#tender sex

[aziraphales-library]

Hi! Do you have any adult omens suggestions featuring Crowley not exactly dirty talking, not more like sweet talking Aziraphale? There's so much praise kink towards Crowley in fics, but I rarely seeing Crowley praising and sweet talking Azi in bed. You know, telling him how good he is and all that. I think Aziraphale needs to hear that sometimes.

I love your blog so, so much, by the way! It's fantastic!!

Hey! Our #insecure Aziraphale tag will include plenty of fics where Crowley sweet talks to him. Here are some praise kinky/tender sex fics for Aziraphale...

Perfection by stonecoldyiddies (E)

Oh angel, angel you're perfect" Aziraphale felt his head go fuzzy at the word.  Perfect.  It was all he ever wanted to be.  "S-say it again...please," he whined.

Deep Down, A Little Bit Good by crushmeeren (E)

Crowley, Aziraphale thinks, has always been just a bit good deep down. As much as Crowley loathes to admit it, he is. Case in point, Crowley fucks Aziraphale unbelievably, well, good. Granted it’s definitely better than just good, it’s fucking great, makes him see heaven -no pun intended-but he’s trying to make a point here.

Life After Heaven by Ultramarine316 (E)

The evening after the body swap, Crowley seduces Aziraphale, carefully soothing Aziraphale’s lingering worries by offering him the acceptance and certainty he’s always craved.

When In Rome by tardigrape (E)

“Hang on.” Crawly’s voice cuts into Aziraphale’s thoughts. “Does that mean you’ve never done it?” “Done what?” Aziraphale’s brain is sluggishly trying desperately to keep up. Crawly’s lips pull into a smirk. “Got yourself off?” “Got myself off what?” “Angel.” Crawly dips his chin to look pointedly at Aziraphale, and Aziraphale’s stomach does a wild little swoop when the meaning of his words becomes clear.

Crawly teaches Aziraphale about self-pleasure. It's not technically sex, so it's not technically a sin. Right?

the desire and pursuit of the whole by unsinkablesammy (E)

After their respective trials, Aziraphale goes back to Crowley's flat and sees something he wasn't supposed to. Confessions and romance ensue.

A Crack in the Wall by Anonymous (E)

There were many things Aziraphale knew by heart: the words in every rendition of the bible that he could get his hands on, the smell of old books and how to bring a smile on someone's face when their spirits were low. What he didn't know was how to respond when Gabriel looked dead in his eye and said, "Crowley desires you, Aziraphale. There's a corruption, a disgusting lust in his heart, and he may act on it if you get too careless. He might even try to take you by force."

- Mod D

[theres-a-body-here]

Scumtober- Day 24 (Tender Sex)

Night's Cavalry x Male!reader

You look back as you walk down the Mistwoods.

Yep, he's still there. The Night's Cavalry Rider, Beor.

How do you know his name?

Because he wrote it down on a scrap of scroll and placed it on your face as you slept for you to find in the morning. Said note also contained a love letter professing his love.

Simp.

You sigh as you keep walking. He's been following you ever since he knocked your helmet off your head during battle. The thing that bothers you most is that he's out of his Lord's territory. You're fairly certain Margit didn't allow his men to travel this far out. You wonder if hes disobeying orders by following you all the way out here.

The moon rises over the land as you decide to make camp. You set up a bedroll and make a fire. You sigh as you hold your hands out to warm them up.

As you sat by the heat of the campfire, you couldn't help but feel uneasy knowing someone was watching. You glance around, trying not to be too obvious, and spot Beor hiding behind a nearby tree.

Damn it, dude! Just come out already!

You roll your eyes and turn away, deciding to ignore him for now. After all, he hasn't done anything harmful yet... just really creepy.

Suddenly, something hit your head. It's a crumbled ball of paper. you picked it up and turned to glare at Beor, who had quickly hidden behind a tree after throwing it. You straighten out the note.

The message read: 'I can't take my eyes off you.'

Good Gods. You had to do something.

Sighing heavily, you called out to Beor, "Alright... Come sit with me." You then added sternly, "But don't be creepy!"

Reluctantly, Beor approached slowly, almost like a timid animal. Once he reached you, he hesitantly took a seat across the fire from you. His entire demeanor reeked of nervousness.

Relaxing slightly, you began rummaging through your bag, searching for some jerky. However, you soon noticed Beor shifting closer to you, his posture tense as he tried to act casually. When you looked up, he was caught red handed, his gaze darting away guiltily.

This guy...

Going back to rummaging through your bag, you finally found what you were looking for – jerky! With a satisfied grin, you lifted your head, only to be startled by Beor practically breathing down your neck. He must have moved while you weren't paying attention.

Startled, you let out an undignified yelp and dropped the food. The jerky lands on some mud. You look at the jerky, to Beor, to the jerky, and finally back to Beor.

Both of you stared at each other silently before he leaned forward and grabbed the dropped jerky, which was now covered in mud. Hesitating for a brief moment, he held it out towards you.

You shook your head and sighed. "Thanks, but no thanks."

Trying to regain composure, you turn back to the crackling fire, hoping to ignore him. To your annoyance, Beor continued to scoot closer until your bodies pressed together.

Awkward silence hung heavy between you two.

Feeling movement against your side, you glanced over to see Beor holding out his closed fist. Curiosity piqued, you watched as he opened his palm, revealing a Miquella's Lily that had been crushed beyond recognition. Wordlessly, he motioned for you to take it.

Without thinking much of it, you accepted the gift.

Inspecting the fragile petals of the delicate flower, you couldn't help but feel touched by such a rare gesture. Although it was crushed, it still held significance. You brought the bloom close to your nose, savoring its faint fragrance.

Silence stretched between you again as Beor simply watched you appreciate his offering.

Nodding to yourself, you carefully place the crushed Miquella's Lily inside your bag for safekeeping. The silence returned, making you uncomfortable enough to break it.

"You can have..." You paused, feeling embarrassed at your own words. "...One kiss."

Beor tensed up and immediately started nodding vigorously, his helmet producing loud clanks with every enthusiastic movement.

Groaning internally, you prepared yourself for whatever was coming next. Beor eagerly closed the gap between you, anticipating his reward.

"Aren't you going to remove the helmet?" You asked curiously.

In response, he shook his head forcefully. Guess that means the helmet stays on.

Shrugging it off, you decided to leave his choice alone. Leaning closer, you press a soft kiss onto his helmet where his cheek would be. Instinctively, his hand clenched so tightly that you could hear the leather of his gauntlet creak under the strain. You pull away.

Good Gods, all you did was give him a peck on the helmet, and this was his reaction? No wonder he acted so skittish; he definitely was whipped for you.

Deciding to test how far you could push him, you leaned in again, this time tracing a line along his helmet with your tongue. Beor visibly trembled, accompanied by a muffled groan from within his helmet.

Oh dear, this man was putty in your hands.

Unfortunately for you, your actions didn't leave you completely unaffected either. Feeling your own arousal building, you felt your member hardening within your pants. Blushing profusely, you tried to reason with yourself.

"I know I said just a kiss," you started hesitantly, "...but..."

At the sound of your voice, Beor's head snapped in your direction, desperate to catch whatever suggestion you may have for him.

Letting out an exaggerated groan, you tried to continue, "You know..."

To your utter mortification, Beor pointed directly at his crotch, seemingly confirming whether that was indeed what you wanted. Covering your face with your hands, you berated yourself for getting into this situation.

Fuck it. You raised your head and gave him a decisive nod.

Beor seemed ecstatic at your response, eagerly beginning to remove his protective codpiece. Underneath, his cock stood proudly erect, ready for action. With a deep blush spreading across your features, you followed suit, taking off your pants and underwear. Your own manhood sprang forth, mirroring Beor's excitement.

Eager to get things started, Beor laid flat on his back, slapping his armored thighs invitingly as if asking you to climb aboard.

Rolling your eyes, you muttered, "You're an idiot," before complying with his request. Straddling Beor, you could feel his hardened length pressing against your ass.

Lifting yourself up slightly, you slammed back down onto Beor's lap, eliciting a muffled groan from within his helmet.

"You better be gentle," you warned him. In response, Beor nodded his head furiously, the clinking of metal echoing throughout the campsite.

Leaning to the side, you retrieved your bag, pulling out a small container of oil created from melted mushrooms. Resting on Beor's chest, you reached back and took hold of his throbbing member, liberally applying the slippery substance all over it.

Beor released a muffled moan as you positioned his lubricated tip at your entrance. With a deep breath, you pushed downwards, impaling yourself on his rigid length.

Letting out a soft moan, you sank deeper and deeper onto Beor's impressive girth. "Fuck, you're so big," you muttered, unable to believe how well he filled you up.

Meanwhile, Beor was clearly enjoying himself, his head thrown back as he panted heavily and trembled with pleasure.

Upon fully sheathing himself within you, Beor let out a low whine of delight. You sighed contentedly, feeling both their combined weight bearing down on you.

Before you could react, Beor shifted positions, wrapping his arms securely around you as he sat up. Now, instead of riding him, you were nestled within his embrace.

Closing your eyes, you leaned your head against his cool, metallic chest, reveling in the sensation of being enveloped by him. Softly, he ran his hands up and down your spine, sending shivers through your body.

Gradually, Beor began to move within you, maintaining a slow, steady rhythm. Making sure to support your weight, he kept you cradled in his arms as his helmet nuzzled against your face.

Moans escaped your lips as Beor thrust into you with a gentleness you hadn't expected from someone so large and intimidating. You rubbed your aching cock against the smooth metal of his armored abdomen.

As he continued to plunge into you, Beor rubbed his helmet against your face affectionately, reminding you of a cat seeking comfort from its owner. Simultaneously, one of his hands found yours, entwining your fingers together as if they belonged there.

Whimpering as you neared release, you bucked your hips harder against Beor's armor, leaving streaks of precum.

"Sorry....your armor," you apologized sheepishly for making a mess on his black armor.

However, Beor didn't seem bothered by it at all – if anything, he appeared more amused than upset. Using his free hand, he gently petted your head reassuringly, letting you know that he didn't mind.

Reassured by his response, you wrapped one hand around his hip while using the other to resume stroking your own needy erection. Precum continued to flow freely, coating Beor's armor in a sticky film.

Beor released a pleased noise from within his helmet, picking up the pace ever so slightly as he continued to thrust into you relentlessly.

With a whiny cry, you finally succumbed to your release, splattering Beor's armor with thick ropes of semen. As your orgasm subsided, he gently rubbed your back.

Now that you had cum, it was Beor's turn. Still buried deep within you, he reached behind his back and removed his cape from his armor. Carefully laying it on the ground, he leaned forward until you were lying on top of it.

For a moment, Beor held your thighs aloft, offering them a brief yet comforting massage. And then, without warning, he suddenly changed tactics, pounding into you mercilessly. Unprepared for such ferocity, you cried out in surprise, your moans matching the speed of his brutal thrusts. Holding your thighs tightly, he showed no signs of stopping or easing up.

Still not letting up, Beor pressed your thighs together and rolled you onto your side. From this new angle, he somehow managed to increase the intensity of his relentless pumping, driving his cock deepr into you.

The air filled with the sounds of his labored breathing and the wet squelching of flesh meeting flesh as he continued to claim you.

As the tempo increased, you could do little more than issue a series of whimpers and mews, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through your veins. Beor took full advantage of your vulnerable state, leaning over to pin you down with his considerable bulk as he pressed his helmet against your face.

"Fuck, fuck, fuuuccckk!" you cried out, unable to contain your mounting euphoria. Every forceful impact of armor against flesh sending fire down your body in waves.

Beor reached his breaking point. With a guttural grunt, he drove himself all the way home, his warm seed flooding your hole. Wrapped in his strong arms, you basked in the afterglow of your shared release.

Breathing heavily, you allowed Beor to nuzzle your face with his helmet.

"You're still a simp," you muttered sleepily, too exhausted to muster up any real zingers.

Scumtober 2023 Masterlist

[lilypadlys]

Mushy May Day Eight - Sex Turning Into Making Love

Ship: Sunshine/Swiss

Notes: Continuation of day six. Prompt list by @forlorn-crows. See prompt list here

Word Count: 541

Read on AO3 or below the cut

Sunshine and Swiss have only just made it home and they’re racing through the abbey back to Sunshine’s room. As Sunny locks herself in the ensuite bathroom to change, Swiss flops onto her bed to wait none too patiently.

“Are you done yet?”

“Haha, give me a minute. Gonna make my hair look nice.”

“Your hair already looks nice, Sunbeam.” He truly means it. It’s not just an attempt to get her in his lap sooner.

“Alright, fine!”

She emerges and Swiss’ brain melts all over again.

Maybe it’s the chance to have cooled his head, maybe it’s how the afternoon light filters through the window just right to make Sunny practically glow. All of Swiss’ plans to shove her up against a wall, fuck her into next week, and plenty of other delicious nastiness pales in comparison to his burning desire just to admire and worship her. All he can manage is gently pulling her close and kissing her even more sweetly.

When he pulls back she smiles up at him.

“You’re blushing again.”

“And? Can’t help it. You look so beautiful and I don’t know what to do with you.”

“You seemed to have a pretty clear idea earlier.”

“Yeah but now I just want to hold you and never let go. Kiss you until I run out of air. Love you forever.” Swiss surprises himself with how mushy he’s gotten but he can’t help it.

“So do it then.” Sunny's reply. All her teasing is gone now though. Instead she says it with an adoring smile that clearly says she feels the same about him.

He brushes a stray curl behind her ear. “Okay.”

The two of them embrace. Arms wrapped around each other and lips pressed together like they’re afraid of leaving any space between them. They share air until they’re breathless, parting their lips only enough to breath. Then they start to let their hands and mouths explore each other. It’s slow though, touching and tasting gently. Taking the time to roam skin with soft touches and feather light kisses.

At some point they end up on the bed and naked. Hands caress newly freed skin. Even as Swiss fondles Sunshine’s tits, and her his ass, there's still no hurry. Even as Swiss dips down to nuzzle his cheek against Sunny’s inner thigh. Even as his stubble tickles her and she giggles. Even as his tongue darts out to taste.

She rests a hand in his locs, not tugging, just wanting to touch. To ground herself as Swiss takes her apart with his tongue. She whimpers out her pleasure as he runs a soothing hand up and down her side. Hums against her as she arches her back and gushes slick.

Then they’re kissing again, both indulging in the taste of her. He’s rutting against her and she’s pleading for it. He’s lining himself up and thrusting in and they’re both keening with it. And even as he thrusts into her, they’re holding each other tight. And when words fail they’re locking eyes and communicating a love that can’t be vocalized.

And then they’re falling over the edge together.

In the afterglow they snuggle up against each other.

“I love you sunbeam.”

“Love you more shadow.”

[therealmofamorus]

Ask

Original Male Crossover Stud AU

What if while Ren tries to dirty talk during sex... Shouto whisper nice things in her ears instead? He turns a casual sex into a loving sex. How does she take it?

“I am going to drain your cock, Icyhot~”

“And I am going to make sweet love you. Hug, kisses and sweet words for you.”

Ren seductive expression washed away to cute blushing expression as she stared at the hunky pretty boy who stared at her unflinching eyes as he leaned forward and kissed her lips and gives her the tender embrace of pleasure and affection.

[murakamimayumi]

A change of pace

Fandom: Buddy Daddies

Pairing: Kazuki Kurusu x Rei Suwa

Rating: Explicit

CW: Mentions and vague descriptions of injury

Words: 2,604

Summary:

Rei is not dissatisfied, how could he, but he still feels like there’s something missing.

Soon, Kazuki is laying next to him, giving him lazy kisses as he drifts into sleep.

It’s not like the sex is bad, he enjoys it, even if he doesn’t have much of a reference anyway, but he just wishes Kazuki would allow him to fuck his brains out.

He has tried to take the initiative, but the blond refuses his advances, saying he shouldn’t put any more strain on his arm.

OR

Rei wants it a little rougher, and his physical therapy might just give him the opening he needs.

If you're interested, you can read it here.

Also, if you liked it and would like to commission me, you can check out my carrd here.

[laurellala-comics]

Fun fact! This was the real tipping point that made Edgeworth run away after AA1, they just couldn't show it on screen because they didn't have the rights to Chappell Roan's music <3

(A spiritual successor to my "Hot to Go" joke from this post. Image description under the cut below)

[Image ID: a four page black and white comic of characters from ace attorney.

The Judge stands solemnly at his podium holding a gavel "Mr. Miles Edgeworth, you are on trial for the murder of blah blah blah..."

A cheerful Maya Fey leans over to Miles Edgeworth, who is staring straight ahead and looking very concerned

Maya: "Psst! Mr. Edgeworth! If you win your trial, can I show you Chappell Roan?

Miles: "What the hell, sure." Internally he thinks "Oh God I am going to jail"

A box saying "later" in the top corner of the next panel marks the passage of time.

The Judge smiles as he says "I declare you... Not Guilty!"

We see a full body shot of Maya dancing excitedly while Miles looks on, emotionless

Maya: YIPPEE omg you're going to LOVE this

Miles internally thinks "oh no, the consequences of my actions.

We see Miles standing in between Phoenix Wright and Maya looking apprehensive. Maya beams in excitement, while Nick puts a reassuring hand on Miles' shoulder

Miles: Alright, so what is this exactly?

Nick: She's a pop musician Maya really likes

Maya: You promised you'd let me show you, and it's legally binding because you said it in a court room!

Miles: That is not how the law works Ms. Fey

Maya: Shh just listen!

We see a panel of Miles' pensive face concentrating as he listens to "Hot to Go". He thinks to himself "hm".

Another panel zoomed in more. His pensive expression has grown more tense/confused as he listens to "Red Wine Supernova". he again thinks to himself "Hm" in a larger thought bubble.

We zoom out again to see Nick, Miles, and Maya standing together again. Miles stares forward blankly, eyebrows raised. Maya excitedly leans in.

Maya: Ok, that's her whole discography. So! What did you think?

Nick looks at him, waiting for his response

We get a panel of Miles, looking bewildered. He starts to speak "I..."

We cut again to see the three of them standing together.

Miles: I... don't think I like women?

Miles looks shocked and confused. Nick is bent over laughing, using a hand on Miles's shoulder to support himself. Maya looks outraged and appalled!

Maya: MR. EDGEWORTH! Just because you don' like her musi it doesn't give you an excuse to be sexist!

We see a panel of Miles looking stressed and confused. He leans his head on one of his hands, which messes up his hair, showing how he isn't his normal put together self.

Miles: I should rephrase that. What I mean is, Ms. Roan is clearly VERY assured in her feelings towards women. I was... unaware that anyone felt that strongly. I thought we all viewed these things with a vague sense of distaste and unease but collectively ignored it. Like how we do with climate change.

We zoom out again to see the three of them. Miles stands in the middle looking deeply uncomfortable and lost in thought, vibrating with unease. Nick and Maya exchange deeply concerned glances across from him.

With lingering unease, Miles begins to walk away.

Miles: Well, I should be going then. Goodnight.

Nick hesitantly raises a finger to point out an inaccuracy in that statement

Nick: It's four in the afternoon-

he gets interrupted by Miles who repeats firmly: I said Goodnight

Nick looks in the direction Miles walked off in.

Nick: ...He'll be ok, right?

Maya reassures him: Of cours Nick! I mean, what's the worst that can happen?

Jump cut to a closeup of Nick's hand holding Miles' letter which reads Miles Edgeworth chooses death in all caps. Then, below in smaller font, it says Also femininomenon was really good, thanks.

We see a panel of Nick glaring wordlessly at Maya as he holds the letter in his hand. Maya leans against the wall and looks away, whistling, trying to look innocent to avoid blame.

As a bonus, we also have a page that takes place a year later. Miles and Nick stand talking. Miles looks calmer now, and Nick smiles encouragingly.

Miles: In my time in Europe, I've been examining myself and my approach to law. Ultimately, the most important focus must be justice. We owe it to ourselves and to the people we serve

Nick: Wow, that's really inspiring Edgeworth. And, uh, hows the... the other thing going?

We get a zoomed in panel of Miles glaring menacingly at a suddenly nervous Nick

Jumping out again, Miles turns his back to Nick as he continues to talk

Miles: So as I was saying, justice is truly so important...

Nick nervously rubs the back of his neck wearing an awkward expression as he sweats nervously. He thinks to himself internally "Ooookay then, clearly still working through some things there"

/.End ID]

[repmet]

Take my hand Take my whole life, too

[godilovemyhusband]

My daily goal is to make him feel so good that he can't help but come inside me, and then cuddle him into my breasts like a little boy and stroke his head, giving his forehead sweet little kisses, so he knows he's safe and loved. 🌼

[vaguely-concerned]

having seen at least the rough outlines of all the romances now I have to say that I think emmrich's is probably objectively the best in terms of coherence and completeness of story arc (with the understanding that ultimately the 'best' romance is whichever one makes YOUR heart sing anyway so objectivity is a silly thing to claim that way, it just felt like it's the arc with the most well-paced focused content and the least dangling threads)... but lucanis' is my favourite haha. just. the whole kneeling before your beloved full of reverence but without any of the distance that usually implies??? his complete undramatic certainty and calm in every scene with rook after this, having spent the whole game caught between fear and longing???? mr. lives in a pantry but it says nothing about my psyche don't worry about it it's purely for tactical reasons that I keep myself contained in a small dark room not entirely unlike a cell, love among the parsnips -- finally coming to rook in their room and it's so comfortable and comforting???? after all the times rook supports and comforts him through the game he's finally able to return the same to them when they need it while being so calm and steady and it's so fucking sweet and feels so effortless and with no price attached?????? he basically assigns himself the role of your bodyguard and he WILL stab a god over it??????????????? the turn to protector (which was in his heart all along longing to get out and find a place) of it all????? he sounds like he's found himself unexpectedly stumbling into such a soul-lightening state of revelatory existential relief, full on 'you only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves' mary oliver style, and he goes and he shares that with rook and protectively envelops them in it when they're hurting??????????????????????????? hello for the maker's sake hello can anyone hear me?????

[hitlikehammers]

Rockstar!Eddie Leaves What He Had With Steve Behind in Hawkins 💔 to Chase His Dreams 🎸

(so why is it that he’s back in Steve’s bed Hawkins every couple months for ‘very pressing reasons’ that are straining Steve’s heart honestly anything but? 🫤❤️‍🩹🥺)

NOTE: this was originally a fill from @eddiemunsonbingo AGES ago, and I’m only bringing it over here NOW because something for the @steddielovemonth is going to be posted soon that is a standalone in its universe, but also very much a sequel to it ♥️

Steve really does try not to think about it in terms of…time.

Maybe that’s foolish. It’s mostly denial. Lots of it isn’t reliable anyway: the score his body keeps isn’t accurate, war-time left over from too many near-misses with a fucking alternate dimension but the popping in his joints and the ringing in his ears and the white hair he pulled out of his scalp and stared blankly at in the sink for a good twenty minutes: those are real things, but they don’t chart the passage of days, of hours, months and fucking years with any real meaning.

It’s been four years. Roughly. Depending on what the start point is. Whether it’s that Spring Break. Whether it’s the first winter. Or the spring after, when Robin begged him to go with her—there’s still time. She still begs, because they still talk given the thread inside them stays tied unbreakable to one another, oblivious to miles between. Maybe it’s measuring from the graduations, the kids—only Erica’s left at Hawkins High, now, though Steve gets calls from the whole bunch of them, Eleven the most, which was maybe surprising, then it’s a good split between Dustin and Will, another surprise. Max calls enough but her calls are calls, with a weight most of the others lack. Lucas’s calls aren’t super frequent but always long, mostly because he talks around the point forever, whatever the point happens to be. Even Mike usually ends up on the other end of the line once a month. It’s…that could be where the time starts from.

Or it could be the summer, that first summer. The one that taught Steve what it was to have a heart just to fucking break it.

Could be that. Impossible to say.

(It’s been 3 years, 7 months, and 14 days. Steve had only counted in retrospect, in the wreckage left behind, because while he’d known there was a deadline in it, to it all, he’d thought he could be enough. That he could change a mind. He’d thought…

Foolish things. Bullshit. Didn’t matter. Could be any fucking date.)

But since the point's come up, and it’s front of Steve’s mind, his least favorite (most favorite) place to find it: he hadn’t expected it. Robin liked to say she saw the signs but. Steve hadn’t watched it happen in slow motion because there wasn’t a single goddamn slow thing about it. Which was…for whatever it was worth, Steve knew falling fast and hard and with everything he was had maybe failed him every time, thus far, but at least he knows that for him?

That means it’s real. He’s all in. He might not be met equal on the other side of the equation—hadn’t been yet, maybe wouldn’t be ever, but he wasn’t having any luck trying to fucking change that fact so, learning to work with what he had was the best he could do. And he had love. He’d never been able to name it to himself so far: not before, and certainly never since. But.

Figuring out the sexuality thing had been a not-bathroom-but-definitely-floor talk on the shitty Family Video carpet sometime around November of ‘85. Slow days, idle comments, and Robin’s suspiciously-but-reliably-gentle-when-the-need-was-dire hand to his shoulder to say no, no: actually wanting to kiss people of any gender wasn’t really…the default Steve had always expected it had to be. How could anyone look at, say, Harrison Ford and not think, oh yeah, I would at least suck his face?

Turned out probably at least half the people on the planet. As in the straight guys and the lesbians. Steve had spent the majority of three days on that disgusting fucking carpet, open to close, popping up to ask Robin if she was sure because what about—

She was sure. And eventually, through a couple of needs for deep breathing and a handful of assurances that it was okay to cry—he appreciated that, but he kept the crying to his room after these long-ass shifts and if Robin stayed for some of those times, that was because she was half his head, half his heart, and she knew what he was going to do sometimes before he did.

They did end up on the floor of his bathroom, a clean one for once, at one point. Maybe because they both held to tradition. Maybe because Steve had largely come to terms with the mindfuck of yet another piece of his world, his self unravelling and rewriting itself, and thought the vodka in his dad’s liquor cabinet was a good way to celebrate. The label was entirely in Russian and Robin had been practicing on hers, said she was pretty sure it was the good shit.

Sometimes you can drink enough of the best shit on an empty stomach, though, and still spew the whole of it up.

Steve sometimes does think he drinks his dad’s best liquor that way on purpose, though. Delightful going down and yeah, it sucks to chuck it up but. The idea that it’s ultimately wasted feels…right.

Anyway: Steve had settled with it all by New Year's, and while he’d hosted the rugrats who could only blabber about their latest campaign with their epic DM, and he’d kissed Robin when the clock turned, well. It felt like a new start, a fresh page.

Something that had the chance at being a good thing.

And nothing much happened in the two-and-a-half-months that followed save for finally catching a glimpse of the D&D god who ran their little club while he was idling in his car to pick up the shitheads, this legendary DM who did not make Steve jealous one tiny bit and who was cool and was edgy and was so fuckin’ cool, Steve, did we tell you got cool he is?! and Steve had said language as monotone as he could before he squinted as out came all the metal and the ink and he’d said your club president dude is Eddie goddamn Munson and he should have kept his mouth shut because the amount of talking that ensued left him with a headache the size of Montana; but.

That was really all that happened until about…mid-March.

Then Spring Break happened.

It could be argued Eddie and Steve grew close enough to pass the acquaintances benchmark, ended up as at least tentative friends on top of necessary battle mates as early as the Upside Down. Whatever reason Eddie gave, he jumped in after Steve. Whatever speech Steve landed on, he didn’t want Dustin orEddie hurt.

It could be argued Steve wasn’t paying attention and didn’t stop in time and landed in the land of Tentative Friends You Wouldn’t Mind Added Benefits With after the…at least after the way Eddie leaned in close and his lips we so red and he called Steve big boy and…

Yeah.

When Steve carries what may or may not be Eddie’s still fucking corpse out of the Upside Down—he can’t tell, every time he tries to check again his own heart's too loud, his own breaths too shaky—but by then, they’re family. Bound in blood. Steve would die for him, like the others. He won’t let him die, if he can fucking help it.

Between him and Max, Steve almost crashes, breaks. Steve’s there when Max’s fingers twitch and he laughs with tears in his eyes and hands over hands and tells her he loves her and he’s sorry and he’s there, tries to talk around the letter he opened and resealed without evidence because Steve knows some tricks too, okay, and her words had broken him but now he could live up to what she thought she was leaving behind, could make sure she had every goddamn thing she thought she was giving up in spades, to roll around in in abundance. He was going to take care of her, whatever she needed. Whatever it took.

Her lips had quirked and the doctors called coincidence, don’t get your hopes up but; Steve knew Max. That was all her.

And there were more tears, he let her fucking feel them; he fucking hoped she’d notice, and remember, and give him so much shit.

Eddie takes longer, pulls out of the woods enough to exhale a few days later, and the way Steve slips out to find the hospital chapel, the only goddamn place he won’t be found by anyone he knows, and bawls his goddamn eyes out?

It’s family, and it’s love because it’s family but…it’s been so quick. It’s been intense, and that probably speeds it along but…

Shit. Shit.

That’s when Steve knows he sets a new goddamn record for himself and falls hard and heavy and stupidin, like, a week and change. Jesus Christ.

It’s in the recovery that they build something though. Something that’s not trauma or terror or the threat of imminent death. Steve spends most of his hours between two hospital rooms listening to progress reports and taking notes and the kids gravitate toward Max—Dustin would have been the outlier but Steve knows he’s not ready, and so he gives his own updates just to his brother when he drives him home after visiting hours—but that means Steve’s Eddie’s most common conversation partner. They talk about bullshit. Steve defends a-ha to the last breath he has. Eddie’s rendered speechless for a second and then frantic when challenged to pick his favorite band. Again when it’s his favorite song, from his favorite band. And again when it’s his favorite song of any song, ever at all. Steve's heart swells in the watching. He’s foolish enough to bask in the glittering of Eddie’s eyes when Steve indulges in talking, scene by scene as guided by the master in the bed beside him, about what his opinions on Star Wars really were. And then guided by no one, just invited to share what his opinions are on the last movie he saw and loved: which was Weird Science, the last movie he watched in a theatre because he and Robin had gone to face their fear or some shit after Starcourt and it was easier than he’d expected. Eddie listens, and nods, and asks if they can rent it when he’s out, before making sure to add  but you should really have a new choice like, eight months later, man, you work at a video store.

Steve was mostly just focused on Eddie more than implying, of his own volition, that he wanted to have a movie night.

Eddie’s released before Max, largely for mobility reasons, so they both go to visit her now. Robin’s put on the night shift when they schedule their movie night and Steve immediately moves to reschedule but she says no, she’s seen it, make Eddie suffer this time. So it’s just them.

They sit closer than they have to, on the couch.

And it’s little things that build from there. Max’s physical therapy is a government secret, like some fancy space-age protocol that has real hopes to put her on her feet again so she needs a ride, and while they could take turns, Steve and Eddie just take turns as to which vehicle they hop into to drive her. They stay when she needs them—not when she asks because she’s Max and she never asks—but it ends up three days a week back and forth and during: together.

And a lot of nights, for a movie or a smoke or a nightmare or a pulled stitch before they’re all taken out: together.

And shifts where Steve doesn’t even bother to bring his own lunch because Eddie Munson, unpredictable and wholly forgetful super-super senior—who Nancy and Hopper and most of all Joyce convinced the School would be finishing his final senior year at home save for tests, and only that once he was cleared by his doctors—that Eddie Munson brought Steve something every single time he worked. A burger, a chili dog, chicken fucking nuggets. A PB&J clearly homemade and cut diagonal.

So yeah. It starts out how it does when Steve’s in trouble. But it builds like…Steve’s never known before.

They kiss in May. Maybe so that it’s not their first, and a total cliche, when Steve kisses him for graduation behind the bleachers.

The sleep together after graduation, high on the thrill of it, and that’s maybe a cliche but Steve could not give a shit less.

And then they're EddieandSteve, only to find out they have been for a while; and this is just something a little deeper, a little bit more.

In ways that mean everything.

Looking back, Steve knows Eddie never minced words about his plan to leave Hawkins in the fall. With a mixtape and a prayer if I have to, Stevie-boy, he’d said once even, and Steve had laughed.

He’d fucking laughed.

So he’d known.

But July bleeds into August and Steve…Steve’s in love, okay, for real in a way that he’s never felt before. Right in a way he’s never felt before. He kinda just…overlooks it. Because Eddie seems to be at least on the same wavelength. Touches him first, reaches for him first: wants him. Looks at him with not just desire or attraction but…something no one’s ever looked at Steve with before.

And so he hopes. More than hopes.

But when Eddie starts packing, Steve can’t breathe.

He buys a set of luggage and goes home to start the same, has half of his not-excessive possessions shoved in when he realizes:

He’s not invited. Eddie’s never asked him to come.

Looking back, he’s afraid he wasted too much of those last weeks. Scared of giving too much away, the hurt from so many sides and the heartache that’s already taking root, but also: the way he clings, but tries not to make it obvious.

Fuck; but of course it was gonna be obvious, and how much energy did he waste, how many opportunities slipped by, because Steve was trying not to give away that Eddie leaving—to get away from a town that hated him, to try and make a real go with his music, to be anywhere without Steve so he could live out the dreams that predated Steve, that Steve had no place in—to try not to give away that all of it; it’d fucking destroy him.

Steve doesn’t know, to this day, how he stood and let Eddie kiss him breathless out the driver-side window, how he waved until Eddie was out of sight. He doesn’t know.

Kind of like he doesn’t know how he fucking keeps doing it.

Eddie throws tapes to every radio station with Van Halen or other top-played bands written on the insert in sharpie like that gives nothing away, and sneaks a demo in every underpaid delivery boy’s hands to record executives as he drives to the West Coast, sends Steve postcards what seems like has to be every goddamn day, filled up with his rambling until there’s no space left, has to draw lines around Steve’s address to make it clear where the damn thing’s going lest it get confused. Like they’re SteveandEddie still. Like only…only the things that changed after graduation are gone.

Steve sobs after about a month of it all, grateful and resentful, hateful and still so goddamn full of love it’s sickening. Literally, it makes him feel nauseous. He…

He keeps every postcard.

When one of them comes to say some idiot in San Francisco accidentally played Corroded Coffin on what’s apparently an important station, and Eddie got a letter in response from one of the labels, he says he’s coming back for the boys, they need to be ready. Steve knows he’s not one of the boys, but.

Eddie wouldn’t have told Steve he was coming if it wouldn’t matter to Steve. And maybe Eddie wasn’t in love with him anymore, maybe never was in love with him.

But he’d be lying if he said he thought Eddie didn’t love him. In a different way. A…you-don’t-get-to-come-with-me-but-I’d-still-want-to-see-you-when-I-stop-back kind of way.

And Steve…Steve’s not a fucking monk or anything. But even Robin doesn’t try to push him when he finally just tells her what he feels, lovesick and pathetic as it is:

I gave everything I had to someone else, and it’d be different if I wanted to back, to give again, but…I don’t.

I don’t want it back, not from him. Not if any part of him, wants to keep any part of it.

And because she’s Robin, she knows he means something else when he says ‘it’. And because she’s Robin? She’d push if she thought it was worth it.

She just holds him, and that’s really the best thing he could ask for.

But it becomes a thing. The boys go with Eddie, and they record new shit to impress...whoever. And they do. They come back for Halloween, because Eddie loves it. The label’s dragging its feet, but they’re not deterred, they’re energized. They come back for Thanksgiving because Wayne loves it—except he doesn’t, Steve knows that, Wayne actually hates trying to make a bird and Eddie had lamented more than once that they ended up with lunchmeat cut into cubes one year when Wayne was particularly frustrated with the process. They go out East, and try a few studios in New York. They come back for Christmas.

Eddie spends most of his time with Steve. Steve doesn’t fucking fight that; wants it…like…

There’s nothing to compare how he wants it to. Nothing exists that fits.

Eddie spends most of the time that he spends with Steve, though?

In Steve’s bed.

And here’s the thing: Steve had a decent amount of experience to compare to, but once they’d fallen into a rhythm, got past the awkward bits, the learning curve? Sex with Eddie had been a goddamn revelation. Not just because he was a man—after he’d left, Steve had forced himself to try, and dispelled that possibility quick as hell—and now?

Now, it’s like they never stopped. Every fucking time, it’s like they never stopped.

Steve’s not surprised in the slightest that he remembers every give and tell of Eddie’s body—of course he goddamn does—but that Eddie doesn’t miss a beat in touching, sucking, licking, worshippingSteve’s? That’s insane. That’s…

Unexpected. Every time it’s unexpected and every time Steve’s shown he wasn’t forgotten when he probably should have been. Eddie’s building a life that doesn’t include him.

He’ll only get in the way.

But Steve is selfish and stubborn and maybe it’s often, like almost strangely so, but it’s only a week or two at a go so he tells himself he’s allowed. He tells himself that it felt like making love in the beginning because Steve was in love, and that it still feels exactly the same because Steve…Steve never stopped.

Steve is still just as goddamn in love.

So yeah. Steve sleeps with Eddie and it’s like…it’s like rationed air. He gets a regular taste and he gets to keep breathing.

And it’s okay. Probably more then. Because he gets Eddie—even a little bit. Even just in scraps. When he has Eddie?

He has him, even for moments that were never made to last.

It’s Easter, this time. The band put out their first record in January. It’s doing really well. Eddie’s over the moon. Someone called about a magazine cover for a publication in Cleveland that’s apparently kind of a big deal, Alt..something. Steve will buy every copy in a fucking 100-mile radius. 200 miles. 500—

It’s Easter. Eddie didn’t lament not celebrating it after Spring Break in ‘86 but he’s back every year now. And if it’s just…come to mean something, or maybe did then and circumstances won out against it? Steve will be here. Steve will be comfort and a reprieve or a hot as hell romp with a familiar body, Steve will…

Yeah. Steve will do whatever’s needed. Wanted. Anything.

Pathetic.

But so much better than nothing.

Case in point: they’re both naked, sweat mostly dried, sharing a joint and it’s comfortable. It’s quiet and gentle and put up against sitting alone on a weeknight, not with Eddie?

It’s heaven.

“So when’s the dream happening?”

Steve looks cross-eyed toward his lips; he hasn’t smoked this thing long enough to have heard wrong. He squints up at Eddie, whose chest he’s laid out on, confused. Offers him the smoke but he waves it away.

“The dream?” Steve asks finally, when Eddie doesn’t seem to want to answer on his own.

Eddie looks at him weird. Not weird for its own sake but like: like he’s staring into him, and then like he’s disbelieving, but then also like he’s seeing him for the first time.

That kind of weird.

“Getting the fuck out of here,” Eddie answers like it’s obvious. “White picket fence. Little nuggets.” He spreads his hands as wide as possible without tossing Steve from where he lies. “See the sights.”

And Steve’s response is immediate. Doesn’t even require a thought.

He laughs. Like, ugly-laughs.

“Man,” he shakes his head as he catches his breath, and passes the joint off this time with purpose, not an offer or a choice as he snorts a little; “that’s not the dream.”

When Eddie doesn’t grab the smoke, Steve finally looks up. Eddie…

Eddie looks like what Steve’s always struggled to understand the word ‘poleaxed’ to mean. He thinks it might be this.

He looks…like something stuck him through the gut. Slapped him silly across the face.

“What d’ya mean?” And it’s just three words, one that’s a cheat, and he says it slow enough to take an age.

Steve breathes out, and then, if he’s gonna be honest, and if he has to keep holding the damn thing anyway, decides to take another drag before speaking:

“Figured out what the dream was, inside the dream,” Steve says, wondering if he’ll get away with the vagary; knowing he won’t.

“All we see or seem?” Eddie jokes a little, but it falls flat, his tone eerily kinda…strained but hollow.

“I like poetry.” Steve smiles up at him, soft, and offers the joint again straight to Eddie’s lips. He takes it this time.

“It was about family. It was about stability, not,” Steve shakes his head, stops talking half-assed around the lungful he’s holding, and lets it out slow; “not in a place, fuck, not in a house, but,” a person he doesn’t say, but he hears it in his head; “it was about sharing it.”

And that's it. That’s the simplest, most straightforward truth. Steve doesn’t think there’s anything complicated, or offensive in it. Hard to swallow. Even if he’s come to terms with it. Is mostly at peace with it.

Which is why it’s weird, that Eddie feels suddenly rigid beneath him.

So Steve turns, and braces his hand on Eddie's chest for balance, and frowns when he doesn’t even have to push down to feel the way his heart’s a fucking riot.

“What?” Steve asks, gentle; Eddie’s face is a portrait of conflict, of distress and Steve can’t fucking figure out why, they just came like four times between them and are sharing some very nice Cali weed—they’re nestled close, they’re together, it’s…

Eddie’s quiet, his breath disconcertingly steady for how his pulse pounds, and then he breathes out slow before covering his face:

“I don’t think I can fuck this up any worse than I already have, so,” he mutters, dejected for reasons Steve can’t even guess, then he laughs, humorless, shakes his head:

“Let me try, I guess.”

Steve frowns, uncomprehending, until:

“I’ve been in love with you forever.”

Steve thinks the world stops. His heart does, at least. Suspended. Silent so he doesn’t miss a syllable.

“And I told myself,” Eddie bites at his lip, worries at the bottom swell; “end of that summer, from the very first, I said: don’t ask him to come with you, even if it breaks your heart,” and oh god, oh god after all this time: Steve doesn’t think he’s projecting to hear the genuinely broken heart in those words for just remembering.

“Don’t ask him to settle, you’re not even in the same universe of what he wants,” fuck, what lies Eddie’s saying; did he believe them? Has he always—“what he needs.”

But Eddie is everything he needs, always was, will always be—

“You’ll never have the picket fence. You can’t give him his nuggets. You should never be trusted to park a Winnebago.”

They could have had a shitty studio apartment. They could have had the kids in college. They could have run the BMW until it died, or sold it to put toward a better van for equipment. They could have—

“You’re selfish, Munson, you’re a rat fucking bastard but,” Eddie’s still going, heart still hammering under Steve’s touch even as Eddie swallows hard and fails to smile, looks ill with the attempt like it hurts to try: “you love him too much for that.”

Oh. Oh god.

“It didn’t break my heart, though,” Eddie clears his throat and glances away, to the ceiling, eyes too bright: oh fuck; “broke my goddamn soul,” and a tear falls, and Steve can’t help but wipe it away, and kiss the track. Even just once.

So he does.

“When I saw you again that first time back,” Eddie starts again, voice rougher and shakier as he reaches a hand for Steve’s. “I could have asked the boys to fly out, the execs offered, but,” and this time, the attempt to grin is more successful, like a weight’s lifted from it: “and you smiled at me, it felt like,” and when he shakes his head this time it’s for disbelief, but the kind that comes with awe; “and when we slotted back together like we’d never been apart, it was…”

Eddie’s voice trails, but it cracks at the end—Steve doesn’t know which does more to stop his words.

He’s grateful, relieved, when they come back. He’s powerless but to give when Eddie touches his cheek so gentle and breathes:

“And I had to tell myself again, and again,” he murmurs, stroking Steve’s skin like he’s precious: “you love him too much to take his dream away from him.”

“What did it matter?” Steve can’t help but ask, no malice in it, just the need to understand. “You had your dream, you have—“

They have a contract. They have an album climbing the charts. They’re not just on their way—they’re there. The only next step is to get bigger, and bigger, and—

“Dreams within dreams, wasn’t it?” Eddie murmurs close to Steve’s cheek, where maybe he’s pressing to be close, or maybe he’s hiding a little, so Steve strokes his hair because he can either way and relishes how Eddie leans, melts into it like always. “Inside the dream?”

Steve nods, more to encourage more words. More Eddie.

“Break my dream open and there’s you with me, every step,” Eddie whispers, his lips warm on Steve’s skin. “Break my heart open, same damn thing,” and that causes Steve to shudder, and his heart to pick up now, too. “Both just kinda crumble if you take out the center.”

Steve can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. Wants to. Doesn’t think they’re lies. It’s just, he…

“Those,” Steve tries to speak but his voice cracks; he clears his throat and kicks his lips while he tucks Eddie into his neck, under his chin: “those would be good lyrics.”

“No,” Eddie shakes his head and nuzzles Steve’s throat with the motion and this can’t be happening.

This can’t be happening, can it?

“No, those words were only ever meant just for you.”

And Eddie kisses the pulse point close to his mouth and holds there, like a sentry and a miser, and holy shit.

Holy shit.

“And I don’t know,” Eddie’s saying more, but it’s pitchy, thready, like he’s barely holding the words together at all; “I don’t know if it’s nostalgia, or convenience, or routine,” his voice breaks again and the sob’s in the word when it comes even if it’s not streaming down on his cheeks: “pity,” and no, no, not fucking ever, how—

“I was never your dream then, and I don’t even know if I can be your inside-dream now, and,” Eddie’s rambling, and he does that when he’s desperate, when he’s overwhelmed and overfull with feeling—and Steve knows that. Steve knows that about him.

Steve knows. Better than he knows himself, Steve still knows him.

“I just want the world for you,” Eddie whispers, stroking up and down Steve’s jaw; “my sweetheart. My sunshine,” he smiles so real and soft and Steve melts, like the heart in his chest starts spilling through his ribs, warm and liquid: “you deserve more than the world, more than fuckin’ me and I,” Eddie shakes his head again, more this time like he’s stopping himself, like it’s a defense mechanism and Steve reaches for his cheeks, broad palms on either side to hold him still because…he doesn’t want Eddie to stop.

Ever.

“Did I ruin it?” Eddie breathes, and barely at that, eyes so wide and swimming and oh, god; “did I—"

And Steve can’t help it. He can’t help but kiss him with all he’s got, even if it couldn’t be all Eddie’s worth in all the world. Steve can’t contain all that Eddie’s worth.

But he can give everything, because this is the man who already has it.

“What the hell was I supposed to be to a rockstar?” Steve tries to talk through his own tight throat, his own growing smile, his own threat of tears bubbling close to the surface. “How the fuck was I ever going to measure up, ever do anything but hold you back when you could have—“

“I come back to you, for you,” Eddie answers immediate; it’s not what Steve’s asking but he won’t lie and say he didn’t want to know, at least a little. “The handful of times I’ve tried,” Eddie shakes his head once now, definitive; “I have always left my everything with you.”

The idea that Steve’s spent all this time feeling empty, and hollow, and missing the best of himself where it lived in the man he loved—the idea he was wrong, that they both were so fucking wrong is…insanity.

“I had a bag half packed.”

Steve doesn’t need to explain further. The noise Eddie makes is pure pain.

“Baby,” he nearly croons, falls into Steve somehow closer, wraps him up tighter; “I wanted to kidnap you in the night.”

“I sobbed in my bed after you were out of sight.”

“I pulled over before the town sign, because I couldn’t see the goddamn road.”

And Steve…Steve doesn’t really have a decision to make about what he says next. What dream he wants; always has.

“I never got rid of the luggage.”

And Eddie hears everything he says in those words, because after everything, Eddie Munson knows him, and…yeah.

Steve’s been kissed in a lot of ways before. By this man in particular, even.

But this: if leaving broke Eddie’s soul, if somehow the lack of Steve somehow did that?

This is…this is the body meeting another body, heart to heart and tasting the way a soul slides back in place. It's Eddie’s hands in his hair like hell never let go and he’s happy about the idea; blissful for it, even. It’s—beyond anything Steve’s ever known. So: yeah.

It’s not a decision. It’s just a fucking given.

♥️

🎸also on ao3

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divider credit here

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

I spend such an unhealthy amount of time thinking about being so comfortable with Lucifer while you two are making love that you are both laughing and smiling the entire time, refusing to be shy or feel embarrassed at all. Like imagine him looking at you like this while he’s buried so deep inside you…

I need to be sedated fr…

[fyeahnix]

I have tried not saying this but it would be SO FUCKING FUNNY if the sex scene everyone has been waiting for was just Sevika fucking the shit out of some woman in the brothel.

[borealing]

everyone loves toxic yaoi until he misunderstands why his bf is at a brothel and murders a bunch of people in a rampage as hes trying to find him

[s0fter-sin]

soap and ghost, after months of flirting, of having each other’s backs and saving each other’s lives, of knowing the other better than they know themselves, finally getting together

ghost letting himself free fall onto the bed, soap following, always following his lead. they barely pull apart enough to get their shirts over their heads, hands running over muscles and scars and holding close

soap kisses every new scar that’s revealed to him, from the thick keloid divot over his ribs from some kind of puncture to the innumerable slashes and stitch wounds holding his torso together until he’s mouthing over his collarbones; the tips of his fingers lightly caressing the edges of his mask

ghost who’s been so quiet, so overwhelmed by soap’s touch that all he can do is sink into him, panting gasping breaths, finally pushes out, “don’t ask me. please…”

soap freezes, mouth hovering over his skin. “ghost…?”

ghost’s face is tilted away, eyes held so tightly shut they tremor while the rest of his body stays lax beneath his. desperate. resigned. “please don’t ask me, johnny.”

soap lets his hand fall from the mask, coming to run soothing circles over his clothed hip. “why?”

“because i’ll say yes,” he confesses and it’s great and terrible; a warning and a relinquishment laid at soap’s feet. “i’ll always say yes to you.”

for a long moment, there’s nothing but their shared breaths, nothing but their hearts beating for the other. until soap finally leans down to press a kiss to the corner of his hidden mouth; his lips meeting faint raised scar tissue he might never see

“i’ll never ask.”

ghost’s eyes drift open and they catch on soap’s; on a sea of promise and fierce protection

“i swear… i’ll never ask, ghost.”

[aziraphales-library]

Hellooo, do you have any well written vanilla fic recs? No AUs or other characters other than just OG Crowley and Aziraphale? One of my favorite fic authors is chaoticlivi on AO3 and I've read her works a hundred times over, I'm lookin for more fics like hers. It doesn't have to be NSFW though, I just love her writing style so much, she brings them to life so vividly, its amazing. Thanks!

Hi! I've not read that particular author, so am unsure about the writing style. I recommended some of my favourite explicit fics here and here, and here are some more fluffy feelings-filled vanilla-ish explicit fics from my bookmarks...

To Look Upon Tempests by firenzia (E)

It's only a few months since the Apocalypse, and since a certain angel and demon finally confessed their feelings for one another.

During one terribly cold, stormy December night, Aziraphale and Crowley are keeping each other very warm.

The Inherent Longing and Romanticism of the Passenger Seat by FacetiousKitten (E)

Or: Five times Aziraphale was brave, and one time he didn’t have to be.

The Light Slipping Through by cheerios_and_wine (E)

Crowley and Aziraphale are together Post-Apocanot but Crowley's been hiding part of himself during sex. Can he trust that Aziraphale will accept him as he is?

I'm Not Over You, Can I Get Back Under? by MovesLikeBucky (E)

The trouble started right there in Berkeley Square.  Right after they decided to go to lunch. Aziraphale had taken his hand as they walked to the Ritz and time had just stopped.  And not in the overwrought, waxing poetic kind of way either. No, time had literally stopped.

Everything but Crowley had stopped.  Birds hovered in the air, the wind stayed in place, the whole nine.  Even Aziraphale had been frozen in place, smile beaming on his face mid-turn towards Crowley.

It had taken a fair bit of effort to start it back up again; then they continued on like nothing happened.  Aziraphale was smiling and talking animatedly with no idea of what had transpired, and their fingers stayed intertwined all the way to the restaurant.  It was nice, this affection thing.  He thought he might be able to get used to it. 

Earthly Pleasures by AstroGirl (E)

Aziraphale has always thought that human sex looks like a great deal of fun. Perhaps now it's something he and Crowley can enjoy together.

the voice under all silences by ShadyCakes (E)

He can’t do this.

“Can I—” he bursts, stops, overflows again. “Would it be too terribly forward of me to ask—”

This is so much. How can small words hold so much? Perhaps he can keep it in, after all. If the words can hold it, maybe he can too. Maybe he won’t crack and rupture.

Or: After the bus ride back from Tadfield and the erstwhile End of the World, Aziraphale reaches his breaking point.

- Mod D

[yunmeng-jiang]

I know we all wish Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao were having beautiful loving sex for 13+ years, but unfortunately JGY refuses to be like his father in any way so he would never cheat on his wife, and LXC would never let himself be a homewrecker. Very tragic circumstances