tell them eventually, but right now she wanted to keep this to herself, just for now. 


  1. tentaclemadestudios reblogged this from kitausu and added:
    …I kinda wrote a thing—based on this.
  2. tentaclemadestudios said: …I wrote you something based on your fic:…
  3. sherlockholmes reblogged this from kitausu
  4. kitausu posted this