The Old Lore Calls to Me

Writings of a Fandom Aficionado

[thesometimesfanficwriter]

The Anti-Hero? - Peter Hale x Reader

You’d learned long ago that your tears wouldn’t save you. You would still bleed, bruise, and break. Since then, you’d learned to hide them. A tissue, some white eyeliner, and a bottle of eye drops could hide most instances of emotions. Right now, you don’t want to. Everything ached, including your teeth from how hard you’d clenched them in contempt and barely controlled rage. 

You had planned everything perfectly, from your hair down to the color of your toes. Every inch of you is perfectly coordinated perfection. A knock out by most standards, and yet….here you stood in a bathroom not of your choosing, trying to hold it together again. A cracked porcelain sink clutched between your fingers, while rusted hand dryers feebly whisper their harsh words and criticisms back to you. 

Then the blaring sound of a wolf howling caught your attention. “Hello?” You steadied your voice, staring at the ceiling in the hopes of holding back the tears. 

“You have yet to remove that awful alert from me on your phone.” He all but growled out. 

“No, Peter. Wait, how do you know that?” Your fingers are pushing up your lashes to try to prevent the flecks from smearing onto your cheeks. All while errant tears try to escape your notice, creating a line through the middle of your foundation. 

*knock* *knock* *knock-knock*

“You’ve got ta be–” You barged over to the door, pulling it open in agitation, only to find Monica staring back at you. Her long dark hair was styled in a blowout that must have cost a fortune. She sauntered in a leather pencil skirt and bold red lips in a smile that had made you feel about two feet tall. Never mind you had your dream job, own home, and friends who adored you. 

It all disappeared under her Manolo Blahnik stilettos. She smirked in the mirror as she reapplied her flawless lipstick while eyeing your outfit up and down. You responded by gripping your phone until your knuckles turned white. Not one emotion flitted across your face.

“Hmm, same old Y/N. No date, just a better disguise. What did you think would happen? You would show up with your fancy degree, borrowed outfit, and overdone hair, we’d pretend that you weren’t the biggest loser at school.” She laughed at her own cruelty, a high, nasally slash to your confidence. 

“You might have the money to pretend you’re something, but—

*SLAM* *SLAM* *SLAM*

The door fell forward on its hinges with a decided crack right down its center. As the dust from the tiles breaking cleared. The blue-eyed devil himself stood in the clearing. 

“Darling, you forgot your ring.” He’d grown his hair back out, so an inch or two fell across his piercing gaze. There, in between his fingertips, was the largest diamond you had ever seen. More than likely, larger than Monica had imagined. Her own single carat was put to shame. 

“Pe-ter.” You breathed out, moving swiftly towards him. His large arms enwrapping you, sliding the ring onto your finger before he pulled you in for a slow, passionate kiss that left Monica gripping the chipped porcelain. 

He smelled like spice and better than skin; you never could tell if it was a wolf thing or just cologne. As your hands moved into his hair, raking across his scalp and earning a growl from between his lips. His palms slid up your waist, and his forearms settled onto your back, making you feel as petite. As you parted, he stared into your eyes like you were the only person in the world. 

You mouthed thank you, slowly coming back to your senses. The two of you walked off as the sound of someone’s tantrum echoed out of the bathroom. 

His grip retained its strength on your waist remained strong as you neared the gymnasium. A deep breath, and you two moved into the musky space. Peter acts as a mosquito deterrent towards the worst entities. The rest flocked to you two in spades, some surprised at the pairing, others clearly trying to gain some footing between the power couple in front of them, while a genuine few were glad to see you. Peter even dared to dance a few numbers with you, all in the name of the act, of course. 

By the end of the night you’d gathered a few numbers, rejected even more, and left feeling like the belle of the ball. In walking out to the car and getting into whatever luxury vehicle Peter had that night, you all but swooned, kicked your feet, and giggled. 

“Did you see her face! Aha, take that, Monica.” You practically glowed.

“Peter, you might just be my hero.” You whispered as he rolled up to your house. 

“No, I just realized we had the same enemy. Trust me. I’m far from altruistic,” his eyes glowing that werewolf blue.

You grinned, looking down before you opened your car door, still flouncing from the evening’s bliss.

Before he could pull off into the night and try to pretend like it never happened, you leaned over and through his open window, pressing your lips to his cheek. “Then maybe you can be my Anti-Hero.”

You felt the muscles of his cheek contort under his lips, quickly sliding back into neutral as he reversed out of your driveway. 

[thesometimesfanficwriter]

Teen Wolf - Forgotten Valentine

The reasons or responses for Teen Wolf characters to forget you on Valentine's Day.

If Derek knows it’s important to you to embrace the corporate holiday known as Valentine's Day; He’s bleeding. That or someone else is bleeding; he hasn’t forgotten, but give him an hour to save McCall and Co. from impending doom. The man values his relationships when he allows them to happen.

Peter is a petty bitch if he “forgot” that, in actuality, you two are/were likely fighting. If Peters is hurting, you’re hurting. However, if you conceded/ apologize, expect a diamond or two from his backlog of gifts from the Hale Vault. 

Stiles was lost in the sauce of his own mind. Did he prepare? Yes, his Macy’s card is maxed out. There is a pile of gifts waiting for you on his dresser. When he realizes the mistake, he rushes to your side with the pile of thoughtfully selected presents. He may be an airhead at times, but he’s your airhead. 

Scott McCall was Stiles and Derek, trying to save the day. He shows up with his shirt still ripped, flowers in hand, and a puppy-like apology on his face. After he shimmies up the drain pipe to give them to you. He tells you, “You’re the only place I’d choose to be.” Then you two slow dance on your roof. The stars are your only light. 

Chris Argent? Forget. Not likely the man has a contingency plan for everything. Whether he gets called out or is incapacitated, there is a delivery of your favorite food, flowers, and a surprise, depending on how long you’ve been together. He’s been a husband in a matriarchal secret society. He gets it. 

Lydia was expecting you to plan the outing. She is the prize after all. Once she realizes that you both made the same mistake, she calls her favorite restaurant and gets you two a table at the last minute. You two enjoy the evening wining and dining each other. 

Allison had everything prepared, but the monster of the week ruined it. The cupcakes have smashed, the flowers torn into shreds, and the handmade card somehow caught fire. She is sobbing, but once you show up, she zips it up until you show her how much you appreciate the effort, ending with snuggles and kisses. 

Parish has to have been brainwashed and kidnapped to forget. He is loyal and charming, and he enjoys the social relationship rituals. He’s waited a long time for you; never think he’d take that for granted. 

[thesometimesfanficwriter]

TVD - Prom asks

Jeremy may be a consummate slacker most of the time, but the man's an artist too. Rather than some elaborate ritual of asking, it's a host of drawings that you find throughout your backpack or purse. When you say yes, he gives you that sideways smile that has you biting your lip.

Damon, ohhhh Damon. He doesn't ask. He never even considers that you might go with someone else. He simply shows up dressed to kill and picks you up; Literally, he bridal carries you into the dance and deposits you two onto the dance floor.

Klaus tells you that you're going together. "Love, I've selected two dress options for you there on the bed." Along with an assortment of jewels to top it off. Honestly, who else would you rather go to prom?

Elijah asks you to a candlelit dinner where he wines and dines you. Your favorite meal, as he is ever the thoughtful man. Then he rests your fingers in his palm, "Darling, would you do me the honor of being on my arm?" While he would respect whatever choice you make, why wouldn't you?

Caroline has already booked every aspect of the night to perfection. She, of course, has an elaborate yet classy card, gift basket, and itinerary laid out for you two weeks before prom. With every detail immaculately planned, Prom is a breeze, even if she needs a bit of soothing the night of the prom queen.

Stefan asks you what you want: an elaborate yet understated ask, an embarrassing host of balloons tied to cardboard, and the list goes on. He is a vampire after all, he's done them all already, so this one is about you. Whatever your choice, he smiles graciously and delivers it with his charming smile.

Bonnie asks you with a beautiful display of magic, floating flower petals, soothing nature sounds, and a glittering sign in the air. All of which is out of view of others, but perfectly established for you two alone. You can't help but smile from ear to ear while you two dance in the woods.

Marcel is smooth and confident. He walks up to you with a token of his affection, whispering the question in your ear, knowing it makes your knees go weak. When you answer breathlessly, he smiles, staring deeply into your eyes and places a chaste kiss that promises so much more.

Enzo makes it a grand gesture because what else could the man do? There rose petals strewn in the shape of a heart in the middle of the quad because the man is nothing if not bold. He convinced some members of the band to play your favorite song live while he sings it to you, changing some of the words to match the prom theme. After such a display, the obvious answer is always.

[thesometimesfanficwriter]

Makeup - Teen Wolf

The various pack members are watching you get ready for a night out.

Peter Hale

That man finds it a turn on to watch you get ready. It isn’t the makeup itself, it’s the confidence that comes with the process. In seeing you transform yourself into a goddess incarnate. The fact that you’re going to be on his arm for the evening. Be prepared to be shown off like his most prized possession. The more confident you are, the more swagger he portrays.

Stiles Stilinski

That boy is just excited to go out with a woman, if we’re being honest. You could have messy hair and grunge eyeliner, and still get the same reaction as a blowout with a bold red lip.  His favorite part is when you press a kiss to his face to ensure it doesn’t end up on your teeth. He’s more than happy to be your blotting paper. 

Scott McCall

That boy smiles like a loon the whole time. Even better if you dance around with him while you get ready for the night. He enjoys the peace of knowing that you’re taking care of yourself. It’s even better if you’re going out for a rare night just the two of you. 

Chris Argent

It’s a turn on. His life is cold metal and sharp edges, so the softness of the ritual means you may not even make it out the door. It’s not uncommon for him to run his hands over your hips and up your waist while his mouth decorates your neck with hickies. 

Lydia Martin

She enjoys helping you perfect your presence. A sense of pride emerges when she sees the rest of the world appreciate what she has seen all along. In more than one instant, she’s had to help you fix your lipstick.

Kira Yukimura

It’s playful colors and soft sighs when you tease each other with the brushes. There’s been more than one evening spent in which you try out different techniques and wild combinations, only to end in giggles and tangled kisses. 

Allison Argent

She enjoys getting the chance to make you feel good. A rush of sincere compliments about your contour or color choices follows every time you pick up a brush or apply rouge. There’s a lightness to her demeanor, knowing that some of it is just for her. 

Jordan Parish

That man is just head over heels in love with you. You could put a paper bag on your head, and he’d dance around the living room with you, spouting his admiration. He admires you make up or bare-faced as long as you’re his. 

Derek Hale

He isn’t one to care either. However, when he notices that spark of delight in your walk or eyes’ gleaming. He’ll smile softly at the rarity of it reaching his eyes. He’ll trail a soft touch down your cheek before he leans up to your chin and helps you smear your lipstick.

Dr. Deaton

He is an admirer of the natural world. He is made breathless and will pause in the middle of the room just to admire you one second more. Always nothing you that the gods couldn’t have made anything more perfect. 

[thesometimesfanficwriter]

Last Chance - Chris Argent x Reader

Your heels clicked in time, a purpose-driven metronome on the marble floors of the penthouse. Every inch of you gleaming with oils, perfumes, and sheer radiance in an outfit that made you feel every inch a woman. The elevator pining with its gentle tone. All the while, your reflection looked anywhere but at yourself.  Almost as though it knew your dirty secret. You had a date.

The past several years flitting behind your eyelids: werewolves, hunters, oni, and death. There was one constant in it all. A silver and ice blue light that helped you stay stable amongst it all. A star amongst the raging infernos, capable of bursts of light and energy but also gentle comfort and guidance. Lately, it wasn't enough. The light was so far and cold. All you wanted, needed was warmth.

Each year, you had grown closer to the hunter. There were more nights of late talks, taking Allison to school, and early-morning breakfasts of pancakes and too much black coffee after a night out with the pack. As time passed, your heart grew fonder, looking for hints of more. Even with your acute mind, you were too close to be objective. Mellisa McCall swore he was equally as fond of you....

You knew he had lost his wife, but how many years were you meant to wait?

As your fingers clutched your purse like a lifeline, the doors opened. A waft of gunpowder, leather, and petrichor hit you – holding you in place. “Chris,” you breathed out equal parts panic and surprise. His piercing blue eyes are swirling with alarm and something you wish you could call desire. 

“Y/N, you look –” you cut him off before he could finish.

“A bit done up?” You asked, fingers gripping around the clutch until the tendons popped to the surface.

“Radiant,” his gaze softened, hands reaching to soothe the tension in your fingers. You knew every callus across his palm, every ridge and scar a memory.

“Thanks,” you smiled a longing all your own, matching him in a breathless tone that begged to be pulled from your lips. If only for one more touch. 

Ding went the elevator as it restarted its descent. “No! I’m going to be late,” you muttered, shaky as your cheeks flushed.  

“For what?” he voiced, rumbling in his husky tone that almost always hinted at the pain he carried in his heart. 

“Mmm,” your fingers paused mid-sentence over the digital keyboard. The words are stuck in your throat like the secret you’d held in your heart. 

Chris's eyes hardened over the pain, compartmentalized. “I suppose it’s about time you stopped spending time with a sad old man.” He replied, ever the one to ease the blow for others, hiding away his suffering. He walked through the hallway, rigid and composed.

You stared at the elevator doors, finally meeting your own gaze before they tracked his descent onto the couch. His head was leaning back, dipping into the leather couch. 

Your weight shifting from one foot to the next, taking yourself in, hair perfectly styled, lips lined into a heady pout, eyes dazzling in perfect contrast. The man on the couch looked every inch as delicious, while someone you were less than excited about was at the bottom of the elevator shaft. It wasn’t their fault they were an opening number to a tragic end or the beginning of your every heart's desire. 

It was now or never. If you went down those steps, you didn’t think you would ever have the bravery to do it again. 

You spun on your heel, moving around the end tables you’d replaced after the last oni attack. Then over Allison's backpack and into the last inches of your destination.

“What if I want–” you gripped your fingers flush against your palms, trying to ignore the desire to dig your nails into your skin. 

His ice blue gaze shifted from hazy to alert. Even though he hadn’t moved a muscle, you knew he was prepared for action. 

“What do you want, Y/N?” Argent asked.

“You, “ you moved to straddle his thighs, the bare skin pressing against soft leather and smooth jeans. “It’s always been you…” Your gaze was watery as your breath hitched. The mingling of night jasmine and soft musk pulls him closer.

The strands of his blond and grey hair slid against your fingers while his fingers pressed against your thighs. Each of your faces leans in, eventually reaching skin-to-skin. 

“Chris, say one word, and I’m yours,” tears slipping over your soft cheeks to soak into your top.

“Please,” you whispered, before leaning in, adding passion to your quiet plea. Your lips meet his while your arms entangle him, leaving nothing but fabric between you.

“Yes,” his answer turned your tears to joy and laughter.

His leather-clad arms lifting you to lie back on the couch, lips and limbs entwining. Your cell phone and evening are long forgotten.