#Fic Excerpt

[fayes-fics]

WIP Sneak Peek: As Yet Untitled

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

So far today, 3.5k of smut has fallen out of my brain. A long-awaited request fill for Regency Anthony. I would love to finish it within the next few days 🤞

Snippet below:

“How much do you know?” he asks, his lips skating over your cheek. 

“Of?” 

“Relations between a man and a woman,” he clarifies as he sucks your earlobe lightly, his words gusting loudly into your ear.

“I have heard ladies' maids talking,” you admit, your hands running up his biceps on instinct, sensing the latent power lurking under the structured wool of his jacket.

“So you know it to be the very best pleasure there is to be found on this earth, then,” he provokes, kissing the sensitive skin of your neck, causing shivers to race down your limbs as you grip his shoulders.

“I have not heard them say quite that,” you gasp, pushing yourself into his attentions, your eyes fluttering closed.

“Then they have not been with the right man,” Anthony asserts in that low register. Something so arrogant in his tone, but enchanting when it is focused on you. “That door is locked, and no one will notice our absence for hours,” he declares categorically, nodding towards the entry. “Just how much you would like to learn today is entirely up to you, y/n…”

Coming soon, hehehe, I hope 😁🧡🧡

[thedaselcor]

Arthur ran his fingers softly along the nasty scar on Merlin’s left shoulder, and tried to swallow the guilt and shame. He had done that. One of the very first days he knew Merlin, he’d attacked him with a morningstar for the terrible crime of standing up to him. It seemed like it had to be so much more than a year and a half to go, couldn’t have been so recent, and yet. 

Arthur had never been good with words, but he knew the kisses he was currently dropping along the edges of the scar could never be amends enough. He took a deep breath, then asked, “help me draft a new policy for the knights? About appropriate treatment of the non-noble citizenry of Camelot?”

Merlin turned to face him, eyes full of question and surprise.

“Not now, I mean,” he added, “after some sleep.”

Merlin nodded, and lunged in, and kissed him, as if ‘ help me draft a new policy for the knights’ was the most gallant and romantic thing he’d ever heard.

[mintedwitcher]

in honour of the transfer mention in canon (which I will be choosing to believe is still Buck's plan until s9 starts and ruins all my fun once again), let's have a slice of my 'buck leaves the 118 fic', shall we? we are finally at his first day.

==============

.“Heard you prefer to go by ‘Buck’, right?” Captain Deluca asks. Buck nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “There were, uh, three Evans in my class at the academy, so uh, ‘Buck’ kinda stuck, I guess.”

“And when did you get out of the academy? Last week?” One guy across the loft asks, a tone in his voice that immediately reminds Buck of Eddie. He bristles, but Deluca beats him to the punch.

“Roy!” he barks. “Don’t get bitter now just ‘cause we got someone prettier on the team.”

Laughs rise up from the rest of the team. The guy – Roy – raises his hands in surrender.

“Alright,” Deluca says, clapping Buck on the shoulder with a heavy hand. “Go put your stuff away, then come back and meet your squad.”

“Yes sir,” Buck says.

“And don’t call me ‘sir’, jeez, I ain’t that old,” Deluca groans, but he’s smiling. Buck grins, quick and nervous, and nods. Deluca gives him a bit of a shove, and Buck heads down to the locker room.

One of the lockers is decorated with streamers, and a handwritten sign that declares ‘For the new guy!’ in a curlicue font. Buck smiles, but he still stands cautiously back as he opens it up. Thankfully, nothing pops out at him. He peeks inside to find it empty, and sighs in relief. He’d already put his uniform on at home before coming in, so he shoves his bag into the locker, and takes a minute to breathe.

This is good, he tells himself. This is a good thing.

He closes the locker, smiling again at the streamers. When he turns around, Roy is in the doorway. Buck’s guard goes up immediately. Roy sighs, and steps forward, extending a hand.

“Sorry, man,” he says. He sounds genuine. “We don’t know each other well enough to joke like that yet. I’m Roy.”

“Thanks,” Buck says. He takes the hand extended and shakes it. “Buck. Are you, uh, on the same shift?”

“Yeah,” Roy says. “Cap actually picked you as my partner. Sorry I made a bad first impression.”

“No, it’s uh, it’s okay,” Buck says. Their hands drop. “I should tell you about how I acted when I met my new partner, at my old house. I was a bit of a dick.”

“You?” Roy snorts. “Can’t picture it, Buck. Anyway, come on up, say hi to the rest of the guys. I promise, we’re not all assholes. Just Cap, sometimes.”

===============

tag list: (since we're so close to this fic getting posted, I won't be adding any more people to the tag list, but all of my posted snippets so far can be found under the tag 'buck leaves the 118 fic' on my blog, and of course, I'll post the AO3 link once it goes live. thank you to everyone who has kept up with this fic so far, yall are so wonderful, I love this community so much ❤️)

@littlepaws9 @loulou-land @dashing-disaster @kinardstits @tyrusshipper12

@samjohnssonvt @magdalyna @sweaters-and-silly @safelycapricious @onceuponatmi

@hubcaphalo @letsdosciencetoit @ladyeyrewrites @cm1031sr @sunsetandevningstar

@marsflower @buckitweride @joyfullyhauntedmiracle @sahtinekryze @agentpeggycartering

@gayjaytodd @darkjediqueen @avnasace @lostintheuniverseslies @breadread101

@whentheresidentsareevil @athenap47 @cheesycottagecheese @youreademonroyce @eliotwaughdeservesbetter

@dearqueend @paperyowl @todd-harper @spence922 @chococara25

[blushweddinggowns]

“You’re so fucking pretty,” Steve mumbled against his lips, nipping at the bottom one, “Prettiest boy I’ve ever seen.”

“I am?” Eddie panted. He wasn’t looking for more flattery. Eddie legitimately thought he’d heard him wrong.

“Well you would know, wouldn’t you?” Steve laughed, moving to kiss along the line of his jaw, “I highly doubt I’m the first guy you’ve driven insane.”

“Actually, you kind of are,” Eddie blurted out, like a fucking idiot. His self-loathing only getting worse when Steve actually stopped.

He pulled back, genuinely confused when he asked, “Huh?”

God, why was Eddie so good at ruining things?

“I haven’t- I’m not- I won’t be the best at this because-”

“You’re a virgin?” Steve asked, cutting right to the crux of it.

Eddie blushed, glancing away, “By some metrics.”

He could feel Steve staring at him. Hard enough for him to struggle through an explanation, “I-I’ve fooled around a little bit with some people. But I grew up in a small town, I didn’t leave for fucking ever, then I was so busy I-”

“But you’re hot,” Steve said dumbly, interrupting Eddie’s panicked speech. Eddie finally looked at him, cringing when he realized that everything on Steve’s face was screaming that he thought Eddie was lying.

Steve gestured up and down the length of his body, a brow raised like he was proving some kind of point, “Like, really hot.”

“I-thank you?” Eddie said, a little dumbfounded, “But I’m still a virgin?”

Steve squinted at him, his eyes searching his face for any tells. When he couldn’t find anything, he just looked more confused. Head cocked like he was trying to figure out a particularly hard puzzle.

“I want to believe you,” Steve said slowly, his words coming out like a question.

Of all the reactions Eddie had imagined, pure skepticism was not one of them. Eddie sighed, a mix of annoyed and flattered at his disbelief, “Why would I lie about this?”

Steve’s eyes softened, picking up on Eddie’s shift in mood immediately. Maybe it should have been unsettling, just how easily he could do that.

But Eddie just felt relief when Steve sighed, gently brushing some of the hair out of his eyes, “Maybe because you figured out that I’d like that.”

“You like that?”

“I like you,” Steve said softly, his thumb rubbing over the side of Eddie’s jaw, “I like the idea of being your first. And your best. All I need to know is, where do you want to start?”

Eddie blinked up at him, his heart squeezing in his chest. How could one man be so perfect?

From this ~finished~ fic

[rosaliamama-mia]

Keith wakes up before Lance. It is dark in their room. Their room—whose room was it originally, Keith doesn't know.

Lance shifts quietly but doesn't wake, and his hair tickles Keith's arm as he sleeps, softly breathing like a blue hammock, paradisiacal. Everything evil becomes bearable—if only for a moment.

Keith thinks, I've loved you my whole life, which isn't possible. My life only started when I loved you, which is.

I want you, Keith realizes with such sudden ferocity he almost sits up out of bed. Only, his arm is trapped underneath Lance’s sleeping figure, and Keith would rather chop off his own arm than startle Lance from his sweet dreaming.

Keith cards his fingers through the feathery locks of Lance’s hair, fingertips ghosting against his temple. Lance is sleeping, and Keith risks a small kiss on his forehead to release this wave of affection that threatens to overwhelm him.

He squeezes Lance’s shoulder one last time before mournfully slipping out of bed, carefully maneuvering so as not to wake Lance. Keith shuts the bathroom door before fumbling in the darkness for the light switch. He wants Lance to be able to keep sleeping. The water takes a few minutes to get hot. He brushes his teeth with Lance’s blue toothbrush.

Keith thinks about the sound of water while he washes his face, a habit he’s only just recently picked up under Lance’s persistent insistence. What does water sound like to Lance on the other side of the wall? Can he even hear it? Is he awake? Keith likes hearing a shower running when he’s in bed. It's never loud enough to keep him awake. It's unobtrusive.

Keith wants to fall asleep in the shower and let his troubles be washed away by the warm water.

He turns off the lights and opens the bathroom door, and he can see Lance in bed. He’s completely covered with blankets. He has a pillow under his head and a pillow on top and a pillow in his arms, a replacement for Keith. It is almost time for them to start their day and Keith still doesn’t want to leave. He wants to ignore the universe and never talk to anybody else. He wants to fall asleep in Lance’s arms and never wake up.

He wants to quit being a paladin and languidly climb back in bed with Lance; wants to be the warmth that fills the space next to him. He wants to wake up again in a tangle of limbs so intertwined he can’t begin to tell where he ends and Lance begins.

He wants Lance’s everything, his gentle smile, and the radiant one too, his laugh—the special one, reserved for Keith and only Keith—his sweaty palms, his brown hair, his freckled face, his piercing eyes, his sleepy confused look when he wakes up, and the smile that follows when he sees Keith.

Keith wants it all. He doesn’t want to share.

[mythboundcal]

🕯 The room remembers.

Not with ghosts. Just… habits.

This is the opening image from my debut fic What the Room Remembers — a soft, aching reunion between Alhaitham and Kaveh, told through the lens of memory and the weight of absence. There’s no yelling. No fireworks. Just silence, and all the things it echoes with.

Read the fic in my post below.

[kaytheday]

Drabble based on the AU where only Mr. Curtis dies instead of both of them:

Based on the post linked here

“What a waste!” Soda looks up from where he is eating at the kitchen table, obviously surprised that he’s bursting out like this.

“She won’t eat dinner again?”

“She hasn’t eaten anything at all today.” Darry says, thinking of the breakfast and lunch plates he’d found left at her bedside table before he’d left for work. They were untouched, his mother hardly moving an inch.

“I could try.” Soda offers, sometimes that worked. Sometimes Soda was able to coax her into eating something or even moving a little bit but it had been a bad day already.

“If you think it would help, I just think it’s one of her bad days.” Ponyboy chooses that moment to come into the room. Besides their mother, Ponyboy had the worst go of their father dying. At least he was the only one who outwardly showed it anyway.

“Hey buddy, thought you went to bed.”

“Couldn’t sleep, is mama okay?” He was the only one of the boys who still called her mama, Darry being too old and Sodapop feeling the same.

“You know,” Soda says gently, “just one of her bad days. She misses dad really bad.”

“Don’t we all.” Darry scoffs. “Damn it, sometimes it’s like we lost two parents that night instead of one.”

“Don’t say that.” Ponyboy scolds, obviously upset. “We’re lucky that she’s still alive.” Darry tried not to get upset at that. Was Ponyboy aware of what their mother was doing right now? She was barely living. She never got out of bed and hardly did anything except sleep.

“Sure we are, why don’t you try to get her to eat then?”

“What do you have against her?” Ponyboy stands, the legs of his chair scraping harshly against the floor. “All you do is complain about her. Sometimes I think you wish she had died in that car accident.” Darry is taken aback.

“I ain’t sayin’ that, all I’m sayin’ is that it’s been months since dad died and we’ve all gotten over it. She’s our mom, shouldn’t she have pulled it together by now?” Soda looks between the two of them with a look of unease. They’d had this fight before, a couple times by now.

“Won’t you two stop?” Soda says in a harsh whisper. “She lost her husband. You don’t just get over something like that.”

“Yeah?” Darry spits. “Well we lost our dad and we got over it.”

[spiritsglade]

remembered i can share fic snippets here. the todds forever on my mind...

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

XI. “lying through teeth”

read on AO3 🦇

parts: previous / next

plot: you have a tense visit with old friends that culminates in a hotheaded confession. Bruce Wayne decides his first official public appearance.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, brief sexual(ish) content

words: 2.6k

You woke up the next morning to brightly colored curtains and walls. You shot up in bed, startling a creature at your feet to jump up. It was Walter, and you were in your childhood bedroom. The sheets were from when you were a tween, some bright pink floral bedding that your dad had pulled out of the back of the closet. It smelled slightly musty, but Walter quickly fuzzied it up and made it feel like home. He crawled up to you with a yawn and stretch, and you pet his head as you gathered your surroundings. You weren't in someone else's bed. It wasn't dungeon-like. You heard your mom and dad talking out in the living room and heaved a sigh of relief.

Your phone on the bedside table vibrated, and you checked it. 1:38 in the afternoon. You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes and wandered out to the living room, your feet immediately rendering that they were back at home safe and sound. Your parents greeted you with delight as they had hands on the door—your mother had a new walker. She's not that old yet. God. I should have asked to see her scans yesterday. "We'll be gone until dinner, talking with the neighbors. I told Margaret about the anonymous donor and oh my, all the neighbors are gathering to celebrate!" With that she and your father bid you adieu, letting you know there were leftover pancakes from breakfast in the fridge.

Margaret. Mar. You took your phone out of your pocket and sent her a text. You hadn't told her you were leaving yet, but you weren't super close, and it had been on a whim... Hey, so sorry to let you know this over text but I left back to home yesterday. My mom's health is having some issues so I had to move quickly. How are you doing back there?

After eating some cold blueberry pancakes you slumped over in a dining room chair to think ahead to your mostly empty day. Walter wandered around behind you until he found his food bowl and went to town. If he followed his usual pattern he would curl up in his bed near the couch and go into a food coma for the next few hours. You smiled. What a cutie.

You opened your phone again, this time to call your friend Lara. She answered on the very last ring. When you told her you were back in town, she responded sheepishly. "Uh, we thought you wouldn't be in town this early. We wanted to plan a homecoming party for you with your parents but we hadn't gotten around to it." 'We' referred to your friend group: Lara, Gabbi, and Rose. You didn't believe her when she said she was planning a party—you didn't even know if they were really your friends anymore. You'd tried to reach out so many times while you were in Gotham, but you'd only received enough responses to fit on one hand. All short, staccato, to the point. "Miss you!" and "Sounds good!" were the only type of responses your group of friends since high school had left for you since you'd left the city, though you started to wonder if they ever gave you things besides pleasantries at all.

You asked if the group wanted to go get coffee now, and after another hesitation she agreed. "Gab and Rose were just on their way to meet me to go to thrifting, but that can wait." It didn't sound like she wanted to wait, but nonetheless you planned to meet at 2:30. You showered, put on some clean clothes from your luggage, and grabbed your old bike to ride over. You had sold the car you'd gotten senior year of high school to pay for the flight to Gotham two years ago.

At 2:31 you pulled up to the local coffee shop. Sat on a patio table were Lara, Gabbi and Rose, all on their phones with drinks mostly empty when you pulled up. Had they been waiting here? Had they already been here? "Hi, sorry, we couldn't wait and already got our drinks." Lara smiled over her phone and gestured toward a grande chai latte sat across from her. "We got you a chai since you probably don't have a paycheck yet."

You held back a wince. Backhanded. You remembered another reason why you'd left which you'd tried hard to forget: your friends were... callous. They didn't have much of a filter, nor show much interest in anything outside of their own interests. Gabbi and Rose gave subtle waves when you sat down across from them, eyes still glued to their phones. Rose gasped and showed something to Gabbi, who gasped alongside her. "Ugh. That douche."

"How was your time in the big city?" Lara put her phone down while the other two chatted to look at you. At least Lara, however disinterested she could sound, tried to be an attentive friend. She'd had dreams of going to Harvard Law after you'd both binged Legally Blonde sophomore year of high school, but she'd missed the deadline senior year after a particularly bad bout of the flu. Now she worked a the local flower shop and somehow secured a local exchange student boyfriend, of which they were now three years strong.

You put your chin in your elbows and sighed. "It's more dangerous than I thought. And also more boring. I think Gabbi and Rose would really like it there, it's more for partiers I think. I don't know, I never really found my place." You noticed Lara's eyes start to glaze over and shifted the subject. "But uh, I officially turned in my last paper for my degree! So as soon as they send in my certificate through the mail I'm done!"

You forced a smile and Lara did the same. "Good for you." Her tone was sickly sweet and you once again hid a wince.

There was an awkward pause for a few moments until Lara cleared her throat and absently asked what your paper was on. Without thinking much of it, you responded. "I was going to do it on Bruce Wayne, but he stopped halfway through the interview."

Gabbi, Rose, and Lara all gasped in unison, and the former threw their phones onto the glass table. "OH MY GOD," Gabbi shrieked. "You've met Bruce Wayne?" By the way their faces lit up it was as if an A-list celebrity had entered the room.

"Did you hook up with him?"

You frowned. "I, I didn't need to sleep with him to get the interview,"

Gabbi, who had asked the question, furiously shook her head. "No," she said with an eye roll. "Because he's a billionaire?" They all stared at you with big, bright eyes.

You had their full attention for the first time in your entire friendship. It hurt you, but you tried to hide it and quickly change the subject. "No, I'd never,"

Rose interrupted with a laugh. "No way, I'd do him in a second. Did you see the photos of him shopping today in Gotham? He looks ripped." The three women laughed to themselves and started loudly talking about their fantasies. "I think he likes cowgirl, how could he not? I don't think I could do doggy, he's just too fucking hot. I'd want him to remember my face too, no way."

"He's got to be a dom. He's not letting anyone on top of him."

"He's too jacked to just do missionary. He probably has some crazy sex dungeon."

"Ooh a REAL LIFE CHRISTIAN GREY! Holy fuck Lara I never thought about that!"

Why couldn't they see the flames shooting out of your ears? "He's not even hot, guys," You rolled your eyes and sat back with your arms crossed. "I don't understand the hype. He's... no."

"Come the fuck on, Y/n, he's the hottest celeb right now." Rose was rolling her eyes at you now, while Gabbi glared at you. "What's your problem?"

You threw your hands in the air, exasperated. Your voice rose as the tension in your body became unbearable. He's not hot. He's not cool. He's just Bruce fucking Wayne. He would be no one if it weren't for his fucking mountain of money. "You all couldn't care less about my life. About me, about my school." Hands slammed on the table as you shoved your chair back.

They jumped, gasping. "Y/n!" It didn't matter, the words were already pouring out of your mouth as unconsciously as vomit.

"The first time you all really look at me, pay me any fucking attention, is when you think I might have fucked a celeb. I'm done."

"Fuck off, everything just has to be about you." Rose snarled. You were already on the way to your bike but spun around at the sound of them getting back to their phones, more furiously now. Nothing with them had ever been anything but themselves. They'd never paid you mind. They kept you in tow because you were too nice. Someone who could always be a shoulder to cry on. Someone to run errands with. Someone to rant to about the other friends in the group.

"You know what?" Fists balled at your sides. Your face was twitching at their audacity, at all the adrenaline shoving through you, making you a live wire. "I did fuck Bruce Wayne. And fuck you."

The flash of cameras haunted him as he slammed the door behind him. Alfred had stared at him peculiarly when he walked in, noticing the Dior and Prada bags in his fists. He wanted to press Bruce on what he planned to do with the clothing (the boy never went out unless he was forced to) but decided to wait and watch it all unfold.

Unfold it had; as Alfred sought a snack in the kitchen later that evening, Bruce had walked out in a sharp Prada double-breasted suit, adjusting his cufflinks and shaking out his arms before standing in the entryway. "What do you think? Is this a good Bruce Wayne?"

The question struck Alfred, and he hadn't answered for a good few seconds. Why was he acting like Bruce was a character? He went towards that curiosity. "You look like yourself in a suit."

Bruce responded with a short huff and looked at the ground. "I just, I need more separation from Batman. I don't want anyone able to suspect me."

His answer made well the confused storm raging in Alfred's brain. No one had ever recognized Bruce before so he'd never had to grapple with that possibility. Along came someone who had, and now he was outfitted in silhouettes he'd only hoped Bruce would grow into. Tears sprung to his eyes; he could tell the boy noticed, but all Alfred did was nod. He imagined Martha seeing her boy all grown up now, looking sharp and mature. "Makes sense, right then."

Bruce holed up in the basement scribbling into his journal. Got designer clothing today. Hated it. Needed to. Creating more separation from myself and Batman. Another close call would lead to some difficult decisions I don't want to make. I still have work to do here, and I don't want to go into hiding earlier than planned. Suddenly fear and anxiety gripped him. Maybe this could just be a one-off. Bruce Wayne hardly seen again, per usual. He could have just gotten the suits to update his sizing, maybe his butler didn't get his sizing right and he had to do it himself. So he had something to wear to the city hall meetings. No, he couldn't do Alfred like that. He'd just wear it to the next meeting. Change around the Batman suit, make it a full face covering: no lips, eyes behind colored mesh. He could sneak platform wedges into the boots somehow to make him considerably taller, to further throw people off his trail. His eyes heavied with sleep from the weight of the exposure today, but he still needed to go out as Batman.

Before he could, however, he needed to empty the earbuds and contacts he'd worn to shop. They were filled with recordings from earlier, something he'd done in case he needed to look back at anything later. You never knew when crime would strike in Gotham, and sometimes he only had a few seconds to make an ID. He plugged them into their chargers where they immediately began streaming data to his screen. He skimmed through it mindlessly for a minute, hearing nothing besides screaming paparazzi and the clicking of cameras. A clustering of voices from a throng of onlookers he'd passed through, desperately asking for a photo, an autograph, a million dollars. He'd strolled quickly past, paying them little mind beside passing greetings... and a mumble. Rewind.

Mumble.

Rewind.

"Might be a new member in the club."

He could barely make out the gruff, low vocals. The club? Then an even softer, quieter response. Unreachable.

Rewind. Vocal increase. Isolate. Max volume.

"Think we can trust him?"

After that point you had entered the store and were no longer in reach. Which club? Had you heard those voices before, or was this new? The last thing you heard before getting out of reach, disappointingly, was the first man scoffing. "The prince of the city? He's more of a fed than the cops."

Bruce immediately went to his contacts to replay the footage. He roughly matched the timing of the words to men barely in his periphery—but nothing close to making an ID. If it hadn't been for the damn cameras... he could have been more vigilant. Being in public exhausted him more than any single night shift. He started scribbling more musings. No trust with public. Become less of an enigma. A partier? A Yachter? Own room at the clubs? Separation and infiltration. Talk of a club. He reviewed the footage again with neurotic focus.

As far as was possible to tell from the fish eye footage, they were suited. The only type of people who wore suits in downtown Gotham were rich. The type of people who couldn't be touched; the business district was up north, far enough away to not get mugged by partygoers the moment something valuable was visible. They had to be people that couldn't be messed with. The type of people who receive a bad look one day and have your head the next. The clubs. The dinners. These people weren't a part of the mainstream party scene; they were in the club within the club, Penguin types. Bruce groaned and tossed his pencil across the table. He didn't want to do this, and after today he realized he'd have to sacrifice more of Batman than he thought if he would have the energy to get through the day as Bruce Wayne.

He pulled up the Gotham event page and marked down every listed event to his calendar. How was he going to explain his sudden personality shift and movement into the public arena? Questions swirled and dizzied his mind. He could only do so much in his cape; now he had to create another mask. And his first big event would be Gotham University's graduation ceremony.

[fayes-fics]

WIP Extract: Sonnet #29 Sequel

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Next week is the 3rd birthday of this blog and, thus, also the 3rd anniversary of my very first piece of fanfiction, Sonnet #29.

I have been writing a sequel to that fic for a while now, which I hope to publish on May 13th.

Under the cut is an extract.

More soon 😁🧡🧡

“Are you hoping for a revisit, darling?” 

His husky voice confirms your suspicions as you climb onto his lap. The wool of his trousers tickles your inner thighs as you settle, straddling him in just your gauzy cotton nightgown.

“Maybe…” you coquette, glancing briefly over to the billiards table.

As he raises the cigar to his quirked lips, you snatch it and take a drag for yourself. His brow arches at your insolence, but the flex of his quad muscles under you as the fragrant smoke fills your lungs tells you how much he approves. You exhale in a swirl, curling your tongue, staring him down with a glint of challenge. Eager for him to take you again, right here in this room, something about an encore so very alluring.

“Do you know Anthony made me pay to have that table rebaised,” he murmurs, more than a hint of hubris laced through his words, a hand on your thigh dragging upwards, rucking your nightgown with it. 

“Perhaps you should not have ruined me quite so thoroughly upon it, husband,” you cluck, raising a brow of your own. 

There’s a flash of admiration in his eyes, even though his answering inflexion is casual: “Well, that is the crux of the dilemma, is it not, dear wife…..” 

He plucks the cigar back from you, balancing it on an ornate pewter ashtray adjacent to his drink, the air heavy with its pungent earthiness as it continues burning. His other hand burrows under your hem, and without preamble, he slides two fingers into your slit, making you gasp loudly. 

“... For I doubt any man could resist such a lush bounty as yours,” Benedict posits with a crooked, victorious smile, feeling just how aroused you are. “Least of all me.”

It doesn't have a title yet, but I hope it will once I am done writing. I hope you all consider this a worthy follow-up to the original 🤞

[thedaselcor]

Love Arthur as gay, love Arthur as bi/pansexual, but may I present... Arthur as fundamentally Merlinsexual: His whole life, Arthur had thought that he would marry for his kingdom. He’d never been especially interested in women, but he assumed that it was normal and, since he had to marry for Camelot anyway, that it really didn’t matter. Then Merlin kissed him, and he kissed Merlin back. And the kiss was passionate and feverish, and it spent several minutes getting more passionate and feverish before he’d been able to pull himself away. And something about it ignited the bond he’d shared with Merlin since the day he’d had Merlin imprisoned and he’d refused to back down. That spark… 

[veliseraptor]

There was a brief silence before A-Qing said, a little quieter, “you don’t actually think I want you to die.” 

Xue Yang half-opened his mouth and then seemed to take a second look at A-Qing’s face and shift gears. “No,” he said, after a beat that struck Xiao Xingchen as slightly too long. “I don’t think you’d cry if I just disappeared, though.” 

“Xingchen would,” A-Qing said. 

“Xingchen cries when a leaf falls off a tree,” Xue Yang said.

[mintedwitcher]

another snip of my 'buck leaves the 118' fic (title TBD) angst incoming:

==========

After the shift ends, Buck goes home. Tommy’s truck is still in the driveway, but unfortunately, Eddie’s rental car is parked next to it, in Buck’s usual spot. With a groan, Buck parks on the street. He grabs his bag and goes inside, expecting the worst.

“Tommy? I’m home,” he calls as he steps through the door. Tommy steps out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel.

“Hey, how was work?” Tommy asks, smiling. There’s something a little tense about it, and he’s just about to ask, when Eddie walks into the room, stone-faced, a bag slung over his shoulder. He drops it at Buck’s feet.

“I called the leasing office,” Eddie says without preamble. “I cancelled your sublet.”

“What?” Buck asks, stunned. It feels like the floor is giving way beneath him. “Eddie, you can’t—I signed a lease!”

“Yeah, you signed under me,” Eddie says. “It’s still my house. I just closed the sale on the one in El Paso, so I need you out. Chris needs somewhere to live.”

“Seriously, Diaz?” Tommy interjects. Eddie glances at him, disdain written clear across his face.

“You couldn’t even give me some warning?” Buck asks, looking down at the bag by his feet. It’s full to the brim with his clothes.

“What, like you gave us any warning about you transferring out?” Eddie scoffs.

“Okay, that’s not comparable at all,” Tommy says.

“Stay out of it, Kinard,” Eddie snaps.

“Don’t think I will, actually,” Tommy says.

“Please, don’t pretend like you’re not thrilled about this,” Eddie sneers. “You get ‘Evan’ all to yourself again, hurray.”

“At least he knows I actually want him around,” Tommy rebuts.

“Can you both just stop!” Buck shouts. They both turn to look at him. Buck takes a breath. He looks at his best friend. The guy he thought was his best friend. “How could you do this to me?”

“Oh, here we go,” Eddie huffs, throwing up his hands.

“No, seriously!” Buck talks over him. Interrupts him. Eddie looks at him with so much rage, Buck wonders if he actually hates him. He points a shaking finger at Eddie. “I did you a huge favour taking over your lease so you could go and be with your son. And yeah, okay, I didn’t go about it the right way, I know that, and I’ve already apologised for it. And now y-you’re just kicking me out? Without warning, without anything? I don’t even get a thanks?”

“How many times do I need to say it? Not everything is about you,” Eddie snarls. Buck recoils, just a little.

“I never said it was,” Buck replies quietly. He can feel his shoulders curling, his body trying to make himself smaller, make himself disappear in the face of Eddie’s anger. He knows Tommy can see it too, judging by the concern on his face. “I just know I wouldn’t do this to you. Not ever. You know I wouldn’t.”

“What do you expect me to do, then?” Eddie asks, coldly. “Put my disabled son on your shitty couch? Raise him in a motel room or a fucking Airbnb until we find another place to live?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Buck says. His voice shakes. Eddie seems to loom in Buck’s vision, growing bigger as Buck feels smaller.

“No, you just want everything to go according to your schedule,” Eddie says. “Grieve on your terms, get better on your terms, take a fucking grief assessment quiz on your terms. Not this time. This is my house, Chris is my son, and you are not going to make this harder on him than it needs to be!”

“Jesus Christ, man,” Tommy says. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Buck can’t breathe. He turns on his heel and leaves. He doesn’t even close the door behind him, he just runs. He doesn’t get into his truck – he knows better than to try and drive right now – and he doesn’t stop running, not until his shoe snags on a tree root and he stumbles to a halt, finding himself at a park, ten blocks away from his – Eddie’s – house.

He probably looks crazy, he thinks, standing here like a statue, tears and snot running down his face, hyperventilating because there’s just not enough air. He sinks to his knees, burying his hands in the grass. It’s been mowed recently, he can smell it. There’s a word for it, he thinks, for the smell of freshly cut grass. Or… no – he shakes his head – no, there’s a word for the smell of rain. Petrichor. He remembers that one. There isn’t a singular word for freshly cut grass like that. It’s a phrase. Green leaf volatiles. That’s it. A distress signal in the plant to communicate that it’s been damaged.

He wonders if humans give off a distress scent too. If so, surely someone would’ve realised that Buck isn’t okay.

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tag list: (as always if you want to be tagged, let me know, and I'll add you to the list for the next post! other snippets can be found under the tag 'buck leaves the 118 fic' on my blog)

@littlepaws9 @tyrusshipper12 @loulou-land @kinardstits @samjohnssonvt

@magdalyna @sweaters-and-silly @dashing-disaster @safelycapricious @onceuptonatmi

@hubcaphalo @letsdosciencetoit @ladyeyrewrites @cm1031sr @sunsetandevningstar

@marsflower @buckitweride @joyfullyhauntedmiracle @sahtinekryze

[blushweddinggowns]

“Hey, Eddie?” Steve asked, his voice muffled behind his arms.

Eddie hummed, his eyes still focused on the stove, “Yes, my love?” 

“Do you want to go on a date with me?”

That caught his attention. Eddie turned to smile at him, twirling the spatula he had between his fingers, “I thought I had been going on dates with you?”

“But you’ve planned them all,” Steve said, his lips curling down into a pout, “I wanna romance you too.”

Eddie shut off the stove with a laugh before walking over, eggs forgotten. He stopped in front of him, reaching out to grip Steve’s chin to gently force his head up for a kiss.

 “I feel pretty romanced, Stevie,” Eddie sighed against his lips, “Don’t know how much better you can do there."

“But this is what I’m talking about!” Steve whined, pouting despite the blush crawling up his neck. He stood up, fast enough for Eddie to be reminded who the athlete was between them. Suddenly, Eddie found himself backed up into the counter, trapped between Steve’s arms as he braced them on the marble. He looked determined, “It’s your turn to deal with the butterflies. I already got a plan. Next Friday.”

“And what would that plan be?” Eddie asked, reaching out to settle his hands onto Steve’s hips. 

“It’s a surprise,” Steve grinned, leaning in to nuzzle his face against Eddie’s neck, “Am I hearing a yes?”

Eddie swallowed, flushing when the contact started to turn to small nibbles, “How could I say no?”

“Good,” Steve said, his smile burning pleasantly against Eddie’s skin. He stepped back, dripping with the same Harrington charm that perfectly hid his sexuality throughout all of high school, “I’m gonna treat you real nice.”

The sudden confidence had Eddie’s head spinning, bad enough for him to only be able to dumbly nod. Friday couldn’t come soon enough. 

Eddie spent the rest of the week nervously excited, which he did realize was stupid as fuck. Steve was his boyfriend. They did everything together. Their relationship was well established. There was nothing to be nervous about. But that didn’t stop Eddie from changing his outfit three times when the day finally came. 

The window between Steve meeting him at home after work gave him ample time to fret, but it still didn’t feel like enough when he heard a knock at the door. Eddie groaned at the sound, already annoyed at the interruption. 

He was already halfway through his excuse for whoever it was when he opened it, “Look, whatever it is I don’t have time right now- Steve?”

There Steve was, grinning ear to ear as he leaned against the porch railing. He looked good. Tight jeans, hair styled, and that fucking smile that could made Eddie’s knees weak. He also had something in his hands, wrapped in dark blue cellophane. It took Eddie a second to realize that it was a flower, a blackwater iris that he recognized from his grandma’s old gardening books. 

“What are you doing?” Eddie asked fondly, “You have a key.”

“I’m here to pick you up,” Steve said, passing the flower into his hands, “And to do a pre-little wooing. Do you like it?”

“I love it,” Eddie said, taking a second to admire it. He’d never gotten flowers before in his life, the thought had never even crossed his mind. Let alone one tailor made for his taste.

But now he definitely was a flower guy. Steve made a mistake with this one. Now that he got a taste for it, Eddie could get used to being spoiled. He rushed back inside to put it in water, trying and failing to tamper down his heartbeat before they left. He needed some composure here.

Despite the fact that it was Steve’s date, Eddie couldn’t help but insist on taking the van. For the purely selfish reason that he wanted space if things… escalated. He passed Steve the keys, spending the long ride trying and failing to guess where they were going. He didn’t fully connect the dots until they were pulling into the parking lot.

“The state fair?” Eddie asked as Steve parked in the back of the lot. 

from the latest chapter of this fic

[inkivaarinensart]

I rarely post pieces of my fics into tumblr, but I come to offer you a short excerpt from the second chapter of my Emmrookanis fic (You have always been a delicate disaster) as a tease, and as proof that I haven't abandoned it :' )

Some nsfw-ish, but nothing explicit. Lucanis ruminates about his past experiences about sexuality, and his feelings towards Emmrich and Rook.

-It was something completely new for him. This was the first time in his life that he had felt this way towards anyone, physically at least.

When Lucanis had been a young Crow, he had been confused when his peers’ actions had started to change as they grew further into their adolescence. He hadn’t been ignorant about the cause of it, he knew what sex was and how puberty changed your body – after all, he’d had to sit through an extremely awkward and long lecture from his grandmother, complete with diagrams and pictures that had caused even Illario to blush in embarrassment. But when the other Crows had awkwardly started to fumble together in shadowed corners, and when his cousin started to boast about his growing list of conquests… Lucanis had found himself mainly uninterested in the whole thing. Whatever physical needs his body had, he’d been more than content to take care of them by himself.

He knew, of course, that he had been privileged. While he had been taught the art of seduction like any other assassin, his position as the First Talon’s grandson had ensured that he didn’t have to use his body as a stepping stool to gain favours with the other Crows, nor was he forced to pick up contracts that would’ve required sex to get close to his targets. (Illario, on the other hand, had revelled in those sorts of contracts, and treated them like a game.)

But now he understood his peers from all those years ago. He understood the need to get as close as possible to your lover until your breath mixed together, like there was a hook under his navel that kept pulling him towards Emmrich and Rook, a physical thing that kept tugging at him almost painfully when he was apart from them. He understood the desire to keep touching, seeking out openings that would reveal skin – not to find vulnerable places where to slip a knife, but where he could place his hand for the simple pleasure of contact, skin warm to his palm, the heartbeat he found there answering to his own rapid pulse in kind. To hear those soft, pleased sighs that were meant just for his ears only.

[rosaliamama-mia]

In the mornings, half awake, Lance clumsily grasps at strands of nothingness, hand outstretched in search of some other human warmth. Eventually, memory catches up—he went to bed alone and he will wake up alone, and that is how it will always have to be—and Lance gets up very quickly to escape the emptiness.

Wishes fall like little tears drops from his eyes. He wishes he could catch them just like he wishes he could kiss her mouth and conquer everything again, but he hasn't found beauty yet. He hasn’t even found a reason to open the window.

He can hardly brush his teeth. No one calls by the phone, and no one commits to healing for more than a few weeks.

Lance may laugh and he may smile, but through his appalling superficiality, therein lies the upsetting knowledge that the feeling never really goes away; it instead lingers like a foul cloud of flies over the rotting corpse of his dreams.

The sun continues to cast its golden shadow; soldiers continue to march and children continue to cry and life continues to spit in his face like the world hasn’t already ended. The future is a vase already dropped and the same bad day will repeat three hundred and sixty-five times, and Lance will have to learn to live with that.

It is so easy to crawl back under the covers and to leave spilled sugar on the counter. It is so easy to shift into comfortable monotony, so easy to fall in love with the idea of domestication, it is close enough to kiss—but not yet, no, not yet.

He catches glimpses of his watery reflection in the bathroom sink. Allura’s marks shine painfully in the streaks of yellow morning light that peek through his closed window. Lance wills the marks on his cheek to disappear. Instead, they continue to shine like pale moonlight.

Last night, Lance dreamt about tracing Allura's nose with his finger. The rest of the morning, he feels like he's been severed from a piece of himself.