I WROTE... A BOOK!
The year is 1764, and following a glowing recommendation from his last employer, Henry Coffey, vampire, takes on a new personal secretary: young Theophilus Essex.
The man is quite unlike any secretary - or any man, for that matter - that Henry has ever met.
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'Heart of Stone' is a slowly unfolding period romance between a vampire and his inimitably devoted clerk: lushly depicted in flowing, lovingly appended prose, we follow the slow understanding these two men grasp of one another, and the cross of their two worlds into each other's.
Henry Coffey, immortal and ever-oscillating between periods of delighted focus upon his current passion project, is charming, witty, and seems utterly incapable of closing his mouth for more than a few moments; in contrast, Theophilus Essex is quiet and keenly focused, adopting an ever-flat affect, but as time goes on, he relaxes in his employer's presence.
Craving resounding intimacy but with an ever aware of the polite boundaries for their situation, Coffey and Essex perform a slow dance as they grow closer to one another, and find themselves entangled.
                UK £3.99          US $4.99
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Summary: “Those dungarees are finished.”“Gods, you’re a demon,” Sandra said, picking up the dungarees and checking the strength on the patching. “You know, Havelock, you really would make a good tailor.” He liked her quite a bit.“I was just saying something along those lines myself,” Havelock murmured, and he looked back to the hemming on his trousers.
I have been terribly sick the last few days, so if you wouldn’t mind, Aziraphale taking care of a sick Crowley, or vice versa, whichever strikes your fancy more. How did they get sick? Idk, go wild.
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“Of all the dashed stupid things, Crowley,” Aziraphale hissed, and Crowley let out apiteous groan of pain as Aziraphale carried him up the stairs, unheeding of MrsBradley, who lived in 4B, and looked after Crowley with some concern. Thenagain, Mrs Bradley thought, he was an awfully queer sort, was Mr Crowley, andit wasn’t that surprising for that Mr Fell to be carrying him home after anight out. “Honestly!”
“It wasn’t stupid,” Crowley said hoarsely,and then coughed hard. “It was a calculated risk.”
“Calculated! Calculated!” Aziraphalerepeated hysterically. Crowley’s flat door, rightly uncertain of this muchhysterical angel, jumped open before one of them could open it. Crowley shiftedslightly: Aziraphale was carrying him bridal style, and Crowley pressed hisface more into Aziraphale’s chest, even as he tried not to cough again. “Youdon’t even know how to use acalculator, Crowley! You can’t even use an abacus!”
“I can,” Crowley protested, and thendissolved into hard coughs again.
“An abacus would stump you,” Aziraphale said spitefully, but he clutched at Crowleywith tender arms, even as he kicked the door closed so hard that it rattled inits frame. Nauseous and dizzy, his head lolled back slightly, and he heardAziraphale coo as he brought Crowley into his bedroom, setting him down on thebed.
“Saved you, didn’t I?” Crowley demanded.
“No, not really, Crowley. For one, I didn’tneed saving, and in the second instance, I don’t see how you appearing,embarrassing yourself, and then running away was supposed to help mewhatsoever,” Aziraphale muttered, busying himself with unlacing Crowley’sshoes.
“Distraction.”
“Bettingthat you knew which one was the sacred water, as if you—”
“Michael switched them!” Crowley yowled hisprotest, and then coughed once more, only able to stop when Aziraphale shoved aglass of (unholy) water into his hand, that he could take a drink from it.
“Of course he switched them, you idiot, you’re a demon! He wanted to see youchoke!”
“But where’s the honour in that?” Crowleyasked. He felt very ill. It hadn’t been holywater, no, but it had been from some consecrated well or other, and it really didn’t agree with him. With thatsaid, however, Aziraphale had most certainlybeen pulled away from the whole thing, and now, they were at home, and it wasfine, it was fine—
“Honour is a human invention, Crowley,” Aziraphale said impatiently, as ifexplaining to a child for the umpteenth time why he couldn’t pour his milk onthe ground and still drink it after. He was undoing Crowley’s tie, now, anddrawing the silk gently away from his neck. “Angels don’t have any.”
“Demons do,” Crowley muttered, as mulishlyas he dared.
“Yes, well,” Aziraphale replied in darktones, even as he vanished the rest of Crowley’s clothes and drew the blanketsover him. Crowley’s black silk sheets, he noted, had been done away with, infavour of an astonishingly ugly – but very warm – eiderdown quilt. “He wouldsay that’s all the more reason for us to do without.”
Crowley coughed, and then groaned, becauseit hurt.
Aziraphale sighed, reaching out, andCrowley leaned into his hand as Aziraphale drew his fingers through Crowley’shair, his neatly-manicured fingernails dragging over Crowley’s scalp.
“You’re very warm,” Aziraphale murmured. “Andyou’re shivering.”
“I feel sick.”
“Yes, well, you will do,” Aziraphale said. “Stupid,foolish, wicked thing.” There wasvery little rancour in it. “It was your own fault.” There was even less rancour in that, and when Crowley lethis lips downturn at their edges, looking up at Aziraphale pleadingly[1]. Aziraphale sighed, dragging back the quilt and sliding into the bed besidehim, drawing Crowley to lay his head on Aziraphale’s chest, which Crowley didgladly.
He coughed again.
He felt like he’d been gargling glass, andwhen Aziraphale’s fingers came up to run soothing lines up and down his throat,Crowley sighed.
“This isn’t a reward,” Aziraphale saidhurriedly. “I’m just— I’m looking after you.”
“I know,” Crowley mumbled.
“It was verystupid of you, Crowley, they could have done something much worse to you thanthat. I don’t know what I would have done,if…” Aziraphale trailed off, and then his lips pressed against the top ofCrowley’s hair, again, and again, and again. “You fool.”
“Sorry.”
“Yes, well,” Aziraphale said, “I imagineyou are.” His body was very warm against Crowley’s, soft and pillowy, andCrowley pressed closer, pressing his face in against the heavy cushion ofAziraphale’s belly. “Your nose is very sharp, you know.”
“I know.”
Aziraphale laughed. It was a soft sound,breathless, and Crowley swallowed down more pain as Aziraphale began to gentlyrub his back. He would feel better in a few days. And in the mean time? Well.He’d said it, hadn’t he? Aziraphale would take care of him.
“You fool,” Aziraphale said again, softly.Crowley knew what it meant, of course. It meant, “I love you.”
Crowley closed his eyes, and let himselfdrift.
[1] He’d dropped his sunglasses on the way home, and Aziraphale hadalready stepped on them before Crowley could ask to pick them up. Crowley didn’tmind: Aziraphale had hugged him very tightly in apology.
I was wondering if you had any intersex!Loki fic recs? I dunno why I have such a craving for that lately. Thanks B)
I haven’t read a lot of intersex!Loki because I generally tend to not read erotica very much (which is probably shocking to you all lol). So this list is gonna be pretty brief (and all dubcon/noncon, since when i do read erotica, that is what i read):
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Chrysalis by @teresa-dances-in-sequins
An AU where Loki grew up on Jotunheim and is bought by Odin as a slave and Thor and Loki are fallin in love. Like… This is the hottest fic I’ve ever read hands-down. If I’m in a sex-repulsed mood, this is the only thing that will get me out of it lmao. I can’t read this fic and not be horny. That’s the only way I can describe the beauty that is this fic lol. (Warning: WIP, Dark!Thor, both dubcon and noncon, arguably romanticizing an abusive relationship… which is why I like it… and it’s done very well actually and very hot… a “sexual’ish relationship between Odin and Loki, but honestly it’s largely platonic.)
One in a Thousand by @dictionarywrites
A Ragnarok-AU (Sakaar-based) that will always, always, always be near and dear to my heart not only for the exceptionally hot erotica but also the emotionally dynamics between the characters Thor and Loki (as brothers) are delightfully angsty and moving. Five Stars. High recommend. (Warning: WIP, Grandthorki, dubcon bordering into noncon, watersports, pregnancy scare, incestuous)
Black is the Color series by @teresa-dances-in-sequins
A Post-Avengers AU where Loki is locked up and Thor starts visiting him and they start having sex. It is also very hot. Very fucked up. And super angsty, like, I sob reading this fic omg. (Warning: probably discontinued, pregnancy, dubcon bordering into noncon, a het relationship for a couple plot points)
The Gambler by @dictionarywrites
AHHHHHH this fic (western au) is probably the least erotic compared to the above, and I really enjoyed it for that!! :O The ending scene was hot, and there was so much buildup to it that it was so satisfying to read! Also it deals with a bit of homophobia/transphobia in a way that I feel really fits this trope. It deserves so much more love than it has!! (Warning: mentions and discussion of lgbtphobia, frostmaster only, noncon)
The Faerie Ring by @dictionarywritesÂ
Another excellent fic (faerie-victorian-AU) ripe with plot and character development and intricacies that are not all erotica-based (even though the erotica within them is very well done as well!! :D) It’s frostmaster, but it has some Thor and Loki platonic relations on the side. The historical grounding of the fic is also super believable dayum. (Warning: WIP, dubcon, frostmaster, and maybe other things I’m forgetting because I read this a while ago)
Mind Games by @mitzvahmelting
This is basically a fic where the Grandmaster tries to mold Loki’s personality into how he wants by putting him in a variety of situations, many of which having him fucked is a situation XD The title “mind games” is so apt for this fic omggg. I really enjoyed reading this!! (Warning: frostmaster, dubcon/noncon, and PLS HEED ALL AUTHOR WARNINGS lol because this fic has got some fucked up stuff going on, esp in regards to in it and i love it for that lol.)
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That all said and recced, this is very much out of my lane and I am not a great resource for the fic topic of intersexuality. Highly recommend @dictionarywrites both as a fic author and a resource for more intersex!Loki fics. From what I gather, this is what he writes and prefers most to read!
“I’m not going,” Warlock said over breakfast that morning, which happened to be a spread of grilled fish, natto, and salad, because Crowley had said Warlock could choose whatever restaurant he wanted, and Warlock had chosen a Japanese place around the corner from Crowley’s flat.
“Want to bet on that?” Crowley asked, eating another slice of salmon. “I’ve already said I’ll go, which means you’ve got to come as well.”
“You could just leave me here,” Warlock said.
“Yes, I could, why didn’t I think of that?” Crowley asked. “An eleven-year-old alone in London. There’s no issue with that.”
“Haven’t you read Harry Potter?”
“I’m less inclined to base my parenting decisions on children’s fantasy fiction than you might hope.”
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Petermartin, noncon, hucow Martin, big lactation kink. Rated E, obviously, 3.4k, and big NSFW stuff.
Peter’s hands were calloused. Martin knew they were cold already – he knew they were cold from Peter occasionally clapping him on the shoulder or shaking his hand, and once or twice, sliding his hand onto the back of Martin’s neck while Martin was working at his desk. They were big, heavy hands, the heavy hands of a man that genuinely liked to work,  and Martin braced himself as he came up with both hands, cupping Martin’s tits.
Martin… mewled.
He didn’t know how else to describe the ragged, needy noise that clawed its way out of his throat entirely without his permission, and he felt the hot flush burst in his cheeks, over the top of his chest, as he heard Peter chuckle in response. Martin’s grip on the edge of the desk was so tight he half-worried the antique mahogany would crumble in his hands, and Peter hummed thoughtfully, giving Martin’s tits a light squeeze that made thrills run right through him, electric sensation running straight down to his cock.
Peter’s hands were cool but that didn’t matter – the rough surface of his palms was like heaven on his nipples, and as Peter cupped his tits, shifted them in his hands, pressed his thumb against the not-quite-so-yielding flesh, Martin couldn’t help squirming. His chest had never been sensitive, not like this – a dull, pleasant tingle when he rubbed over one of his nipples, sure, but not like this.
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