#crowley and aziraphale make eye contact across the room and both are ?????????????????? what is he talking aboit when did that happen

[banchie]

hc Crowley accidentally invented homophobia

he got really bored in the tenth century and made a bunch of misprints of the bible like

and god was like FUCK SHELLFISH and FUVK MIXED CLOTHES and also god said to take a BATH because you smell like SHIT and also god said FUCK GAY PPL GAY PPL SUCK and and and and he said DONT GET DRUNK because you SUCK and I HATE FUN

accidentally makes too many copies until the most common copy of the bible is a completely fake one made up by a drunk crowley, then COMPLETELY forgets about it

centuries later he's telling Adam about his favorite demon works and he brings it up and from the other room aziraphale drops his book or w/e and just goes CROWLEY. CROWLEY DID YOU COME UP WITH HOMOPHOBIA. CROWLEY

#good omens #aziraphale is like YOU!! YOURE THE REASON WE GET A BAD RAP #crowleys like me?????? holy shit was that me??????? did i do that??????? #if you think about this too hard it gets VERY sad but if you dont think about it too much its PRETTY funny #just imaging in the thirteenth cent. some priest is like THE LORD CONDEMNS HOMOSEXUALS #crowley and aziraphale make eye contact across the room and both are ?????????????????? what is he talking aboit when did that happen #if hell knew that crowley did that he would probably get a promotion but unfortunately he forgot about it immediately and never told them #crowley L #go #crowley good omens #aziraphale

[mimisempai]

A happiness that's real

Summary

When Aziraphale wakes Crowley so he can lie down beside him, the half-asleep demon asks if he's dreaming. Sometimes happiness is so great that it's hard to believe it's real. Perhaps a moment of tenderness and a few kisses can help?

Notes

This author is not at all ashamed of the amount of fluff in this fanfic...

On Ao3

Rating G -  1296 words

Aziraphale closed his book and sighed with satisfaction. 

"This book has been an absolute joy to read!"

It was only when he received no answer that he realized he was all alone. A little embarrassed, he vaguely remembered that Crowley had gone to bed and said goodnight to him, but he was so engrossed in his reading that he hadn't really registered it.

Had he even replied?

He hurriedly put the book down, turned off the light behind him, and hastily climbed the stairs to the bedroom.

As he entered, he couldn't hold back a fond smile.

Crowley was sprawled out on the bed, lying on his stomach, his head resting on his folded arm, his red hair sticking out in all directions. The sheet came up to his waist and his long legs were impossibly tangled in it.

Eager to join him, Aziraphale changed into something more comfortable and sat down on the edge of the bed, not far from the demon's head.

Gently pushing back the strands of hair that fell across his face, he stroked his cheek and called softly, "Crowley, my dear. I'm here."

The demon's eyes fluttered for a few seconds before slowly opening, then he grabbed Aziraphale's hand on his cheek and asked in a sleepy voice, "Angel, it's really you. It's not a dream?"

Aziraphale chuckled softly and replied, "Thank you, it's flattering to be thought of as a dream, but no, I assure you, you are wide awake and it is really me, in the flesh. Will you give me some room?"

Crowley moved aside a little, then lifted the sheet so that Aziraphale could slide in beside him. The angel climbed into the bed and lay down next to Crowley.

The demon asked him in a slightly hesitant tone, "Angel, will you please hold me?"

Aziraphale simply opened his arms and the demon immediately moved closer to him.  He turned and pressed his back against the chest of the angel, who immediately closed his arms around him.

The angel said softly, "Crowley, I'm sorry I didn't pay attention to you when you said good night to me."

The demon shook his head, "Angel, if there's one thing I've learned in all this time, it's that once you get into a book, it takes at least one Armageddon to get you out."

"God forbid! Lord save us."

"Avoid mentioning God in the privacy of our bedroom, angel, please."

They both chuckled softly, then Crowley continued, "Don't worry and don't apologize. I wasn't offended at all."

The angel pressed a kiss to his hair and said softly, "Still, thank you for your understanding, my dear."

After a few moments, Aziraphale asked quietly, "Is there a reason you wanted me to hold you like this?"

The demon replied, "You know, when I woke up, I asked you if I was dreaming. Well, sometimes when I look back at what we've been through and where we are now, waking up here, I almost can't believe it's real. Silly, huh?"

Aziraphale shook his head against Crowley's hair and murmured softly, "Not silly at all. I get the same feeling sometimes. Tell me what I can do to make you feel it's real?"

Crowley put his hands on the angel's arms, wrapped them around his chest, and replied, "Just hold me tight and that'll be enough."

Aziraphale tightened his arms around the demon, who pressed a little closer to him.

The angel said quietly, "We've lived hundreds of lives, seen and experienced things that would seem unbelievable or even impossible to the average person, and yet to have you against me like this is probably the most amazing thing I've ever experienced."

Crowley nodded, "That's exactly how I feel."

Not really knowing why, or perhaps just needing to feel that it was all real, Aziraphale sensed an urge for a little closer contact and impulsively pressed his lips to the demon's neck. 

It was a light kiss, barely a graze, and immediately after he waited for a reaction from Crowley. He let a few seconds pass and then, seeing that Crowley didn't seem to react negatively, he ventured a second kiss, a few inches from where he'd pressed the previous one. 

This time, Crowley hummed in appreciation, prompting Aziraphale to press another kiss a little lower down his neck. 

The angel then asked quietly, "Is it still okay?"

Crowley nodded and said softly, "More than okay, Angel."

Aziraphale smiled and pressed another kiss a little farther into the hollow of the demon's neck, continuing in this way a path of kisses to Crowley's bare shoulder, then back to his ear, checking from time to time to make sure there was no discomfort.

He whispered in the demon's ear, "Does that make it feel more real?"

Crowley replied softly, "Very, but there's still something you could do that would make it all very real."

Aziraphale asked, "And what would that be?"

"Kiss me."

The angel smiled cheekily against the demon's skin and replied, "Didn't I just do that?"

Crowley answered in a sulky voice, "Angel... you know very well what I mean."

Aziraphale chuckled softly, "Yes, my dear, I know, forgive me. Now turn around."

He then opened his arms and the demon turned. 

The angel raised his hand and gently traced the contours of Crowley's face, lingering near his eyes and murmuring, "So beautiful," before continuing to rest his hand on the demon's cheek and gently caressing it with his thumb, murmuring, "This is so real."

Crowley leaned into the hand, closing his eyes, completely abandoned, and Aziraphale brought his face closer to the demon's, sliding his hand up his neck, pressing to bring him even closer, and when their lips finally brushed, it was the most natural thing in the world. 

It wasn't their first kiss, but because they both needed it to be anchored in reality at that moment, it was almost as if it were.

Their lips parted and their breaths mingled, both losing themselves in the kiss. It went on and on, the angel and the demon pulling away only to catch their breath and quickly reconnecting, as if each were afraid of losing that connection to reality.

When they finally broke the kiss, they remained forehead to forehead, wanting to stay as close as possible.

Aziraphale murmured against Crowley's lips, "Is this real enough?"

The demon replied, "Oh yes, Angel, very real, but..." he paused and his lips curled into a playful little smile, "...you'll have to do it a few more times for me to be completely convinced." 

The angel pulled back a little and replied in a pompous tone, "Oh my God, this is absolutely terrible, I'm going to have to sacrifice myself again!"

They looked at each other and both began to laugh. Later, when the laughter subsided, Aziraphale's face became serious again as he said, "If you're in any doubt, let me know, in whatever way you need reassurance, I'm willing to do it. Anytime."

The demon replied quietly, "I will," before snuggling up against Aziraphale's chest, the angel wrapping his arms around him.

Having fought so fiercely for their happiness, it would probably take some time for both of them to fully realize that this happiness was something real, but each could count on the other, as always, to remind them.

When Crowley opened his eyes the next morning, he didn't feel the slight panic he sometimes felt that it was all a dream. That none of it was real.

For the first thing he saw was the peaceful face of his sleeping angel.

He watched him for a few minutes, and when Aziraphale finally opened his eyes and smiled softly at him, the demon told himself that nothing could be more real.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable Growing Love series : here (After season 2)

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here (Before season 2)

#good omens #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #ineffable boyfriends #aziraphale #crowley #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #GOS2Spoilers

[bluberryfields]

"You could miracle it away."

Today I want to talk about the scenes with Aziraphale and Crowley at Tadfield Manor (the former convent). Yes, all the scenes. So yeah, this is going to be a lot. Buckle up. (Part 1 of whatever)

They arrive, and we see their personalities on display with Azi taking the “proper path” and Crowley just moving “as the crow flies” straight across the grass.

Then, as they approach the entrance archway, Azi suddenly stops and reaches out to Crowley by placing a hand on his arm.

So, a super good feeling of love washes over you and your instinct is to reflexively reach out and touch Crowley so that he would stop and hopefully also feel that feeling? Copy that.

A: *nearly gasping with every breath* “It feels loved.” C: *looking around and totally unaffected* “No, it’s definitely the place.” *pauses and turns to A* “What do you mean, ‘loved’?” A: *still breathing like he has a case of the vapors* “Well, I mean the opposite of when you say, ‘I don’t like this place. It feels spooky.’” C: *shaking his head like a baby being offered a spoon full of spinach mush* “I don’t ever say that. I like spooky. Big spooky fan, me. Let’s go talk to some nuns.”

Aziraphale is such a Southern damsel and Crowley is such a mall goth. I love them both.

They continue in and are soon shot by corporate drones amped up on adrenaline and interpersonal pettiness. As Azi frets about his coat, Crowley gets to utterly terrify the business dweeb who scolds him for not correctly playing dead.

C: *grinning and bobbing his head like a proud rooster* “Well that was fun.” A: *ignoring everything but his stained coat* “Well, yes, fun for you. Look at the state of this coat. I’ve kept this in tip-top condition for over 180 years now. I’ll never get this stain out.”

At this point, Crowley is walking a circle around Aziraphale to examine the damage (and just because serpents gonna serp). He stops once he’s all the way around while motioning his head towards the stain.

C: *pragmatically* ”You could miracle it away.” A: *considering it but not actually considering it because he’s clearly already decided to manipulate Crowley instead* “Hmm…Yes, but…well, I would always know the stain was there.”

Seriously, the pathetic ways his eyes dart around and down to emphasize how utterly sad this makes him, even going so far as to angle his body so that the stain is almost facing Crowley. I fucking see you, Aziraphale. You know what you’re doing, you little slut. Carry on.

Crowley then pouts in the cutest way possible as Aziraphale actively turns his body to make sure Crowley fully sees the damage the paintball has caused.

A: *trying to make eye contact with Crowley so that he gets the full impact of celestial cuteness* “Underneath, I mean.”

Crowley takes a step back to consider the situation and then leans in to oh-so-casually blow the stain away. And not just leaning his face down towards the stain, but with an extra cool twist of his body so that Azi can see the full experience of his face as he does this for him.

Crowley literally ‘rescued’ Aziraphale with his mouth. Like, this couldn’t be more sexual if it was Aziraphale’s dick in Crowley’s mouth.

And I realized that of all the other miracles we see in both S1 and S2, the action of performing them is done with the angel or demon’s hands. They pull power down from Heaven or up from Hell. There’s fun flourishes and dramatic snaps. But for this little miraculous moment, we barely see Crowley’s hands at all. The camera is framed for just Azi and Crowley’s shoulders up and we just see a finger being raised and lowered. So, did Crowley do a thing with his hands and decide to do the blowing notion for Azi’s benefit?

Finally, we see Azi’s reaction, which is all sparkling eyes and demure “Oh, thank you.” before walking on.

Get a fucking room, you two. Or not. Outside is fine. It’s natural. Beautiful, even. Wherever I can watch.

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #ineffable husbands #david tennant #michael sheen #aziracrow #they are so married it's ridiculous #azirpahale is a master manipulator #look at these faces #these beautiful faces #that love each other so much #yes I should be working at my actual job #instead of writing up this stuff that others have done before

[angel-and-serpent]

Aftershock

Unbeknownst to almost everybody, the world had almost ended. It was the kind of thing one should really be informed about, really. Nevertheless, mankind carried on, ignorant of how close they'd come to their end. An earthbound angel and demon, however, were only too well aware of how close their brush with annihilation had been. Not just humanity's, but their own. They had been condemned to death by holy water and hellfire respectively.

And yet here they were, back on earth once again. Not just amongst people, as they had been from the beginning, but with each other.

The walk from the garden bench was charged with emotion. Despite this, nothing of much interest was said between them as they made their way to their destination. They idly chatted, still trying to wrap their minds around the full enormity of what had just happened. They walked side by side as they always had, despite the insurmountable victory they had accomplished. They had yet to put into words what they were thinking, as their thoughts raced by too quickly to be comprehended.

The impressive exterior of the Ritz came into view up ahead. The familiar sense of excitement grew inside them; the mixed emotions of joy and fear of being together in public.

Once the initial reaction had passed, however, Aziraphale did something he rarely did: he entertained new thoughts. The realisation had just begun to sink in.

There was no reason to hide anymore.

A spark inside Aziraphale began to turn into a blaze.

As they entered the lobby together, Aziraphale felt something in his chest rise up. There was the entrance to the restaurant, just as they'd planned. However, his heart tugged in a different direction, one he'd quashed countless times. With each step, his instinct told him otherwise. That same instinct had told him to give away his flaming sword, to shelter a demon under his wing, to protect a unique child in his moment of need, and how to decipher a prophesy to save them both. It had helped him so much over the years, so why shouldn't he just...?

The restaurant host at his podium was within sight. All they had to do was walk over, order a table for two, and...

No.

Not today.

Aziraphale's feet stopped. Crowley noticed the emptiness at his side and turned. "Everything alright, angel?"

Yes. Yes, it truly was.

The host had recognised him across the lobby.

"Ah, Mr Fell!" He called with familiarity. "Will it be a table for two this afternoon, gentlemen?"

Aziraphale opened his mouth to answer... but the words would not come out. He paused for a moment, wringing his hands in contemplation. Crowley looked at him curiously and wondered if he should speak for him.

Finally he replied. "Uh, n-no thank you, John, my dear chap. I'm afraid I've... just remembered some rather, uh, pressing business I should really attend to first. Perhaps later. Cheerio!"

As he turned around to back out, he faced Crowley and gave him a brief yet very distinct look. Crowley understood, to some extent: 'This is important'. He gave the host a shrug, and followed Aziraphale back out to the lobby. If Crowley was unsure what he was doing before, he was even more perplexed when Aziraphale crossed over to the other side. The side they'd never gone to before.

"Excuse me, miss?" Aziraphale asked politely, if somewhat nervously. Both the concierge and Crowley looked up at him.

"Good afternoon, sir. What may I help you with?" asked the woman behind the sleek desk.

Aziraphale barreled on. "I'd... I'd like a room. Please."

He turned slowly to look directly at Crowley, through his glasses. He looked at him expectantly. "...For two."

Crowley's mouth fell open. He looked at Aziraphale, dumbfounded. Aziraphale raised his brows expectantly at him.

"Wonderful, sir. Will that be two beds or-"

"One bed," responded Crowley. He slammed down his very dark and shiny credit card on the counter. He replied to the concierge but faced Aziraphale while he spoke. "The largest, nicest one you've got!" He grinned dashingly, biting his lip.

Aziraphale's heart soared in his chest and he could barely contain his smile.

If the concierge saw their delight, she was too polite and professional to acknowledge it. Instead she tapped away at her keyboard and searched the monitor. "Let me see what we have. I'm afraid we don't have much available for walk-in bookings, but I'll see what I can do..."

Aziraphale flicked his fingers where only one person in the lobby might have seen it.

"Oh, well here we go! We've had a last minute cancellation for a two room suite with king sized bed. Will that be suitable, sirs?"

Both of them were lost for a moment, and had to be asked a second time.

"I'm sorry? Um, uh, YES! Yes, that would be lovely!" Aziraphale managed to get out.

"And how many nights will you be staying?"

They looked to each other, Aziraphale for permission and Crowley for confirmation.

"Let's make it... a week?" Crowley replied. There was a slight noise from Aziraphale's direction that might have been a gasp or a surprised huff.

"Allllright, sirs, bear with me one moment, please, while I put your details into the system. This won't take too long. Would you like your luggage brought up to your room?"

Crowley answered, "No luggage."

Aziraphale nudged him. "Nonsense, dear. Our, uh, suitcases are in the car. No need to bring it up now. We'll bring it up ourselves later, if that's alright?"

"Yes. 'Course," Crowley quickly recovered.

"That's not a problem," replied the concierge, not letting on in anyway if she truly understood the situation. "You can always call through to us at the front desk if you need anything or have any questions. The bellhop will show you to your room. Here's your keycard and a brochure to our available amenities, including opening and closing times of the restaurant."

Aziraphale was about to inform her that he was already well acquainted with the restaurant's times, but he was in a hurry to be on their way.

They followed the bellhop who led them to the lifts. The doors opened and the three of them stepped into the car. The bellhop stood in front of them by the buttons. To Aziraphale and Crowley, two immortals who'd been on earth since time immemorial, it was the longest ride they'd ever had to suffer through.

Aziraphale and Crowley hadn't made eye contact since the front desk. They still stared dead ahead, and silent as could be. What wasn't said was felt, though; the space between them was electric.

Aziraphale saw movement out the corner of his eye. Without even looking down, he knew what it was. Crowley's little finger was secretly reaching for him. Surreptitious as always, but shy and tentative as well. Aziraphale needed this affirmation, too, that this was really happening, and that they were together in this. He, also, extended his own trembling little finger. He felt it brush against Crowley's, desperately ready bridge the gap between them and to entwine-

The elevator car lurched as they reached their floor. Their hands snapped back at their sides as a reflex. The bell chimed, and they stepped out.

They were led down the hall and to their suite. The bellhop showed them inside, pointing out the rooms' features. Crowley sauntered around slowly, regarding the rooms with practiced disinterest. Aziraphale assured the young man that everything looked tip-top, and was perhaps a little too eager to bid him on his way. Finally, he closed the door which locked soundly.

Aziraphale paused at the door, as if he was waiting for someone to come bursting through and interrupt them.

It never came.

They were alone.

They had their privacy.

They had their freedom.

Unsure of what to do next, Crowley sat down on the end of the bed. The silence between them was deafening.

Aziraphale turned to face Crowley.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice unsteady and hushed. "But if I didn't do that... I might have lost all my nerve!"

The space between them evaporated immediately. Crowley instantly threw his arms open wide and Aziraphale rushed into them. They clung to each other tightly; not a space for even a breath between them. However, some things don't need breath. Angels and demons, for example, or expressions of true love.

A lot can be accomplished in a week. God created the World in six days and rested on the seventh. For an angel and a demon, they can slough off the shackles that held them back from being themselves. Walls can be broken down around guarded hearts, and the love within them can finally be allowed to flow freely. They can make the world they always wanted for themselves.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale and crowley #good omens ficlet #ineffable fluff #good omens fanfiction #crowley and aziraphale #my writing #jumping on the bandwagon #me writes too #good omens fanfic #good omens fan fiction

[justkeeptrekkin]

Don’t Dream It’s Over

Some hurt/comfort for you all. 

***

The bedside lamp is on. It’s going to take another millennia for Crowley to get used to having a bedside lamp. It’s more common for him to saunter into his dark bedroom and immediately go to sleep- he’ll even put on a pair of pyjamas, if he’s feeling especially luxurious. Bedside lamps don’t usually factor into his routine. Not exactly required, with night-vision. 

But now, his routine has changed significantly. It’s made room for a certain angel, who likes having a bedside lamp on- who likes being able to see what he’s reading, before turning in for the night. 

Crowley buries his face in his pillow, where it’s blissfully dark and the light doesn’t irritate his eyes. It’s not just this that he’s had to accommodate; no, it’s Aziraphale’s very striking lack of sleep, as well. Aziraphale will sit there with a light on for hours, reading beside Crowley, not sleeping until he decides he may as well. Sleep is not something either of them need; it is something that Crowley enjoys significantly more than Aziraphale; it’s something that Aziraphale has decided to “try out”, like a new hobby, since Crowley moved in and miracled a bedroom. 

On top of that, Aziraphale has, in his own words, decided to “do this whole sleeping thing properly”. Crowley has had to make room for hot chocolate or decaffeinated tea before bed. He’s allowed blankets and extra cushions and Egyptian cotton sheets. They have a linen cupboard for all of it. His normal, wallowing sleeping habits have been entirely disregarded. 

He is very much alright with that. 

“Are you awake?” Crowley lets out a long, sleepy breath. It makes his face hot, where it’s pressed against the pillow. “Mmmph.”

“Is the light keeping you awake? Be honest with me, Crowley.” “Smufuuhhn.”

“Sorry?”

Eyes still closed, Crowley rolls his head so he can speak, words unmuffled. Relatively. “S’fine.”

“Alright.”

Truthfully, it’s all taking a lot of getting used to. The reason he hasn’t argued with Aziraphale is because he likes having him here. He loves having Aziraphale here, and that makes all the bright lights and sickly sweet bedtime drinks tolerable. (Tolerable. He will never admit to them being nice.) That doesn’t mean that it isn’t sometimes a bit unsettling. There’s still that very large part of himself that’s uncomfortable, unsettled with being happy. After all, it’s natural to feel wary of the unfamiliar. 

He yawns. His jaw unhinges slightly, and he corrects it so as not to inadvertently slip into his snake form. “What you reading,” he mumbles.

Though his eyes are shut, he hears Aziraphale put his book down on the bed sheets. Perhaps looking at the cover. “Brideshead Revisited.” “Again?” “I know. I’m an old bore.”

“Mm. We knew that already.”

Aziraphale tuts. “Thank you.”

Crowley doesn’t smile, but he feels it in his chest. How little has changed, despite the fact that everything has changed. 

He cracks open an eye. 

A bright, yellow light glows on the other side of the bed. It fractures around Aziraphale’s silhouette. Like a halo, but more artificial. No, when Aziraphale shines, he shines brighter and more beautifully than an Ikea lamp. Right now, Aziraphale has returned to his book, legs stretched in front of him under the sheets and reading glasses perched at the end of his nose. Tartan pyjamas with a red trim. Unlike Crowley, Aziraphale is comfortable with being comfortable. At least, he’s better at it than him; it suits him better. 

Crowley lies there, one eye looking. Breathing slowly and silently. A little like when he’s a snake, hiding in the grass; he doesn’t want Aziraphale to notice him watching, committing this to memory. Maybe, if Crowley looks longer, watches longer, memorises this, he’ll convince himself that it won’t all disappear.

Inevitably, Aziraphale does look away from his book. Bright eyes looking down at him. He blinks, and his expression turns into pure love. A look of adoration that only an angel could nail so perfectly. 

“Darling boy,” Aziraphale says gently. 

Crowley watches Aziraphale’s hand come to stroke his head. He closes both eyes for a moment and feels it. 

“You should sleep,” Aziraphale whispers. His thumb stroking the hair out of his forehead. “Otherwise you’ll be a terrible grouch tomorrow.” Crowley snorts. “Cheers.” “You know it’s true,” he chastises quietly, humour in his voice. 

It’s warm. And he’s forgotten that his eyes are closed. He’s forgotten everything except the feel of Aziraphale’s hand on his head. He barely hears Aziraphale when he says: 

“I’ll be here when you wake up.”

***

It’s so hot. Hotter than Hell, and he should know.

It’s hot enough that his tears boil his skin and his throat goes dry. His body is evaporating. And he’s pulled further into the bowels of the furnace, where the flames wriggle more freely, like they’re laughing. He’s pulled further in and he watches the shop, this corner of his heart- he watches it crumble, dancing in Hell orange. 

“AZIRAPHALE! AZIRAPHALE FOR GOD- FOR SA- FOR SOMEBODY’S SAKE WHERE ARE-”

Something explodes. Something happens that means he’s suddenly thrown across the room but he doesn’t know how. His mind will only take him as far as you’re on the floor. You’re looking at the ceiling. You’re alone, now.

It’s so hot. It’s hot, so why is he shivering? Why do the tears keep coming, where are they coming from- everything should have dried up, everything has disappeared- everything inside him has been scooped out and cooked and smashed. The brittle, hollow person that he is. A fragile little glass demon, molded for evil, made empty and aching. Filled with traitorous love for an angel. There’s nothing left inside him now. They’ve taken it all, emptied him again. 

“Somebody killed my best friend…”

It’s so hot. It’s hot and he’s burning and he feels ash and smoke clog up his throat. He kneels amongst the rubble. But that’s not what makes this feels like hell. 

“BASTARDS!”

He could stay here forever. What good would it do to leave? What good would any of it-

“Crowley?” He can’t see through the fog, the tears, the smoke, the sleep-haze of his mind. He doesn’t need to see.

“Crowley- Crowley-”

Like an electric shock- he hears himself gasp- he jumps upright- convulses with deep breaths- his whole body shakes. 

“Crowley- oh, Crowley. It’s alright. It’s alright-”

It’s only then that he begins to see what’s around him- the yellow light of the bedside lamp, the sheets tangled at his feet. Aziraphale, sat in front of him. Huge, anxious eyes trying to make contact with his, a weak smile on his lips. 

“You’re here, you’re, you’re, you’re-”

And before Crowley even realises that he’s said this aloud, he’s brought into a tight hug. His own cold, clammy skin pressed against Aziraphale’s cheek; soft eiderdown hair in his vision. 

“I’m here. I’m here, dearest.” 

He feels Aziraphale’s hand on his head, gently stroking through his curls. He feels another pressed firmly against his back. Held there, as if to stop him from drifting away. And that’s what brings him back- that’s what brings Crowley back to the moment, what makes the scorching heat on his skin disappear and the hollow feeling fill again. That’s what brings him back to now, to a world where Aziraphale is alive, and he feels the sob of relief rise out of him. 

His fingers dig into Aziraphale’s back, and he clings on for dear life. 

“You’re here, now,” Aziraphale soothes. “It’s alright now.” Crowley is still shaking. He’s shaking because there’s that bitter little animal inside of him that doesn’t believe Aziraphale, that’s angry at him for telling him something so stupid, gnashing it’s teeth at the idea of trusting and relaxing and the suggestion of not being on high alert. 

It makes him dizzy, how fast he pulls away from Aziraphale and stands up. 

He backs away from his angel. His angel looks back- calm. Prepared. Hands raised like a lion tamer. Kneeling on the bed, amongst a cloud of bedsheets. 

“Don’t,” Crowley growls. Backs away a step further. Aziraphale’s serious eyes fixed on him, hands on his tartaned knees. “Don’t. Don’t.” “Alright,” Aziraphale nods slowly. Expression neutral, quiet. “Alright.” “You have- you don’t- don’t, jusssssssssst don’t, don’t say it’s alright now, ssssstop saying alright.” Aziraphale listens. Crowley grips the material of his pyjama top in his hand, as if to tear it off, although he doesn’t. He’s trapped and exposed all at once and he wants to shed his skin like he’s still a snake. 

“You don’t know, sssso you can’t say it’ssss alright because you don’t know, you don’t know what’ll happen or what the next ineffable-f-fucking-plan issssss or, you- you can’t, it could all go wrong any minute and you could disappear again just like lassssst- like lasssssssssssst- like-”

None of this really feels like it’s happening yet. It’s the middle of the night, nothing feels real, he doesn’t trust that Aziraphale’s really there and this feels like the dream. This feels like the moment that will disappear, not the burning bookshop. Oh yes, the burning bookshop feels like it’s been branded inside of him forever. But this-

“Thissss- thissss- for FUCK’S sake. This. This is transient. It’ssss not. It’s.”

“Crowley.” Aziraphale’s voice breaks, so he swallows. His expression breaks too, so he corrects it. Body bathed in gold light and shadow. “Crowley.” “Don’t pander me, don’t say those thingssss.” He hears his own voice break now. Feels his face contort with tears. Feels his hands grip the material of his pyjama top again, clutching like a child. “Don’t lie to me. Nothing’sss alright forever.” “Things have changed,” Aziraphale replies quietly. 

“NOTHING changes!” Crowley shivers, a whole body shiver. “Six thousand years should have taught you that by now, angel- Heaven, Hell- they’re never gone, it’s never over-”

“Is that what you were dreaming about,” Aziraphale asks, brows raised and eyes sad. God, Crowley’s made him sad. He can’t cope with it. He feels that snarling animal in him falter, whimper. “Is this about Heaven and Hell, Crowley? Because,” Aziraphale shakes his head uselessly. “I don’t know what to do about that. I’m so sorry. I’d do anything to make you feel safe, darling boy. I don’t know how I can do that, not yet, except tell you that I’m here. I’m here.”

“You died, Aziraphale.”

Crowley gasps a shuddering breath. Aziraphale’s eyes flutter and widen in horror and understanding. 

“You died. You discorporated, died- however you want to look at it- they killed you and you were gone and I was alone, and I didn’t- I was going to let the world burn for it, angel. I was going to let all of it burn and I was going to go with it because you weren’t here-”

“Crowley-”

“There’s no point in any of this, being here, there’s no point of wine or music or Bentleys without you and you just disappeared. You died, you let yourself get killed and you bloody well left me and I- I- you were gone, angel, you… You and me. How can I believe this’ll stay?”

Aziraphale’s up from the bed faster than he’s ever seen him move before. And Crowley goes to meet him- throws himself into Aziraphale’s hug the moment he’s on his feet. They stand there in the semi-dark room and hold each other, Crowley’s choking, coughing sobs filling the little room. There’s a half empty cup of hot chocolate on his bedside, and the marshmallows have congealed. Aziraphale’s book is on the floor, pages open. And he feels the damp of Aziraphale tears on his shoulder. 

“My dear. My dear, dear, Crowley.” Aziraphale’s voice wobbles and strains. Like a bow shuddering along the strings of a violin. “I love you so much. With everything I have.”

Crowley presses his face against Aziraphale’s shoulder. “I love you,” he croaks. 

Crowley clutches. Aziraphale’s hands press tighter against Crowley’s back. 

“There is no way in Heaven, Hell, Limbo, Earth or whatever dimension God may have devised that would stop me from being by your side. If I’m discorporated again-” Aziraphale sighs. “I’d do anything to come back to you. I’d find you no matter what, Crowley, just like last time. Do you understand?” “I’m sssorry for making you cry,” Crowley whispers.

“Crowley, do you understand? You must know that I’d never leave you, not really. Never.” “Aziraphale.” 

His angel is so soft, so gentle to hold. He doesn’t fracture or break like Crowley does. He bends and pillows the blow of every painful thing. His arms are around him and he feels held. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says. “My love. You don’t have to trust me yet-”

He feels sick with guilt. “I do-”

“I understand, Crowley,” Aziraphale says. And then he pulls away a little, enough that he can look at Crowley, enough that he can see Aziraphale’s watery blue eyes and blushing pink face. His hands cup Crowley’s face. “I understand you may not believe it yet, but it’s true. No matter what happens, I’m here. I’ll find my way back to you.”

Their foreheads meet. Fresh, hot tears pour down Crowley’s cheeks. 

Aziraphale wipes them away, swallows loudly and takes a deep breath. 

“Come back to bed,” he says gently. 

They both do. Crowley carefully kneels on the bed, lies down on his side and curls up into Aziraphale, head on his arm. He lies there and feels his shaking body still, feels Aziraphale’s lips press against his sweaty forehead and stay there. Not quite a kiss, but something kinder. 

The room is quiet with their slowing breathes, naturally falling in sync. Crowley’s eyes stare at the tartan pattern of Aziraphale’s pyjamas, the buttons close enough in his vision that they blur. 

And then Aziraphale moves, just a little- stretches to his bedside table and takes a book. Crowley doesn’t move to give Aziraphale his arm back. Nor is he going to sleep any time soon. And so he allows him one hand only to open the book and prop it open against his knees.

“The family of Dashwood had long been settled in Sussex,” Aziraphale reads. “Their estate was large, and their residence was at Norland Park, in the centre of their property, where, for many generations, they had lived in so respectable a manner as to engage the general good opinion of their surrounding acquaintance…”

Crowley doesn’t question it. He doesn’t see the point in arguing, not when the sound of Aziraphale’s voice fills the hollowness. Aziraphale reads Sense and Sensibility, Crowley’s head on his arm and a hand tracing gently along his arm. They lie like that for hours, Crowley quietly listening, arm slung across Aziraphale’s stomach. 

Eventually, the light begins to wink through the crack in the curtains. It starts with that light blue almost-morning sky, then with the watery yellow of the winter sun. Crowley watches, Aziraphale’s voice filling the silence; he listens until it feels real. As real and as natural as the rising of the sun.

#my writing #hurt comfort #ineffable husbands #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #fic prompt #except not lmao

[sushiandstarlight]

“Family”: NaNoWriMo 30 Days of Prompts

Yesterday’s Prompt

Read this story on AO3

Personal note: I had a bit of an epiphany this morning.  The kind that’s painful, but illuminating.  I’ve kept a few people on the outskirts of my life even though they’re people that did me a lot of damage when I was younger.  And folks have asked me why I keep them around.  I’ve asked me why I keep them around.  Because as long as they are there, I fear being judged.  I fear being attacked and hurt again.  It occurred to me this morning... I keep them there hoping they realize what they’ve done.  I want them to realize and I want them to apologize.  So, I sat down and I wrote this.

Moonlight greeted Crowley when his eyes opened. Unusual, that. It had taken him time to adjust to a quieter life. Not just the silence of the countryside, although that had been strange after so long in the city. It reminded him of older times. Simpler, maybe, but not always better... no matter how the short memories of humans chose to see them. No, it took time to let go of the anxiety that, at any time, one one of his lot could show up and drag him back. Back to that life in the dank and stink. A life of assignments about which he felt ambivalent. Criticism of his work, at best. The stoic silence of non-comprehension, usually. Fear of destruction at worst.

He stretched and rolled onto his back. But, he was- relaxing. He could feel it in the lack of tension in his shoulders. How he slept in a bed instead of on the ceiling. How his sleeps were now naps- hours instead of days or years or decades. There was nothing to avoid with unconsciousness now. He still scanned the area while he was out gardening, but he was doing it half the time he was in the beginning. Progress, he was making progress.

It wasn't all self-work, though. A lot of it had to do with the angel tucked into the covers beside him. 

At first, he had insisted on not sleeping. And, maybe, that had been a blessing in the beginning. Crowley could truly rest knowing the angel was watching over him. But, the weariness had caught up with Aziraphale eventually. Crowley would catch him napping in the warm sunlight of the sitting room, book dropped out of sleep-numbed fingers. Sometimes, if he woke in the night, he would catch Aziraphale having drifted during his Watch. They hadn't talked about it. When Aziraphale started sleeping through the night with him, he didn't mention it. Just curled closer to him, joyful for the evidence of trust: I can lay myself beside you at my most vulnerable and not fear.

He shifted carefully onto his side, bent on catching the angel in one of his rare, unguarded moments. Yes, they were becoming more frequent, but they were still something of a gift for Crowley, after so many years of not sharing this much space and time with him.

The sight that greeted him wasn't one of his best friend at peace, but strained. His face was dawn and lined with stress and fear. And, now that he was paying attention, Crowley could feel him trembling, ever so slightly, beside him. His fists were clenched over the covers. He was talking to someone in his sleep- quick clipped responses that, obviously, weren't moving in the conversation in the direction he hoped because the shadows deepened in his face. Crowley couldn't hear make out what he was muttering. He slid a hand across Aziraphale's middle and gave him a little shake.

The angel's response was swift and shocking in the silence of their room, shrinking back away from the touch and sitting up suddenly, back pressed against the headboard. His eyes darted around the room, taking it all in and wading through confusion before understanding. But, his body wouldn't listen, holding itself tight, his breaths coming in quick pants.

“Hey, hey Angel!” Crowley was sitting up now, too, the sheets falling away from his torso, “Angel, you're okay. You're alright. Hey, look at me, eh? Breathe with me. You're going to hyperventilate.”

Aziraphale eyed him wildly, still shrunk back against the headboard, but met his eyes. He nodded, breathing with Crowley. Crowley deepened his breaths as the seconds ticked by and watched as Aziraphale followed his lead. His shoulders didn't relax at all, but his breathing steadied. Eventually he sagged back, looking away to collect himself. Crowley gave him space, scooting up to sit next to him, but being careful not to touch.

“They found me. Right before the end.”

“Who did?”

“The other angels: Michael, Uriel, Sandalphon. They found me right before the trumpets sounded.”

“They try to drag you back?”

“Well...” Aziraphale was still staring off into space, his face pinched.

“Did they hurt you?”

“They roughed me up a little,” Aziraphale's hand snaked around his own middle, even though the pain of the punch was long gone something about it still hurt, “nothing too bad.”

“How was that supposed to bring you back into the fold?”

“They weren't,” Aziraphale swallowed and when he glanced back at Crowley his eyes were glittering damply, “That is, they didn't seem terribly interested in having me back.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes at him in the darkness, but reached for his accumulated store of calm. A drop a day, it had been filled since settling here. But, he didn't want to test it's depths. Not when it came to Aziraphale's safety and happiness. There wasn't enough bucket.

“I thought I could reason with them. I thought I could convince them... That there was another way, another side. That Good and Bad were human choices, but that we also had our own choices we could make.”

Crowley nodded, letting him speak.

“That maybe we could mend fences, so to speak.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley drug his voice back from dripping with the pity he felt, but only just. That's not what he needed right now.

“I know. It was stupid.” Aziraphale was examining the bedsheets now, twisting the ones over his belly in his fist.

“It wasn't stupid. It was hope. Angels are supposed to be hopeful.”

“They're also supposed to love!” The statement rang out in the room, practically yelled in frustration. Crowley contained his startled gasp but knew his eyes were comically wide. Aziraphale was a lot of things, but loud was not one of them. And he was shaking again, “I thought... I thought. Well, it doesn't matter does it?”

“Your thoughts always matter to me, Aziraphale,” and if Crowley's voice broke over the word 'always', it didn't need to be mentioned.

“I think I wanted them to say they were sorry.”

“For ending the world?” Yeah, he sounded incredulous.

“For how they treated me,” it was said so softly, the words seemed to have no integrity, especially after his outburst.

“I don't understand, Angel,” Crowley reached out, making eye contact, and when he received a nod of consent, placed his hand over the Angel's knee over the blankets and squeezed, “but I want to.”

“See, that's it precisely! Crowley, you always listen to me. Even when it's about silly books or the new sushi restaurant or the terrible play we both just saw. You,” his throat worked, “you make me feel valued, of import.”

“Because you are,” Crowley cocked his head to the side, “you've always been important to me.”

“But I never was to them, Crowley.”

A beat of silence passed, each digesting that statement. Crowley couldn't argue it. He had been in Heaven in Aziraphale's corporation. If how they treated him then was how they had always treated him. It took everything to remember that he was touching the Angel so he didn't clench his fist.

“I think I tried so hard to reach them... Because I wanted them to see me that way. I wanted them to see what I could bring to the situation, what I had always had. What I've grown to have. With, with no small amount of help from you, dear,” he waved Crowley's protestations away, “I know you haven't made me who I am, darling, but you've helped me see who I am and that is priceless.”

Crowley smiled at him and scooted a little closer, their thighs brushing under the covers.

“I think I hoped they would see and they would apologize,” he winced, “please don't laugh.”

“It's not funny, Aziraphale, I understand now.”

“I wanted them to realize how they treated me was wrong. That I had a part of all of this. That I always had. I wanted them to say they were sorry, to me, personally.”

“You would have forgiven them.” Crowley thought, to himself, that that already made Aziraphale a much better angel than all of them combined, but he didn't voice that thought.

“Well, I don't know. Probably. I don't think I could have forgotten what they did. How they made me feel.”

“You wanted it for yourself.”

Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably.

“It's okay to want things like that, for yourself. Hell, I still talk to God sometimes. I still ask my questions. I still want answers, Aziraphale. I mean, at this point it almost doesn't matter. We have our side: our reward and our peace. But, it still burns that she cast me out. I still want to understand it. Doesn't mean I want to go back. Doesn't mean I want to be an angel again, white wings and halos and sharp, drab suits.”

“I'm sorry, Crowley, for both of us. They never did deserve us, did they?”

“Nah, and they never really had us.”

“True,” Aziraphale tilted his head to rest on Crowley's shoulder and Crowley ghosted a kiss over the top of his head. Family. They were family, the two of them.

“This world, though. It's full of possibilities and weirdness. We fit in here.” But, maybe they weren't completely alone.

Aziraphale hummed softly, drifting again. Crowley slid back down into the covers, pulling the angel with him.

“I fit here,” Aziraphale murmured into his neck as Crowley held him close, relaxing into sleep. Crowley would watch him, this time, for any more stressful dreams.

Previous Prompt Ficlets:

Hearth / Frosty / Ribbons / Wrapping / Cardinal / Coal / Unwrap / Blustery

#aziraphale x crowley #crowley x arizaphale #good omens #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #star light-reads #30 days of prompts #nanowrimo #nanowrimo 2020 #what is fanfiction really #if you're not using it to work through your own issues? lol

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Dream a Little Dream - 5

Nearly finished! My next @bingokisses prompt was “Sleepy Good Night Kisses/Head on Shoulder.” In this chapter, Aziraphale begins to realize what’s been happening - next chapter will bring the thrilling conclusion!

You can catch up on the story so far on AO3!

Chapter 5: 1941 - Boulevard of Broken Dreams

Aziraphale held Crowley’s heel in his hand, gently wiping the ball of his foot with a dripping cloth. The other foot soaked in the tub of water, warm, gently steaming. His walk across the church floor had left blisters, and there was little Aziraphale could do to heal them. But he could tend to them, nonetheless.

He wanted, very much, to thank Crowley. But they didn’t say thank you, that wasn’t how they operated. This was all he had to offer.

On the sofa, Crowley murmured, a little sound of relief, of pleasure, of exhaustion. He was very nearly asleep, slumped onto the cushions, arms hanging loose beside him. So different from the energy he usually showed, the way he’d hopped into the church, all full of clever ideas and witty speech…

Crowley’s head nodded as he drifted off. Aziraphale’s hands kept moving of their own accord as he watched, the purse of Crowley’s lips, the lock of hair that broke free to fall across his forehead.

Perhaps he should fetch a blanket, tuck it around Crowley. Sit beside him on the sofa. Tug him down to rest his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. Kiss his sleep-soft lips as he drifted off.

He could imagine it perfectly; Aziraphale was very experienced in daydreaming by now. He could imagine how Crowley would stir, ever so slightly, one golden eye cracking open, then shutting just as quick. The way the little smile would struggle to remain hidden, even as he tipped his head back, offering his lips for another kiss.

Aziraphale would laugh, softly. “No, you’ve had one already. You need to sleep now, my dear.”

“Nhhh,” Crowley would complain, and pout until Aziraphale relented, bending down to give him a second, a third, a fourth.

“You were marvelous today,” Aziraphale would murmur, his lips hovering close above Crowley’s. “Of course, you’re always marvelous. My wonderful Crowley.”

One more kiss, perhaps, and then settle Crowley comfortably on his shoulder to sleep, arm around him. Aziraphale could imagine it, the warmth he felt in Crowley’s feet, only pressed all down the length of his side. “I’m…I’m so glad you came,” he would confess, not sure if the demon could still hear him. “I wasn’t sure if you would after…after the dreadful things I said.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Crowley muttered, “I’ll always come for you.”

Aziraphale froze, half pulled back to reality by the words he was sure he’d heard – not imagined, heard.

“Ah…” He glanced up at where Crowley’s head was bent entirely over the back of the sofa. “Crowley? Are you…?”

No response except a snore, surprisingly gentle.

Tugging at the thread of his daydream – not quite snapped – Aziraphale slid back into it, imagining Crowley curling against him. In his mind, he asked, uncertainly, “Crowley? Can you hear me?”

“Mmmmh,” said Crowley – the real Crowley – the one sprawled on his own on the sofa. “Course I can. Not that far gone yet.”

“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale said, in his mind and out loud.

“Something wrong?”

It wasn’t perfectly clear, of course. Crowley didn’t so much talk in his sleep as mumble. But the “Smmm’ng rn,” he managed in reality perfectly matched the tone and inflection of the words in Aziraphale’s mind.

“Could you…” In his mind he prodded Crowley’s shoulder urgently. “Could you…be a dear and…and just sit up for a moment? Wake yourself up?”

“Don’t wanna,” he complained, but sat up, opening his eyes.

Only in the daydream. The real Crowley continued to sleep, and to mumble.

“Oh, oh, this is quite troubling,” the angel said, getting up to pace nervously in the dream world, as his other self continued patting at Crowley’s foot with a wet cloth. “Oh, oh, this really shouldn’t be happening.”

As an angel, of course, he had the ability to enter dreams. The dreams of mortals, though, surely not of ethereal beings. And he had to will himself to do it, it was quite difficult, requiring a meditative state and some sort of connection, a physical or emotional bond.

“Is something wrong?” Crowley stood up and followed him, not limping, naturally, in this dream his feet wouldn’t hurt at all.

Of course, the foot washing. That must be the physical bond keeping them connected.

He dropped Crowley’s foot immediately, splashing water all across his knees and the carpet around him. The demon stirred, slightly, but that was all. The dream didn’t dissolve, and Crowley’s golden eyes still watched him with concern “Tell me, Angel, I can help.” His hand reached for Aziraphale’s arm.

“No!” Aziraphale stepped back, pulling away. This wasn’t right, this wasn’t right at all. His mind was now quite agitated, they were no longer touching, surely, surely that was enough. Normally when he entered a human’s dream, he had to fight to maintain the contact, like swimming against the current. But somehow he’d crossed into Crowley’s mind without even noticing.

Had he done this before?

How would he know?

Aziraphale cleared his throat, tried to smile, even as he circled around his armchair. “Crowley. My dear. Er. Do you ever…ah, remember your dreams?”

“Almost always, yeah.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the back of the chair. “Why?”

“Nothing. No. Um. Do you…do you ever dream about me?” He held his breath.

Crowley grinned, white teeth flashing. “Oh, yes. All the time.”

He clapped a hand over his mouth, trying to hold in the squeak of distress. That doesn’t mean anything, surely? “What…what sort of…dreams?”

“Nnnnh.” A lopsided smile. “I don’t like to tell. Kind of embarrassing.” But he leaned closer anyway. “There was one where I was a princess in a tower, and you came to rescue me, but I turned into a dragon.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale’s face grew quite warm.

“Used to have that one a lot actually.” Crowley rubbed his chin. “Ehhh, let’s see, this fantastic one involving a masked ball in Florence, another one where you rescued me from pirates – I remember because the very next night I had the exact same dream, only it was me rescuing you. Hmmm. At least five different ones where we’re both humans, ah, usually with flowers or coffee involved somewhere. And lots of kissing.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Other stuff, too. Not sure you’d approve.”

Aziraphale pressed a hand to his mouth. Oh, he would very much approve – he remembered coming up with each of those scenarios, remembered how real they’d felt as they played out in his mind, how vivid.

And how rapidly they’d spun out of his control once Crowley started speaking, always to a better place than he could have predicted…

It was rather the opposite of how a dream visitation went. Which could only mean, Aziraphale wasn’t in Crowley’s dream. Crowley was in his.

How much control did he have? Could he force Crowley to play along with a fantasy? He should test it, but the very idea was abhorrent. Not to mention the only thing he actually desired right now was for Crowley to wake up and that wasn’t happening!

“Did you ever…” He thought as quickly as he could. “Did you ever dream about us – us…dancing?”

“Nnnnno…”

Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief. Of course not, Crowley would never agree to—

“I mean, I did dream that we were in this room with…piano music, and you were teaching me how to hop around, but I certainly wouldn’t call that dancing.”

“The gavotte is certainly a dance and – oh, good lord.”

“That was it! How’d you know?” Crowley stepped out from behind the chair. “Something like this,” he tried a couple quick coupés, very inexpertly done. “Only went along because I liked how you smiled.”

Did that mean Crowley could have stopped if he wanted to? No, Aziraphale had played out that fantasy dozens of times, and the demon had almost never complained. “Did you…” his voice was very faint. “Did you dream that often?” Oh, no, Aziraphale had been thinking about it just the other day…

“Nh. Only once, ages ago.”

The angel sighed. Good.

“Now, on the other hand,” and that wicked grin came back, “there was this really interesting dream about the Bastille, and that one would not stop coming. You want to know the details of that?”

Aziraphale stumbled back, crying out in horror. No, he didn’t need to be told about that one. It had occupied him for many weeks. Replaying the rescue…the dinner…imagining what might have come after…

He’d choreographed it out in quite explicit detail.

How long? How long had he been forcing his twisted fantasies onto Crowley?

“Hey, Angel.” He looked up to find Crowley approaching slowly, head ducked, hands out, as if approaching a frightened animal. “It’s alright. Look, I’m sorry. I don’t – I shouldn’t tease. It’s a lot to take in.” Arms around him, gentle, pulling him in, pressing his head down to Crowley’s shoulder. “Look, yeah, some of them were…intense…but usually I just dream of us being…us. Just talking, like this. It’s nice.”

Aziraphale clutched at Crowley’s jacket. It felt so real under his fingers. He remembered that from too many fantasies, the tactile details, too subtle for a dream. The roughness of that coat sliding off to the cell floor, the smooth linen of the shirt underneath, the way the cravat slipped through his fingers as he unknotted it…

“But some of them were…” He pulled closer, and was horrified to realize how familiar Crowley’s body felt against his, how gentle the fingers on his back. He pushed away. Aziraphale had to be the one in control here. “Crowley, you dreamt about us—”

“Aaaaah,” Crowley ducked his head. “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. Look, I always woke up before…they weren’t really those kinds of dreams.”

“Are you just lying to make me – to spare my—”

“You know I’d never lie to you.”

That hit almost as hard as anything else. His heart was ready to burst.

Aziraphale pressed shaking fingers to his eyes, focusing for a few seconds on the real floor, where he knelt back in reality, dampness of water spilled from the footbath creeping into his knees. Trying to ground himself. As if that were possible.

“How…” He gulped for breath, but his lungs didn’t seem to be working. “How long…” Calm yourself! “Do you recall when you started having these dreams?”

“The Ark, I think.” Crowley rubbed his neck, eyes lost in memory. “Yeah. I remember, I, uh, I really wished you’d talk to me, and then…”

And I wished I had someone to talk to. Somehow, their proximity, or their state of mind, or their shared nature had created a bond…and that bond had dragged Crowley into his mind, again and again, for thousands of years.

Aziraphale felt sick, and no amount of breathing exercises could help.

“Aziraphale…” Crowley held his hand out, but this time it was a simple offering. Not reaching for the angel, simply inviting him to reach back. “I don’t know why you’re…upset…”

“I’m so sorry…” It was all he could manage.

“S’fine,” Crowley tilted his head in confusion. “Nothing to be sorry about. I like the dreams.” He stepped forward. “I like it when you…you talk to me. Trust me. Confide in me.” Crowley stopped just inches away, close enough for Aziraphale to feel the heat of him, the soft brush of breath through his hair. “No matter what happens, in my dreams you love me. As much as I love you.”

It was finally enough of a shock to break the connection.

Aziraphale stumbled away from the sofa with a strangled gasp, like a man awakened from a nightmare. Crowley still lay, feet in the tub of water, just where Aziraphale had left him, but now he seemed to be moving with intent, waking.

No. No, no, no, no…

This night had brought too many surprises, too many turns, Aziraphale couldn’t take another, couldn’t confront the questions, could not do this.

--

“No matter what happens, in my dreams you love me. As much as I love you.”

But it didn’t make Aziraphale any less agitated. Crowley couldn’t think what could be upsetting him this badly. He’d been calm enough, back on the sofa when they’d kissed…

They’d kissed…

“Oh,” he murmured, looking over his shoulder at the sofa, soft as a bed, covered in blankets. “This is a dream. Obviously.”

First thing he noticed was his feet, wet, the water still warm but cooling. Next was the awkward angle of his neck, stiff and sore. Third was the trail of drool.

Crowley swatted at his mouth, wiping it clear, then sat up, tilting his neck and rubbing at his eyes, knocking his glasses askew.

What a weird dream.

He’d said too much in his dream, always had. As if the mental blocks that helped him keep calm evaporated as soon as he fell asleep. But he’d never seen Aziraphale as anything other than patient and accepting, so why would he...

Wait. Shit. Aziraphale.

He looked around the shop, trying to fix his hair, his glasses, and his shirt at the same time. He did not want the angel seeing him like that. It was bad enough his rescue had gone so badly off-script, this would be a disaster—

The shop was empty, no sign of movement anywhere. How long had he been asleep?

Then, a clink of ceramic-on-ceramic from the shadowy little kitchen.

Crowley stood carefully, testing his feet to see if they were still sore. No, the blisters seemed to have been soothed by the bath. Bloody miracle. He’d have to find some way to repay Aziraphale, without being too obvious.

Assuming they were talking again.

He padded across the carpet, trying not to track water, though it seemed the rug was already wet, and paused just outside the door of the back room. “Angel? You alright?”

“Fine. Perfectly – why wouldn’t I be?” He stood before the sink, scrubbing dutifully at a plate.

“Well. You’re standing here in the dark.”

“Am I?” He didn’t even turn. “No matter. I can see in the dark, you know.”

“Right.” Crowley glanced back at the rest of the shop, lit up bright as anything, despite the bombing and the city-wide black out. “Anyway, I, uh, didn’t mean to fall asleep on you. How long was I out?”

“No! I mean, were you asleep? I hardly noticed.” The sudsy water sloshed as he worked on some imperceptible stain. “I mean, I noticed, but, well, not long. Yes.”

“Ngk.” Something was wrong. Aziraphale had been all awkward smiles and warm, gentle insistence when they’d come in, and now…He’d have thought his dream was some sort of omen, except Crowley didn’t believe in such things. He did believe in his own ability to mess things up, though, and he had ample evidence for the existence of that. “M’feet feel better,” he attempted. “So. That’s good.”

“Good. Good. Excellent. You should be able to get yourself home, then.”

“Yeah, I…”

What? What the Heaven was he even supposed to say?

Look, Aziraphale, I blew up a bunch of Nazis for you, is it too much to ask for you to just make eye contact with me? What more do you want from me?

He’d thought this would do it. This would make Aziraphale realize that Crowley – that they shouldn’t be fighting, they should talk again, but what would even be the point of that, since any time he tried he just tripped over his own blessed tongue and made things worse?

But of course not, even in his dream he’d managed to ruin the night, why should reality be any different?

He took a breath and turned away.

“Nh. Guess I’ll see you around.”

Maybe in a few more decades Aziraphale would be ready to talk. Just had to give him space, right?

“I…I suppose you will.”

He manifested shoes back onto his feet – next time he walked on hallowed ground, he should bring real shoes, that might give him some shielding – and strode across the shop, trying to get out of there as quickly as possible.

“Crowley.” He turned back, one hand on the door. Aziraphale stood in the shadow of the kitchen, almost hiding behind the doorframe. “Ah. Don’t…don’t be a stranger.”

He concentrated on the doorknob, tapping his fingers, swallowed hard, forcing his heart back down from his throat. “Yeah. I – I won’t.”

--

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed the fic, please leave a comment here or on AO3!

@angel-and-serpent

#good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #aziraphale and crowley #dream sharing #good omens prime #aziraphale #crowley #Post Church Scene #Washing Crowley's Feet #accidental confession #crowley loves aziraphale #aziraphale loves crowley #fanfic #my writing #Dream a little dream #ao3 link #prompt fic #kisses bingo

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens. Can I kiss you? Please. Thank you

Hello, nonnie! I’m assuming that’s a prompt? XD Well, even if it’s not, here’s a one-shot. I hope you enjoy.

Can you hear me, God? It’s me. Crowley ... (1510 words)

Crowley visits Aziraphale at his bookshop and discovers that the mail system, and Gabriel, have done him wrong yet again ...

“How come every time I come in here lately it’s a new adventure in mail shenanigans?” Crowley complains, slogging through a mound of envelopes to get to – surprise, surprise! – another, bigger mound of envelopes. “Are you subletting to Publishers Clearing House then? They’re one of ours, you know.”

“Ha-ha ...” Aziraphale grumbles from amid the largest pile, lumped on his sofa and formed into a moat around him for easy access.

“Or did you rob a post office?” Crowley leaps over the last pile and lands clumsily beside him, scattering envelopes left and right, sending them flying across the covered floor. “Because if you did, I’m tellin’ you now, that’s a huge turn on.”

Aziraphale huffs in annoyance, collecting up the letters that went adrift within arm’s reach. “No such luck for you, I’m afraid. This is my latest assignment. I now get to manage the letters that humans write to God and send thru the post.”

“What are you supposed to do with all these?” Crowley picks up a handful and flips through them, searching for names or addresses he might recognize, tossing them over his shoulder when he doesn’t.

“Read them, sort them, categorize them. Anything I deem a priority gets sent to the head office.”

Crowley opens a few, hungry to cause mischief, if he can. “And what happens to them there? Do they get answered?”

“Some do.” Aziraphale clips a stack of letters together at the corner and sets them aside. “A lot of them will get re-read, re-sorted, re-categorized, and then …” He lets the sentence hang as he collects up a new stack of letters, no semblance of an emotion other than exhaustion on his face.

Crowley looks up from the letter he’s reading – a request from some slimy fuck to not let his wife find out he cheated on her with his sister-in-law. What pretentious twat would write God about something like that? And then be daft enough to send it through the post!? “Then … what?”

“They get filed away,” Aziraphale replies sadly, watching Crowley fold the letter he’s been reading and stuff it in his pocket. Aziraphale’s eyebrow arches, his eyes pointedly following the letter into Crowley’s coat, then stares at him questioningly.

“I think it best if I handle this one,” Crowley explains, patting his pocket. “Went to the wrong address, if you ask me.”

Aziraphale looks about to argue, then shrugs and lets it go, and Crowley digs into another letter.

“Okay,” he says, waving the new letter in Aziraphale’s direction. “This one’s a priority for sure!”

“What does it say?” Aziraphale asks in an even tone, as if he already knows.

“It’s from a little boy whose mum has cancer. Stage IV. He says she probably won’t live to see Christmas.”

“Right then.” Aziraphale reaches for it. “Let’s send that one up.”

“It’ll get answered, right?”

“We can only hope.”

Crowley stops, pulls the letter back. “What do you mean we can only hope?”

“I don’t make those decisions, Crowley. You know that.”

“But you believe this little boy deserves to be helped, right?”

“Of course, I do, but …”

“But …?”

“But God decides. And whether She helps or not, She has Her reasons. We’re not allowed to question them.”

“Right.” Crowley glowers, his eyes transforming to a brighter, more venomous shade of yellow. “Of course She does. And as we both know, She makes some bully choices.”

“Crowley …?” Aziraphale pleads, leaning forward, arm extended.

Crowley relents and holds the letter out. Not too relieved, Aziraphale reaches for it. But before his fingers come in contact, Crowley snaps his and the letter dissolves. Aziraphale’s eyes, half-lidded from a day of reading through humanities’ desperate pleas for help, fly open.

“Crowley! What did you …? Did you answer …?”

“I did nothing,” he says, brushing his hands together. “You saw nothing. You can’t prove a thing.”

“Crowley! I know how you feel! I really do! But let’s say that every letter here is from someone who wants the Almighty to save a dying loved one. Or themselves. And we save every single one of them. Do you know what happens then?”

“A bunch of people’s lives get saved. You’ve filled your good deeds quota, and humans of the world are happy. Maybe they even begin to believe in God again, did you ever think of that?”

“Yes.” Aziraphale sighs, looking decades older when that syllable passes his lips. “I did. I have. But as much as we hate it, there’s a system at play. To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under Heaven.”

“I know Ecclesiastes, angel,” Crowley grumps.

“A time to be born, and a time to die,” Aziraphale finishes, his heart aching with the way those words chip into Crowley’s armor. “If we don’t let humans pass when their time comes – the mothers, the fathers, the children - there won’t be any room for the new ones. The population will overwhelm them. It’ll put a strain on the planet. There will be no food for them, no clean water, no place to live.”

“They’ll find a way,” Crowley growls. “Humans always do. They’re resilient.”

“Aren’t you the one always telling me that the humans are destroying the planet? That they’re pretty much putting demons out of a job with the Evil they do?”

Crowley crosses his arms over his chest, pulling back into himself as Aziraphale speaks, his feelings on the subject wrestling sharply with Aziraphale’s logic. His sound logic.

“They’ll suffer,” Aziraphale continues. “And then we’ll have a new pile of mail sitting here to go through.”

Crowley rolls his head away, eyes drifting to the closest pile of envelopes, tracing over the words written on them without actually reading them. Aziraphale’s hand, reaching for the letter, finds Crowley’s arm and squeezes gently.

“If we give every human what they want, if we save every life, we’ll be solving their problems in the short term, but that won’t last. The pain and the heartache will continue on in the long run.”

“So you’re fine destroying one person to save another?” Crowley chuckles cruelly. “Of course you are. Your lot have no problem killing innocent people over the smallest infractions, do you? Not even children.”

Those words, Crowley’s tone, hit Aziraphale hard, but he can’t take them personally. Crowley isn’t angry with him. He knows that. As difficult as it can be to remember, he does know it. “I don’t get to make …”

“You don’t get to make those decisions. I know.”

“I know you think my job here on Earth should be to save everyone. And it is, but not the way you think. I’m here to try and make people see the light at the end of the tunnel.”

“And the light is …?”

“That love survives. It persists. It fights to the death. And after death, it’s still there. And if you have faith, you’ll find it.”

“You do realize that ex-es out about seventy-five percent of the population, don’t ya?”

“No. It includes people who don’t have faith in God, per se. Just because someone might not believe in the Almighty doesn’t mean the Almighty doesn’t believe in them. I think that, maybe, you know that better than anyone.”

“Shove off!” Crowley snaps between his teeth, but he doesn’t move out of the reach of Aziraphale’s hand. He goes quiet, chewing on his tongue, and considers what the angel has said. His eyes narrow angrily for a moment, but he gives up his anger with a long breath in and a doubly long exhale. “They give you the suckiest jobs, angel. Don’t they?”

“Oh, I don’t know that I get any worse than any other angel.”

Crowley shakes his head. No. Of course Aziraphale wouldn’t see it that way, regardless of the horse shit Gabriel keeps piling on him. “Can I kiss you?”

“Do you want to? You don’t seem too pleased with me.”

“I am. But even if I wasn’t, I would be later, so can’t we start now?”

Aziraphale’s weary expression softens with the onset of a small smile. “Sure, my dear. Why don’t you slide on over …” Aziraphale surveys the mess of envelopes between them and chuckles “… if you can.”

Aziraphale carefully re-locates the nearest stack of envelopes to a clean spot on the floor while Crowley sweeps others thoughtlessly off the sofa and sits on the rest. He slides up to his angel and kisses him, not waiting a single breath for a word or a look. One arm cradles Aziraphale against Crowley’s body, distracting the angel with a hand kneading his shoulder, while behind his back, covered by that kiss, Crowley snaps a small pile of letters to his flat for future review.

Aziraphale’s fingers find Crowley’s hair and thread themselves in, pulling him closer, pulling him deeper. But behind his eyelids, covered by that kiss, Aziraphale knows what Crowley has done – how he stole those letters, how he intends on breaking the rules.

And he says nothing.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #Frankie writes

[yourpaceangel]

in which crowley likes cats and aziraphale doesn’t

[Read on AO3]

“Um, Crowley? Could you come here a moment, dear?”

“Coming, angel,” Crowley popped into the back room, mug of hot cocoa for Aziraphale in one hand and mug of tea for himself in the other. “What seems to be the, oh.”

Aziraphale was staring at his chair in the corner of his back room, his comfy reading chair with the distressed leather seat and warm blanket tossed haphazardly across the back. More accurately, he was staring at what was in the chair. That being a small black cat, blessedly asleep and purring absently. Aziraphale turned to stare at Crowley expectantly.

Crowley handed Aziraphale his mug and cleared his throat. “Yes, well, that appears to be a cat.”

“I know what a cat is, Crowley, I was there when they were created. Why is there one in my chair?” Aziraphale gave Crowley a rather stern look.

Crowley scratched at the back of his head, “Ngh, well, you see, um, the thing is- really I mean it’s quite a long story, and-”

“Crowley?”

“It was cold this morning,” Crowley said, “I found her sleeping up under the wheel of the Bentley.”

“So you pulled her out,” Aziraphale said mildly, “and then you brought her here, to my book shop, where I don’t allow pets.”

“She’s not a pet,” Crowley insisted, “she’s just a stray.”

“You checked for an owner, then?”

Crowley said nothing, looking a little guilty.

“Crowley!”

Crowley put his hands up defensively, tea sloshing out over the rim of his mug. “Well I wasn’t just going to leave her there while I went inside to check the lost and found pets Facebook page now was I?”

Aziraphale pinched the bridge of his nose. “My dear-”

“Look I know how you feel about them, but just give me a couple of days to see if she has an owner and if not I’ll turn her over to the humane society, alright?”

Aziraphale gave a long suffering sigh. “Fine, but get it off my chair.”

Crowley put down his tea, mostly forgotten by this point, on Aziraphale’s desk and approached the chair. He made a small noise, crouching down. The cat blinked its eyes open, making an inquisitive ‘mrrp’ noise. “Hello darling,” Aziraphale heard Crowley say very quietly, quite possibly quiet enough he wasn’t meant to hear. The rest of his words were mumbled as he outstretched his hand. The cat stared at Crowley and then at his hand before deciding he wasn’t a threat. Crowley scratched her chin and then bundled her up in his arms. “...good…you…”

“You know,” Crowley said, standing up with the cat cradled to his chest, “Cats are good for catching mice.”

“So are snakes,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley carried the cat out of the room, muttering too low for Aziraphale to hear, but the tone of it was fond.

*

That night in bed, the cat safely tucked away downstairs and away from Aziraphale’s things, Aziraphale let his hand trail fondly up and down Crowley’s spine. “I didn’t even know you liked cats.” He said into Crowley’s temple.

Crowley huffed against his neck, eyelashes fluttering along the sensitive skin. “Clever creatures,” Crowley said, “Smart, independent; not like a dog that needs you to be there for it every minute of the day. They domesticated themselves, you know that? Bloody smart, clever little things. Why don’t you like them?” Crowley poked his bony finger into Aziraphale’s sternum, making him grunt.

“They shed,” Aziraphale said, “and they make a mess. They’re noisy and they tear things up when you don’t pay them enough mind. They’re spiteful. I get enough of that taking care of you.”

“Hey!”

Aziraphale patted Crowley’s shoulder, kissed his temple and the top of his head. “Not that I mind, with you.” He added.

Crowley grumbled, kicking his leg over Aziraphale’s hip and pulling him closer.

Aziraphale rubbed his knuckles over the vertebrae in Crowley’s spine, more there than a regular humans, pressing his palm down flat when he came across a cluster of scales at the base. Crowley dug closer in, like he was trying to press them impossibly closer. It was endearing. Aziraphale smiled into his hairline, trailing kisses over the parts of skin he could reach.

“Angel, let me sleep.”

“I’m not stopping you.” Aziraphale rubbed his thumb over smooth black scales until Crowley shivered.

Crowley pulled his head back, annoyed. “You are, with your,” he made a vague noise.

Aziraphale stilled his hands, “Would you like me to stop?”

“Yes,” Crowley said, then furrowed his eyebrows, “No. I don’t know. Just let me sleep.”

“Alright.” Aziraphale wound his fingers in the hair at the back of Crowley’s head to pull him back down against his neck.

Crowley sighed and slumped against him, fingers digging into Aziraphale’s silk pajama top. He was quiet for long enough Aziraphale thought he’d fallen asleep until he said, “The black ones get adopted less, you know?”

“Hm?”

“The black cats,” Crowley mumbled, “People don’t want them. Think they’re bad luck. She might stay in a cage, angel, if I give her up.”

Aziraphale groaned, clutching Crowley closer. “Not this,” Aziraphale clucked his tongue, irritated, “we’re not keeping it. Go to sleep.”

“Angel-”

“My love,” Aziraphale’s hand slipped down to Crowley’s bare hip, “sleep. We’ll talk about it later.”

“Fine,” Crowley mumbled, and finally drifted off to sleep.

*

Crowley breezed into the shop about midday, scarf tucked around his face and jacket zipped all the way up. He shoved his gloves into his pockets with a viciousness they didn’t deserve before unwinding the scarf. “Bloody winter ,” He spat.

“Any luck?” Aziraphale asked, taking his scarf to hang up in the back room.

Outside, the streets of London were covered in a fine bit of sleet. The view from Aziraphale’s shop window was a dismal gray, the sidewalk outside a dirty brown. The ice was barely enough to keep customers from invading his shop, though now with Crowley back Aziraphale decided to close early and flipped the sign to closed.

Crowley locked the door for him, unzipping his jacket enough to pull the damned cat out from against his chest.

The pink collar about its neck was not an encouraging sign.

“She’s not chipped,” Crowley said, putting the cat down on the ground and scratching behind its ear, “and no one around Mayfair is missing a black cat. Best guess is that she’s a stray.”

“Hmm,” Aziraphale eyed the cat winding around Crowley’s feet. “Best take her to the humane society then.”

Crowley’s face fell, “Angel-”

“No,” Aziraphale shook his head, “Crowley, no. You said you’d take it to the humane society if you couldn’t find an owner.”

“You’ll barely even notice she’s around, angel,” Crowley said as the cat hopped up on a bookshelf.

Aziraphale eyed the creature with barely contained disdain. “I sincerely doubt that, my dear.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s waist, pulling them snug together.

“You’re not going to sweet talk your way out of this one,” Aziraphale said, “I’ve made my mind up.”

Crowley pressed a firm kiss to Aziraphale’s neck and then trailed up to his jaw, tracing the skin with his tongue. “Aziraphale,” He said again, softly, squeezing the angel’s waist, “angel.”

“Crowley.” Aziraphale said in warning.

Crowley hummed, nuzzling Aziraphale’s neck with his nose, pulling up to kiss his cheek, then the corner of his mouth.

Aziraphale, stubborn to a fault but ever unable to deny Crowley anything, softened. He sighed, slumping into Crowley’s hold. “You’ve already named it, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” Crowley murmured, “her name is Salem.”

Aziraphale wrinkled his nose in disgust. “It’s not sleeping in the bed.” He said.

Crowley tilted his head back and laughed.

*

Crowley was asleep on the couch, as he ever was when Aziraphale had inventory to do. Aziraphale sat as he desk, papers spread out ahead of him, glasses perched on the edge of his nose as a cup of tea went cold beside him. He cross referenced two of his sheets and heard the jingle of a collar. He looked up to see the cat dart into the room. Aziraphale narrowed his eyes as the creature hopped up onto Crowley’s sleeping stomach, turning to watch him with its bright eyes.

“Right then,” He said, “you stay there.”

The room was warm, courtesy of a little space heater Crowley had brought over from his flat. It was unseasonably cold for early winter so Crowley didn’t go anywhere without a jumper and his space heater. Aziraphale shrugged out of his jacket and went to hang it up on the coat rack. He turned back around and the cat had taken up residence in his chair.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said.

“Wazza?” Crowley turned his head, blinking sleepy eyes in confusion at Aziraphale.

“Your cat,” Aziraphale said, pointing at his chair.

“S’za cat, angel,” Crowley mumbled, closing his eyes, “just move her.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said again. They both politely pretended it wasn’t a whine.

Crowley sighed and swung himself up off the couch. He stared down at the cat in Aziraphale’s desk chair, making eye contact with the little beast. After a beat, he said, “Get down.”

The cat started purring.

Crowley pointed his finger at it. “Down, now.”

The cat batted at his finger, purring louder.

Crowley turned around and shrugged at Aziraphale. “Nothing I can do, angel,” He kissed Aziraphale’s cheek on his way out of the room, “I’m going upstairs to sleep in the bed. Feed Salem before you come up.”

“I-”

Crowley was up the stairs before Aziraphale could raise a complaint. Aziraphale turned back to the cat, holding it’s gaze. “Right then,” He said, gathering up his papers to do in the kitchen.

*

“I said,” Aziraphale mumbled against Crowley’s chest, “the cat doesn’t sleep in the bed.”

Crowley chuckled into Aziraphale’s hair. The cat was pressed up against Crowley’s other side, blessedly asleep and purring loudly. Crowley ran his hand over Aziraphale’s shoulders and back soothingly. “It was cold downstairs, angel.”

“The two of you test me.”

“You like her.” Crowley teased, “you like me.”

“Sometimes I wonder why.”

Crowley pinched Aziraphale’s side, making him yelp. The cat picked its head up in annoyance, hissing at them. Crowley made a shushing noise. “Don’t get sassy.” He pulled Aziraphale closer, mumbling exasperatedly,  “Teenagers.”

Aziraphale huffed out a breath, amused.

The cat settled back down, a black void amongst their white bedding. Crowley settled a hand in her fur, rubbing absently. Crowley was almost asleep, pliant underneath him. Aziraphale pressed a wet kiss to the center of his chest.

“I guess she can stay,” He said, “but just for tonight.”

“Of course angel,” Crowley mumbled, and Aziraphale could feel his lips press to the top of his head, “just for tonight.”

*

“Shut up.”

Crowley tried to hide his grin, hanging up his coat. “Why, whatever do you mean?” He asked.

Aziraphale gave him a dirty look. He was sat in his favorite chair, book in hand, cat in his lap. “Not a word, Crowley, I mean it.”

Crowley huffed out something that might have been a laugh and crossed the room to sit on the arm of Aziraphale’s chair. “I’d sit in your lap,” he said, “but that seat seems rather occupied at the moment.”

Aziraphale grabbed Crowley by the back of his neck to kiss him, biting at his lips and making him groan. When Aziraphale pulled away Crowley looked down at him a little dazed. “She’s warm.” Aziraphale said, in way of explanation.

Crowley hummed, nosing at Aziraphale’s curls, reaching down to pet a hand down Salem’s back. “You like her,” Crowley said, voice full of honeyed warmth.

“We have an understanding.” Aziraphale corrected, tilting his head up.

Crowley brushed their lips together. “An arrangement of sorts?”

“Oh do shut up.”

#forineffablereasons #tothoseinterested #fic #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #salem the cat #mine

[sunshineandchemistry]

the wonder that keeps the stars apart

chapter 2 (chapter 1 is here or on AO3)

summary:  7 hours, 43 minutes, and 19 seconds after the End of the World, Aziraphale steps into Crowley’s flat for the first time in more than fifty years.

“It’s alright, angel.”

Aziraphale startles and looks up from where his gaze had caught on the threshold. 

“Oh. Um. Right,” he says, glancing quickly  between the floor and where Crowley stood a few feet ahead of him. “I’ll just,” he falters. He moves to lift one foot and toe it across the line into the cavernous flat ahead of him. 

He can’t see Crowley’s eyes past the dark glasses in the dark room, but he feels his gaze on him. The demon lets out a soft sigh as Aziraphale hesitates, and his eyebrows knit together in weary fondness. He holds out his hand to the angel, all lanky arms and long fingers and soft cool skin. Aziraphale waits only a moment before reaching out to take it and lets himself be led into the flat. 

He drops Crowley’s hand the instant he’s inside. Crowley twitches his fingers as Aziraphale draws back into his shell and glances around the flat’s entryway. “Apologies,” Aziraphale murmurs, wringing his hands as Crowley steps around him and shuts the door quietly. “I know it’s been over fifty years since I was here but—”

—and Crowley is lying on the floor in the foyer, his shoulders hunched and his arm cradled against his chest, looking up at him upside-down from where he rests. There’s a smell like magnesium that’s been ignited and the demon’s breaths are coming in short gasps. “M’fine,” he mumbles unconvincingly, and he’s hissing and writhing in pain and there are tears on his cheeks and he’s reaching for Aziraphale who only has eyes for the tartan thermos on the table—

Aziraphale catches the gasp in the back of his throat, but not before the memory of the dread, the guilt, the abject terror settles into his stomach. Crowley is hovering inches away, a hand raised tentatively to reach for him but hovering frozen in the space between them. 

Crowley’s throat works as he struggles to form words. “It’s…. it’s alright, angel. Aziraphale.” He swallows, hand still hovering in the air. “I’m here. I’m right here. I promised you, didn’t I? It’s alright.”

Aziraphale forces the images back from his mind, instead looking at the pristinely clean surfaces. The sharp angles of the tables and sparse furniture. The peak of lush, verdant leaves from around the corner. Everything in its place. 

“Yes. Yes. Right,” he manages. Closing his eyes and letting a breath out in a sigh, Aziraphale takes another step forward. And then another. Crowley shuffles quickly to the side to make room for him. He breathes through his nose, taking in the cool scent of charcoal. Crowley. The place smells like him. The tang of frozen air in winter. His breaths come easier and he can feel the air discharge as Crowley relaxes beside him. Smooth steel and the spice of whiskey. Something—something burning, acrid, cloying, curdling—

Aziraphale’s eyes snap open and he can’t stop the strangled cry that escapes his throat. “Crowley,” he cries, flailing his arm for the demon beside him. 

—and suddenly everything is laid out clearly before him. Crowley had taken it. He’d taken the holy water and tried to do the unthinkable. But why, why, why would he do this? Aziraphale had trusted him, he’d trusted the demon’s earnest heart and his careful hands as he’d taken the thermos. It wasn’t what he wanted it for, he said. Trust him, Aziraphale had told himself. He’s saved you so many times, maybe now is when you save him. Trust him. But then— then he had taken the thermos and tried to— to hurt himself. Why? 

You go too fast for me, Crowley. 

No. No. No no no no no no no. He wouldn’t, would he? Not because of that. Not because— had he felt abandoned? As Aziraphale had left the car, did Crowley feel as though he’d been cast out, cast away from him? 

Oh.

So it was his fault.

He’d given Crowley the means to end his existence. And then a reason to.

“What? What is it?” Crowley voice yanks him back to the present, and he catches Aziraphale’s hand in both of his own, all startled nerves and and terrible anxiousness.  “Angel, what’s wrong?”

“That smell—” He replies haltingly. “What— what is that smell?”

“What smell, angel?” Crowley’s voice is urgent, desperate. He’s leaning forward, cradling Aziraphale’s hand against his chest.

“The smell. It’s like— it’s like when—”

—his hand, hovering over Crowley’s chest, feeling the extent of the damage the holy water has done to him, the pain, the suffering, the annihilation of flesh and self. He smells like blood, like burning iron. Crowley’s eyes on him, devoted, trusting, adoring, as he gathers the molecules of holy water from the wounds. He feels the particles latch into Crowley, holding with vicious tenacity, unwilling to relinquish their grasp. He concentrates, blinks once, twice. He focuses all his attention on each of the blessed atoms, protons and neutrons and electrons spinning in empty space, and calls them home. As he lifts his hand, Crowley’s back arches off the ground to follow him, the water hesitant, but then obedient and letting go all at once. The sound of air rushing into Crowley’s lungs, the whimper that escapes him as he sinks back to the floor, the thudding of his heart, loud enough for Aziraphale to hear. He stands, cupping the water in his hands and rushes away from Crowley’s side, partially to safely dispose of the water, and partially to hide the tears that came back into his eyes. But Crowley is safe, he’s alive, he’s alive—

Crowley’s eyebrows quirk together and his head tilts to the side. He’s stroking the pad of his thumb over the back of Aziraphale’s hand. A soft, cool touch, moving side to side in a gentle undulating rhythm. Aziraphale slowly matches his breath to the movement. A breath in, a breath out, willing himself to focus on Crowley, his heartbeat, his touch, his scent, and lets it begin to block out whatever horrifying odor has reached him from somewhere beyond in the flat.

 Crowley pauses and sniffs once. “Ah. Yes. That’ll be Ligur.”

It takes Aziraphale a moment to comprehend the words he has just said. “Ligur? The duke of Hell?” 

“Ehm. Yeah. That’s the one.”

“In your flat?”

A look of pride spreads on Crowley’s face, and he’s just so brilliantly confident and sure that Aziraphale’s racing heart settles the rest of the way into his chest. As he calms and his mind and his heart return to the present, Aziraphale registers how different the smell is from fifty years ago. The bright, steaming hot smell of the holy water is the same, yes, but the rest, the cloying and the rot, that’s different. That’s not Crowley. That has never been Crowley. Crowley has only ever smelled like home.

The demon in question is barely suppressing a grin and Aziraphale can imagine light in his golden eyes dancing behind the sunglasses. “Oh, my dear,” he asks, letting himself sound mildly scandalized. “Whatever did you do?”

The smile breaks out on Crowley’s face  at the same moment he realizes he’s still holding Aziraphale’s hand. The bright look on his face falters only a moment as he releases his hold, clears his throat, and pushes his glasses up on his nose where they had begun to slip. Aziraphale slowly withdraws his hand and tries to hide his disappointment at the loss of contact. But Crowley’s smile is back, grinning from ear to ear, and he cannot help but return the look with a small twitch of his own lip.

“So, you remember how I turned up at the bookshop before—” Crowley stutters. “Well. Well. Ahem.” He stuffs his fingers into the too-small pockets on his ridiculous jeans. “Well. Hastur and Ligur both showed up here.”

“For you?” Aziraphale inquires. “They came to stop you?”

“By any means possible.”

“Oh, oh Crowley—”

“It’s all okay, angel. It’s all fine. Thanks to you.”

The holy water. “You didn’t.”

Crowley grins like a snake, showing his teeth and tongue.

“You did?” 

“Mmmmyep. Well. No. Not directly. There was a plant mister, but that was a bluff. No. I put a bucket over the door, and when Ligur tried to walk in…” He makes a squishing noise that sounds like it may have been trying to mimic an explosion or a particularly bad plumbing problem.

“Both of them?”

“Well, no. Only Ligur. Hastur had the fortune of standing just far enough behind. Didn’t have the decency to get splashed.”

Aziraphale is slightly aware that his jaw has dropped open.

“So I trapped him in voicemail. Seemed like the only thing to do at the time. Also because of you, I’ll have you know. That ridiculously antiquated thing you made me keep around turned out to be useful after all.”

“So you— you vaporized one duke of Hell and trapped another in your voicemail answering machine?” Aziraphale tuts. “That seems like an awful risk. If he’d caught you, he would have—“ the words don’t come. “He would have—“

“Yeah, but he didn’t, angel. And I knew, if they were coming for me, someone was coming for you and I couldn’t—“ His voice falters a moment, but he takes a breath and catches himself.  “And the thing about Hastur. He has absolutely no vision. No creativity. He’s been doing things exactly the same for millennia. It was too easy, really. I just told him I was calling the Dark Council,” he laughs. “I jumped in, he followed, I jumped out, and BAM. Hastur la vista.”

Crowley’s face is lit in joy and pride at his own cleverness, and the soft light of the streetlamps outside the window soften the angles of his nose, his cheekbones. The sunglasses that rest on the bridge of his nose, though they hide golden eyes, bring attention to the furrows of his eyebrows, the path back to his ears, the line of his jaw. His shoulders tremble in silent laughter, and his head tilted back exposes the long grace of his throat. And bathed in carefree joy and diffuse halos of light, it occurs to Aziraphale just how beautiful Crowley is.

And so Aziraphale closes the few steps between them and kisses him.

The quiet laughter dies on Crowley’s lips and a soft sound escapes him as Aziraphale wraps his fingers around the back of his neck to hold him close. It is a careful thing, a simple brush of lips with the intent and longing of six thousand years. Aziraphale breathes in the smell of him, overwhelming and all encompassing, drowning out and lingering acrid fear and cleansing his palate. Here breathing is easy, and his heart beats calmly, and for a moment he forgets himself entirely. That is, he forgets until Crowley takes a hissing breath between his teeth and chokes on what sounds like a sob. Aziraphale’s eyes flutter open, and he sees the tears sliding down Crowley’s cheek and the entire preceding day comes crashing into him like a wall of bricks and knocks the serenity from him.

He all but flings himself backwards. “Oh,” he begins, breathless. “Oh, oh my dear, I’m so sorry, please, forgive me. I shouldn’t— I shouldn’t have presumed I—” He fumbles with the words in his mouth, his tongue feeling suddenly thick and dumb. “Forgive me,” he manages. 

Crowley stands absolutely still for a moment, his bright eyes squeezed shut behind his glasses and oh, Aziraphale thinks, heart trembling, oh, I’ve ruined it, I’ve ruined absolutely everything.  And as if a string has been cut, Crowley lets out a breath and his shoulders slump forward. He draws the air back in a hiss and Aziraphale can see him shaking. 

“My dear,” Aziraphale volunteers again. “I’m so sorry, I—”

But Crowley is laughing. He’s laughing, even as he raises a hand to wipe the tears from his face and brush his thumb beneath his eyes. He takes his glasses in one hand, pulls them off and offers them up to the air and they vanish. “You idiot,” He says, leveling his gaze at Aziraphale. “You stupid, stupid angel,” he sighs with infinite, patient fondness. And before Aziraphale can comprehend what’s happening, Crowley is reaching for him, taking his face in both of his hands and kissing him back.

He doesn’t even have the breath to protest, nor the mind to do very much of anything at the moment aside from let his eyes fall shut as he melts into Crowley’s hold. Oh. Crowley’s lips move with heart aching tenderness against his own, the pads of his thumbs brush soothing lines over his cheeks. He is cool to the touch where they meet, a startling contrast to the heat beneath his own skin and in his own lungs. 

Crowley breaks the kiss after a moment, but he doesn’t move far, and instead rests his forehead against Aziraphale’s. “Oh,” Aziraphale manages in a sigh.

“Yeah, ‘oh’.” Crowley whispers against his mouth.

“Do you mind if I try that again?” Aziraphale asks, bringing his gaze up to the slitted pupils bare inches from his own eyes.

“I’ll be very cross if you don’t,” Crowley answers.

“Right. Well then,” and because he is just a bit of a bastard, Aziraphale reaches up to grab the completely ridiculous grey string-cravat-thingy Crowley has looped around his neck, and tugs him back to his own mouth. 

Crowley makes a surprised noise that turns into a satisfied moan. Encouraged, Aziraphale reaches for Crowley’s hip with his free hand, and presses him closer. The demon hisses at the contact, and bites at Aziraphale, quickly soothing the nip over with a soft flick of his tongue. And this is something harder, deeper. This is a kiss flooded with fifty years of relief and six thousand years of unsaid yearning. The raging waters hammer at the dam Aziraphale had built in his chest, and they surge over, into him, through him. Every instance of doubt, of worry, of anxiety is washed from him as he parts his lips to invite Crowley in. Oh, he thinks again as Crowley actually whines and strengthens his grip to tilt his head back, dipping his tongue into Aziraphale’s mouth and running over his teeth. 

Aziraphale lets the flood waters carry him away from every anxiety that has plagued him. The insecurity the moment he handed his God-given sword over to a mortal woman, the fledgling terror when he lied to the Almighty about what had happened to it; the nerves that sang when he didn’t understand, didn’t see how the deaths of children, the death of a young carpenter, could ever possibly be part of the great plan; the apprehension at the thought of lying to Heaven and entering the arrangement; the untold dread when Crowley had asked him for the holy water; the anguish of finding him suffering on the floor of his own flat; the uneasiness of sitting beside Gabriel in a sushi shop; the despair when Crowley had fallen to his knees in terror at the approach of the Enemy— None of that, not a single spark of trepidation could stand against the tides of relief and comfort of this moment. Because Crowley is kissing him, holding him, here, after the end of the world. 

He sighs his content into Crowley’s mouth, and pulls away just enough to catch his breath. Crowley leans forward to chase his lips, but stops just short, pausing, waiting, letting Aziraphale decide. His bright serpent-eyes meet Aziraphales own, and his breath brushes softly against his skin.

“My dear,”  he breathes, moving to run his fingers through dark red hair. “Oh, my dear. Never let me doubt you again.”

Crowley chuckles, and stands straight, taking Aziraphale’s hand from his chest and pressing a kiss to the heel of his palm. “Nothing, not Heaven or Hell, is going to keep me from you, angel.”

A sudden flicker of worry blooms in Aziraphale’s heart, but it sputters and dies quickly like a spark on damp firewood. “They’ll come for us,” he says without fear.

“Let them,” Crowley snarls, and Aziraphale is overwhelmed with such affection it takes all his will to keep himself from pulling him back into another embrace.

“No, my dearest,” he replies fondly. “Even with everything we are, we could not stand against all of them.”

Agony begins to creep onto Crowley’s face, his eyes widen and his brows fold together and his mouth draws into a grim line. “I won’t let them—” He starts, but Aziraphale hushes him.

“Shush. None of that. We aren’t giving up. You gave me a rather good idea at the bus stop.” He smiles brightly. “We must choose our faces wisely. Come. Why don’t I help you clean up that stinking mess in the other room, and I’ll tell you everything.”

———

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

-e.e. cummings

#i didn't mean for there to be more but then i drew some kiss sketches and this wouldn't leave me alone #listen i love them #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #anthony janthony crowley #good omens #good omens fanfic #emily does a write

[impishnature]

It’s You

AO3 Fandom: Good Omens Rating: G Prompt: @pomrania​

Summary: Aziraphale makes a new friend. Crowley is less than impressed. A/N: I changed it a bit just because I felt like it would otherwise get huge. Think of this more perhaps as the prelude to the game?

.

"What is that on your front door step?"

"It's you."

Crowley stopped his movement through the door, eyebrows furrowing behind dark sunglasses as the thing in question slunk in a winding way through his legs and into the bookshop as if it owned the place.

Which Crowley very much disagreed with. 

"Me? What do you mean it's me?"

He heard Aziraphale laugh before he saw him, snapping out of his indignant thoughts to shuffle into the room where a scraggly looking black cat was winding it's way in and out of Aziraphale's legs before promptly jumping up to sit on the arm of his chair, deigning him worthy to give him scritches whilst staring at Crowley as if daring him to try.

"That. See that look?" Aziraphale gave him a smug grin. "It's like you most days. It's got such a scowl."

"I don't scowl."

"You're literally scowling, right now."

Crowley huffed, mouth twisting into a thin line. "How dare you. I am a snake, not some- not a - domesticated cat!"

"I know that!" Aziraphale frowned, still fussing the cat with one hand, and Crowley was determinedly not thinking about how nice it would be for the other to run his hand through his hair like that. "It's just so very you in its mannerisms! It glares at my customers, it grumbles if it gets interrupted, but for some reason he keeps coming back and-" Aziraphale paused in his sentence, twisting it around as if worried. "-it seems to like me?"

"You're an Angel. Things like you. That's just a given."

"This is different though. Like you're different."

"Preposterous. Absolutely preposterous." Crowley crossed his arms, burning holes into the cat that only sniffed and turned towards Aziraphale instead of eyeing him anymore. He wasn't sure if he'd won the staring match or whether it had deigned him too irrelevant to even keep an eye on.

Either way, he wasn't sure he liked it. 

"I stick by it." 

"Fine. Keep your cat." Crowley didn't know why he was so offended by this but he couldn't find it in him to stop.

He wasn't some pet.

He wasn't so easily replaceable.

"Crowley? I thought we were-"

"Have lunch with your cat."

The door was clicking shut behind him before he realised quite how ridiculous he was being.

~~~

Aziraphale felt a nudge beside him, a soft curious mew and a cold wet nose. He made a soft shocked noise, glancing down, the cat staring back at him as if asking what was wrong before jumping up beside him once more.

It had been hours since Crowley had stormed off. He'd expected him to sheepishly come back by now but it was getting dark and he still wasn't sure what to make of it all.

"He realises it was all a joke, right?" He turned to the cat as if he would have the answers but the cat just curled up once more, giving him a look that said it wasn't his problem. "You really are the spitting image of him."

The phone buzzed beside him, making him jump and the cat grumble at the sudden movement, ears flattening as he settled again. Aziraphale scrambled for the small device, relieved that Crowley had made him get one and that he would be the only person contacting him.

You.

His heart fell. Was that it? Had he mistyped and meant to send more?

The phone buzzed again before he could overthink, an image popping up of a overly fluffy lamb tripping over it's own feet.

"I'm sorry?" The words came out without thought, confusion taking over as he stared at the image. Where had it even come from? He couldn't reply however as the phone continued to buzz.

You.

This time it was a pure white, curly furred cat, trying for elegant but falling rather more into scruffy category as it lounged across an entire sofa all on it's own. 

It was still cute though.

Aziraphale laughed. "I guess that's a compliment?" There was a soft chirp beside him as he rested his hand on the warm black cat beside him. "I guess that ones because of you." He zoned out for a moment, thoughts trailing to the future. "Two cats wouldn't be a hardship... it would be rather nice actually..."

The phone buzzed again, dragging him back from his musings. He almost dropped the phone, wondering if somehow Crowley had heard his wishful thinking. 

You.

Aziraphale hummed, wondering what small slight would befall him this time. Whatever Crowley had planned for this small game, it was hardly working-

An image of a London pigeon filled his screen. 

It sat, hoarding what looked like an entire takeaway meal to itself, happily chomping away as if it had garnered itself a rather large prey. 

"Excuse me?"

The images kept coming. Obviously these weren't just some images that Crowley had found but was instead photographing the pigeon like they were having some strange vengeful photo shoot. It even sat in Crowley's hand at one point, gleefully snipping at the food he held there.

He could almost see Crowley's smirk through the phone.

You.

An indignant squawk escaped him.

OK, maybe he could see now why Crowley had taken offence.

But a pigeon? Really? Not to mention a London pigeon?

He was nothing like a pigeon! Not like-

There was a soft questioning mew beside him.

Aziraphale turned to the cat, who opened both eyes to stare at him as if this was all his own fault, the phone continuing to buzz over and over in his hand.

"Oh dear, what have I started?"

~~~

"Are you quite finished now?"

Crowley finally slunk back into the bookshop, eyes darting to the black cat basking in a patch of sunlight that he would happily curl up in. It opened one eye at him judgmentally, giving a soft disdainful noise before ignoring him again in favour of watching the angel flit around the room.

"Maybe. Maybe not."

Aziraphale sighed, slowing down in his movements. "You know, I never meant to offend-"

"No, I get it." Crowley shrugged, teeth showing in a childish grin. "Just had a lot of fun going 'look it's you' so I can't promise I'll stop."

Aziraphale shook his head, chuckling under his breath. "Well, as long as you're not angry."

"Nah." Crowley sat next to the cat taking a small portion of the sunlight on his back but keeping his distance, both of them happy to ignore the other as long as it stayed that way. 

"I guess we are rather alike."

"Rather-"

"Don't push it, Angel."

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #Good Omens Fanfiction

[shipaholic]

Omens Universe, Chapter 13 Part 2

Nearly made it to Alpha Centauri!

Warnings for this chapter: the terrifying vastness of space; vertigo; and more child endangerment than we’ve seen so far.

Link to next part at the end.

(From the beginning)

(last part)

(chrono)

---

Chapter 13, cont.

Of all the infinite spaces they’d found themselves in recently, this one truly made each of them feel small.

Nebulae crackled in the corner of their eyes. Comets sparked across the heavens like distant fireworks. There were stars, billions upon billions of stars, a riotous tumble of them. And planets, cold and grand, passing by like ships.

Aziraphale had never been here before. For the life of him, he had no idea why. No - perhaps he was afraid of the vastness. Of feeling engulfed.

He leaned, half-consciously, towards Crowley. Their fingers brushed. Slowly, as if moving underwater, Crowley gripped Aziraphale’s hand.

Aziraphale tore his eyes away from the magnitude of space and looked at Crowley. He was in profile, lips slightly parted. His eyes shone with starlight. Aziraphale wanted to kiss him and keep watching him forever. He remembered Crowley had probably seen this room before. Thousands upon thousands upon thousands of years in the past. Perhaps it hit him harder to come back than Aziraphale to see it for the first time.

“Did I ever mention I helped build some of these?” Crowley whispered.

“Yes, dear,” Aziraphale whispered back. His heart brimmed over.

He happened to know the only part of Her creation missing from this room was the Earth. That was because it was on the top floor. He saw it the last time he presented his weekly report to Gabriel, floating in the air like a large, sedate disco ball. They would all use it in three days' time to transport themselves to Earth for Armageddon. Every angel in Christendom, pouring out of the sky.

Aziraphale peered around. There didn’t seem to be much of a filing system in here. Maybe all he had to do was…

“Alpha Centauri?” he said.

It was like going for a gentle stroll and accidentally stepping off a skyscraper.

Space lurched. The detritus of the universe streaked towards him, and past him before he could think about screaming. Two blue dots came out of the darkness like all-knowing eyes that meant the end of all things. They expanded until they were the size of suns, filling his vision, pinning him under their gaze, until with a heart-stopping wrench -

It all stopped.

Space was still again. The binary star system of Alpha Centauri lay before them, winking blue.

Aziraphale shook off the feeling he’d just freefall dived from a million miles up. He glimpsed Crowley’s face, and got a sudden idea of what it must have felt like for him, before all this happened. The Fall. He squeezed Crowley’s hand. Crowley’s eyes were glazed. Slowly, he came back to himself and squeezed back.

Aziraphale remembered, a fraction later than he should have, to check on Adam.

The boy’s face was white with exhilaration. “Wicked,” he whispered to himself.

Spacedog yipped and scratched his flank with his cybernetic back leg. His ears jiggled inside his fishbowl helmet. He didn’t look impressed. Aziraphale supposed he was made for this environment. Then he went back to deliberately ignoring Spacedog, because while Spacedog’s existence was remarkable, Aziraphale found him far too ridiculous to dwell on.

“We want Proxima Centauri B,” he said.

This time they all braced themselves. There was a relatively short, painless lurch forward as the room zoomed in on the planet orbiting one sun, Proxima Centauri. The planet was pockmarked like porous stone. It turned ponderously in the light from its star.

“Oh!” Crowley leaned forward in wonder. He pointed down at the craggy little planet. “I remember this! This one was one of mine.”

Aziraphale watched him puff out his chest and smiled.

“Yup. I totally helped with this one. Well. I looked over the plans. Well. I graffitied a rude word in some space dust.” Crowley paused. “They probably took it out.”

“How lovely,” Aziraphale said, dryly.

This was it. Triumph rang through his head. He was about to become an outer space fugitive. He couldn’t believe they’d got this far. There was only one step left, and they were home free. Or… not home. Not yet. But definitely free.

“Crowley, do you trust me?”

Crowley’s head snapped round. “That’s a funny question at this stage,” he said, sounding perturbed.

“Sorry. I need to be sure, though, or this next part won’t work.”

Crowley’s golden eyes regarded him.

“I trust you, angel.”

Aziraphale turned to face him. Crowley did the same, mirroring him. Aziraphale caught his other hand, holding them both, bare and gloved.

“Fuse with me.”

Relief lifted Crowley’s face.

“Oh, thank Satan. I was worried for a moment.”

Aziraphale gave a chuckle. “Sorry for being dramatic. I wasn’t -”

He broke off. He hadn’t been sure. If Crowley had truly forgiven him, yet. It would be understandable if he needed more time.

Apparently not. Crowley was attempting to loosen up in the receptionist’s tailored trousers. He stretched his inhumanly bendy spine, wiggled his snaky hips. It would have been rather alluring if Crowley wasn’t, as Aziraphale well knew, an awful dancer. It still was quite alluring, actually.

“Remember how to do this?” Crowley grinned.

“Of course. Like riding a velocipede.”

Crowley groaned and laughed. He began… a kind of shimmy, Aziraphale supposed. It was very wriggly. It had a slight drunk-wedding-guest-cum-gay-bar aspect, not that he’d been to a wedding or a gay bar in over eighty years.

Now that push came to shove, he felt rather foolish doing this in front of an audience. He avoided looking anywhere near Adam and broke into a modified Gavotte.

They danced towards each other. They were taking it slower than the urgency of the situation asked for, if he was being honest. But it was thrilling, the build up without touching, the coy flashes of eye contact. Aziraphale felt Crowley’s body heat through his silk blouse. Crowley’s long, skinny chest wiggled inches away from him. His gem glowed softly, like it was warming up.

Aziraphale clasped his arm, and his own gem flared.

They melted together.

Zadkiel stumbled out, wide-eyed and flushed.

“Wow. I need to get a room.”

He noticed Adam.

“Ummmm. Hello there. We’ve sort-of met, sort-of haven’t. I’m Zadkiel.” He held out his hand.

Adam glared as he took it. Some weird grown-up stuff had just happened, and he was ready to zip away from it at the speed of light.

“They just… turned into you,” he said.

“Yup.”

“They’re really bad dancers.”

“So am I!”

“Right. Why’d they do that, then?”

“Well… they’ve been apart for a while, and while they’re not human, as you know, er, I know for your species the whole dancing thing can be something of a mating ritual… has anyone ever given you the Talk?”

Adam looked deeply disgusted.

“Why’d they turn into you?” he asked, in slow, measured tones.

“Oh! So they can’t track us.” Zadkiel flashed a grin. “The people we’re running away from can tell whenever Aziraphale or Crowley use their powers - their alien powers, that is - but I don’t show up on their, errr, alien scanner things. So they can’t follow us to Proxima Centauri.”

This was going to require a lot of discipline, he realised. If they wanted to be good intergalactic space fugitives - and Zadkiel absolutely did - there would have to be no more performing of miracles unless fused from now on. One thoughtless snap of the fingers from either of them, and it would all be over. Zadkiel hoped the other two were up to it.

He squared up to the orbiting planet below.

“Enough explanation. It’s time to go. Are you ready?”

Adam nodded. The blue lights of Alpha Centauri shone in his eyes.

“Brilliant. Hold on to my arm and don’t let go no matter what.”

Adam scooped up Spacedog,[1] along with the Book, and looped his spare arm through Zadkiel’s. He may have shown up unexpectedly, but he was a reassuringly large presence.

Zadkiel performed the ritual on himself and Adam. Nobody needed to leave their gems behind accidentally at this stage. He guessed it would be messy in Adam’s case.

“Here we go -”

Zadkiel reached out.

His fingertips dissolved as they neared the planet. Then his whole body melted into a stream of atoms, and this really was a freefall, dimensions compressing around him, his body stretching back miles, stars streaking across his vision. He was made of mist and he was rushing through a cold tunnel faster than any living thing had ever moved

~*~

They popped out at the other end, mouths agape like fish.

The first thing was the silence.

It was crushing and absolute. It was the silence of a void. A sea of darkness full of pinpricks of light that only made the darkness more infinite. He remembered, from two different perspectives, rowing across a lake that had been like this.

Then, the planet.

It spread out below him. A hard, mountainous, canyon-pocked waste-scape. He could see where it curved, the crescent of light like the rind of an orange. He could see the shimmering corona of its atmosphere. He could see the granite and sandstone and marsh-coloured patches of its body, all merging like a paintbox left out in the rain.

He had never seen anything like it. A new world. Untouched. Alien.

He had to admit it was a cracking view.

Adam’s fingers dug into his arm. The green dog yipped at a hysterical pitch.

Zadkiel looked down at the boy and noticed the third thing.

Adam gasped for breath that wouldn’t come. He stared into Zadkiel’s eyes, terrified, as his lips turned blue.

---

[1] Neither of Zadkiel’s components knew what to make of the dog. They’d each secretly hoped that fusing would bring some wisdom on the subject. Zadkiel was happy to report: nope. The dog thing was really weird.

(Link to next part)

#omens universe fic #omens universe #good omens fic #good omens #ineffable husbands #steven universe #yeeeeah so Aziraphale and Crowley are terrible guardians #who forget that children need things like oxygen #and to have their eyes shielded from thirsty fusion dances #any gross space-inaccuracies I wish to preemptively attribute to Antichrist-induced cartoon physics #I spent an afternoon on wikipedia looking up details on Proxima Centauri B #and the best I could come up with for a description was still 'the planet... was... brown...'

[a-tired-writer]

Leave me some stardust (To remember you by)

Summary: The end is coming and Aziraphale does what he always tries to do. Protect Crowley. No matter how much it pains them both. Crowley has his own ideas though and there’s no way in Hell hes leaving his angel to face the end alone, but after they’re both safe? Who knows.

A/N: This is already uploaded to my Ao3 but I figured I’d put it here too.

“Go! Go to Alpha Centauri!” Aziraphale yelled, fighting back the tears. This needed to work. He needed this to work. His fists were clenched at his sides as he saw Crowley flinch back.

“Angel?” Crowley’s voice was confused and hurt as he stared at the angel.

“Just go, Crowley!”

With wide eyes Crowley slid his glasses, which were perched on top of his head, back down, hiding his eyes. “Fine.” Crowley blessed himself in his head when he couldn’t stop his voice from cracking. Climbing into the Bentley he left, fighting the urge to go back.

Aziraphale clamped his hands over his mouth as sobs racked his body. “I’m sorry, my dear,” he whispered as he watched the car speed away, well over 90 miles per hour. “I just- I just wanted-” he was cut off as another sob tore through him. Turning, he hurried inside the bookshop.

Aziraphale stood stiffly, only a slight tremor in the hand that wasn’t clutching the sword gave away his nerves. This was it, the big one. This was it and he was alone and while that was his own doing he still wished for Crowley by his side, even if he was glad he wasn’t. As the ground shook and cracked he didn’t notice the being behind him coming closer.

Crowley stopped just behind Aziraphale, hesitating. His- The Angel had made it quite clear he wasn’t wanted here and yet he’d come anyway, just couldn’t stay away. Steeling himself he stepped up next to him and after only a moment mores hesitation grabbed his shaking hand. He heard Aziraphale’s gasp as he took his place but all he did was stare straight ahead, unwilling and afraid to properly face the Angel yet.

Aziraphale could do nothing but stare at him, immediately choked up with tears pooling in his eyes. He’d come back, he’d come back for him. Swallowing the lump in his throat Aziraphale was still choked up when he spoke, “C-Crowley? What are you doing here?”

Still resolutely avoiding eye contact the Demon quietly said, “I’m not going to leave you to face the end alone, angel. Never.”

Aziraphale grinned and clutched his hand tighter.  

It was over. The world was safe and they were alive and it was over. They were back in the bookshop, which Adam had helpfully explained was no longer burned down and Crowley felt his heart sink. Aziraphale had told him to go and there was no longer any need to stay. It was over. “I-uh-goodbye, angel.” He was glad for the sunglasses which now served to hide the pain and heartache in his eyes.

“What? Where are you going, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, confused. They had won and the earth was saved and it was over! So then why did Crowley seem so…defeated? When the demon opened his mouth a few times but no sound or explanation came out Aziraphale stepped closer, “My dear boy what is it?”

Hearing the old, familiar endearment was nearly too much for the demon to handle. “You… you told me to go. I couldn’t leave you alone, not at the end but I won’t bother you again.” Crowley forced himself to turn and make his legs go, they hadn’t felt this unsteady since the garden.

Aziraphale couldn’t move. He couldn’t move until he saw Crowley’s hand on the door and he was hit with the very real possibility that if he didn’t stop him he might actually never see him again. Jolting forward he yelled “No!”

Crowley froze, then slowly turned back desperately trying to fight off the hope that was filling him up. Hope was a dangerous thing for a demon. He didn’t say a word as he stared at Aziraphale waiting for the Angel to say his piece.

He couldn’t help but stare at Crowley for a moment. He was about to tell him everything he’d been fighting to keep hidden for the past 6000 years and it terrified and excited him all at once and he knew that once he started he wouldn’t be able to stop. Taking a deep breath, he began. “My dear boy, I only told you to go so my si- Heaven wouldn’t harm you!” The disbelieving look on Crowley’s face stung more than he thought it would.

“Really?”

“Yes! Keeping you safe is the reason for most of the things I do!” He looked away for a moment and took a deep breath, what he was about to say had the power to change everything. “You…you don’t go too fast for me, Crowley. But I-I know. I know what Heaven would do to you if they ever found out I was in love with you and I couldn’t allow that to happen!”

Crowley couldn’t move as he stared at Aziraphale. He didn’t know what to say or do with himself. His angel loved him. His angel was in love with him. “Crowley? Oh Crowley, please say something.” In two strides Crowley was across the room and standing in front of Aziraphale and with only a seconds pause, wrapped his arms around his angel and pulled him close, leaning down and kissing him, pouring all of the love he’d held back for the last 6000 years into it. It took Aziraphale no time at all to lean up and return the gesture, his cheeks pink.

Pulling back and resting their foreheads together, Crowley mumbled, “You-uh-you’re in love with me?”

“Of course, you wily serpent.”

“Ngk.”

#good omens #good omes fic #aziraphale x crowley #boys in love #crowley loves his angel #go fanfic #protective aziraphale #aziraphale #stubborn crowley #crowley #aziraphale loves his demon #ineffable boyfriends #ineffable husbands

[evitcrnity-archived]

It had been six days since he’d seen Crowley. Each had been a burden, made heavy by the hollow questions stitched into their seams. What had happened, what had brought him here, what had drawn over his mind with its own designs? Who was he, who was Crowley, who was anyone, anymore, in this strange illusion of a city? Why couldn’t he find answers, why couldn’t he simply know, why couldn’t he have even the slight comfort of the truth? What, who, why? What, who, why? What, who, why?

He hated thinking about these questions but continued to mull over them anyway. At work, he’d sit, absent and distracted, a new acquisition laying ignored upon his desk. At home, he’d become so lost in the labyrinth he’d forget about food on the stove, setting off the fire alarm twice in as many days. In bed, he’d tried so hard to escape into the gentle embrace of empty sleep, only to find jagged shards of memory driving themselves deep into the soft flesh of his dreams.

Some of them were mere impressions, a quick flick of a brush upon a canvas. They would leave a face here, a word there, all nothing more than shreds of memory traveling the undercurrents of his subconscious. But others were more concrete. Events turned into sequences, and sequences into histories. Soon enough, stretches of his life – his real life – were piecing themselves together before his very eyes.

First came the nineteenth century. How he’d gallivanted about then, dressing himself in the finest frippery and making a fool of himself at the dance hall! But alas, all good dreams had to come to an end. As the morning sun peaked over the horizon, Aziraphale saw Crowley’s face, sideburned and snarling, giving him the most pained, ugly look. Whatever had he done to deserve it?

Over the next three nights, his dreams skipped across time, sometimes bringing him to French prisons, other times taking him to foggy British countrysides. Every time, he became immersed in the memories, losing himself to the details and forgetting any existence outside of them. Yet, when it came time to wake once more, Crowley always found him. The harbinger of day wasted no time in chastising him for his foolishness, but always rescued him from spot of trouble he’d inevitably found himself in. Once safe, he opened his eyes and found himself back in his bed, only a few half-remembered snippets of his midnight adventures remaining to remind him of the truth.

On the fifth night, Aziraphale found himself in a lush garden. At least, his intuition told him that it was a garden. If anything, it looked more like a parcel of rainforest, rife will all sorts of exotic life and cut off from the rest of the world by a set of towering granite walls. Near him lingered two humans, both nude as they day they were born. From this, he could see that neither had a belly button but were otherwise entirely normal. In the back of his mind, he had a sense that they were his charges, that the only point of his life was to make sure that they were able to live theirs.

The sky above had darkened into a deep purple twilight. Embedded in it was a swathe of glittering stars, seemingly gleeful as they were afforded a chance to show off their beauty to their admirers below. One of them shown far brighter than the rest, a star he somehow knew to be Alpha Centuri. The others had worked so hard on it, he remembered, so that the humans could enjoy its gorgeous glow.

Then, one of the stars fell.

Streaming, streaking, screaming, shrieking it fell, followed by dozens – no, hundreds - more. Aziraphale recognized some of the cries, anguished and angry, pained and provoked. They came together to form a song, almost angelic but just a half-note off from harmonizing. Eve quickly noticed the cacophony, rushing to his side and fearfully pointing up at the brilliant streaks of red staining the sky. She was easily the more astute of the two humans, always discovering and investigating things long before her mate.

“Shooting stars,” Aziraphale reassured, struggling to offer her a smile. She simply couldn’t know, neither of them could. If they were aware that there was something out there other than Her goodness, they would be utterly ruined. “Make a wish on them, if you like. Perhaps She will hear you and make it come true.”

He awoke upon a bed of feathers. On all sides, he was cocooned by soft, silky plumage, the first gentle touch he’d known since Crowley’s a week before. In a sleepy haze, he tried to turn to his other side and snuggle into it, only to find that as he moved, something pulled obstinately on his shoulder blades. His half-closed eyes snapped open and he found that his feathery quilt was no quilt at all: it was a pair of wings.

Aziraphale slid out of the bed and onto shaky legs, letting the wings drag heavily behind him. Somehow, their weight felt natural, even though he could only remember a single time before where he might have known it. Carefully, he tried to open them to their full span, struggling with their heft as they slowly spread across the room. He winced as one thudded against a wall, hoping he hadn’t woken a neighbor.

The two wide windows on the far wall each captured part of a wing in their reflection. From the translucent images, he could deduce that they were enormous, each one far longer than he was tall. They caught the raw sunlight in their concave curves, using it to make themselves glow a white so bright that Aziraphale thought it would blind him. Meanwhile, their feathers trembled slightly, not so much from the gentle stream of air conditioning than from his own nerves. If only he had a halo! Then, he would have really looked the part of…the part of…

The frayed, long-suffering threads of the tapestry heaved one last heavy, defeated sigh before finally surrendering to the inevitable. As they rained down, loose and flowing, they revealed the rest of the mural. Aziraphale stood, one hand clutching the shawl collar of his plush robe as his eyes traversed the interconnected images. How…how? How could he have forgotten this? How could he have lived this? How could he have been this?

He didn’t know for how long he’d been standing there, watching the millennia, his millennia, play out before his mind’s eye. When he finally came to, he folded his wings and shuffled to the nightstand, reaching for his phone and opening his contacts. His thumb hovered momentarily over Crowley’s name, a mere millimeter from calling him, before scrolling down to his boss. There was no way he could go into work like this, not with his mind boiling and soul roiling. He simply would have to take a sick day, his first in six thousand years.

~~~~

Aziraphale laid listlessly upon the bed, his weight forcing deep creases into the otherwise impeccable plaid comforter. The pair of long, graceful white wings erupted from behind his back, one running up the wall abutting the bed and the other spilling off the mattress and onto the floor. He blankly stared up at the old, cracked paint on the ceiling, his right hand crossing over his chest to rest upon the top ridge of his left wing. Gently, methodically, its fingers flexed, absently stroking the short, downy feathers. Beneath them, he could sense the powerful, rippling muscles that had once allowed him to soar through the skies as a bringer of blessings and defender of innocence. What a juxtaposition, he thought, what a foil to this strange, feeble thing he’d become.

And so the eons went by. Eden, Jerusalem, Britain. Life, death, love. The blurry faces of acquaintances surfaced and sank, all fleeting flowers in his garden of eternity. Yet, one pesky weed remained, always finding some way to survive despite his many attempts to kill it off.

Crowley.

No matter where he had traveled, Crowley had always found him. He’d found him in Eden, in Jerusalem, and in Britain. He’d found him at the dawn of life, the dusk of death, and the joyous midday of love. There had never truly been any escape from him, even in those decades where he had gone dormant. Aziraphale’s thoughts during those lonely days had always reached back toward him, all in the name of enmity but truly rooted in a yearning he had never allowed himself to admit.

Had that been the start of this beautiful thing they shared?

Suddenly, he was settled in the front passenger seat of Crowley’s car, handing him a thermos filled to the brim with contraband. His hand trembled as he offered the gift, partly out of fear that they would be seen and partly because he was worried that he hadn’t tightened the lid enough. One drop of holy water was enough to sentence a demon to the cruelest death, worse than any beheading, any blade, or any bullet to the heart.

He returned to his room. It was growing late now, and the vivid orange sunset filtered through his slatted blinds and threw a striped pattern onto his wing and wall. Had Heaven found out about his illicit offering? Is that why he had been thrust here, umbilical cord to the divine snipped and severed? Was this his punishment?

No, it wasn’t punishment. At least, it wasn’t punishment for the holy water. It had to be retribution for what had followed.

Life, death, love. Antichrist, Armageddon, abandonment. He and Crowley had cast aside their affiliations and stopped the destruction of the world, committing the gravest of all crimes against the celestial order. Now, they existed alone on their own side, two perfect, blank canvases painted over by humanity’s flawed touch.

Aziraphale’s chest tightened and he gawkily sat up, breathing hard as his wings shifted around him. One slid down from the wall while the other lifted itself off the floor, both settling behind his back.

Heaven was angry. Hell was even angrier. This had to be the reason why he and Crowley had been forsaken here, this strange little town in an even stranger alternate dimension. This had to be the reason why they had been wrenched away from humanity, the thing they had sacrificed all they had known to protect. This had to be the reason why this was their right and just punishment, the consequence of meddling with the ineffable.

He brought his knees up to his chest as he reached through a veil of feathers for his phone.

“I’m sorry I haven’t said anything. Please, come over. I’ll unlock the door before you get here, so you can just let yourself in,” he tapped urgently, stopping every few characters to correct the mistakes wrought by his trembling thumb.

The hand holding the phone then fell limp to the bed. His other arm wrapped around his knees, holding them tight as he buried his face in his kneecaps. Behind him, his wings stood high above his head. Their stark edges cut a dramatic figure against the beige wall, framing the empty space where once, many ages ago, a blessed halo had been bestowed upon Her Lordship’s loyal servant, the Principality Aziraphale.

@fallenangelsxxx

#ic #w/ crowley #fallenangelsxxx #m: aziraphale

[dickwheelie]

Obligatory “oh no there’s only one bed” ficlet, inspired by suggestions from @animangod and @mothmanssickvape on the Discord server. Thanks for helping out with my late night writing craving!

____________

It was not the first time they had traveled together, and it would not be the last, but it was the first time that they had decided to stop at the same inn. Normally, one or the other would have to stop somewhere for a miracle or a temptation, and they’d simply go their separate ways. However, that day the road had been long, and their clothes were dusty with travel and their hearts and heads were weary. Besides, their head offices had grown less and less vigilant over the past few centuries, and it was unlikely they’d notice if the pair happened to stop somewhere for the night. Together. Entirely coincidentally, of course.

That was how Aziraphale was rationalizing it to himself, anyway. Crowley was long past caring, having ingested a good amount of mead at the tavern below the inn, and was currently singing along to a drinking song that a table in the corner had started up half an hour ago.

“Crowley,” said Aziraphale, interrupting him with a hand on his arm. He wasn’t nearly as drunk as his companion, but drunk enough for physical contact, which he rarely initiated. (Crowley was a demon, after all.)

“Hmm?” Crowley looked at the hand on his arm, and then up at Aziraphale, as though connecting two dots. He smiled and put his chin in his hand; quite drunk, indeed. “Yes, Angel?”

Aziraphale blushed at the term. Crowley somehow always made it sound like more than a simple identifier. “I’m rather tired,” Aziraphale said. “I think I’ll be going up to the room now.”

Crowley squinted at him, his serpentine eyes shining like liquid gold in the dim light of the tavern. “Thought you didn’t sleep,” he said slowly.

“I don’t,” Aziraphale said primly. “But I do like to rest, on occasion. It’s been an exceptionally long day.”

That, at least, was something they definitely agreed upon. With Crowley’s promise to join him later on, Aziraphale thanked the bartender (who looked as though the words “thank you” had never entered his vocabulary) and made his way up the thin, creaking flight of stairs to their room.

“Oh, dear,” he said when he stepped inside. He’d forgotten they were in the Scottish highlands, and not the middle of London. The room was terribly bare, with little more than a wooden chair, a washbasin (if one could call it that, it looked more like a basin that needed a wash), and a terribly uncomfortable-looking bed. One bed.

Aziraphale groaned, too exhausted to care about the virtue of temperance that he was surely violating. Well, if Crowley was planning on sleeping, Aziraphale would just have to take the chair, which looked even more uncomfortable than the bed.

. . . Although, Aziraphale thought, Crowley was still downstairs, and judging by his interest in the group of drunken would-be sinners in the corner of the tavern, he’d be down there a while yet. Glancing around surreptitiously, as though one of the archangels might be trying to catch him in the act, Aziraphale quickly removed his shoes and coat, and climbed into the bed.

Well. It seemed as though it was far more comfortable than Aziraphale had expected. That, or he was terribly road-weary. He miracled himself up a copy of Shakespeare’s latest, something historical called Richard II, and settled in.

About two hours later, Crowley stumbled into the room, still quite drunk. Aziraphale looked up from the play and said wryly, “If you’ve done even one temptation tonight in that state, I’ll eat my belt buckles.”

Crowley smiled at him, a big toothy grin that really should have made Aziraphale nervous, but instead just made his chest grow fondly warm. “I tempted, and was tempted,” he said simply, and all but collapsed onto the bed, sprawling over Aziraphale.

“Really,” said Aziraphale, more amused than anything. He began to extract himself from the blankets, and from Crowley’s arm, which he’d slung across Aziraphale’s waist.

Crowley looked up, golden eyes wide. “Where’re you going?” he said, genuinely confused.

“You can take the bed,” Aziraphale said. “I’ll make do with the chair.”

“I don’t mind,” Crowley said, too quickly. They stared at one another for a moment. Crowley’s eyes were pleading, and he looked so comfortable like that, tucked into Aziraphale’s side, his head resting on Aziraphale’s chest, near his heart.

“Oh, very well,” said Aziraphale with a smile, setting the book aside and adjusting the covers, drawing them over the both of them. Crowley made a noise so soft and sweet that Aziraphale vowed never to tell him about it when he was sober again, lest he be embarrassed. When they were both tucked under the covers, Crowley pressed himself closer to Aziraphale’s side, and Aziraphale curled an arm around his shoulders.

“Sweet dreams,” Aziraphale said as Crowley began to snore, and he hadn’t intended it to be a miracle but it became one anyway.

Aziraphale didn’t sleep, but he allowed himself to rest his eyes while Crowley slept, listening to his even breaths against his chest, almost matching his own. How strange, Aziraphale thought, that sleeping with a demon could be so innocent, not to mention cozy.

Crowley woke long after the sun had risen, bright streams of light from the single tiny window illuminating his face as his eyes blinked slowly open. Aziraphale’s breath caught for a moment; in the morning sunlight, Crowley’s eyes glowed, radiant twin spots of gold shining like the finest coins. Though he hadn’t moved all that much in the night (except to settle in closer to Aziraphale), the blankets had messed his hair, and it had gone all spiky and wild. What a beauty, Aziraphale thought, and it did not feel nearly as blasphemous a thought as it ought to have been.

Just to see how it felt, he said it out loud, in a whisper, so Crowley couldn’t hear him: “What a beauty you are.”

No one came down from Above to smite him. God Herself did not make an appearance. There was only the warm morning air, and Crowley’s arms around him.

A little louder, this time: “Wily old serpent. Who knew you could be so lovely and soft?”

“Mmmph,” said Crowley, into the blanket. With effort, he pushed himself up and squinted at Aziraphale. “Wha’wazat?”

Aziraphale smiled at him. “Nothing, my dear,” he said, running a hand through Crowley’s hair and messing it even more. Crowley grunted in surprise, but snuggled back into Aziraphale’s side nonetheless. “Go back to sleep. The day’s young, and we’ve all the time in the world.”

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #gwyneth writes #I actually edited this one! #go me lmao

[sushiandstarlight]

Cookies: Chapter 18

This chapter contains today’s prompt “hope.” (Sort of.)

Previous Story: Of All The Beds In All The Hotels In All The World

Chapters 1-3 / Chapter 4 / Chapters 5 & 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12 / Chapter 13 / Chapter 14 / Chapter 15 / Chapter 16 / Chapter 17

Read this chapter on AO3

Rating G- Light Teen

There was something going on with Aziraphale, but Crowley couldn't pin down what that something was. He got more withdrawn and jumpy as the day went on. Over dinner he managed to fumble the gravy boat and spill it across the table. Gladys saved that with a quick clean up and having plenty more where that came from. He knocked Crowley's wine glass into his lap which meant he'd had to go back upstairs and change. That also wasn't all that big of a deal. Neither was the fact that they kept bumping elbows awkwardly or the fact that, other than that, Aziraphale hadn't touched him at all over dinner. Though, it made him realize that over the last few months there was rarely a time when they weren't in contact of some kind.

The biggest worry of all had been when the angel had finished his own slice of pie and Crowley surreptitiously slid him his slice. Aziraphale had thanked him with a smile and then proceeded to pick at it with his fork, but not actually eat it. In all the times Crowley had known him, all the years of watching him enjoy his food (and Crowley's,) he had never seen him too worked up to eat a dessert. A cold ball of tension was building in his own stomach. He wanted to get Aziraphale alone and figure out what was wrong, but there wasn't time for that right now. So, he watched him.

They all retired to the sun room, sitting around the cheerfully glowing tree with another glass of wine. Aziraphale and Crowley, as they normally did, took the loveseat. Crowley watched him and gulped his own wine. His worry was not decreasing, but he was starting to feel a little fuzzy around the edges. The ring in his pocket felt large and hot even in it's tiny little box. He hadn't been nervous about it all day, not really, but now with Aziraphale acting so strangely he wondered if this was a good idea.

“Okay, boys,” Gladys ambled over to the tree and picked up the two large, lumpy packages and handed one to each of them, “these are from me and Edie. She picked out the designs and I made them.”

“Group effort,” Edie nodded, sipping her wine to hide her grin. It didn't work, Crowley saw it.

Crowley tore into his package while watching Aziraphale carefully dismantle his out of the corner of his eye. The sweater he lifted from the paper actually wasn't that bad as far as ugly Christmas sweaters went: it was black with a red collar and edging on the sleeves and bottom and in between was strewn with green and white stars. They twinkled in the light, the yarn being run through with sparkly threads. Crowley dutifully pulled it on over his own shirt, tugging it down and turning to the angel beside him.

“How's it look, then?”

“Oh, very festive.”

“Fits you just right, dear,” Gladys smiled at him and if it was a little mischievous around the edges he ignored that, “do you like it?”

“I'm warmer already, yeah I like it.”

Eyes turned to Aziraphale as he lifted his from the wrapping paper. She had had no qualms with making his sweater as hideous as she wanted: it was red with white trim and the center of the chest and belly was covered in a giant Christmas tree festuned with little ornaments and bells. The sweater actually jingled when he shook it. But, Aziraphale looked genuinely pleased with the gift. He pulled it on even with all the layers he was currently wearing and wiggled happily, making the bells jingle.

“I love it!” he stood and jingled over to Gladys and hugged her and then did the same with Edie, “No one's ever knitted me a Christmas sweater before... and I've been around a long time. I will treasure it.” Gladys looked a little taken aback with his generous praise, but she didn't say anything. Aziraphale jingled back over to Crowley.

“What do you think?”

Crowley choked.

“What? It's festive!”

“It's just...”

“What?” The angel's hands were on his hips. His eyes told Crowley he better say something nice or else.

“You're the angel at the top of a tree, is all,” Crowley couldn't contain his giggles any longer. Gladys and Edie joined in, laughing. After looking down at the sweater and then over at Crowley, Aziraphale laughed, too. It smoothed out some of the worry that had lined his face all afternoon and evening. The knot in Crowley's stomach loosened a little.

Aziraphale picked up the other gifts on his way back to the sofa where he sat a little closer to Crowley this time. He passed the flat rectangle to Crowley and then popped open his tin. Inside were little ginger cookies, topped with sugar. He thanked the ladies again for his gift and nibbled one while watching Crowley expectantly.

Crowley tore open the package and found a small, leather-bound journal. Inside were all the recipes for the cookies they had made over his stay. He had been trying to remember every bit of them so he could try baking them again later for Aziraphale, but it had been a rush job and he knew it was impossible to recall all the proper measurements. He opened the book and touched the lettering.

“You hand wrote them all,” he swallowed past the lump in his throat, touching the curly letters, “how did you have the time?”

“You can make the time for such things. There are some other things in there, too, like some recipes for scones. I thought you might want them, too.”

Crowley clutched the recipe book to his chest and stood, crossing the room and kissing her cheek.

“Thank you, I really do love it.”

“I'm glad, dear,” Gladys wagged a finger at him, “you be careful not to get it all grimy with sugar and butter!”

“I wouldn't dare. This is a priceless gift.”

When Crowley returned to the loveseat it was to find Aziraphale holding out the remaining tiny box for him, a strange look of nerves and hope on his face.

“Now, um,” Aziraphale handed it to him as he got closer and Crowley set his book down on the arm of the loveseat, “I want you to unwrap it, but I'll open it. You sit.”

Crowley sat and, in deference to Aziraphale's careful wrapping, he took his time untying the ribbon and unwrapped the box before giving it a little shake. It didn't rattle. He handed it back to Aziraphale. Only, in that time the Angel had knelt in front of him. He had a sudden, sinking feeling. Aziraphale opened the box and inside, nestled in grey velvet was a ring: it was a wide, black band that ended at the top shaped like a feather curled around a gleaming faceted black diamond. Crowley looked from the ring in Aziraphale's hand to the angel's face, completely flabbergasted.

“I... I had it all planned out. What I was going to say. It was going to be poetic and heartfelt, but I fear I'm too nervous for any of that... But, you know I love you, darling. And, I want to spend the rest of my days showing you just how much.”

There were a lot of things Crowley could have said to this proposal. There were a lot of things Crowley should have said to this proposal. In the coming years, he would make up for what he actually said:

“No way...”

Time slowed down around him in that moment. Not in the actual, reality-changing kind of way that he had done to avert the apocalypse. More like how time stops when you've made an awful terrible mistake and only realize it a moment after you've done it and now you have to live through every nanosecond of your mistake hitting home.

Aziraphale's face went through several shifts of emotion while Crowley watched, his tongue heavy in his mouth: shock, confusion, dismay, and then sadness. Crowley's eyes then shifted over Aziraphale's head, taking in Edie's face in her hands and shocked expression along with Gladys making strangling motions with her hands.

And then time reasserted itself at its natural speed. Aziraphale was clutching the box, now closed, to his chest and he wasn't looking at Crowley anymore.

“That's not what I meant! Angel, that's not what I meant!” Crowley was on his own knees, clutching the angel's chin and making him look at him, “I'll have you. You understand? I'll have you until this universe is dust and atoms and something else is here. And, by G-Sa- anyone!- if we're still here after that in some form, I'll still love you then, too.”

“So,” Aziraphale chuckled damply, eyes still wide and shining, “That's a yes then?”

“Yes, love,” Crowley kissed him, “It's a yes.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed in deeply and let it out slowly, “Oh, you rather frightened me.”

“I'm so sorry. It's just... I had hoped to... Well, you kind of stole my thunder.”

“How do you mean?”

Crowley reached into his pocket and pulled out his own little box. Aziraphale gasped, hand flying to his lips.

“We didn't.”

“Yeah, you idiots both did.” It was Gladys. Thankfully, this time when Crowley looked at her, she was smiling instead of threatening his life.

“You knew!” Crowley was incredulous, “You knew this whole time. He told you, too.”

“I'm afraid I have a confession to make,” Aziraphale stole his attention again, “I asked for Gladys' help with this. I... I wanted to do it here because this is where we started down this path. And she was more than happy to help.”

“But, the orphans...”

“Oh, they were real. Happy circumstance. Er, well,” Aziraphale coughed, “I mean, it's not happy that they're orphans. But she was going to bake for them either way. It was, ah, a convenient excuse.”

“Knew it was over the top.”

“So, can I see it?”

“See what?”

“My ring?”

“Oh,” Crowley looked down at the box in his hands, “Yeah, of course.” He opened it, revealing a golden band that curled like a serpent around an exquisitely clear diamond surrounded by tiny opals.

“My, it's beautiful.”

“Do you like it?”

“Of course I do,” Aziraphale wiggled his fingers, “put it on?” Crowley slipped it on his finger. The ring looked like it had always belonged there and didn't that just make his heart flutter. Crowley offered him his hand and Aziraphale opened his tiny box back up, slipping the band on his finger. They both marveled at their own rings and then smiled stupidly at one another.

“Maybe we should get up off the floor,” Crowley laughed, slithering back up onto the couch and helping Aziraphale up beside him. He twines his fingers through Aziraphale's and squeezed his hand, “is this what's had you fretting all day?”

“Was it that obvious?”

“Yes,” they all answered in unison. Crowley mock glared at Gladys and Edie who suddenly found the Christmas tree the most interesting thing in the world.

“It's always been you, Angel,” Crowley cradled his cheek in his hand, “since the moment on the wall when you defied god herself to help the first humans. I've never had eyes for anyone else.”

Aziraphale, absurdly in Crowley's mind, looked like he might burst into tears again so he pulled him close and kissed him deeply, delighting in the soft moan he got in response.

“There was no answer,” Crowley pulled back and pressed his forehead to Aziraphale's, “that I would give you other than 'yes.'”

“Except the one you gave me was 'no way.'” Aziraphale was smirking at him.

“I'm never going to live this down, am I?”

“Not if we survive the end of the universe and live amongst the dust and atoms.”

“Bastard.”

“You love me,” Aziraphale sing-songed.

“I could take it back.”

“You won't.”

Crowley grunted, pulling back and looking around. Gladys and Edie had made a sneaky exit while they were in their own little world.

“Let's go upstairs, fiancé.” Aziraphale stood and offered his hand, lights from the tree bouncing off the ring on his finger. Crowley took his hand and followed him. Back inside their suite, Aziraphale pressed him into the door, pulling his arms over his head. The feel of the cold engagement ring pressed against his wrist hand him rocking into the angel as he was kissed breathless. They stumbled together towards the bed, but stopped short when they saw there was something on it.

A basket full of bath goodies. Salts, scrubs, soaps, lotions and body oils all in vanilla and sandalwood- something they would both like. Attached to it was a note in curly writing:

“Santa sees all and he wanted to bring you coal for your naughtiness, but we talked him into a bath set instead. Enjoy the tub, boys. Happy engagement! Love, Gladys and Edie”

“I'm not sure what we did to deserve them,” Aziraphale sighed happily.

“I'm not sure what we did to deserve them as punishment,” Crowley grumbled.

“You don't actually mind the attention.”

“Don't tell them that.”

“I won't if you keep me busy enough. I'm feeling a little bored right now... Maybe a little girl-talk, some gossip,” Aziraphale made for the door but Crowley grabbed his wrist.

“How about a massage instead,” he held up the little bottle of oil.

“Hmm,” Aziraphale drew close again, “What was saying? I'm afraid I forgot.”

Chapter 19 is now up!

#aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #good omens #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #star light-reads #30 days of prompts #nanowrimo #nanowrimo 2020 #christmas fluff #fluff