straightupsickfics - Tumblr blog

straightupsickfics · 14 days

Note

i would lovelovelove to 🥺nose kisses + 💕sniffles for any character/ship you are inspired to write. tysm <3 <3 <3

this is sooo cute for them, pls <3 i hope you enjoy some human au ineffable wives girlfriends 🥺

going to cheat and use this for the 'sniffles' square on my good omens bingo, too

****

Aziraphale had only just slid into the booth at their table by the window when she’s pretty sure she hears her name called. She squints, as though it might somehow help with how blocked up even her ears feel thanks to this cold, and turns to her right only to find Crowley already getting up.

“Think that’s yours, angel. No, you stay, I’ve got you,” Crowley says, giving her arm a soft squeeze before heading to the front to grab the tea and sandwich Aziraphale had ordered.

Across from her, Maggie and Nina exchange small, knowing smiles.

“Who’d have thought Crowley would turn out to be such a softie,” Nina says. “All those black outfits and all her I’m so dark and deep brooding looks… you really bring something sweet out in her!”

Aziraphale feels herself blush, clears her throat to say…something. What, she’s not quite sure. She and Crowley have always understood each other in a way no one else does, making it hard to put into words, but Crowley returns with their lunch before she can even begin to try.

“Alright?” Crowley asks, sliding back into the booth and looking between the three of them at their now silent table. “You’re only allowed to talk about me behind my back if it’s not nice.”

Nina rolls her eyes and Maggie barely even tries to disguise her laugh as a cough.

“Only the worst things, my dear,” Aziraphale reassures her. Her voice sounds vaguely nasal in a way she hates but knows only Crowley will really pick up on. “You know, like how sweet you are, getting my order for me when I’m a touch under the weather. How lovely you look today…”

“Ngghh, angel!” Crowley almost yelps. “No more of that, please. Drink your tea, it’ll help your throat. Put some honey in it for you,” she adds quietly when Nina and Maggie tuck into their own meals.

“You’re sweet,” Aziraphale can’t help but add.

She doesn’t actually feel much like eating. She never does when she’s getting a cold like this, one of the worst parts of the whole thing, really, but she knows she’ll feel better if she does. Like Crowley suggested though, she starts with the tea, which is delightfully hot and just as sweet as she likes, though each sip loosens the building congestion in her sinuses and makes her nose run.

Nina, Maggie, and Crowley are discussing a new videogame the three of them have been excited to play, and, not much of a game person herself, Aziraphale takes the opportunity to dab at her nose with one of the napkins scattered over their table. This only serves to shake something loose in her sinuses, though, and she has to duck to the side and sneeze a few times, muffling them into the thin cafe tissues.

“Hh’ittshhmpp! hmptsHH! Eh’eiiisSHH! Oh! Snf...snf!” Aziraphale sniffles a few times then shakes her head to clear it, murmuring and apology as her friends take turns blessing her. Next to her, Crowley leans over and rubs warm circles over her knee, and it’s enough affection to make Aziraphale want to take the rest of their lunch to go and ask Nina and Maggie for a raincheck.

“Bless you,” Crowley says, more quietly than everyone else, her hand not moving from its place on Aziraphale’s knee.

Aziraphale gives her a small smile. “It’s really alright, dear,” she insists, though she doesn’t mean it, not anymore, with the way her sinuses are absolutely prickling with irritated pressure and her nose just wants to run away from her, no matter how much she scrubs it into napkins.

“We’ll get an extra cup of tea on the way out,” Crowley tells her, while Nina and Maggie carry on talking. “Extra hot, extra honey.”

Aziraphale lets herself melt into Crowley’s shoulder. Neither of them are much for public displays, but she’s feeling tired and run down enough that she doesn’t care, and she knows Crowley doesn’t either. The soft, spicy smell of her perfume is nice and familiar, and she stays there for a long minute despite the knowing, playful looks they’re getting from across the table.

“Sorry,” Aziraphale says. “M’afraid I’m terrible company today,” she apologizes with another series of sniffles.

“You’re sick!” Maggie says. “As great as it is to see you, you look like you’ll be asleep in a matter of minutes, ‘Zira.”

And, well, that doesn’t feel too far from the truth. They finish their lunches, promising to get together when Aziraphale is feeling better again, and go their separate ways, Crowley’s arm wrapped protectively around Aziraphale’s waist as they leave the cafe, her extra cup of tea in her other hand.

Nina mumbles something that sounds a lot like lovebirds, but she hushes up as soon as Crowley raises an eyebrow in her direction, making Azirahale laugh for a short-lived moment before it turns into a coughing jag.

“Should’ve just stayed home,” Crowley grumbles when they finally make it back to Aziraphale’s flat. The wind had picked up on their walk back and they're both shivering by the time they get inside.

Aziraphale's place is small and filled almost to bursting with books, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. And, despite her own apartment being nearly the polar opposite, all bare walls and austere black tiles, Aziraphale knows Crowley loves the coziness of it, too.

“Oh, shh, it’s quite alright,” Aziraphale promises. Her throat is really sore now, though, and she’s having a hard time warming up even though the heat is on and she’s wearing one of her warmer cardigans. And – well – she’s sick.

Crowley’s eyes soften when she looks at Aziraphale, though, and she all but tackles her onto the soft, well-loved sofa, tugging the thick, crocheted blanket from the back of it and draping it over her legs.

“That’s better,” Crowley says, kicking her heeled off her black Mary Janes and pulling her legs up onto the couch and drpaing them over Aziraphale’s lap. “Warm enough?”

“Mmm, much warmer, thank you, dear” Aziraphale nods, shivering at the temperature change under the blanket. She feels absolutely surrounded by warmth, between Crowley, the blankets, the heat pumping through the walls of her old building, and the tea steaming in her hands; she'd be perfectly content if her nose wasn't still entirely stuffed up.

“You’ll feel better soon,” Crowley murmurs, reading her mind. She leans over and presses a kiss to the tip of Aziraphale’s nose, making it want to run all over again at the attention.

Aziraphale sighs, tucking another series of sniffles against the cuff of her sleeve. “I hope so, though you’ll be next – mmph, Crowley, you really shouldn’t…” Crowley kisses the corner of her mouth insistently, though, pressing herself in warm and close as if she’s the only one in the world with any hope of warming her up.

And, well, she certainly has a knack for it.

“Think we’re well past worrying about all that, eh, angel?”

Crowley nuzzles into Aziraphale’s neck, warm and ticklish and familiar, and Aziraphale can’t bring herself to argue anymore. Now that they’re home again – because this really is Crowley’s home, too – she can’t help but wonder how she ever dragged herself out in the first place.

“I suppose so,” Aziraphale says with a yawn. A nap on the couch might be nice, too, and she has a sneaking feeling Crowley will agree.

#except there's no such thing as cheating bc i made it all up #softersteve #good//omens #my fic

19 notes · View notes

straightupsickfics · 16 days

Text

I want to give all my love to those tiny stories out there. The fics with only 20 or so odd likes and comments. The stories for shows/movies/books that only a handful of people know about. Those will always be the most special to me.

It doesn't matter if it isn't popular, your fic made my day

#yeah!#20 notes is a lot in these times

32 notes · View notes

straightupsickfics · 16 days

Text

when someone’s allergies (or a cold tbh) have been bothering them all day and they’ve only gotten tiny little sneezes that don’t really relieve anything, only for one stronger one to catch them completely off guard and they give a stuffy little “oh!”/groan/sound of surprise 🥺

#things that are cute to me personally idk #anyway

60 notes · View notes

straightupsickfics · 21 days

Text

Body Aches Sickfic Prompts🤒😫:

1: Constantly clinging to caretaker because everything hurts, they're miserable, and they don't know what to do with themselves.

2: Crying any time something cold touches their sensitive body.

3: Being extra sensitive to bumping into things, or to rough touch.

4: Just straight up inconsolable crying because they feel bad all over and they're just fed up.

5: Cuddling with caretaker in a warm shower/bath.

6: Being fed pain meds by caretaker.

7: Whining while getting a massage from caretaker, because even the lightest touch hurts.

8: Curled up in bed, not wanting to move and swaddled in blankets.

9: Being super uncomfortable on a car ride because every bump is painful.

10: Making a bed for themselves in whatever the warmest room in the house happens to be.

#🥺🥺🥺🥺

760 notes · View notes

straightupsickfics · 22 days

Text

the intense urge to give all my ships modern academic aus is omnipresent, so... have some ineffable husbands i wrote for myself. 3k words of them having lunch while crowley is sick and aziraphale is melting for him...

~ ~ ~

Aziraphale

Do you still feel like grabbing lunch today? My office hours will probably run a little late–you know how students are around mid-terms.

But I’ll be finished by 1pm, promise. 🩵

1:15? At Calais?

aj crowley 🐍🖤

yeah… i mean, yeah! yeah, i do. and yeah, the cafe will be perfect. should be less noisy after 1 anyway

just a warning: you’ll have to put up with listening to my gross sickvoice 🙄

Aziraphale

I’m sure you sound fine, dear.

aj crowley 🐍🖤

i sound SICK, angel.

i know because my 8 a.m. class told me so. 😠 they’re supposed to keep those thoughts inside their heads

Aziraphale

Poor love. 🩵 Have some tea while you’re working.

And I also promise I won’t mind your apparently atrocious sick voice.

aj crowley 🐍🖤

i’ll remind you of that later…

should i bring my newest chapter draft? if your brain’s not worn out after reading two dozen undergrad essays on how sexy satan is in paradise lost………

Aziraphale

My brain is happy to take a look, but you might be the one paying if I’m listening to you cough at me and I’m reading about MATH.

And you know they’re not writing about that.

aj crowley 🐍🖤

math AND philosophy.

i know they WANT to 🐍

Aziraphale

Even worse.

aj crowley 🐍🖤

I think you’re paying…

Aziraphale puts his phone back down on his desk and leans back in his seat. For all that they’ve been dating since the start of the academic year, he still gets a little flutter in his chest rereading his and Crowley’s text conversations. Even seeing his contact name–one that Crowley put into Aziraphale’s phone himself–makes Aziraphale smile in a way nothing else does.

Today’s conversation makes his chest feel warmer than usual, though. Crowley’s been ill for the past couple days. Aziraphale knows that. On Tuesday, though, the last day they were both on campus and got to see each other in person, he only had a runny nose and sore throat.

It was enough to make Aziraphale melt over and over each time Crowley cleared his throat, or reached for a tissue from the box on Aziraphale’s desk. He seemed to shy away from anyone else noticing he was coming down with a cold, but once he was safely tucked into Aziraphale’s office in the English department, he didn’t mind some tea and attention.

Aziraphale was more than happy to give him both. Really, he’d give Crowley ten times more attention and affection if Crowley let him. A hundred times, even, and not just hot tea and soft tissues, but … really, whatever Crowley wants. Soup, or other warm food, and as much cuddling as he could endure.

Which… well, Aziraphale expects that’s probably a thought he should keep inside his head. Crowley’s something of an introvert, and probably a private sort of sick person, and Aziraphale doesn’t want to make a fuss.

Or, no, he does. But not at Crowley’s expense.

He really is a very attractive sick person, though, and Aziraphale can’t help but look forward to their lunch at the cafe with that warm flutter in his chest.

Crowley’s already at the cafe when Aziraphale finally gets there. The early spring day is chilly and damp, and Aziraphale steps into the warm, quiet cafe with a sigh of relief. Thursday mornings are busy for both him and Crowley, but they usually spend the afternoons together. In one of their offices, in the library, sometimes for hours in an off campus cafe. Lately, their Thursday afternoons together have unfurled into Thursday evenings and Friday mornings, and despite Crowley’s cold, Aziraphale cannot hope for the same this week.

“You’re late,” Crowley says, but he leans right into the kiss that Aziraphale presses to the top of his head. He has a few papers spread out in front of him on the table, along with two cups of tea.

“Barely… besides, you got to choose our table today.” Aziraphale nods towards their small table in the corner of the cafe. Usually, he’ll choose a table for them by the window.

Crowley looks up at him with a knowing smile, then quickly turns aside to cough against his fist. The sound is strained, like his throat must still hurt, and he groans quietly when Aziraphale rubs his shoulder.

“You do sound sick,” Aziraphale says. He squeezes Crowley’s shoulder again through his black cardigan, then comes to sit down next to him.

“... ngk,” Crowley says, rubbing his nose against his knuckles, then relenting and pulling a tissue from his pocket. “I did warn you.”

“I don’t think I needed a warning,” Aziraphale murmurs. He takes a sip of his tea, then glances at Crowley over the edge of his cup and offers a small smile.

The tension in Crowley’s shoulders eases and Aziraphale can tell, without Crowley saying, that he’d been worried about showing up to their lunch date with a cold. He sniffles a few times, then wraps his hands around his own cup of tea, and leans in to press a kiss against Aziraphale’s cheek.

“M’glad you don’t mind,” he says softly. “I hate missing–” Crowley pauses and looks so shy for a moment that Aziraphale nearly wraps his arms around Crowley right there. “I wanted to see you.”

“I miss you when I don’t see you, too, dear,” Aziraphale says. He can still feel the warm press of Crowley’s lips, and the even softer way Crowley’s nose brushed against his cheek.

While Crowley looks at the menu, Aziraphale can’t help but look at Crowley. His nose is already flushed such a sensitive shade of pink and every time he sniffles or touches his nose, it flushes even more around the edges. He must’ve been rubbing at it so much in his office, trying so hard to evade his insistent cold sneezes, and–

“Angel?” Crowley says, then touches Aziraphale’s arm. “All right, there?”

“What? Oh… oh, of course. Just thinking–mid-terms, you know.” Aziraphale has to give himself a shake, and then feels his heart flutter all over again when Crowley wrinkles his nose against another pair of sniffles.

“Ugh… I haven’t even looked at the exams I have to mark.” Crowley’s voice peters out into a rough, congested rasp, and he has to turn aside and cough again. He really is all stuffed up and his poor throat must feel terrible, even with the tea he’s been drinking this morning.

He sounds adorable.

“You can take a break this afternoon. Come work in my office after lunch?” Aziraphale offers.

“And you’ll make me tea again?”

“Of course.”

Crowley smiles despite having to rub his nose into the crumpled tissue. Before he gets a chance to blow his nose, their server appears at their table and he has to sniffle strongly before he orders. He keeps the sniffles at bay while he puts his own order in, but they get the better of him while Aziraphale orders his own soup and sandwich. He looks a little desperate towards the end, and buries his face in his tissues as soon as the server leaves.

“huhCHushh! CH’ushhoo!” The sneezes are sharp and strong, and Crowley has tears in his eyes when he lowers the tissues from his face. His nose is flushed red around the edges now, and when he sniffles he sounds so, so congested.

Aziraphale melts.

He murmurs a bless you and touches Crowley’s wrist, but the urge to cuddle into Crowley and put an arm around his waist is so strong. To comfort him and to be close to him. Aziraphale settles for petting his thumb against Crowley’s wrist, then giving him a sympathetic smile when Crowley rubs at his face.

“Maybe I should’ve warned you about that, too. snff! SNF! Nghh… head cold,” Crowley mutters under his breath and grabs a couple more tissues from his messenger bag.

“I did assume you’d have cold symptoms with your cold. Crowley, it’s fine… you’re just a little under the weather, and I don’t mind.” His hand still on Crowley’s arm, Aziraphale pets him again through the material of his soft, warm sweater.

Crowley glances down at Aziraphale’s hand, gets this soft little look on his face, then shifts his chair a couple inches closer to Aziraphale. He’s not particularly fond of public displays of affection, and Aziraphale knows and respects this about Crowley, but he’s so privately sweet and affectionate. He loves being close to Aziraphale, and he makes sure their hands and legs touch as often as he can on most days.

Today, he sanitizes his hands a couple times before slipping his fingers through Aziraphale’s, but his touch is no less warm for that. He keeps his fingers interlaced loose with Aziraphale’s while they chat about work, his little sniffles and coughs punctuating their conversation. When he has to rub at his nose, he turns it into his shoulder and wrinkles it, or catches his sniffles in a couple tissues.

If he weren’t right in the middle of his cold, and if he weren’t here with Aziraphale, tucked into the back corner of the cafe, he probably wouldn’t let himself be so obviously sick. Even now, he’s a pretty reserved sick person, and he only groans a little over his stuffed up nose and frequent coughs and sneezes.

All of which has Aziraphale wondering what he’s like at home when he’s sick. How affectionate is he then, and how much would he let Aziraphale fuss at him. If they could cuddle up together, Aziraphale wouldn't mind all the coughs and sneezes at all. Very much the opposite, he thinks, and rubs Crowley’s back gently after a series of coughs.

Crowley glances at him again after that warm gesture of affection, looks uncertain for a second, then, before Aziraphale can worry, settles into the arm Aziraphale has around his shoulder. He gives Aziraphale a pleased little smile, too, and reaches for his tea.

“You’re cuddly today,” Crowley says.

“Oh, I… is that–that’s all right, though?” Aziraphale asks.

“That’s very all right.” Crowley nudges his shoulder against Aziraphale fondly, and reaches for his tea. “Think I need it today,” he admits, just as voice gets that rough, scratchy edge to it.

For a while longer they just stay closer to each other, sipping their tea. The moment settles around them warmly and comfortably until their food arrives. Soup and sandwich for the both of them, though Crowley seems more interested in his tomato soup than in his grilled cheese. After a coughing jag, he runs his hand through is already mussed hair, then tugs his cardigan closed more tightly around his chest.

“Did you teach wearing that?” Aziraphale asks and motions towards Crowley’s black cardigan. He has his glasses on, too, which is rare for a teaching day. When Crowley grimaces at him, Aziraphale nods. “Right, of course not. Heaven forbid.”

“I have a reputation to uphold. Can’t be intimidating in the chunky cardigan you wore to work because you’d rather be back in bed.” Crowley prods a bit at his sandwich before opting for another spoonful of his spicy tomato soup. “Wore my glasses, though,” he admits with a sniffle.

For some reason, the image of Crowley in his sharp black jacket and well-styled hair despite his tired, watery eyes and stuffy nose, along with his black frame glasses, sends such warmth through Aziraphale. Crowley is a source of intimidation for most of the undergraduates in the maths department, and he’s an energetic lecturer despite his claims otherwise. He probably did sound sick teaching this morning, and he already looks worn out from his cold this afternoon. Aziraphale spares a moment to wonder how much coughing and sneezing he did while lecturing, how much medicine and staunch self-control it took him to get through the class hour.

And he’s right–he does not look intimidating at all in the heavy, black cardigan over his black button up shirt. His hair’s a little rumpled now, and both his eyes and nose are tinged pink with irritation. Aside from sounding sick, he very much looks sick.

“I think you look–”

Crowley levels him a look, taking in Aziraphale’s own sweater and shirt and bow-tie, all in shades of tan and pale blue today. Unlike Crowley, this is his usual on campus dress, though he’ll put a blazer on most days, too.

“–you look soft,” Aziraphale says, and he knows he sounds fond and fussy. “And handsome, and–”

The expression on Crowley’s face melts. He leans in and presses a sniffly little kiss to Aziraphale’s ear, hiding his face against Aziraphale when Aziraphale leans into the touch. He sniffles against Aziraphale again when he nuzzles into him, and even muffles a quick, quiet cough against him, too.

“And you said I was being cuddly,” Aziraphale murmurs. Crowley feels so warm against his side, and he wants to just hold every single moment as long as possible.

“You are. snffSnff! I’m sick and susceptible to your wiles,” Crowley says. He keeps sniffling, too, the hot tea and spicy soup affecting him more than usual, and he has to pull his crumpled tissues back from his pocket. His eyes water as he wipes his nose, poor thing.

“Does that mean I can tempt you to come rest in my office after lunch?” Aziraphale puts his own brie and pear grilled cheese aside to wipe his hands, then rests one on Crowley’s shoulder.

Between his watery eyes and stuffy nose, Crowley doesn’t have much of a chance. Aziraphale can tell he tries to resist his cold, though, and that those attempts at resistance are futile. He hasn’t been able to hold back a single sneeze this afternoon, though he usually manages when he’s not ill.

“uhh–UhCHUShh’oo!” Crowley sneezes firmly into the crook of his elbow, draws in one trembling breath, and then sneezes again. “hh’USShhiioo! Nghh…” He groans into his sweater after another sneeze that just sounds tired and congested. His shoulders tense, then relax when Aziraphale rubs his thumb against the back in a tiny, affectionate gesture.

“Bless you… maybe you should just go home, actually,” Aziraphale says.

Crowley shakes his head. “And do what? Mope around?”

“Well… rest, I think, is the usual thing to do.”

“Hm.” Crowley considers, then scrubs his nose into the tissues before easing himself back in closer to Aziraphale. “I can do that in your office.”

Aziraphale can’t help but beam a little. He’s still beaming while they finish up eating, and while he orders them both more tea, and while Crowley pulls his chapter draft out of his bag. He sniffles, clears his throat, sniffles again, and then snags one of the napkins from the table with a sigh of resignation.

“It’s a working draft,” Crowley says. “Thus all the notes and doodles. snff-snff! But if you don’t m-mind… snff!” He passes the papers over, then rubs at his nose over and over again.

Eventually, he has to excuse himself to go blow his nose and wash his hands, and Aziraphale presses his knee against Crowley’s just before he gets up to go. He can’t help it; all he wants is to be close to Crowley, but not overwhelm him with the fussing and affection he’s yearning to show him.

Thankfully, Crowley’s writing is rich and complex, and Aziraphale gets drawn into his latest book chapter in no time. He’s penciling in a few notes of his own next to Crowley’s neat, tight penmanship when he feels Crowley touch his shoulder, then slip back in close to him.

Closer. When Crowley sits down, he leans in closer to Aziraphale than he had before, and even reads over his shoulder while Aziraphale finishes writing down a few notes.

“Better?” Aziraphale asks. He finds himself learning right into Crowley’s warmth, and only going a bit bashful when Crowley has to notice.

“Mn… I think that last dose of DayQuil is wearing off.” Crowley tucks himself against Aziraphale’s side and wraps his hands around his cup of tea. He does sound a little better, like his head is a bit less blocked up with congestion, but looks more like he’s ready to curl up and let himself admit the cold is getting to him. “You have a lot to say there.”

“It’s a very good chapter, dear. Though now I fear I know more about maths and logicism than I ever needed to.” Aziraphale flips to one of his favorite passages to reread it, and feels himself settle into a content warmth when Crowley’s cheek presses against his shoulder.

“And some of us have had vast swathes of Milton read aloud to us on Sunday mornings in bed, so…” Crowley turns to press his face to Aziraphale’s shoulder again and he makes this soft, pleased, congested sort of sound. “Hmm…”

“What?” Once again, Aziraphale finds himself wanting to simply wrap himself up around Crowley. It’s probably obvious, and he feels a flicker of worry. That worry dissolves as soon as he feels Crowley nuzzle against him.

“Nothing. Just… looking forward to having you read to me in bed this weekend, that’s all.” Crowley lifts his head from Aziraphale’s shoulder, but stays close enough that Aziraphale can hear the stuffy catch in his breathing, and the small, quiet sniffles he gives every so often.

Aziraphale glances over his shoulder at Crowley. At his hazel-gold eyes and fine, handsome nose, and the faint flush over his nose and cheeks, and the little smile that tucks into the corner of his mouth when he notices Aziraphale watching him. He’ll make soup for dinner tonight and play with Crowley’s hair the way he likes to help him relax, then bring him tea and read to him in bed tomorrow morning.

“I think we’ll have a good weekend,” Aziraphale says. “As long as you don’t mind being fussed at.” Which is the best shorthand Aziraphale can come up with for how much he just wants to look after Crowley and bask in the warmth and closeness himself.

“Looking forward to that, too, angel,” Crowley says. He gives Aziraphale another smile, one that tells him he doesn’t need to worry at all about how much he enjoys having Crowley to himself when he’s sick.

#wdym #I asked for it 🫶🏻#genuinely how do you make them so soft every time #Aziraphale would bundle Crowley up right there at the table if he could 🥹🥺#and tbh who could blame him #he is the worlds cutest sick person confirmed 🖤😌#I love them and this

40 notes · View notes

straightupsickfics · 26 days

Text

some needy yet reluctantly sick demon for this rainy spring day... ineffable husbands, canon, post-s1, ~2k words 🖤

~ ~ ~

Crowley turns the collar of his coat up against the rain and shivers. Springtime in London is always such a damp, chilly time of year. Why the infernal powers thought it was such a good idea to send a sun-loving, nap-taking snake to this place.

Well, that was probably the point, actually, Crowley thinks with another shiver. Over a thousand years and he’s still not used to working in damp places. At least there’s a bright light at the end of his walk, nestled in some corner of a bookshop waiting for him.

The wind and rain pick up, and this time, the shiver that winds its way through his body reminds his nose that it’s taken to running. From the chill, he supposes with another frown, and pushes the end of his nose against the side of his wrist. He’s been sniffling since he woke up, which is as irritating as it is humiliating. The thought seems to make his eyes water and that in turn makes his nose twitch.

“h-xttsh!” The sneeze comes over him before he can do anything about it other than catch it against his wrist. Sniffling into his wrist just coaxes the feeling forward again and Crowley hisses as he turns his face into his coat sleeve. “Xsstch!”

He shivers and sniffles and hisses again at himself in annoyance, unable to get control over his nose. Or the rest of his body, for that matter. Beyond the annoyance, longing unfurls in his chest. He’s close enough to the bookshop that he can see the golden lamplight and can imagine Aziraphale puttering about. He won’t have any customers today, not when it’s this rainy and grey. Not when he doesn’t want damp tracked into the store or interruptions to his own reading.

Crowley can’t help but grin at that thought. Blessed angel, using divine intervention to keep his afternoon free from anyone who might disturb his hours-long tea time. He’s probably already settled in for the day and g–someone help anyone who disturbs him.

Almost anyone.

Crowley pulls the door open despite the ‘closed’ sign and simply basks in the warm glow that envelopes him as soon as he’s inside. He hasn’t even seen or heard Aziraphale yet, but he can feel the angel.

Or, yeah, right. His angel. He’s already claimed Aziraphale beyond what the powers of heaven or hell can do, so they can—

“h’ehh…” An eye-watering, breath-trembling shiver runs through Crowley again mid-thought and all he can do is push his face into his shoulder. He can feel the nagging little itch all through his head now, a sure sign it’s not just the chill outside getting to him. “ehhhXTchsh!”

“Goodness,” Aziraphale murmurs, at once at Crowley’s side, and rests his hand between Crowlehy’s shoulder blades. “Have you just been standing in the draft and snuffling?”

Crowley shakes his head. He wants to resist the immediate fussing, or, he thinks he ought to resist it. But it really is very damp outside, and he really is very chilly, and Aziraphale really is very warm and sweet and fond. He watches as Crowley tugs off his sunglasses and knuckles at one eye, then gives a quiet tsk as he takes the glasses from him.

“And you’re catching a chill,” Aziraphale says.

“Ngh,” Crowley replies. He shakes his head again to try and clear away that scratchy feeling from his ears and throat, and settles into the warmth of Aziraphale’s hand on his back. “Just got here, angel. You don’t need to make a whole fuss.”

“Half a fuss, then,” Aziraphale says. He rubs Crowley’s back lightly and guides him inside the shop. “And it’s hardly fussing if I give you tea and a blanket if I already have them ready for myself.”

“That sounds cozy. Snff! snff!” Rubbing his nose only seems to make him want to sniffle more and Crowley barely resists another indignant sound. The further he gets into the bookshop, the warmer and drier he feels, and the more that soft yearning in chest unwinds.

Eventually, when he and Aziraphale get to the well-loved sofa at the back of the shop, all Crowley can do is turn in Aziraphale’s arms right as they go around him. He’s being held warm and close before he can even process what’s happening, and he’s burying himself in the hug before he can think about it.

“Angel,” Crowley murmurs into Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“Yes, dear?” He’s wearing a soft, warm sweater, and he smells like strong, hot tea and faint incense and age-softened paper and angel. Fluttering wings and warm skin and an even fainter whisper of rarified air.

Crowley buries himself deeper into the hug and pushes his face into the crook of Aziraphale’s neck. For all his groaning over it on the phone earlier, he hardly minds crawling out of bed and driving over to the bookshop, he doesn’t even mind the walk in the cold, grey rain. Not if this is what he comes home to.

“uhh… h’Xttsss!” He pushes the sneeze into the collar of Aziraphale’s sweater and gives a little cough of apology. Pushing his nose into the same spot quells the tickle there, and Crowely can’t help but nuzzle softly into the warm spot behind Aziraphale’s ear.

Aziraphale laughs at the back of his throat, low and fond, and he holds Crowley for a few more seconds, very tight and very warm. He sighs into the hug, too, and when they pull away a few inches from each other, Crowley can see the relief and neediness in his angel’s eyes, too.

“Let’s get warmed up,” Aziraphale says.

“Like I could refuse you,” Crowley replies.

A look passes between them that’s all mutual understanding and desire, and Crowley doesn’t even hesitate when Aziraphale nudges him towards the sofa. He does exchange his outside clothes for the turtleneck sweater he’s taken to wearing around the shop, but that’s the work of a fingersnap. It’s enough of an effort to bring the shivery fatigue back, though, and Crowley drops down onto the cushions as soon as Aziraphale gives him another nudge.

Aziraphale makes it the work of a moment to press a cup of tea into his hands and to nestle them both into the blankets on the sofa. He’s already out of his own bow-tie and waistcoat, just his favorite light blue button-up under his cream cardigan. He kisses Crowley’s temple, then nuzzles against him with such warm affection that Crowley nearly coils in on himself.

“I think that’s fussing, angel,” he mutters.

“But it’s not a whole fuss,” Aziraphale replies. He takes a sip of his tea, reveling in the honey-lemon steam, and glances at Crowley.

“On a scale of angel-fussing that’s at l-least… least…” Feeling betrayed, Crowley wrinkles his nose against the fizzing sensation behind his sinuses, and still ends up with watery eyes and a damp nose.

“At least…?” Aziraphale asks. “I should think that’s only about a four. I haven’t even checked–”

“That… th-that…” Crowley wrinkles his nose as firmly as he can, then shakes his head, and tenses his body when he can tell the sneeze won’t back down. “ehh… Gxt!”

“You could just let yourself sneeze,” Aziraphale says. A frown pinches between his eyebrows and he puts his mug of tea aside.

Crowley shakes his head again and fights the way his eyes water and nose trembles.

It’s the shiver that does him in, the one that he can’t resist, and that prickles down the length of his spine. His body shudders against Aziraphale and he knows with sudden certainty that he’s going to need a few days before the shivers and congestion and all the other symptoms leave him well alone.

Aziraphale tsks at him again, but with the same affection as before, and he takes Crowley’s mug of hot tea before Crowley’s nose even twitches. He watches Crowley expectantly and Crowley can’t decide if he’s annoyed or touched that Aziraphale knows him that well.

“heh–Gxttss! ehhh… Xsst!!” He catches the sneezes against his knuckles, sniffles cautiously, and barely realizes how he’s sinking into the way Aziraphale strokes his shoulder. His eyes are so teary from all the itchy little sneezes and no amount of sniffling seems to get rid of the warm, buzzing sensation in his nose and sinuses.

So, when Aziraphale tuts over him and the way he shivers and sniffles and scrubs his nose against the cuff of his jumper, all Crowley can do is turn back into Aziraphale’s chest. He nuzzles against Aziraphale’s shoulder with a needy sound that he doesn’t have the energy to disguise.

Not that he ever could, not around Aziraphale, who has more than angelic knowledge of him, something both smaller and greater, more close and intimate, and Crowley could bask in that shared knowledge for millennia to come.

For now, though, he nestles down into the hug and closes his eyes. This is the only warm thing in all the universe, the way he and Aziraphale can curl up under a couple blankets and hold each other.

He kisses the side of Aziraphale’s neck and nuzzles against him with a soft, fond hiss that he knows makes Aziraphale smile. He’ll wrap himself up around his angel soon enough, despite all the sniffles and itchy sneezes, and know that affection will have Aziraphale basking, too.

“S’more like a sssix,” he murmurs. Head tucked against Aziraphale’s shoulder, fingers slipping beneath his cardigan to rest over his angel’s heart. “Maybe a seven if… snff-snff-snff! If you…”

“Barely even a five,” Aziraphale counters. “And you’re the one cuddling me.”

“...ngh…” Crowley sniffles and pushes his nose back into Aziraphale’s neck. For a moment, he has control over all those itchy sneezes, but the moment disappears as soon as he raises his head and his breath catches.

“hehh-EH! eh’hh… ehhhISSH’ooh!” The sneeze bursts out so fully and so strongly that Crowley’s sure he feels that down the length of his body, too. Shivery and irresistible, and somehow strong enough to spur another one right after. “hhhEISSh’oo!”

Aziraphale lets him move away and into the sneezes, and Crowley’s sure he does a better job sneezing at his sleeve than into it. When he groans afterwards, Aziraphale strokes the hair at the nape of his neck. Over and over again, just gently, and Crowley’s sure he’s going to melt right into the sofa and blankets and angel right then and there.

“Now, that has to feel better… drink some tea,” Aziraphale says when Crowley just coughs in reply. “And I have some handkerchiefs–”

“That’s a seven,” Crowley says between sniffles. His nose is decidedly stuffy now, too, and he sniffs at the steam from his mug.

“That’s symbolic,” Aziraphale replies and gives Crowley a smile in return for the grimace he gives his tea. “Anyway, you’ll need handkerchiefs. And more hot tea. And maybe I can do soup for dinner…”

The scratchy throat Crowley woke up with feels a lot more like a sore throat now, and the irritating runny nose is well on its way to a stuffy head. He’s not shivering anymore, not like he was before he curled up with Aziraphale, but he can feel weariness tugging at his senses. He doesn’t mind the cups of tea or the bowls of soup, or the way Aziraphale likes to read to him at night, curled up close and warm under the blankets as the rain falls outside.

He’s been here a thousand years. More than a thousand years, really. Working hard in damp places, with intermittent visits down below in places hotter and colder than earth has ever seen. But this–this bookshop and this sofa and this cup of tea and this plan for soup for dinner and a book and some music afterwards–this is the sum of over a thousand thousand moments.

“I’m glad you’re home, Crowley,” Aziraphale says. He kisses Crowley’s hair and in his voice is the undisguised neediness that Crowley saw in his eyes earlier.

“Me too, angel,” Crowley says. He turns to kiss the corner’s Aziraphale’s jaw, then a little lower, where he can feel the warm pulse-point. “Always.”

#my favorite genre #needy sick demon + snuggling + bonus side of bickering <3 #a whole fuss is what he deserves!!

48 notes · View notes

straightupsickfics · 27 days

Text

Thinking about them as wives again still

#🖤🖤🖤🖤#good//omens #wives

8 notes · View notes

straightupsickfics · 28 days

Note

Spoons + rainstorm would also be adorable for the ineffables! Ty 🩷

awww, yes, those prompts are adorable for them <3 pls enjoy some ineffable wives being cuddly, friend. 🩷

~ ~ ~

“Did you get any sleep at all?” Crowley asks, leaning against the bedroom door frame. Outside, a constant, chilly rain falls, and the grey afternoon makes the room look even more cozy.

Aziraphale nods, but she looks so tired and sniffly that Crowley doubts it. Both her hair and clothes are rumpled, and she’s curled up around the book and box of tissues that Crowley sent her to bed with a couple hours ago. Even though she’s wearing a cardigan over her pajamas, there’s another draped over the bed, along with a haphazard collection of blankets. Aziraphale’s book and glasses are atop one of the well-loved knit blankets, and Crowley can guess she hasn’t touched either in hours.

“A bit… I dozed off for a while, at least,” Aziraphale adds when Crowley frowns. She rubs a crumpled tissue against the side of her nose, too, and still has to sniffle when she lowers it. “Anyway, it’s not the same when you’re not in bed, too.”

“I’m here now, angel.” Crowley pulls away from the doorframe and with a snap of her fingers, changes into the soft black strappy top and lounge pants she likes to wear at home with Aziraphale.

“... took long enough,” she murmurs between sniffles. Soft, damp, stuffy sniffles, that sound like they bother her nose more than help it, thanks to a lingering cold. She spent the morning sneezing into tissue after tissue, barely able to even look at her books, forget reading them.

“You’re pouting now, but you’ll be happy you have soup later.” Crowley slithers into bed and then beneath the blankets so she can curl herself right up around Aziraphale. “You love soup when you’re ill.”

“Well, yes, but… m’not pouting,” Aziraphale says. She pushes her nose back into the tissue for another futile rub back and forth against the tissue. “I m-missed you. snff!snff…”

Crowley prepares a retort, then subsides at the sound of another little damp sniffle. From the sound of her voice, Crowley can tell Aziraphale’s pouting, at least a little, and that her cold is bothering her much more than a little. Her throat sounds all scratched up and tired, even though she’s been up here resting while Crowley chopped vegetables and simmered broth.

“Should’ve brought you tea,” Crowley says. “Your throat sounds wrecked, angel.”

“Oh, no… don’t leave again,” Aziraphale says, then looks embarrassed by the obvious need in her voice. She subsides into her pillows and blankets, and makes a small, pleased sound when Crowley nuzzles against her shoulder.

“I’m not even sure I could. You’re so warm.” Crowley spoons herself closer around Aziraphale, sinking into the warmth of all those blankets and her angel nestled right in the middle of them.

Aziraphale sniffles again, and then again, and Crowley can feel her body tense with anticipation. When the sneezes come, she muffles them into the tissues and blankets, and all Crowley can do is curl herself closer.

“ehh…. ehhTschoo! ehh… CHishooo! h’tschooo! Oh… snff! Goodness,” Aziraphale murmurs, sounding a little breathless and dazed, and she sniffles into the tissues a good few times, too. Another soft, stray tshooosh! catches her off guard, and Aziraphale only half-catches it against the sleeve of her sweater.

Six thousand years and Crowley can’t even count how many little colds and fevers she’s seen the angel through. Aziraphle always seems a bit surprised by the minor misery of it all, though. Teary blue eyes and pink nose and that faint bewildered expression on her face after the sneezes. She coughs after blowing her nose, and sighs when Crowley presses kisses to the side of her neck and shoulder in lieu of blessing her.

“Maybe you can rest a little now,” Crowley says. “Then, we’ll have soup. You’ll feel better soon, angel,” Crowley adds.

Aziraphale nods, but she’s sniffling and coughing into her tissues again. When Crowley hands her a few clean ones, she settles back into her arms and nods again. The rain and wind outside patter against the bookshop’s windows, and the afternoon itself seems to settle around them, too.

“The soup will help,” she says. Another sniffle, then she brushes her feet against Crowley’s under the blankets.

“It’s a cure-all,” Crowley agrees. She snakes her arms back around Aziraphale, around the soft, familiar warmth of her body, and settles into the way both their bodies curve into each other.

#this is literally perfect :(((((#everything is sooo soft #crowley making soup specially for aziraphale and her little cold pls #i could not love them more <3 #ty friend <3

14 notes · View notes

straightupsickfics · 1 month

Text

i just wanna read about a character sniffling as another character strokes their hair and makes sympathetic comments about their cold

#the only genre actually

113 notes · View notes

straightupsickfics · 1 month

Text

Something so soft about being the friend that is always low-key about illness. At least when it's mild.

The friend who will come to the meet-up, who doesn't cancel. But is just sort of... there. Rosey-cheeked, a bit spacey... Sniffling quietly. The coughs are small and polite. Nose-blows are rare and super gentle. She always turns away to do it.

She doesn't deny that she's ill but she doesn't complain at all. She's just a bit more vulnerable than usually. Not as chatty. Prefers to listen. Kind of wants a cuddle but keeps her distance to keep everyone else healthy.

Blows gently onto the hot tea in her mug so the steam can loosen her congestion. Sleeves pulled down over her hands because she's chilly. Gives a tired, affectionate smile when one of her friends asks how she's holding up and says "I'm fine, don't worry."

#this is soooo cute #🥺🥺🥺🥺#ineffable wives coded also

91 notes · View notes

straightupsickfics · 1 month

Text

ready for spring prompts

A little early but some emoji allergy prompts for ✨spring✨

🌱grass

🌾 ragweed

🌺 pollen

🌸 gifts

💕sniffles

💐fits

🍂leaves

🍀bad luck

🌳tree pollen

😖watery eyes

🎋itchy nose/throat/ears

🤞🏻stifles

🌻taken by surprise

🌼hitching

🌬breezy day

🧻 tissues

🥺nose kisses

🥰soft reassurance

😥apologetic

⏰innopportune

#spring is here #have I reblogged this yet

101 notes · View notes

straightupsickfics · 1 month

Text

I just felt like writing some soft fever whump for Aziraphale this weekend, so here's a small fic for the 'can't get warm' prompt on the good omens sickfic bingo card... 🩵

~ ~ ~

“Here, hold this,” Crowley says and presses a mug of hot tea into Aziraphale’s hands. “It’ll help you warm up.”

Instead of taking the mug, however, Aziraphale wraps his own hands around Crowley’s and peers up at him with tired, red-rimmed eyes. The few hours of rest he got down here in the conservatory doesn’t seem to have done him much good; he’s been a mess of coughs and sniffles and shivers since he woke up.

“The tea, angel,” Crowley says. His heart melts though, at the way Aziraphale’s fingers tighten around his.

“... oh, of course. snff!” Aziraphale holds onto Crowley, though, and only takes the mug when Crowley nudges it closer to him. He’s gone a bit clingy, another sure sign that he’s running a fever. “Were you going to go out into the garden?”

“Nah, too damp… not a fan,” Crowley says. He waits for Aziraphale to take a sip from his tea, smiles when he gives a small nod of approval, then rests his wrist against Aziraphale’s forehead. “How bad are you feeling?”

With a near-silent sigh, Aziraphale leans into the touch. His eyes slip shut and his body yearns toward Crowey, voicing the need that his angel still has trouble expressing.

Not that he has to ask for anything. He could simply glance up at Crowley with the barest flicker of need in his eyes, fever-flushed and shiverish, head heavy with congestion, and Crowley would wrap himself up right around Aziraphale. He could’ve done that hundreds–thousands–of years ago and Crowley would’ve done the same.

“Pretty certain you can guess,” Aziraphale says. He’s right, too.

“Mmh… tea will help,” Crowley says. “And some more rest.”

Aziraphale sighs again. He’s holding onto his cup of tea more than he is drinking it, and Crowley gives the yellow mug a tap with one fingertip. He touches the end of Aziraphale’s nose, too, and smiles as he wrinkles it up against the touch.

“I’m tired of just–just–” A delicate shiver runs right through Aziraphale’s body, enough to remind him how feverish and ill he is. His nose gives a little twitch, too, and Aziraphale rubs it into the cuff of his cardigan with a damp sniffle. “Just drooping about… snff-snff!”

“Fair enough, but I’m not sure you could manage anything else today. No wonder you can’t get warm,” Crowley adds after resting his hand against Aziraphale’s cheek, then his neck. “You hardly ever run a fever like this…”

Another shiver, and another pair of sniffles, and Aziraphale huddles himself around his tea. He gives Crowley another plaintive little look, too, and for all that Crowley wants to fetch blankets and handkerchiefs, he ends up slinking down onto the sofa.

Aziraphale nestles into him almost immediately. All it takes is one soft kiss pressed to his temple and he moves into the arm Crowley has around his shoulders. He curls right in, tea and all, and gives a little cough against Crowley’s chest. He already has his favorite blue knit blanket on the sofa, and he’s wearing a cardigan so worn and so well-loved that Crowely’s sure the only thing keeping it intact is divine intervention.

“Is that better?” Crowley waits a moment, then rubs Aziraphale’s back when he coughs again. Not only is he good at telling when his angel isn’t feeling well, but Crowley’s become very good at knowing what kind of comfort he needs, too. Extra blankets and handkerchiefs can wait.

Aziraphale nods against Crowely’s chest, and takes a few sips of his tea before the coughs catch up with him for real. Crowley relaxes fully into that tiny nod, slipping his arms around Aziraphale and letting out a soft sigh of his own. Aziraphale’s always so out of sorts when he’s ill, and sometimes it takes him a moment to settle into the rest his body needs. But when he does, the moment when he realizes he needs warmth and rest and attention, Crowley loves being there for that moment.

“You really do feel warm,” Crowley murmurs as he presses his lips to Aziraphale’s hair, then his forehead.

“I feel chilly.” The pout is evident in Aziraphale’s voice and he buries himself further into Crowely, still clinging to his mug of lemon tea. He sniffles a few times, too, and sounds so pathetic that Crowley has to press another kiss to his forehead.

“Feverish,” Crowley reminds Aziraphale. Another little kiss, then he makes a soft, curious sound. “How do you feel, angel?”

Aziraphale considers for a moment, then peers up at Crowley with the kind of unabashed fondness that makes Crowley feel shy. He nestles right into Crowley, tucking his head against Crowley’s shoulder, and lets Crowely take the mostly empty mug of tea away from him. He even gives a tired little hum and wraps his arm around Crowley’s chest to get closer.

“Not too bad,” he finally answers. The congestion is evident in his voice, and Crowley’s almost positive that the cough is going to get worse before it gets better. And from the little noise he makes when Crowley rubs his back, Crowley can also guess how achy he must feel.

“Not too bad?” Crowley frowns.

“Not with you here,” Aziraphale says.

“You– Oh. Oh, right, well.” Crowley pushes his face into Azirpahle’s rumpled hair and wills away the bashful flush on his face. “Good thing I’m here, then. Since you can hardly tell how ill you are yourself.”

Before he can reply, Aziraphale coughs against Crowley’s chest. His eyes are glassy with fever when he looks up again, and sniffling into the sleeve of his sweater leaves his nose pink all over. Crowley feels himself flush warm and fond all over again.

“I’m going to take your temperature soon,” Crowley says, his voice a little rough with emotion.

“Mhmm… you do fuss, dear,” Aziraphale murmurs, and settles himself back in against Crowley with a little shiver.

#this is actually too cute :(((#pouty sick angel #i love him sm #and so does crowley tbh

26 notes · View notes