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Do you have a sweet tooth and love all things fluffy Sterek? Beerwolves just waits to fullfill all your fluffy AU wishes. But beware dentist visists are not included!
So, anyone remember the Victorian AU Steter thing I wrote a while ago? I’ve posted the fourth chapter of it, which was hellishly hard to write, and then ran away from it for a while. (By which I mean nearly two years.) But! The good news is that I am about a third of the way through the epilogue, which is your sneak peek for this week:
Her eyes darted behind him, no doubt catching on his nephew coming
up the steps, and she made herself scarce. Peter sighed—he could not fault her
for that, though he wished rather dearly that the inevitable confrontation
between the formerly-betrothed had already taken place. He did not relish the
aftermath to come, predicting that his darling wife would nurse a sore heart
for some time over it.
As he watched the hem of Stiles’s skirts vanish up the
stairs, Derek stood beside him. “You told me of your marriage, but,” he
paused, struggling for words. Peter waited, neither rushing him nor rescuing
him by providing an opening. Eventually, Derek simply said, “She is different
from the girl I knew.”
Peter merely nodded. “Marriage does do that women—a
felicitous one, even more so.” He tuned to see his nephew’s thoughtful face.
“Excuse me.”
So, anyone remember the Victorian AU Steter thing I wrote a while ago? I’ve posted the fourth chapter of it, which was hellishly hard to write, and then ran away from it for a while. (By which I mean nearly two years.) But! The good news is that I am about a third of the way through the epilogue, which is your sneak peek for this week:
Her eyes darted behind him, no doubt catching on his nephew coming
up the steps, and she made herself scarce. Peter sighed—he could not fault her
for that, though he wished rather dearly that the inevitable confrontation
between the formerly-betrothed had already taken place. He did not relish the
aftermath to come, predicting that his darling wife would nurse a sore heart
for some time over it.
As he watched the hem of Stiles’s skirts vanish up the
stairs, Derek stood beside him. “You told me of your marriage, but,” he
paused, struggling for words. Peter waited, neither rushing him nor rescuing
him by providing an opening. Eventually, Derek simply said, “She is different
from the girl I knew.”
Peter merely nodded. “Marriage does do that women—a
felicitous one, even more so.” He tuned to see his nephew’s thoughtful face.
“Excuse me.”
“I see,” he says softly. There’s a long silence then, where Peter stares at nothing and Stiles mostly manages to release her death-grip on the no-doubt expensive chair she’s sitting in. Just as the quiet becomes unbearable, he speaks again. “You need the protection of a pack, and our help to access the training you need to survive.”
Having it stated so baldly has her suppressing knee-jerk sarcasm and the urge to walk away. But now isn’t the time to quibble over semantics, so she nods curtly. “In a nutshell.”
I started a new project, and it’s totally @bunnywest ‘s fault. I blame her 100%. The fact that I’ve had notes for this sitting in a folder for a year is Totally Irrelevant. BUNNY’S FAULT.
The walk to the Hales’ front door feels like walking to the
gallows. It’s hard to make herself leave the false security of the street
lights and head down the gravel path. They’re a little off the beaten track,
here, but not so far that the lighted front window can’t be seen from the road.
It’s probably a quarter mile, if that. It feels like it takes an hour before
she’s climbing the porch steps.
She taps gently on the front door, knowing that the occupants
will have no trouble hearing it. She grips the strap of her duffel bag tightly
as she waits for someone to answer. She doesn’t know who it’ll be, has only
ever heard about the Hales, never seen them, but she’s a little thrown when a
tall, imposing man with heavy scruff and an intense scowl answers the door.
She swallows, and he huffs. “Yes?”
His voice is—softer, than she’d expected. From the sheer size
of him, she’d expected something deeper. She gives herself a little shake. “I
need Alpha Hale’s help,” she whispers.
I started a new project, and it’s totally @bunnywest ‘s fault. I blame her 100%. The fact that I’ve had notes for this sitting in a folder for a year is Totally Irrelevant. BUNNY’S FAULT.
The walk to the Hales’ front door feels like walking to the
gallows. It’s hard to make herself leave the false security of the street
lights and head down the gravel path. They’re a little off the beaten track,
here, but not so far that the lighted front window can’t be seen from the road.
It’s probably a quarter mile, if that. It feels like it takes an hour before
she’s climbing the porch steps.
She taps gently on the front door, knowing that the occupants
will have no trouble hearing it. She grips the strap of her duffel bag tightly
as she waits for someone to answer. She doesn’t know who it’ll be, has only
ever heard about the Hales, never seen them, but she’s a little thrown when a
tall, imposing man with heavy scruff and an intense scowl answers the door.
She swallows, and he huffs. “Yes?”
His voice is—softer, than she’d expected. From the sheer size
of him, she’d expected something deeper. She gives herself a little shake. “I
need Alpha Hale’s help,” she whispers.
Update
So, anyone remember that original tentacle porn piece I was writing back in March for the Safe Sane Consentacle anthology? (It’s cool if you don’t.)
My rejection email showed up today. Which, I kind of expected? But that still sucks.
The upside for you, my lovely readers and friends, is that I’m gonna take a couple days to lick my metaphorical wounds, and then I’ll see about editing the piece and getting it posted to AO3, so everyone who’s interested in reading it still can.
It’s hot, and Stiles would love to make him finish this way, but. The Plan. So while he kinda regrets letting his teeth graze the head of Peter’s cock, it’s a necessary evil.
He tries not to feel smug when Peter hisses and pulls over. “Alright, you little shit, out of the car.”
He takes another step back, away from his dad’s devastated expression, and closer to the door. “You don’t get to stand there and lecture me, treat me like I’m not an adult, after I made that choice. After what you put me through after she died. You just don’t.”
Another photoset for the incredible @queerfictionwriter who penned another installment in the Bad Daddy Argent series (the first story, Sugar, has a photoset here).
This one has hot, forceful biker!Chris with a habit of banging his daughter’s friends, and an uber-confident bratty!Lydia who doesn’t toe the line–and pays the penalty. Some rough, punishing sex, dub-con all the way around, and a bit of a mystery for Lydia to puzzle over, this is a delicious indulgence.
Spoil yourself with this one, but as always, mind the tags!
Queer Fiction Writer 