#crowley driving so upset is such a mood

[abirdsnest]

why

#just finished it #why #i just stood there watching the credits roll #good omens #good omens season 2 #gomens #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #good omens s2 #good omens 2 spoilers #gomens 2 #go2 #crowley driving so upset is such a mood #🐣 #aziracrow #imi

[ineffablymanic]

Crowley didn't know why he kept coming back to the bookshop. [AO3]

Muriel listened to his advice, no books were being sold. Her oddly polite "Kindly sod off!! Thank you!!" delivered with a hearty smile made Crowley's mouth twitch every time. He started sorting the books Jim had moved around, back the way they used to be, according to the order Az- he had last put them. Crowley replenished the fire extinguisher supply. He scoffed at the yellow duster and just miracled any dust he saw into the close proximity of customers who he could sense being nasty to the staff in the surrounding shops. Enjoy coughing for the rest of the day, jackass.

Crowley avoided the messy writing desk. He avoided plenty of things. Couples. Certain genre movies and music. Bentley, on days when hissing it to shut up shut the fuck up with the certain genre songs didn't work. He had plenty of thoughts he avoided like a professional.

But then he saw Muriel actively defiling the desk.

She had moved the once dispersed yellowing pieces of paper into one pile and gathered old tea cups to be taken to the kitchenette. There was a large leather bound notebook in her hands that she was maybe moving to a shelf.

"Leave. It," Crowley snarled, regretting his too harsh of a tone the moment the words spat out of his lips, but Muriel just seemed surprised. She'd gotten too used to his presence, he thought absently.

"Oh, is the mess intended? Is that another human thing?

"It's his mess. He doesn't- didn't-" Crowley tried not to groan in frustration. "Humans, people, don't like it when their personal stuff is touched."

Muriel's brows furrowed as she considered the revelation. "I guess that makes sense. I've never owned anything, angel's aren't supposed to crave possessions you see, but I do suppose if I did... I'd be upset too."

She let out a little nervous chuckle. "I'd rather like to give a permission first! I don't know what that would be like, I've never been asked." Her eyes widened and suddenly she looked like the book had burned her, and she quickly put it back down on the desk.

Crowley's irritation melted away. He couldn't stay mad at Muriel over anything. He'd forgotten how cruel Heaven was. Well, he hadn't, but spending such a long time with one angel had skewed his memory- Nope. He forced his mind to look for something else to think, anything else than that ecstatic smile when he’d obtained a rare book, or the pure, unfiltered delight when he ate or drank something delicious, or-

Crowley shook his head vigorously and started sauntering towards the door. He needed fresh air. Or a bottle of Aerstone, he wasn't sure which. 

"It's okay, glad we cleared that up. Leave the desk be, uh, yeah. Bye."

In all earnestness he considered finally going on a trip of some kind. Somewhere warm and dry, Australia maybe. Maybe he'd just keep driving and see where he ends up. Few years of Wanderlust might do him some good.

He was back at the bookshop in three days.

Irked out of his mind, Crowley acknowledged Muriel's cordial greeting with a grunt and started meandering around the bookshelves, glaring at anything that could possibly be out of place. If he focused hard enough, he could make the old plant essence in the books shiver under his scrutiny.

With a sigh, he sprawled on the sofa like a deflating balloon. Muriel left him be, in some round about way she'd learned when he wasn't in a talking mood. Apparently she'd been taking 'Demon Crowley Behavior' notes and refused to show them to him. He didn't want to compel her, in fact he was appreciative of the silence. Trying to ground himself, Crowley took in a deep breath, taking in the slightly stale scent of ancient books, leather and glue and regretted the act immediately. Another thought to avoid.

He didn't feel like leaving, no matter how often the thoughts get up, get out, why am I here kept repeating in his head. Maybe reading could distract him for a while. He lurched upright and slunk around, browsing the ever so slightly trembling book spines.

A Change in the environment caught his attention and he glanced at the writing desk. Right, Muriel had touched it so it didn't look the same as before. Crowley hadn't seen the book she'd dropped on the table before, it must've been buried under other notebooks. There were multiple pages jutting out, and he saw some colorful markings on them. His curiosity won and he picked up the book, unwrapping the leather string and started to browse it.

His eyes widened until they almost bulged out.

Crowley slapped the book shut, snatched it and staggered towards the stairs. When Muriel inquired where he was going, Crowley tried to answer something akin to "just visiting the bathroom", but what came out was mostly unintelligible garble. This apparently didn't bother Muriel.

"... Is there a bathroom? Do demons need to use the toilet? Or is your corporation different from mine? Mine didn't come with an active digestion tract, at least to my knowledge, I haven't consumed anything yet and..."

Muriel's prattling died out when Crowley crashed into Jim's (Gabriel's? Who cares) old room and slammed the door shut. The door had enough sense to lock itself. He sucked in a preparatory breath.

Crowley plopped the book on the bed, waved it to flourish open and spread his hands and fingers, moving them in an 'arise' gesture. All the loose sheets of paper spread around him in the air in a half sphere. Crowley forgot breathing existed. His heart worked overtime, seemingly pumping all the blood to his cheeks and neck.

Tens, no, more like hundreds of adept drawings. Of Crowley, and Crowley only. Various ages of paper, he could sense the trace of power that kept the older ones pristine. Ink, pencil, charcoal, watercolor. Vibrant red and yellow colors used to depict his hair and snake eyes in great detail. Worrisome amount of drawings of him sleeping in various locations. Drawings from multiple eras, of countless of his different looks and styles. Drawings of his wings. None had his glasses. He was drawn smiling in most of them (Crowley didn't know did he really have that bright of a smile or was it just drawn like that).

Aziraphale doesn't- didn't draw, Crowley thought, numbly. He kept grabbing one paper after another, staring at the details. Some of them had text next to the drawings, proving him wrong. It was Aziraphale's small, tidy handwriting.

I miss his curls.

I miss seeing his eyes glint in the sun. Like flawless, yellow garnets.

Why did men's stockings have to go out of fashion?

He looked stunning in a hanfu. Oh, who am I kidding, he’d look stunning in a jute sack.

Attractive messy bun. Perfection.

He looks so peaceful while sleeping. Some day I wish to see him as calm and content while awake.

Crowley grinned madly. Why was he shaking? A hysterical laughter was trying to tear its way out of his throat. Oh, this was rich. What a weirdo. When that bastard came back, Crowley would needle him about these till the end of time. Absolutely ridiculous. Incredible. Straight up beyond belief…

To his horror, his grin twisted into a grimace and his silent laughter warped into sobs. Before he knew it, he had dropped down on his knees, tears rolling down his cheeks. He managed to pay enough attention to not get any on the drawings.

Well, fuck. Fuck. The overpressurized bottle holding his thoughts and emotions burst open.

I miss you, you bastard angel.

#in which crowley finds aziraphale's drawing notebook #we know aziraphale is a talented drawer. it's basically canon he has a notebook like this #1300w #post s2 angst #good omens fan fiction #ineffable spouses #good omens #manic writes things #Ineffable husbands #Aziracrow

[sofreddie]

The Lion's Den - Part 7

Characters: Gadreel x F!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Smut (Protected Sex, Asphyxiation)

KINK: ASPHYXIATION (@anyfandomkinkbingo)

WC: 1626

A/N: I know it's been ages since I posted LD. I really, truly struggled with this part, both from the character and the kink. But the point of LD was to challenge myself with unfamiliar things. So in that aspect, success? LOL. Two more parts after this are still being written. Hopefully, they won't take as long as this one did. 

Series Masterlist

Part 6

It had been weeks since Y/N had last been at The Lion's Den. She was supposed to finally have her chance with Crowley, the delicious tease that he was. However, duty called, and work needed her time and attention. Crowley was more than understanding, as she expected he would be, and rescheduled her for a private session. Though, she had to admit, after their phone call it felt more like a pending date and she wasn't so upset about that.

Now that she finally had the time to return to the Den, eager to satiate her desires, Crowley was away on his own business. Most likely expanding his empire seeing as The Den was doing so well. While she was pouty that she would have to wait a little longer for a peek beneath those tailored suits, she knew the club had plenty to offer to fulfill her needs and hold her interests.

Greeting Garth at the bar, she ordered a drink, settling in on a stool and surveying the room. The men she was familiar with were not around, but there were plenty of others for her to feast her eyes on. She wasn't sure what she was looking for or even what she was in the mood for, suddenly missing Crowley's intuition all the more.

Until she saw him.

Tall, chiseled jaw, looking like a living, breathing marble statue as he glided through the room. She bit her lip as his eyes locked with hers across the room, a sinister smirk tugging at his lips as he made his way over.

Y/N turned back to the bar, taking a sip of her drink, smirking when she felt his presence. She turned her head towards him with a smile as he took the stool beside her.

"You are Y/N, right?" he spoke, his voice sounding so strong, his words spoken with precision. "Crowley and others have spoken highly of you."

"Glad to know I'm a favored client," she chuckled.

"More than that, maybe," he said but continued before she could question. "I'm Gadreel."

He accepted her hand, kissing the back of it, to which she was now accustomed. Though it still made her heart flutter the same every time, the simple sweetness of it took her breath away.

"Are you spoken for this evening?"

"Not yet," she grinned, loving his charm. "But I'm wondering if you're available?"

"It'd be my absolute pleasure," he responded, his voice deeper as he helped her off the stool.

She was giddy as she allowed Gadreel to guide her up the familiar staircase to the hall of rooms. She wondered what this large and solid man with an air of mystery had in store.

As soon as the door closed behind them, she pounced, her desire ramped up after weeks without. Wrapping her arms around his neck she kissed him hard, pressing herself against him. He responded eagerly, letting her take what she needed from him.

Clothes were stripped and strewn carelessly, Y/N's need driving her into a frenzy. It didn't hurt that he seemed to ooze absolute want for her. As his body was revealed to her, her eyes widened, taking in the taut skin and muscled physique. Was every man at The Den a chiseled God? She pressed herself against him once more, moaning into his mouth at the feel of his firm body against her own.

With little effort he hoisted her up onto his hips, kissing her breathlessly as he moved. When the kiss broke she realized he was sitting in a chair and she was straddling him. She moaned, her hands running over his chest and abs as she ground against him.

His kisses alone completely distracted her, his lips and tongue tasting and consuming her, stealing her breath away. She gasped as she felt his hand reach her eager core, his fingertips teasing lightly against her dampened folds.

Y/N ground her hips against his hand, silently urging him to touch her how and where she needed. She could feel the smirk against her lips as he found her clit and teasingly rubbed small circles against it.

"You're a tease," she whined against his mouth, gasping once more as he slid a finger deep into her core.

"Mmm, and you're needy," he responded against her flesh as his lips wandered along her neck and collarbone.

"Please," she begged, not caring how desperate she sounded.

It had been far too long for her liking since she'd been with anyone and the attentions she received at The Den only left her craving more and more. Now that she found and frequented this place, she wasn't sure she could do without it.

And really, why would she want to?

Sliding two fingers within her core he instantly found her most sensitive spot, making her choke on a breath. He held his fingers firm against her spot, barely moving them, creating intense pressure and desperation. Her hips began grinding against him of their own accord, seeking much-needed friction.

Gadreel chuckled as he studied her intensely, catching her off guard by suddenly fucking her swiftly with his fingers, unrelenting on her g-spot.

"You're so responsive," he groaned, never missing a beat in his ministrations, adding his thumb to her clit to make her gasp and squirm harder. "No wonder everyone enjoys you so much. The perfect playmate," he moaned as her juices dripped down his wrist.

The teasing was too much, holding her on edge but keeping her just out of reach of her climax. She wanted him just as desperate as he made her. Slowing her grinding, she slid a hand down his torso to his throbbing length, grinning as she took him in hand and he groaned.

"You're pretty responsive yourself," she teased back. His responding snarl made her wetter than his fingers had.

Producing a condom from seemingly nowhere, he continued to devour her mouth as he slid it on with practiced ease. He smirked, an arm wrapped around her waist, his muscles bunching beneath her fingers as he hoisted her just enough to slowly lower her down onto him. Her mouth hung open as she slid down his length, her ass settling against his thighs.

"Go on then," Gadreel teased, nipping at her ear lobe, his grip still tight around her. "Ride me."

He emphasized his point by thrusting his hips upwards. Y/N groaned, starting a gentle rock as she lifted herself and dropped back down onto him, gasping as each stroke hit her deep. She tried to move faster, but his grip on her was unyeilding, controlling her movements and driving her mad.

She quickly realized that just because she was on top, didn't mean she was in control. The thought had her clenching around him, drawing a deep moan from his throat. One of his hands rested on her lower back, the other over her collarbone. His hand drifted towards her neck, his fingers wrapping ever-so-lightly.

Her breath hitched and her hips stuttered at the implication.

"Have you ever tried breath play?" Gadreel asked, his hot breath fanning over her ear as he slowly thrust upwards into her heat.

"No," she responded in a breathy moan. The thought excited her. Everything she had tried so far had been amazing, she wasn't about to stop now.

"Mmm, I think you'd really like it," he explained, thrusting harder. "I know Crowley loves it, both on him and others."

Well, she really wanted to please Crowley when she finally got the chance to be with him.

"Okay," she agreed with a nod, holding his gaze so he knew she meant it.

He increased his pace, bouncing her on his lap, his grip around her throat tightening with his pace. She could feel the air being cut off making her lightheaded, but the pounding of his thick cock into her pussy was amplified, building into a crescendo. Her heartbeat throbbed in her temples and the walls of her pussy. It felt like a race: would she cum first, or die?

He released his grip and she took in a deep breath, her orgasm crashing into her as she did. The intensity of it had her wrapping herself around Gadreel, desperately clinging to him as if she might fly off somewhere if she wasn't grounded. Her whole body trembled, her walls convulsing and throbbing desperately against his thick and unyielding length.

"So beautiful when you cum," Gadreel whispered reverently, his hips working a steady rhythm as she ground against him, working through her high and building back up once more.

He took her hand, guiding it to wrap around his own throat, "Try it on me," he insisted with an encouraging nod.

She nodded in return, moving her hips and riding him harder as she began to squeeze.

She could see the change on his face, the same as she felt it happening to her, as he grew close. She released her grip and Gadreel shouted, holding her hips tightly as he fucked them both through their final orgasms.

"Oh my God," she chuckled, her body still twitching and spasming from the intense encounter.

"You okay?" he asked, his hands running soothingly over her body, helping to ease and soothe her muscles.

"Yeah," she nodded, climbing from his lap now she felt more stable. "That was…incredible," she admitted.

He lowered his gaze bashfully, a light blush adorning his skin, "Thank you for allowing me to be your date tonight, to share something new with you."

As she headed home, she thought over the different men she had spent time with and the various things they had opened her up to experience. She was eager to take her new knowledge and apply it to Crowley when she got the chance.

Part 8

FOREVERS:

@lyarr24

@hobby27

@kazsrm67

@maliburenee

@440mxs-wife

@writercole

@spnbaby-67

@all-alone-he-turns-to-stone

@leigh70

@laycblack

#anyfandomkinkbingo #the lion's den #gadreel x reader #gadreel x f!reader #smut #supernatural #spn #supernatural fanfic #spn fanfic

[mlobsters]

supernatural s9e2 devil may care (w. andrew dabb)

isn't it nice to get resurrected or whatever the fuck that was with abaddon naked but with your full face of makeup on

CROWLEY Torture. Brilliant. Can't wait to see Sam in stilettos and a leather bustier, really putting the S-A-M into S&M. Honestly, boys. What are you gonna do to me that I don't do to myself just for kicks every Friday night?

okay.

there's this little drum hit the composer uses sometimes that i swear is used exactly the same way in hannibal and it's been driving me slightly batty for a number of episodes. because can i dredge up a hannibal scene that uses what i'm thinking of...? well. this isn't it exactly but it's in a similar (or same) percussion instrument and reverb/effects on it

supernatural s9e2 / hannibal s2e8 - dramatic drums of doom

lol the transition of sound to the hannibal clip was so smooth i missed the drums i was trying to listen for in the spn one. sigh. this ... is why this watching one episode thing turns into a 2-3 hour ordeal.

SERGEANT (cont'd) So unless you can give me one good reason you got a couple of pretty-boy agents poking around my crime scene, I'm gonna put them in cuffs and spank your ass raw, understand?

all right. they are very pretty, can't argue with that

CROWLEY Oh, I know plenty. For example, I know she'd love you. Skinny, submissive... you're just her type.

crowley's in a mood. needs that weekly torture wank seems like

TRACY I watched a demon slaughter my parents. And the whole time it talked about how it was celebrating. Some dumb kid let Lucifer out of his cage.

that was unnecessary

kevin's a smart cookie, he better not be falling for any of crowley's bullshit

LOL practically a nip slip with how bundled up they usually are

ABADDON So appreciate you boys coming when I call. I think that's what I like most about you Winchesters. You're so obedient. And suicidally stupid. I like that, too.

DEAN Are we gonna fight or make out? 'Cause I'm getting some real mixed signals here. ABADDON I want Crowley. Or what's left of him. DEAN Yeah? What's in it for me? ABADDON I let you die. You give me Crowley's head, and I will snap your neck, quick and clean. You won't feel a thing, trust me. DEAN And if I tell you to get bent? ABADDON Oh. Well... you know, I've loved this body since the moment I first saw it. You're the perfect vessel, Dean. You give a girl all sorts of nasty ideas. So go ahead and play hard to get, and I'll peel off this "no demons allowed" tattoo and blow smoke up your ass. DEAN Ooh. Well, I gotta tell you, between you and me, it is a horror show up there. ABADDON It can get worse. Trust me. 'Cause once I'm on top, I'll make you watch. And I'll use your body. Have you ever felt an infant's blood drip down your chin? Or listened to a girl scream as you rip her guts out? Because you will. It's you and me, lover. We'll have a grand old time.

i don't really see all the threatened sexualized violence against dean in the same way as some people (which i mean, for me is good, because it's upsetting when it does read that way to me). this one is by far way more graphic and clear in intent and distressing. up there with hallucifer's constant mentioning of rape to sam.

angel possessed eyes are cool. janky wings with feathers actively falling off made me snort

ZEKE!SAM You are troubled, still. DEAN Yeah, it's just that, uh... this is on me. I was the one who talked Sam out of boarding up Hell. Okay? So every demon deal, every kill that they make... well, you're looking at the person who let it happen. ZEKE!SAM You were protecting your brother. I am in Sam's head. Everything he knows, I know. And I know that what you did, you did out of love. DEAN Yeah, uh, look, Zeke—I'm gonna call you Zeke—I'm not really with the whole, uh, love, and... love. ZEKE!SAM But it is why I said yes.

i am, however, here for someone making dean uncomfortable talking about his very obvious feelings about sam

DEAN This is nuts. I mean, you're Sam, but you're not Sam, and normally he's the one I'm talking to about all this stuff. I'm trusting you, Zeke. I just gotta hope that you're one of the good guys.

i'm sure it'll all be fine, dean

CROWLEY Please. Your little plan to have me stew in my own... delicious... juices... pathetic. You want intel. I want things, too. Maybe we can come to some kind of arrangement. Quid pro quo, gentlemen.

very hannibal of you

supernatural s9e2 / hannibal s1e13

"Savoureux" is the thirteenth episode of Season 1, and overall the thirteenth produced hour of Hannibal. It originally aired on June 20, 2013.

Episode # Season 9, Episode 2 First aired October 15, 2013

funny. the very special episode that everything reminds nic of hannibal

DEAN Well... if she is alive, then she's dead. In every way that matters, she's dead, Kevin, I'm sorry. I know you're dying to bolt, man. I get it. But out that door, it's demons, and it's angels, and they would all love to get their hands on a prophet. So even with Crowley here, this is still the safest place for you. It just is. And we need you, man. KEVIN Because I'm useful. DEAN Because you're family. After all the crap we've been through, after all the good that you've done... man, if you don't think that we would die for you... I don't know what to tell you. Because you, me, Sam and Cas, we are all we've got. But hey, if none of that matters to you, then I won't stop you.

well i do kind of love how quick dean is to adopt someone, this kind of emotional scene with kevin feels a little out of left field. like i can see the components that led to it, but kevin was out here being miserable and tortured by himself, dean gave some encouragement and drugs. but for dean just gettin all squirrely over ezekial saying he loves sam, now he's gonna have a heart to heart with kevin? i mean, in dean-land i guess talking mushy about family is acceptable, but the L word is not.

DEAN Crap. We're living in a freaking sitcom. What about you, how's the uh, the engine running? SAM Honestly, um, I feel better than I have in a long time. I mean, I realize it's crazy out there, and we have trouble coming for us, but I look around and I see friends, and family. I am happy with my life, for the first time in... forever. I-I am, I really am. It's just, things are... things are good.

LAYING IT ON A LITTLE THICK, SHOW.

choke back that guilt there dean-o

#supernatural #spnwatch #spn 9x02 #andrew dabb #hannibal #brian reitzell #he did the score for hannibal and it's slightly divisive because a lot of it is pretty discordant but i love it #i have had many thoughts and feelings about the hannibal score see the link at the bottom of my pinned post if you want to know more :P #tv score #spnclip

[charliemaybeghost]

Crowley, Aziraphale and McGrae's Trait Perspective.

(I have a psych test coming up this is the only way I can study.)

The first trait is Openess, which is how happy you are to experience change and new things, if you're happy to face challenges, and if you're creative. Crowley scores higher here than Az I think, especially with the magic scene where he shoots a gun for the first time and is worried about shooting Az but does it anyway. Compared to Az thinking he's going to fall for lying once. (poor baby). Az is however quite open to anything if Crowley tempts him long enough.

Conscientiousness - being well prepared, having a set structure, being detail oriented, spending time planning. I think Aziraphale more than Crowley for this one because of how well he planned the ball, and was very goal oriented with his selling of books (anything to dance with Crowley apparently). Then again Az did go to France during the revolution for crepes. (unless it was all along a secret plan to be rescued by crowley).

Extroversion- tbh they both score quite low. they don't have very developed social groups, not very many close friends, they don't particularly like new people. But Az would score higher because he likes people watching him do magic even when he fails spectacularly and he has more conversations with random humans than Crowley seems to. Although Crowleys glowering distaste for the people they do interact with might be mostly jealousy. and because he just expects to be let down by everyone - not good enough for heaven not evil enough for hell :( and now not even accepted by Az. abandoned by everyone he's ever loved and cared for.

Agreeableness- this includes trust, which Az has in God and Crowley. Affection (watch how many times he reaches for Crowley at the slightest chance.) Kindness ("I think mynexactly is different from your exactlt" - Az helps anyone even the guy that tried to kill him), Altruism, and other prosocial behaviours also come under this. Crowley ofc would get in trouble for being too nice so this makes since. (he still does try though. and then get tortured for it :/ ) but his lunched at the Ritz and trying to get Az to stay over - very affectionate

Neuroticism - Crowley all the way. Gets upset easily? mood swings? sad and anxious? (my poor child), worried about everything (reading the magic manual, fire extinguishers, hating Gabriel, etc. He isn't particularly afraid of discorporations though it seems, compared to Az-"drive slower!"-iraphale. Az is more worried about upsetting heaven though. tbh they are both very anxious.

#good omens #social psych #trait perspective personality #personality psychology #aziraphale and crowley #go 2 spoilers

[wittywallflower]

The Bookshop and The Bentley

(980 words, on AO3)

A material object in the long term possession of a celestial (or infernal) being that has had no end of miracles worked on it is inevitably changed by the experience. One hesitates to call it sentient life, since only God Herself has the power to create entirely new forms of Life. But under the influence of enough powerful and magical Love, an inanimate object can find itself having Feelings and forming Opinions.

The bookshop loved Crowley. It’s seen so many cozy moments between him and the Angel. Evenings of wine and reminisces and rousing arguments that somehow always ended amicably. The shop had caught both of them each staring when the other wasn’t looking. When Aziraphale laughed a little too enthusiastically at one of Crowley's anecdote's and sloshed red wine onto his pale clothing, the Angel didn't even have time to pout or mutter an 'oh, bother' before a demonic miracle whisked the stain away. Many a forgotten cup of tea or cocoa, grown cold while the Angel was absorbed in a book, was returned to a perfect steaming warmth with a quiet snap that went unnoticed by the reader.

The bookshop witnessed it all. Noticed the little touches, fond but restrained. Brief. Not enough.

Most of all, the bookshop could never forget the Fire, and the Demon who stood in the flames, crying his soul out for the Angel.

Yes, the bookshop loved Crowley quite well and let her old bones relax to suit the serpent. Couch just right for a lounging sprawl, just the right length for absurdly long limbs. Bookshelves just the right height for a nonchalant lean. The bell above the door chimed much more quietly on days when Crowley was in a bad mood. On the very rare occasion that the Demon wanted to find one specific book from among the thousands, that volume always seemed to be protruding out from the otherwise orderly row of bound spines, just enough to be easily noticed.

No changes that would upset dear Aziraphale's organization or aesthetic preferences. Just little things to let the demon know he was welcome. The bookshop and her owner would always welcome him.

--------------------------------------------------------

The Bentley, for her part, had more complicated feelings about Aziraphale. She had rumbled her displeasure along with her owner’s each time Aziraphale criticized Crowley’s driving and the sleek car's frightful speed. As if Crowley, or the Bentley, would be so crass as to actually hit anything. Or anyone. (Witches on bicycle don't count; she hit them.)

When the Angel brought the flask of holy water he sat on in the passenger seat and told Crowley he went too fast. Somehow the Bentley knew kph was not the problem at hand, this time. Crowley had holed up for weeks afterwards, as he often did when he was upset. The Bentley had waited patiently for him at the curb, proudly showroom-shiny and very smugly parked where she shouldn’t be. Not that a ticket had ever graced her windshield. Birds didn't dare come within shitting distance.

She loved Crowley, that was unassailable truth.

For Crowley she had eagerly jumped the curb, stopping as close to the other celestial as possible. But the Angel could not be swayed to run away with them, and Crowley’s frantic entreaties were in vain. The Bentley had expected to spend a lot of time untouched outside Crowley’s modern flat in the near future. The demon would almost certainly nap for decades now.

But that was not to be. Sitting out on the street, the Bentley hadn’t witnessed enough to really understand the sequence of events. But she understood the Fire. Understood as the bookshop went up in flames that there would be no more complaints from the passenger seat. Understood why she was thrown onto the road with a speed that was vicious instead of smooth. Understood the damp tracks on Crowley’s face as the Bentley herself went up in flames in their race to Tadfield. Even the hottest flames of hellfire could not evaporate the tears of a demon’s grief.

It was Important to Crowley that they make it Tadfield, despite the fact that they were both feeling utterly destroyed. So the Bentley made sure they did. Because it was Important to Crowley and she loved him so. That was all that was necessary to defy hellfire and physics and London traffic. In so far as a vintage car can understand logic, it made perfect sense to her. And so naturally when she found herself intact and once more illegally parked on a familiar Mayfair street, it only seemed proper and fitting.

So despite her reservations over the decades. Despite Aziraphale’s annoyingly tight white-knuckle grip on various parts of the interior at every sharp turn. The Bentley came to love Aziraphale as well. At least, she played his favorite Queen songs more when he was in the car and kept the volume within ethereal comfort levels (if only just). And she never let Aziraphale's pastry boxes or takeout containers slide on the seat. Not just to avoid a potential mess for herself. Through Crowley the Bentley could sense the gentle disappointment the angel would feel over a delicate cookie crumbled to pieces before he could taste it, or a cupcake with half its frosting smeared on the inside of its container.

Small gestures they were but meaningful, given how loyal she was to Crowley.

But she would have driven through flames every time just for the glow of joy in Crowley as he left Aziraphale after a night of enjoyable company. The warmth he absorbed in the presence of the angel leeched into the Bentley's leather seat, love on top of Love. The Bentley had a private competition with herself, trying to set a new record time making it from the Mayfair flat to the Soho shop. It was her favorite drive in all the world.

#good omens #good omens fic #crowley #aziraphale #crowley/aziraphale #aziraphale/crowley #good omens bookshop #good omens bentley #good omens text post #gomens fic

[ambiguousdisorderken]

in your expert opinion what are some of the most destiel-heavy episodes of spn? i stopped watching around season 7 and have no interest in engaging w the plot of the show at all but i’m in the mood for some gay yearning ykwim

Hi anon! Thank you for reaching out to me about this, I’m, no-joke, very flattered. I’d seen a couple posts on this same question, very thorough and detailed lists on Destiel-centric episodes, but at the moment I cannot find any of them, that would’ve answered your request much faster. So, in advance, sorry, my reply is probably coming in extremely late, but I did write this from scratch, so yeah.

Even though storylines in SPN can be very shitty and hollow, I do feel that to get the full Destiel experience -that long-drawn yearning- one would have to watch the entirety of the show, even if Cas isn’t in the episode or if there’s no explicit mention of their relationship/bond because it gives you a better understanding of them as characters and of how their relationship affects the narrative.

Now, you mentioned you stopped around S7, which is completely understandable and justified given the Dick plot game was very weak and, in my opinion, annoying (so little Cas!). I’m going to start listing from S7 in case you want to refresh your SPN before jumping straight into unseen episodes. Also, since you mentioned no interest in the plot and are specifically craving those sweet crumbs of gay yearning, I’ll skip most one-sided / too subtle episodes and cut to the chase.

Lastly, I hate spoiling things, but you’ve probably seen it all on Tumblr. I tried to keep the episodes’ descriptions short, as it might come in useful. Stuck to key words, quotes and/or little comments.

 Season 7

7x01 – Meet the New Boss: Godstiel, sincere apology. Cas: “I'm gonna find some way to redeem myself to you.”

7x02 – Hello, Cruel World: Mourning. Trench coat melancholy. The heart-wrenching eulogy: “Dumb son of a bitch.”

7x17 – The Born-Again Identity: Emmanuel!Cas, reunion, longing, hurt.

7x21 – Reading is Fundamental: Honey!Cas, hug, hurt, reunion, that painful SORRY (board game) scene.

7x23 – Survival of the Fittest: Honey!Cas, forgiveness, adorable, wified Cas. Dean hits us with: “Nobody cares that you're broken, Cas!" but also “I'd rather have you, cursed or not.”

Season 8 (this season is so good and Destiel is the driving motor of it, I swear. If you can, watch it complete.)

8x01 – We Need to Talk About Kevin: Dean in Purgatory looking for the angel.  Cas is referred to as “your [Dean’s] angel.”

8x02 – What’s Up, Tiger Mommy?: HUG!!!, Purgatory reunion, face touch, very romantic. Monster: “ You'll find your angel there.” //  Dean: “Let me bottom-line it for you. I'm not leaving here without you.”

8x05 – Blood Brother: Cas vs. Benny cat fight lol. Dean: “Cas... we're gonna shove your ass back through the eye of that needle if it kills all three of us.”

8x07 – A Little Slice of Kevin: Cas comes back from Purgatory, but before that Dean starts seeing him in places. Very tragic; hallucinating your dead significant other trope. Has That boner scene. Dean: “I did everything I could to get you out! EVERYTHING!” Cas helps Dean see what truly happened in Purgatory and not his self-altered memories. PACKED!

8x08 – Hunteri Heroici: Hilarious, romantic, intimate. Dean and Cas have an heart to heart. They actually communicate. Cas “I’ll watch over you.”

8x10 Torn and Frayed: They work a case together, and when I say heart eyes…

8x17 – Goodbye Stranger: THIS. EPISODE. Dean “I need you.”

8x19 – Taxi Driver: Separation. Naomi to Dean: "You're hoping Castiel will return to you. I admire your loyalty; I only wish he felt the same way."

8x22 – Clip Show: Lack of trust, hurt, tense interactions. Romantic too (basically, Cas gets Dean an apology basket).

8x23 – Sacrifice: Meaningful conversation and a gay couple hit by Cupid parallel. Dean “So this is it? E.T goes home?"

 Season 9

9x01 – I think I’m Gonna Like it Here: Dean prays to Cas IN.A.CHAPEL. Worry, longing, separation. Dean “Please, man, I need you here.”

9x03 – I’m No Angel: Human!Cas and jealous!Dean.

9x06 – Heaven Can’t Wait: Human!Cas TEXT-BOOK LONGING. GAY AS FUCK. Gazing, touching, they even TALK (for real).

9x09 – Holy Terror: Adorable Cas, flirty vibes, happyish, funny. Cas: “Cas is back in town!”

9x10 – Road Trip: Cas comforts Dean, Cas and Crowley bitching at each other, overall protective!Cas.

9x18 – Metafiction. Cas finds out about the Mark of Cain.

9x21 – King of the Damned: Hug, strong boyfriends vibes.

9x22 – Stairway to Heaven: Cas gives up an entire army, for Dean. Metatron about Cas “He's in love………………………. with humanity.”

9x23  – Do You Believe in Miracles?: At this point, it’s canon stated that Cas will do anything and lose everything if that means saving Dean. Metatron to Cas “You draped yourself in the flag of heaven, but ultimately, it was all about saving one human, right?”

 Season 10

10x01 – Black: Demon!Dean and sick/brokenhearted Cas in a slutty robe missing his man.

10x03 – Soul Survivor: ICONIC. Angel on Demon action! Cas turns down Hannah because he’s too gay and in love. Intimate Deancas talk.

10x05 – Fan Fiction: No Cas, but Destiel references. 

10x09 – The Things We Left Behind: That.Lunch.Date. Deancas introduction to co-parenting.

10x14 – The Executioner’s Song: We get Daddy Murder aka Cain. This is a Pivotal episode to understand Dean’s character development. Plus, it has Deancas interactions.

10x16 – Paint It Black: No Cas, but Dean opens up in confessionary; repressed BISEXUAL AS FUCK.

10x18 – Book of the Damned: Charlie meets Cas. Gay energies everywhere. Cute domestic little scene.

10x20 – Angel Heart: PARENTING! Essential to understand Cas from this point forward.

10x22 – The Prisoner: Just… just watch it. One of THEE Destiel episodes.

10x23 – Brother’s Keeper: No Deancas interactions but it’s the finale, and I recommend watching it because next season takes off literally right from here. No time jumps.

 Season 11

11x02 – Form and Void: Could skip to the very end which is when Cas comes back.

11x03 – The Bad Seed: Cursed!Cas. Dean takes care of him, even wraps him in a blanket. He also cradles his face. Extreme Hurt/Comfort. Jacting joices rejoice.

11x10 – The Devil in the Details: Could skip but has Casifer in it. Interesting to see his dynamic with Dean.

11x18 – Hell’s Angel: Casifer. Dean "It? It's not an it, Sam, it's Cas!"

11x23 – Alpha and Omega: Huggg! Cas willing to go on a guaranteed suicide mission with Dean. Very tender and sad.

 Season 12

12x02 – Keep Calm and Carry On: ANOTHER HUG! Dean presents his boyfriend to his mom<3 Soft and romantic.

12x09 – First Blood: Reunion hug<3, Cas pining… as in he counts his every minute without Dean.

12x10 – Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets: Direct parallel with canon couple. Crystal-clear mutual affection. One of the best. Angel Ishim to Cas about Dean “I'm gonna help you. I'm gonna cure you of your human weakness same way I cured my own… by cutting it out.”

12x12 – Stuck in the Middle with You: A dying Cas confesses his love. “I love you. I love all of you.”

12x19 – The Future: We find out Dean gave Cas a MIXTAPE!!! Very romantic and full of yearning, also worry and what could be seen as a betrayal (ish…).

12x23 – All Along the Watch Tower: Hands down, one of the most distressing Destiel episodes. Cas dies.

 Season 13

13x01 – Lost and Found: This is the worst because you have Dean trying to assimilate Cas’ death. Core of Dean’s widow’s arc. Jack introduction, that’s their new kid.

13x02 – The Rising Son: Widow’s arc (you could skip it, but why would you?).

13x03 – Patience: Widow’s arc (you could skip it, but why would you?). Dean to Sam “He manipulated him, he made him promises, said, ‘paradise on earth’ and Cas bought it and you know what that got him? It got him dead! Now you might be able to forget about that, but I can’t!”

13x04 – The Big Empty: Continuation of widow’s arc and Cas wakes up in the Empty. The Empty to Cas: "I know who you love. There's nothing for you back there." // Dean to Sam “I need you to keep the faith, for both of us. ‘Cause right now, I… Right now, I don’t believe in a damn thing.”

13x05 – Advanced Thanatology: Suicidal and hopeless Dean gets his win. Cas comes back. Gives me the chills.

13x06 – Tombstone: COWBOY BOYFRIENDS!

13x14 – Good Intentions: Happy and fun Destiel scene. So Very Married.

13x23 – Let The Good Times Roll: Season finale, Dean talks about retiring (plans include Cas of course) and just very nice to see them interact.

Season 14

14x03 – The Scar: Reunion.

14x08 – Byzantium: Deanand Cas dealing with their child’s death, then bringing him back by Cas making a deal with the Empty. IMPORTANT EPISODE.

14x09 – The Spear: Cas uses the royal We – married behavior.

14x10 – Nihilism: Dean is stuck in his own mind, and Cas and Sam try to bring him back. Cas “Please, you have to -- you have to try to remember, because the people in your life -- in your real life, out there -- we need you to come back.”

14x12 – Prophet and Loss: Dean gets his very own Dr. Sexy, aka Dr. Cas.

14x14 – Ouroboros: Basically another date (their kid tags along) and They TALK. Very intimate and established marriage vibes.

14x18 – Absence: Shits starts to go south. [ Dean: “Who cares what Jack said? We don't know what happened! But I swear, if he did something to her, if she is -- (points to Castiel) Then you're dead to me. (Castiel looks crushed after Dean says that).]

14x20 – Moriah: Tense and very upsetting. Relationship very damaged.

 Season 15 (I would advise watching the entire season because it relies heavily on Destiel. They’re the heart and the emotional motor leading the plot onwards.)

15x01 – Back and To The Future: Deancas’ in the aftermath of their kid’s death. Tension gets worse.

15x02 – Raising Hell: Tension rises, this is very intense. Cas “Dean. You asked, "What about all of this is real?" We are.”

15x03 – The Rupture: Breaking point ends in divorce.

15x06 – Golden Time: Painful phone call which speaks volumes about the current state of their relationship at the time. Also, good to see where they’re standing and how they’re coping.

15x08 – Our Father Who Aren’t in Heaven: Strained relationship so obvious they’re offered couples’ therapy.

15x09 – The Trap: MASTERPIECE. Back to Purgatory. Can (and is) taken as Dean’s love confession (because it is). 

15x12 – Galaxy Brain: So married. Little domestic date, you can see LOVE written in their faces.

15x13 – Destiny’s Child: AU!Dean and Sam. Not a yearning episode per se, but AU!Dean? SO GAY.

15x17 – Unity: God reveals that the only act of free will in any universe he ever created has been Cas choosing Dean.

15x18 – Despair: Cas confesses his love to Dean.

#Anonymous #thanks for coming to my ted talk #im posting this at 2:30 am so i'll most likely reblog it at a more reasonable hour ..in case anon is closer to my time zone #why am i even saying this..im sleepy #destiel #answered #destiel episode guide #there might be number/name mistakes because again sleepish.forgive me #long post

[not-your-regular-writer]

I wrote this for Valentine's Day this year after I saw this card:

And it totally looked like something Crowley would give Aziraphale haha. So enjoy :)

*Phone rings in the bookshop. Aziraphale picks up. It's Crowley.*

- Hello, Angel. Have I, by any chance, dropped my black leather coat at your place?

- Well, hello, Crowley. Which one, you own too many of them.

- Oh, you know, the... The... Well... You're probably right. Can't even describe it without making it look like the one I'm wearing right now.

- So how do you know it's missing?

- I just know. There's a void in my wardrobe. That's how I know. But it's ok, it's a cheap one, maybe it's in this mess I call a home. And... How are things up there?

- Oh... Things are just fine. Today is a special day, many clients have come looking for books, and I'm very much pleased to notice that people find appeasing to give books as gifts in a special date like today's.

- (hesitant) Special... Date?

- (Azi starts blushing for some reason) Valentine's...

- Oh, sure. That date. Can't stand it. Too much love on the streets. No wonder I've got a headache since I woke up this morning. Everything is so... Pink. And happy. Urgh, makes my stomach...

- (Irritated) I see, Crowley, you hate valentines day. Nothing new about it. If you excuse me, there's a line of clients waiting to get their sweeties a book.

- Oh, fine, then. Talk to you later.

- That remains to be seen.

- Wha...

*Azi hangs up, feeling a bit ouraged. He breathes deeply before going back to the clients, his eyes go over a chair next to him. The black coat is there. He can not only see it, but smell it from that distance. He sighs, reaching discreetly to it. Aziraphale had hidden a little poem in its pocket. He thought it would be sweet if he picked it up today, and found it alone, of course, maybe it would put a smile on his devilish handsome face. He wanted to play Crowley a bit, but he was so unpleasant Aziraphale gave up on the entire joke. He shakes his head, too upset to finish the gesture. But the smell trailed behind him. He felt so much love around him, humans could be so charming sometimes, that he forgot about Crowley for a while. "

Later that day...

*Aziraphale is organizing the last pile of books on the counter. It was a fine day, pleasant, cheery, fun. He made a good sale, and earlier that day he had picked up some roses to give as a courtesy to the buyers. He had cut up lots of pink and red paper hearts to have customers write a message to their sweethearts as a surprise inside the books. He had even baked some chocolate muffins in the shape of hearts, but as a treat to himself, guessing he would probably be alone by the end of the day, as always, but in the company of a good cup of tea and a new prophecy book that had just arrived from the 15th century...*

*The doorbell rings. He raises his eyes. Crowley is coming in, taking his glasses off. *

- Crowley... (hesitant) What a... (forcing a smile) Delightful surprise.

- Hey, angel. (looking around, embarrassed) I thought you'd be finished for today, so I thought we could... Have dinner, or something. You know, nothing special, I mean, we always have dinner, it's...

- (smiling the tiniest of grins, out of sight, still with his back turned to Crowley, putting the books back on the shelf) Oh, yes, just dinner. I suppose the Ritz is going to be a bit... Busy for the night, so...

- Oh. You're right. Maybe it is not the best night to dine out...

- Indeed, my friend. (a bit optimistic) But we could arrange something...

- I don't know, angel. Now that you've mentioned it, it's true. It's gonna be noisy, and... Crowded... And... You're probably right. I didn't really think through it.

- Well, I... (he turns around, getting closer to Crowley, who is still at the door) I could cook for us. I mean, I do not mean to brag about it, but I happen to be a very good cook, thank you.

- Oh, I do know that. We could have some... Pasta?

- I'm thinking a very tasty ravioli, marinara sauce, maybe some corn bread and cheese, and... Oh, we'll see.

- I don't wanna impose...

- Of course not, my friend, it is no imposition.

- Then let me get us some red wine to go along with it.

- (Excited again) Fabulous. Then, I will get dinner done, meet you here in an hour?

- Sure, sure. I will... Get the wine.

*Crowley is out on the street, it's been one hell of a task to find fine red wine around, but he managed. When he was getting back to the bookshop, he saw something that sparkled an idea on his mind... *

*Back to the bookshop. Aziraphale is cooking, much amused and pleased with himself. He's distracted checking the taste of his marinara, and he can't see Crowley coming closer.*

- Aziraphale?

- (Jumping) Oh, for good heavens! You almost never use my name, what has got into you to do that?

- (smiling, a bit shy, unusual for him) I... I... (going to say something, but changing his mind) I found our wine. Your favorite of course. Had to put some effort into it, what one doesn't do for a nice bottle of Pinot Noir?

- Oh... (frowning, a bit confused) Definitely. Would you be so kind to put it on the table, along with the basket of bread?

- Yeah, yeah, no problem. (he picks up the wine and the basket, still fighting with words. He makes up his mind, dropping both, and picking something from his pocket, handing it abruptly to Aziraphale). Here. It's for you.

- (Startled, running his hand on the white apron he put on to cook, a little upset, maybe thinking the should have picked a more appropriate moment to give gifts) Ah... Well... (speechless, he picks up. It's a card, a blank white paper, written in black and white, very simple, very blasé. Aziraphale listens to his heart in his years, reading it intently).

- (Crowley starts talking fastly, trying to distract the mood, the sweetness of the occasion) I know it's valentine's day, but you know, humans send cards to one another, anyway, it just felt weird to just not say anything, so I got you this card. It's not a big deal. It doesn't really mean anything. There isn't even a heart on it. So basically it's a card. Saying hi. (Exhales, embarrassed) Oh, forget it...

*Aziraphale hugs him, tender and carefully, his eyes are glistening, he feels much happier than he can express, but he just hugs him, hoping the gesture speaks for itself. Crowley is still as a rock, eyes wide, hands on his pockets. He tries for a pat on the back, but he can't seem to make his hands work. He notices Aziraphale's face is very close to his, he can smell his skin, his white smooth hair, almost tempted to touch it... They part. Aziraphale is smiling beautifully, like only an angel could. Like only Aziraphale could, actually. *

- Thank you, dear.

*Crowley nods his head, not sure of what he could say, but Aziraphale doesn't seem to need it. He goes back to the stove, still holding the card close to his heart without even noticing. It makes Crowley smile, but he takes the bottle and the basket back to put them on the table. The smile never left his face.*

*They have a nice dinner, talking, joking, discussing, eating and drinking. It was a fine night, like many others they had together. But this one had something to it, a different glow, a lighter atmosphere. Crowley is ready to go back to his apartment, his heart is a little heavy, and he wonders why. It is an unusual feeling, but curiously, he can't remember feeling it towards anyone else but Aziraphale. They stand by the door, Aziraphale has that candid smile again after going in the back and getting Crowleys coat.*

- Here. I was just playing you.

- I knew it! Aren't you becoming a trickster yourself?

- (smiles wider) I've got my charms...

- (low voice) You do. (Louder) Ah, so... I should get going. It was a fine meal, I must say.

- Well, thank you. It was a fine company, as always, my friend.

- Well... Happy... Night. Of February... 14th.

- Ditto, in fact, it's almost February 15th.

- Sure... See you around.

- Definitely

- Bye, Angel.

- Bye, Crowley.

*Crowley walks towards his car, feeling a bit dizzy. It was probably all that love thing in the air. At this hour, a bit more than love should be in the air, in fact. He breathed the air, closing his eyes, holding the coat in his hands. Something fell, and he picked up. It was a pink piece of paper. It had Aziraphale handwriting in it. He frowned.*

- He wrote a poem. For... Me.

*He turns around, looking at the bookshop, but now it's all dark and empty. Aziraphale probably went to rest. He would not bother him, right? Maybe... Maybe he didn't even intended for him to find it, maybe he forgot. Yes, he must have forgotten, he didn't even mention... He looks down at the paper again. The feeling of being completely filled inside, but so empty at the same time. So light and so heavy. So close and so far. He gets into his car, putting the poem back in his pocket. He starts driving, too pleased to admit. But the smile is there, crossing his face with the light of a thousand stars.*

*A light shines in the upper window of the bookshop. Aziraphale watched the entire scene. He eats a muffin, too glad to mind, looking at the card over the table. It was the best Valentines Day he had in centuries. Things were getting better."

#neil gaiman #michael sheen #ineffable wives #aziraphale #crowley #david tennant #ineffable husbands #aziracrow

[rizlowwritessortof]

Never Look Back

Bethany Rae Cooper didn’t realize when she met the Winchesters in her family’s bar and grill that her life would never be the same. But she’s always believed that everything happens for a reason, even if it’s not exactly what you were expecting…

“Bethany Rae!  Get your butt back in here!”  Beth heard her stepfather’s voice clearly through the front door as she strode angrily away from the bar, her long dark ponytail swinging with each step.  "Beth!  I mean it!“

"I’m out of here, Rick.  I’m done.  See you around,” she shouted back, unlocking her dingy-white beat-up ‘65 Ford Fairlane and climbing behind the wheel, slamming the door.  She threw up a cloud of dust as she backed up and tore out of the dirt parking lot, fishtailing a little as she hit the main road.

Her thoughts flew furiously as she drove.  Seriously!  Did Rick and her mom think she was going to let them treat her like a child forever?  She was twenty-freaking-five years old, and they had the nerve to try and tell her who she could go out with!  The guys that left about a half an hour before her were both–well, hot, with that sense of danger around them that seemed to draw her like an alcoholic to his whiskey.  And when the one who introduced himself as Dean had asked her to leave with him, her mother had come unglued and ordered them out of the bar.  Actually, unglued was an understatement–she had never seen her mom so upset, and accusing her of overreacting just made things worse.  Dean had slipped her his cell number as he left, winking, and she had stuffed it into her pocket so her mother wouldn’t see.  Beth reached for her pocket–the scrap of paper was still there.  She smiled defiantly to herself, then reached for the ipod and cranked some tunes, driving a little too fast as usual and letting the music wash over her, fitting her angry mood.

She came to a screeching stop in the driveway of their faded two-story house, slamming her car door and walking with determination to the front door.  She took the stairs two at a time, grabbing a suitcase from her closet and throwing clothes into it with abandon.  She filled a duffle bag with more, then grabbed a box and added her CD’s, laptop, a few books and pictures, and anything else she could think of on the spur of the moment.  She had threatened before, but this time she was really leaving, and she wanted to be gone before her mother or Rick had a chance to catch up to her.  She loaded her car quickly, then left her small Midwest home town in her rearview mirror, not even caring about a destination.  All she cared about was getting away.

She thought with frustration of the two years she had been gone from home, free, pursuing what she wanted to do with her life.  It had been two–no, three years now.  Nursing school.  She did well, too–and then her mom had the heart attack, and she came home to help out, then let them guilt her into staying to help run the bar and grill.  Gave up her dream to help her family, and in return they tried to run her life.  Well–no more.

It was already 1 a.m., and she knew she needed to find a motel room for the night.  Hopefully they wouldn’t follow her out of town.  They’d think this was just a tantrum, and by the time they realized differently, they hopefully wouldn’t be able to find her.  Not that she didn’t plan to let them know she was all right–just not for a few days.  She spotted the motel sign, lights partly burned out, about 30 miles from Lovell, just on the edge of Greybull, and pulled into the parking lot.  She walked into the office, reaching for the cash in her pocket, and stopped dead as she met the green gaze and wide smile of Dean Winchester, who was standing near the front door.

“Well–look who just crashed our party, Sammy,” he said, his voice husky and warm.  "Beth, right?“

Beth felt herself blush a little, nodding with a half smile.  "Yeah.  And you’re Dean, and you,” she said, turning towards the taller man, “are Sam.”

“Right,” Sam answered, nodding with a friendly smile.  "I take it you continued that shouting match with your mother after we left.“

"You have no idea,” she answered, shaking her head as she stepped up to the desk.  "Single room, please.“  She registered and paid for her room, then turned to face the brothers, who stood waiting for her to finish.  Dean’s smile was gone from his face, and she looked at him quizzically.  "Something wrong?”

He shook his head, squinting a little as he looked at her.  "Look, I didn’t mean to cause trouble for you.  Didn’t even know that was your mother, in fact.  I hope you’re not burning any bridges here.“

She looked back at him, one hand tucked into the back pocket of her jeans.  "Don’t worry about me.  This has been coming for a long time.  Tonight was just the last straw.”  They walked out of the office together, grabbing bags from their vehicles and heading for the doors to their rooms, which were next door to each other.  

“Want to come in for a drink?” Dean threw the invitation over his shoulder as he entered their room, then turned to wait for an answer.

She stared at him, tempted for a moment, but then smiled and shook her head.  "Look, no offense, but I don’t really know you guys.  But thanks for the offer.“

The smirk was back on Dean’s face, and it made her heart falter a little.  "Smart girl,” he countered, and Sam smiled as he waved goodnight, closing the door behind them.  

Beth entered her room, throwing her bag on the bed and shaking her head at the hideous early-70’s decor.  She dead-bolted her door and headed for the shower, hoping it wasn’t too disgusting.  She was pleasantly surprised at the cleanliness, which helped somewhat to make up for the ugly.  She put on an old threadbare t-shirt and a pair of shorts, brushed through her long dark hair, and crawled into bed, sighing with relief and exhaustion.  It didn’t take long for her to drift off to sleep, deciding that morning would be soon enough to figure out where she was going.

A loud crash jolted Beth from a deep sleep, and she lay there, not sure if she had really heard it or if she had been dreaming.  She squinted at the alarm clock, which read 4:23; then another crash and a muffled shout startled her completely awake, her heart pounding.  The sounds were coming from next door, Sam and Dean’s room, and she scrambled out of her bed, heading for the door.  She stepped outside, planning to knock and ask them if they were all right, but the door was standing wide open.  She moved aside barely in time to avoid being flattened by a body flying out of the opening, and stood open-mouthed as Dean looked up at her, his face bloodied.  "Get back to your room!“ he ordered harshly, launching himself up from the ground and rejoining the chaos inside.  Beth backed up, her eyes wide, and did as she was told, listening, horrified, to the noises coming through the walls.  

A few seconds later, it seemed as if the silence was deafening in contrast.  Beth debated with herself, but concern for the men next door won out, and she left her room again, going to their door.  Sam was slowly getting up, while Dean was–holy crap, he was pulling a knife from the body he knelt next to on the floor.  A small sound escaped her lips, before she had time to clap her hand over her mouth.  Dean’s expression as he looked towards her frightened her almost more than the scene before her, and she turned and ran back to her room, Sam’s voice calling out her name behind her.  She grabbed her phone, shaking with shock, and heard Sam calling her name, banging on her door.  "Beth, please–just let me talk to you.  I need to explain what’s going on.”  He sounded very calm, but she was scared out of her wits.  

“Leave me alone!  I just saw your brother stab someone!  I have to get the police!”

“No, Beth–please.  Just let me explain.  Please.”  She was hesitating, and she didn’t understand why.

“How do you explain him pulling a knife out of someone’s body?”

The next voice she heard was Dean’s.  "Beth–open the door.  We need to talk.“

"No freaking way!  You are not getting in here!”  The door flew inward with a crash, and Beth backed away with a small shriek, dropping her phone and backing into the wall.  The panic she felt was so intense she was seeing spots before her eyes, and she could hear Sam’s voice trying to calm her.

“Beth, please listen.  We’re not going to hurt you.  Just calm down and let us explain.”  Sam walked towards her slowly, stopping to pull a chair out from the small table nearby.  "Please, Beth.“  He nodded towards the chair, and Beth peeled herself from the wall and perched there, ready for instant flight.  She glanced, terrified, at Dean, who sat on the bed next to his brother, staring at the floor, the muscles in his jaw working.  He picked that moment to look up, and she was relieved to see that the murderous, chilling expression he had worn earlier was gone.  He looked frustrated and tired, and he spoke softly to her.

"Beth, I know this is going to be hard to believe, but what we just killed in there–they were demons.”

Her dark eyes widened in disbelief.  "Demons.“  She turned her gaze to Sam, who looked back at her calmly, and nodded as he answered.

"That’s right–demons.”

“Demons?  Like 'The Exorcist?’”

Dean’s voice was quiet but tense.  "Yeah.  Demons.  Head-spinning, pea soup-spewing, pain-in-my-ass demons.“  His cell phone rang just then, and he grabbed it roughly from his pocket, standing and moving to just outside the door of her room.  "Bobby–got anything?”

Beth looked at Sam again, her mind reeling.  "Sam, seriously?  Those things are real?  I mean, I thought they were, but not here.  In hell.  Where they belong.“

"They’re real.  Unfortunately.  And their boss is kind of pissed at us.  He thinks we have something that belongs to him, and he wants it back.” “Satan is pissed at you?  That’s great.”

“Not Satan.  Crowley,” Dean answered as he entered the room.  "Bobby’s got nothing right now, Sam.  But he’s working on a better way to hide us from them.  Apparently he’s found a way around our hex bags.“

"Crowley?!”  Beth’s voice was incredulous as she stared back at Dean.  "Hex bags?  You guys are seriously yanking my chain.“

"No, we’re not.”  He met her gaze full-on, and she almost flinched.  "I know how crazy this sounds, believe me.“

"If those are demons, why don’t they disappear when you kill them?”

“This isn’t 'Charmed,’ sweetheart.  They don’t disappear.  At least the bodies they’re possessing don’t.  What we have in there,” he nodded towards their room, “is what’s left of the poor sons of bitches they possessed.  Most of the time the only thing keeping the bodies alive are the demons inside.  They just wear them like a rental tux for the prom.”

A single tear was making its way down Beth’s face, and she brushed it angrily away.  "You’re telling me that those things can get inside anybody?  Every person I meet could really be a demon?  They just stroll around up here like they own the place?“

"Look, we’re not trying to scare you, Beth.”  Sam spoke in a soothing voice, but she looked at him, eyes wide with fear.  

“Really?  You’re scaring the crap out of me.  Good job.”

Dean approached the table, pulling the other chair out and sitting down in front of her.  "Beth, I’m sorry.  I wish you had never seen any of this.  But you have to believe us, we are the good guys.“

"How do you know those things aren’t going to possess you?  How do you…”  Dean’s hand went to the neck of his t-shirt, and he pulled it down to reveal a symbol tattooed on his upper left chest.  She looked over at Sam, who was doing the same.

“Anti-possession symbol,” Sam answered quietly.  "We had amulets, but we figured in our line of work, we needed something more permanent.“

"And what exactly is your line of work?” Beth asked, her voice shaking a little.  She looked up into Dean’s green eyes, and was surprised to see a brief flash of vulnerability, quickly masked.

“We’re hunters.  We hunt demons, and monsters, and ghosts.  Whatever evil thing we run across.  We try to save as many people as we can.”  He looked back up at her, unflinching, waiting for her reaction.

Beth stared back at him, her eyes wide.  A few seconds passed before she shook her head, closing her eyes for a moment.  "You guys have to be crazy.  That’s the only explanation.“

"Well, darling, I suppose you could be right.  But what they just told you is the truth.”  Beth almost fell to the floor as she leapt from her chair and whirled around to see where the sarcastic voice was coming from.  Dean’s chair hit the floor as he stood, an angry sneer on his face.

“Crowley!"

"Good.  You know me, and I know you.  Now tell me, who is this charming new friend of yours?”

“Where did you come from?” Beth stammered, backing up by the headboard, as far as she could get away from this new threat.

“Hell, darling–and I need to get back.  You can’t find good help these days.”

“Then you should go, don’t you think?” Dean growled.  "And she has nothing to do with this, or with us.“

Crowley’s brows raised, and he threw a disbelieving look Dean’s direction.  "Really?  Seems like you were all getting rather cozy together.  Breaking the ice, as it were.  And she does look like your type, Dean.”  After a few seconds of silence, he sighed impatiently.  "All right.  I can see we’re getting nowhere like this.  Why don’t you just tell me where it is, and we can avoid any more unpleasantness for the time being.“

"Screw you,” Dean ground out between clenched teeth, barely getting the words out before Crowley sent him flying with a wave of his hand.  He crashed against the far wall, landing with a thud and a grunt of pain.  Sam took a step towards the demon before Crowley spoke again.

“Really, Moose, do you think that’s wise?”  He looked towards Beth, who was still cowering by the bed.  "You try to raise them right, teach them how to behave, and this is the thanks you get.“  He twisted his hand in the air, clenching it into a fist, and Sam cried out in pain, dropping to his knees on the floor.  

"Stop it!  What do you want?!” Beth screamed at him, running to Sam’s side.  Crowley flashed an evil smile, and released Sam, who leaned back on the bed, breathing heavily.

“I like her, she’s got spirit.  Hope she can keep it.”  Crowley folded his arms and continued.  "Now, boys, I grow tired of this little game.  Where is the Colt?“

Dean was sitting up slowly across the room.  "We don’t have it, you brain-dead dick.  Remember a couple of years ago, the hunters that killed us and sent us to heaven?  They cleaned us out.  Haven’t been able to find them since.”

Crowley sighed again.  "Lovely.  I think you Winchester boys had better get your priorities straight.  I need that gun.  And you need me to take you off my most wanted list.  Sounds like a fair exchange, don’t you think?“  He tilted his head and grinned, then focused on Beth, who still knelt next to Sam.  "It’s been a pleasure meeting you, ducks.  I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again soon.  I look forward to it.”  As she gazed back at him, quaking with fear, he vanished.

“Sam, are you all right?” Beth asked quietly.  Sam nodded, and she rose to cross the room, kneeling next to Dean, who was leaning back against the wall under the windows.  "Dean?  How about you?“

Dean looked at her, his brows drawn together in frowning disbelief.  "I’ll be fine.  Sammy, my shoulder’s dislocated again.  I could use a hand.”

Beth stood and moved away as Sam came to help his brother.  She grabbed the ice bucket from the dresser and headed out to the ice machine a few doors down from their rooms.  She was only gone for a moment, but as she drew near her door with the ice, Dean came flying out towards her.  A look of pure relief crossed his face, followed by another frown as he grabbed her arm and pulled her into the room.  "What the hell were you doing?“

"Getting some ice for your shoulder!  Why the hell are you yelling at me?”  She jerked her arm from his grasp, her dark-lashed eyes spitting fire back at him before she turned to go to the bathroom for a towel.  She made an ice pack and, despite her anger, positioned it very carefully on his shoulder.  He raised his other hand to hold it in place, glancing up at her with an abashed expression.  

“Thank you,” he muttered, then fired off a glare at his brother, who stood behind Beth, trying unsuccessfully to smother a grin.

“You’re welcome.”  Beth’s voice was short, but her hands were gentle as she put them on his face, tilting it to one side, then the other as she examined the cut on his forehead and one on his lip from the previous demon fight.  "These need to be cleaned,“ she murmured, turning to go back to the bathroom for the first aid kit and a clean cloth.  Sam cleared his throat, and Dean shot him a murderous look, but his brother turned his back, shoulders shaking with silent laughter, as Beth approached.  She took the warm washcloth and cleaned the cut on his forehead, then his split lip.  He spoke softly as she dabbed antibiotic ointment on his forehead.

"You clean up after a lot of bar fights?”

“A few.  And I went to nursing school for a couple of years, just didn’t get to finish.”

“Dean.”  Sam’s voice held a warning, and Beth looked down at Dean’s face in time to catch a leering grin.  

Beth looked at him sternly.  "Really?“  But the corners of her mouth teased at a smile in spite of her efforts to stifle it.

"Could have used you in a couple of hospitals I’ve been in,” Dean teased, and Beth shook her head as she gathered up the first aid supplies.  "So, when do I get my sponge bath?“  That earned him a wet washcloth in the face, and Beth walked to the bathroom to put away the kit.

Sam shook his head, a disgusted look on his face.  "Jerk.”

“Bitch,” Dean retorted, tossing the wet rag at him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

#never look back #dean fic #dean x beth #dean x oc #chapter fic #reblog to fix tag links

[iprefertheterminsane]

What I should be doing; Updating my current BFU/GoMens fanfic

What I am doing instead; drafting an entirely NEW BFU/GOMens fanfic

Here it is;

Story Idea:

BFU*Good Omens, but make it scary.

The Unsolved Crew are trying to return to the airport after a successful hunt in London. Shane suggests they follow a scenic route of no discernible town. They somehow find themselves in a town that is not on the GPS maps with weird vibes and, surprise surprise, their rental breaks down. They have all watched enough horror thrillers to know all the cliché-est plot points. What lives in Devil's Dyke? Are the Them serial killers? Is Warlock going to betray them? Shane and TJ are probably going to die. But most importantly; What does it all have to do with Ryan?

-This is Shyan centric. On their way back to the airport, Shane suggests the crew take a scenic route down South Downs on their way back from London with the promise of a beautiful lake. The London shoots had been rife with sexual tension, and Shane does not want the moment to end.

-They find themselves driving into a town instead, suburbania and quaint. The townsfolk frown at them as they pass by. RP Tyler straddles his barking poodle. They obviously don't like newcomers.

-The rental breaks down. The cliche Ness starts to dawn on them

-"Hahaha, next we'll find out this place doesn't have line!"

-There is no line. They all glare at Mark.

-In a fit of nervousness, Ryan starts offline vlogging. Shane suggests they go into town to ask for someone to call the two service and find someplace with line. Surely SOMEONE will recognize them.

-But strangers look away and walk faster away when they approach. Whoever they manage to start scowling or fidgeting, and none of them seems to recognize the duo. Some even claim to know only faintly of YouTube. It's getting unreal. They do not seem to be joking, and get only more upset whenever the Crew tries to convince or tell them otherwise. It is finally pushing dusk. The Crew stops by a beautiful park. There is no one around, but a young boy, who has a look in his eyes they find relief in: recognition.

-His name is Warlock Dowling, and he showed them a copy of his birth certificate to prove it, claiming that it happens often enough that he has to resort doing so. It's so fucking cliche it hurts. Ryan hates this movie already.

-But Warlock is the son of an American Ambassador who lives in the UK, and thus, likely the only child who seems to recognize them and their YouTube Channel. He is not a big fan, but it's a whole site better than literally everyone else. South Downs is a bedtime story, he claims. It's perfect in the way all the towns in children storybooks are perfect. Nobody plays the internet in a storybook town. It is not a prank. Devon is skeptical.

-Warlock invites them to go to the Ambassador's house a little ways down the airbase near the back of the town, (what kind of horror path will they take? Thought Ryan. Both feel like equally bad ideas.) but they decide to go tomorrow. He directs them to a bed and breakfast instead. All the rooms look the same. The lady barely looks up as she hands them their keys. There is electricity in the rooms, meaning they could charge their appliances. For naught of anything better to do, they are filming this entire experience. They somehow convince themselves that Shane is going to die because Ryan is evidently the Protagonist, and since Shane is his Best Friend, he is either going to betray them or die in a heroic act sacrificing himself for Ryan. In a fit of panic, Ryan tells Shane he has a crush on him. Which is great and sweet and all, but now REALLY seals the deal in because now Shane is a love interest instead. Hasnt Ryan heard of the bury your Gays trope?

-"I knew you guys were gonna end up gay" "what why." "they have to kill SOMEONE off and none of us are black and Ryan s the protagonist."

-They don't find Warlock in the park the next day, and are forced to look for him themselves. Walking of course. They find out about the satanic nunnery that caught on fire on a cafe because the waitress explains that they have to pass through that and the abandoned airbase in the back of the town to get to the villa on foot. They all sigh in exhausted manner, not much in the mood for dying.

-Trudge they do anyway. Nowhere out but through.

-The old satanic nunnery is....not abandoned

-They rush inside and find that it is a company teamwork support organization, and they give out paintball sessions. There is electricity. There is a line, even if the company wasnt currently in season. They try to find a worker.

-They find her. Sister Mary is haggard and busy running an entire company and booking sessions all by herself. She is in turns dismissive and annoyed to moderately tolerant....up until she learns of Ryan's name

-She suddenly wants nothing to do with any of them, practically shoving them out her door and face sheet white, mumbling about being busy and how it wasn't personal. The door slams in their faces. Ryan looks like he is about to cry. Shane snaps.

-He breaks the door down, to the shouts of surprise from the rest of the crew, and announces, with the loud, arrogant nonchalance of a white man, that he is not going to budge until she tells them everything they want to know about Lower Tadfield, the South Downs and yknow the fuck what? Neither will Ryan. The rest of the Crew follow his example and dig their heels in, pretending to film her for good measure. They are counting on the fact that she does not have security, and that even if she calls the cops on them, the building is far too suburbania to find very quickly. Mary looks absolutely terrified, and refuses to look Ryan in the eye. She eventually gives in, on the account that they will soon leave immediately.

-The find out that she was an ex convent of the Chattering Order of St. Berryl's, a satanic nunnery. She came back because she had been born here, and oddly enough, the convent meant something to her. A good dozen of the Satanists died due to a lightning storm catching the nunnery on fire the night two babies had been born, and three left through the gates. She's never been afraid of Lower Tadfield. Nothing ever happens here. They don't buy it, but it's apparent she believes what she is saying.

-They demand to use the present line to call for another rental, cancel their airport tickets, etcetera etcetera, emphasizing that they are excited about leaving just as much as she does. With this promise, she allows them to do so.

--They manage to get their raw footage to Cloud and cancel their tickets but just as they are about to call for a new car, the lights start flickering. The building rumbles. Mary looks straight at Ryan and tells them to run. They grab each other s hands and does so.

-There halfway down the road when TJ yelps, and Devon announces they are being chased by something. They decide to run into the woods down further down south to lose it.

-It is dusk. Nobody is happy. At least everyone is alive though, which is something. Ryan remarks that the chase scenes in the movies are exactly as tiring as they make it out to be.

-Mark hears running water, and the Crew finds an occupied cottage on the shoreline of the sea. Their sighs are loud; both relieved and annoyed. Mark starts chanting/praying that they are not serial killers. Shane announces that everyone must be ready to leave at a moments notice, and sleep in the woods of they must, to everyone's agreement.

-The man who opens the door wears glasses and low slung jeans, eyebrow raised rudely. His husband, blonde and plump, tells him to let them come in, and that it is nearly dinner. They are gracious hosts-old enough to be someone's grandparents. Cute and domestic as well. Shane goes strangely quiet when the couple dances in the living room, and Ryan chalks it up to their romantic relationship, for which they share talks. There are unoccupied rooms they could bunk in-five; each of them reserved for the couple's godkids. Despite getting their own rooms, Ryan cuddles with Shane. He is oddly tense, at least until they start making out.

-Ryan wakes at night to voices in his ear, and decides to get a glass of something to drink. Shane is out cold. He finds TJ in the kitchen, looking at his phone. It is a picture of his family-Kate and their daughter. This is hugely concerning, as it is a surefire telltale that TJ might not make it. Ryan promises him they'll get back home. TJ clasps him on the back and tells him not to make promises he can't keep.

-Shane wakes the crew at 4 am and tells them, quietly, to pack up and leave for town. He had found a map, and determined the way to navigate. They are confused but obliging. They do not wake their hosts-in fact, Shane seems to want to make sure they leave without their knowledge. They find their way back into Tadfield by 8.30 am, and it is only as they are having bfast that Shane tells them that there is no tech but the radio-which isn't plugged in. The water runs, but the pipes underneath the sink are not attached to anything. Crowley does not eat, and his eyes were....weird. Too many red flags. And as he searched the room for maps before Ryan came into his room the night before, he had found a crumpled poker card of the Antichrist, and Devon admits to finding one of War, a horseman of the Apocalypse, in hers. Mark taps his fork anxiously, and his eyes spell out what they all could tell. The climax is soon.

- It is not until Ryan walks and spots a bespectacled child of Warlocks age that he realizes he has barely seen any children in this town, and suggests that they follow him to ask whether he knew Warlock. The rest of the crew return to the BnB for some well deserved rest, but Shane and Ryan pursues the kid....into the forest.

-They lose him until HE found THEM. He immediately recognizes Ryan, who had to introduce his best friend Shane. Two other kids appear from between the trees. One of them, a girl, has a large wooden sword. They are surrounded. Shane grips Ryans hand, and asks, half jokingly, is they are serial killers, and if they are intending to kill him.

-The Them claims that it happened like, one time, and they do not plan to kill Shane, but their smile looks too wide to be genuine, like they are sharing a personal joke. The boys start walking away. The Them follows. Ryan asks if they know Warlock. They stop, sharing looks. Brian asks how they met Warlock. Ryan refuses to tell them . The kids get defensive, the way 13 year olds tend to get when they are about to justify doing a notable offense, like staying awake past bedtime The wind picks up, and the kids get visibly relieved. Brian tells them that Adam is coming, in a way that makes them feel like they definitely do not want to meet Adam. They scram it.

-They are being chased again. This time, when Ryan looks back, he sees what looks like a dog but isn't-like something is badly wearing the skin of a dog, like it has too many limbs to fit into four legs, a slobbering maw and hellfire eyes.

-They manage to leave the woods, and almost get hit by a three wheeled blue car. Shane bangs on the door and it opens for them, and Ryan shouts at them to step on it. It is only when they get to a quaint little cottage at the other end of the town do they acknowledge their saviours-a bespectacled, brown skinned woman and a jittery boyfriend.

-The woman is American. She recognizes them immediately, and says that she is a huge fan of True Crime. It is the most mundane , normal conversation they have for all of 2 days. They enter Jasmine Cottage. Shane slumps.

-there is a horseshoe above the door, and runes etched into the wood. The smell of incense burns strongly, and a redlined conspiracy board in a corner of the kitchen.

-The woman calls herself a professional occultist. A witch, basically. Which is...fine. She is at least honest and blasè about it, which made someone in this godforsaken town at least. Shane spots a picture of the Antichrist on her pinup board, the same one as seen in the poker card he's found in AziCrow's cottage. Anathema notices, and admits that it's complicated. They are confused, angry and terrified, and mentions their encounter with Adam, and everything else they'd had to suffer through as they are stuck in the village. Her facial emotions change from shock, to calculating, to confused, to skeptical, before finally ending In blank. She claims that it is very unlike Adam, as he usually does not go about scaring people from out of the village. He had welcomed her in just fine, and the town had followed short after. Shane asks about the Antichrist and Horsepeople symbolism. She waves that one away, claiming how it wasn't important and that 'They wouldn't believe her anyway.' She offers Meet to drive them back to their Inn, and they accept.

-They get back to the village; as they open the door to their rooms, knowing that the rest of the Crew is waiting for them, Warlock is also there. He takes a single look at them, and raises an eyebrow. They tell him what happened. Warlock frowns. Tells them the only reason they'd been hounded In such a way if Adam wants something from them, and TJ puts his face into their hands.

-They ask if they should lock the door. Warlock tells them not to bother-it won't stop him anyway. Devon asks the possibility of leaving this very night. Warlock shakes his head, but looks contemplating.

-That night, Shane gets kidnapped.

-Ryan doesn't see the culprit, but something tells him it's the Them, and the Hound, and Adam. He runs into the woods. The night is cold and still, but the trees shake like they could be alive. Ryan yells angrily into the void, asking Adam what is it that he wanted, that it's him they actually want, to let Ryan go. He faces the Hound, a slobbering, monstrous nightmare. Ryan thinks he is going to die. There is a boy sitting in a dilipidated throne above a chalk pit with blood red eyes.

-Two headlights pierce through the gloom. The trees still. The hound sits, and Crowley steps out if the Bentley.

-Aziraphale is in the car. Warlock peers over his shoulder. Crowley stomps over and tells Adam to come down-that his game is over, and it stopped being funny for quite some time. Shane stumbles out of the woods, dazed and terrified, and Ryan traps him into an embrace.

-After some chastising Adam admits that he's made a bet with Greasy Johnson in school that Demons and Ghosts are real, and that the Them had managed to convince him that it lives in the woods. He had not believed them, and made them bet that if it was really haunted, Paranormal Investigators would come and make a whole documentary about it. Warlock had showed him a few episodes of BFU, and Adam thought it perfect.

-Crowley scolds him, telling him against manipulating and keeping the Crew here against their will, and Adam looks appropriately chastened. Dawn breaks. The crew emerges from the Inn in a state of panic. Crowley pat's the van twice and it comes to life.

-Someone asked Crowley if the kids really HAD killed people. Crowley waves it away, claiming that it isn't important. In the light of morning, the kids and the dog almost looks normal.

- They decide not to prod any further. Aziraphale apologizes one last time, and tells the that they are welcome in Tadfield if they choose to come again. Ryan and Shane emphasizes that they absolutely will not, ever. Aziraphale nods like he understands. They pack the equipment and leaves the town, possibly England, forever.

-In a few days time, Adam gets an email- a video titled The Horrors of Hogsback Woods, and he grins cheekily to himself.

#BuzzFeed Unsolved #Shyan maybe? #Good Omens #but scary #Warlock Dowling #Anthony Crowley #Aziraphale #Shane Madej #Ryan Bergara #fanfic #fanfic draft #Adam is a little shit #the Them are technically murderers? #tw horror #suspense #ineffable husbands #Devon #TJ Marchbank #Mark

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Rebirth

(Another quarantine fic...guess this is a thing now...I had a great idea for what I assumed would be a short fic and, lo, it was over 4500 words...)

Shock

Crowley was visiting the bookshop when they learned about the lockdown.

An alert buzzed on his mobile, and he read the article, slowly, into the stunned silence.

“Ah.” Aziraphale set down his stack of books on a nearby table. “I suppose that explains why it’s been so quiet lately.”

“You seriously didn’t notice?”

“I knew something was happening, but,” he flapped his hands, trying to find the words. His mind seemed to be having trouble keeping up with the news. “Oh, I don’t know.”

Crowley frowned. “Are you going to be alright here?”

“I don’t see why not. I have plenty to read, and enough wine to last three months if I must, never mind three weeks.”

“Nh. It’s like the fourteenth century all over again.” Crowley leapt off the sofa, uncoiling in a single, graceful movement, mobile phone vanishing into a pocket. “Really thought we’d seen the end of this sort of thing.”

“Yes, I…” Aziraphale trailed off. He watched numbly as his hands adjusted the books, again and again. “Yes.”

Crowley’s hand appeared from nowhere, landing on his wrist. Aziraphale watched it glide across the back of his hand, fingers twisting around his, guiding his hand towards…something. If Crowley spoke, Aziraphale didn’t hear a word of it.

“I told you, I’m fine.” He tugged his hand free, started to walk away, realized he didn’t know where to go. “I don’t need…I’m fine…”

“I can leave,” Crowley said evenly. “If you want.”

“You don’t have to.”

A creak of floorboards as he stepped closer. “Or I can stay. Long as it takes.”

“You don’t have to.” Aziraphale couldn’t turn around to meet his gaze.

A long pause while Aziraphale waited for a thought, any thought, to drift across his mind.

“You know what we need?” Crowley’s voice was suddenly very loud, full of far too much cheer. “Tea. Good cup of tea. Let’s see…”

While the kettle boiled, Crowley guided Aziraphale with hands on his shoulders until the angel sat in his armchair. Rushed off and returned with a steaming white mug of very strong tea, pressing it into Aziraphale’s strangely cold hands.

“Drink this, Angel, you’ll feel better.”

“Crowley,” he started softly, staring at the mug in his hands. “This mug is for cocoa. The teacups are in the other cupboard, next to the sugar bowl.”

Crowley snorted and somehow launched himself back onto the sofa, landing in a sprawl of limbs. “Well. That’s it for me. Guess I’ll just wait here until the Tea Police come arrest me for my crimes.”

His mobile was back in his hands, but every now and then his eyes (hidden by the glasses, but Aziraphale knew how they moved) flicked up to watch the angel sip his tea.

--

Denial

The next morning, Aziraphale bustled about his shop, putting papers back in order, rearranging books. He’d had the scientific treatises out front, but really that was much to heavy for these times. People wanted nice, light novels. Which meant a complete reorganization.

“I don’t know why you bother, Angel,” Crowley started, trailing behind him as he bustled about.

“Oh, hush. Here, take this…” He handed over the volumes of Pliny’s Natural History, “…over to the Classics section.”

“You have a Classics section? Thought it was all random.”

“Don’t be absurd. It’s there, fourth shelf, next to the cookbooks. And while you’re over there, grab, oh…Frankenstein, I should think, as many copies as I have.”

The demon trotted off, giving Aziraphale a moment’s peace to sort through some books of poetry.

“Seriously, though,” Crowley’s voice boomed across the empty shop. “It’s not like you’re going to let anyone buy they anyway.”

“It’s the principle of the thing, my dear fellow.” He selected a book for his own reading later, then started sorting the rest alphabetically by the first line of the twelfth page. “I run this shop in a certain way, which has remained unchanged for over two centuries. And part of that system is anticipating customer needs and putting out almost, but not quite, what they’re looking for. If you see Candide on your way past, grab that, too.”

A few moments later, a stack of books thumped onto the table, as Crowley continued to show his reckless disregard for the conditions of their spines.

“Jolly good. You know how I like them stacked. English on the bottom, French on top, and mix the copies of Frankenstein with, ah…these.” He slid over a few volumes of Percy Shelley’s poetry.

Grumbling, Crowley began arranging the books. “I don’t know why you’re in such a rush.”

“We need to make the most of this time, before customers start coming back.”

“They aren’t coming back, not any time soon. You know how it goes. It’s going to take a lot more than three weeks, and after that, people won’t be in the mood for your particular brand of psychological warfare for a long time.”

“Nonsense,” Aziraphale snapped, “you’re just upset I’m not allowing you to laze about as you always do. If you’re going to be here for three weeks, you may as well make yourself useful.”

Which was when he made the mistake of glancing up.

Crowley had taken off his glasses at some point, and when Aziraphale met those bright yellow eyes, he entirely forgot how to breathe.

There was a glow to them, an intensity that perhaps had always been there but was usually hidden behind dark glass, filtered, made safe for his consumption, but now –

The angel quickly gathered as many books as he could. “I just need to. These. Over there.” He rushed off before Crowley could say anything.

When he was safely hidden among the shelves, Aziraphale tried to force his hands to stop shaking. Told himself firmly that he hadn’t seen what he thought he saw.

Demons simply weren’t capable of…feelings like that. Well known fact. Oh, he knew Crowley was very fond of him, and he valued their friendship, more than anything. Even more, now that they didn’t need to hide it, meeting like spies in the park, never quite looking at each other as they exchanged notes.

Which was why Aziraphale was absolutely not going to ruin things by saying…by admitting to feelings that Crowley didn’t reciprocate, however much Aziraphale imagined that he did.

Taking a deep breath, the angel stepped back into the main space of the shop. His eyes, of their own accord, shot over to Crowley’s face, but the glasses were back where they belonged.

Good. That made things easier.

Crowley held a stack of psychology texts, studies of human nature and the like. “Right, where does this pile of nonsense go?”

“Oh, put them down,” Aziraphale sighed in defeat. “You don’t have to help if you don’t want to.”

“Angel.” He took a step forward, face very serious. “I want to.”

Even with the glasses in place, Aziraphale’s heart flipped over itself. “Ah. Right. Over here, then.”

--

Frustration

They made it almost an entire week without fighting.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to put your feet on my furniture?”

“Why does it even matter? I can always miracle the scrapes off.”

“But I still know they’re there!”

“They’re not there, that’s the point!” Crowley brought his heels down on the coffee table so sharply the teacups and wine glasses clattered against each other. “But what is there is this pain in my back from sleeping on a sofa because you never bothered to get a bed. So if I want to stretch out, I’m going to stretch out!”

“Crowley, you are a guest here, and I suggest you act like it!”

“Oh, I’m a guest now? Then you’re a lousy host.” He slammed his feet onto the floor and stood up, gathering items off the table. “Look at this. Look at all this bloody mess, covering every blessed surface in this shop. Teacups, wine bottles, glasses, plates, don’t you ever clean up?”

“You can just miracle them clean if a bit of clutter bothers you that much.”

“A bit of clutter? A bit?” He marched over to the sink, dropping everything in with a clatter that made Aziraphale wince. “You’re impossible! There’s no way to think with all this – this mess everywhere I turn. And you won’t let me clean any of it!” His long arm gestured grandly, taking in the whole shop.

“Mess? Mess? I’ll have you know this is a carefully organized system of –”

“There are books all over the floor!”

“That’s where they belong!”

“I can’t stand another minute of this – this – this!” Crowley stalked across the shop, fingers in his pockets, with a scowl that could shatter mirrors. “I could be in my own bloody flat, without the mess, with the bed, and no bloody nagging angel in my face every time I try to move!”

“Well, leave if you want! You don’t have to stay, I never asked you to!”

Crowley spun towards him, jaw clenched, too much emotion boiling around the edges of his glasses. “Fine.” He turned back towards the door. “Fine. Have a nice –”

Aziraphale didn’t even stop to think.

He crossed the shop faster than Crowley could, planted himself in front of the door.

“Don’t.”

“You just told me I could leave. What is this, some angelic power trip?”

“I know what I said!” Aziraphale crossed his arms, trying to block the exit entirely. “And I meant it. You can leave any time you want. But not…I don’t…”

I don’t want you to leave angry.

I don’t want to drive you away.

I don’t want to be alone.

But the words couldn’t find their way to his mouth. He just stood there, face hot, eyes blinking far more than he meant them to.

Crowley spun again, and for a moment Aziraphale thought he would simply walk out the back exit.

Instead, he pulled open the metal gate on the stairs. “I’ll be on the roof. Don’t follow me!”

The wrought iron crashed shut behind him.

--

They fought many more times over the next week. Crowley stormed off to the roof, again and again, but he never tried to leave.

Each argument left Aziraphale more and more drained.

--

Depression

“Angel?”

“Mmmm?” He didn’t look up from his book. He’d been staring at the same page for hours.

“Aziraphale.”

Finally, he let his gaze drift up, met the gaze of those black lenses. Crowley crouched beside his chair, folded arms on the armrest. He wasn’t angry now. His voice was very soft as he asked, “What’s wrong?”

Aziraphale tried to smile, held it in place as best he could. “My dear boy, why…why would anything be wrong?”

“You haven’t moved all day. You haven’t spoken in even longer. And that book is upside-down.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale shut the book, placed it aside. “I just need…that is…I’m just…”

“Are you hungry? I can try to make something.”

He felt the smile falling apart. “Oh. No, I’ve…I’ve no appetite at all, really.”

“Tea?”

He shook his head.

“Do you want to go for a walk? We can go around the park. The ducks should be there.” He glanced at the windows. “It’s not a great day, but that just means there won’t be a crowd.”

“Oh, no I…no.” He found he was shaking, and his eyes were very wet. “No. I…I don’t know what it is I need.”

He did, though. But it wasn’t something he could ask of Crowley. Not without jeopardizing what they already had. Their friendship was on tenuous enough ground these days.

And Crowley…placed his hands on Aziraphale’s, gently pulled him to his feet.

“Come on, Angel. Your turn on the sofa. You need to stretch out, get comfortable.”

“You said you can’t stretch out on it.”

“Well, you’re shorter than me. It won’t be as bad.”

Aziraphale let Crowley guide him to the sofa, and settled down on the cushions, lying on his side. It was a tight fit, but it did feel good to be in a new position.

“They extended the lockdown again, didn’t they?”

“Nh. Still no official end date. Could be end of May. Or June. Or September.”

Crowley continued moving around, but Aziraphale didn’t watch him, instead staring ahead at nothing in particular. “Was it always this bad? I don’t remember it being this bad, back in the plague years.”

“Well…different sort of bad, I suppose.” Crowley draped a thick tartan blanket over Aziraphale, wrapping it tight. He hadn’t realized he was cold, but it felt so much better. “But it’s only temporary. We’ll get through this. The world will get through it.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this. We were supposed to be free. Able to do…do everything we wanted…no Heaven or Hell holding us back…”

“Angel,” his voice was so very soft. “We are free. There’s nothing holding you…holding either of us back anymore. Whatever it is you want…”

“No, Crowley. Don’t ask me.”

“As you wish.” He held out a pillow, and Aziraphale shifted, lifting his head up to make room for Crowley to slide it underneath. Instead, the demon squeezed himself onto the end of the couch, pillow in his lap, and gently pushed Aziraphale’s head to rest on it. “Is this alright?”

“Crowley you…you don’t have to do this…”

“Yes. I do.” His fingers gently ran through Aziraphale’s curls. “Are you comfortable now?”

Aziraphale bit his lip, not even able to speak. He just nodded his head, soaking in the warmth, the closeness, the sense of belonging. He hoped Crowley couldn’t see the tear rolling off his nose.

“Right. Now.” Crowley held up the book of poetry Aziraphale had been reading, and opened it to the first page.

All I could see from where I stood

Was three long mountains and a wood;

I turned and looked the other way,

And saw three islands in a bay.

So with my eyes I traced the line

Of the horizon, thin and fine,

Straight around til I was come

Back to where I’d started from;

And all I saw from where I stood

Was three long mountains and a wood.

“Oh,” Crowley paused, his stiff but lovely voice tumbling to a halt. “Ah, this one sounds a little depressing. Maybe I should…”

“No, it’s…it’s fine. It’s a little long, though, so perhaps…”

“If you want this one, I’ll read it.” Crowley cleared his throat and continued.

Over these things I could not see:

These were the things that bounded me;

And I could touch them with my hand,

Almost, I thought, from where I stand…

And so he continued, voice becoming more relaxed across the two hundred lines, fingers tracing gently through Aziraphale’s curls, until, for the first time in many decades, the angel drifted off to sleep.

--

Experiment

The next day, Aziraphale took his cup of tea and his book, and sat in the corner of the sofa.

He didn’t say anything. Neither did Crowley, though he did shift a little bit. Making room? Or pulling away?

They sat like that for much of the day, occasionally talking, mostly just soaking in the silence. It was tense now, but a different sort of tension.

--

The next day, Aziraphale sat on the sofa again, but not quite as tightly into the corner. And the next, and the next, every day moving a little closer. At the end of the week, he was so close they nearly touched.

Crowley still hadn’t said anything to acknowledge the change, hardly even looked up from his mobile. But this time, he lifted his arm, rested it on the back of the sofa.

Taking a breath, Aziraphale crossed that last inch of space, pressing against Crowley’s thigh, curling into the fold of his arm, resting his head lightly on Crowley’s shoulder. “Is…is this alright?”

“You know it is,” and Crowley turned towards him with a little smile.

“Only, I might get too heavy, you know, numb arm and all that. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“It’s fine, Angel. Whatever you want to do, it’s fine.”

Aziraphale nodded, and tried very hard to focus on his book.

--

They walked sometimes, when the weather was decent.

At first, Crowley kept his hands in his pockets, Aziraphale’s were folded behind him.

Then, one day, looking at the bend of the elbow in that black sleeve, Aziraphale took a chance. Slipped his hand through, linking arms as they walked. It felt very silly.

Crowley stopped, looking at their arms for a long moment.

Aziraphale squirmed, not quite sure how to extricate himself from this. “Er, sorry. I wasn’t…you don’t…we don’t need to…”

Pulling his hands from his pocket, Crowley shifted his arm, tucking Aziraphale’s hand into the bend of his elbow. “Is that better?”

Aziraphale’s face felt very hot. But he brought up his other hand, folding them together, as couples used to stroll, arm-in-arm, around this very park two centuries before. He thought his heart might burst.

“Yes…thank you.”

They started walking again and said nothing more of it.

But every walk after that, Crowley offered his elbow, and Aziraphale took it.

--

One night, after a few glasses of wine, they sat on the sofa together, talking of people long dead.

“No, I swear,” Crowley laughed. “I never met him!”

“You can’t be serious.” He refilled his glass and settled back against Crowley’s arm. “I was so certain Diogenes was one of yours. Asking questions, getting into fights with other philosophers, ignoring every rule of good taste.”

“No, that doesn’t ring any bells.”

“Let me see. He used to sleep in this big old amphora in Athens. Oh, and he carried a lantern around in broad daylight.”

“No, I…wait!” Crowley laughed. “Not the I’m looking for an honest man bloke?”

“Yes! That’s him! I knew you met him.”

“Well, once. I thought he was drunk. I sent him to that bar near the bathhouse.”

“You sent him to – Crowley! That was my favorite bar!”

“Was it?” His face was a picture of innocence, completely ruined by the grin stretching across it. “I had no idea you were there that day.”

“Oh, you foul serpent!” He swatted at Crowley, nearly spilling his wine. “You know, that man followed me for a week after that! Kept asking me to define words and explain social mores so he could dispute them – it was an absolute nightmare!”

“Really? Sounds like it would have been a great conversation.”

Aziraphale huffed. “Well. We agreed on the subject of eating breakfast in the marketplace. Strongly disagreed on the subject of urination, amongst other things.” Crowley made a sound that could be called a giggle. “It’s not funny! He only left me alone because I happened to cross paths with Plato and he found someone better to chase around.”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t love it.”

“Since you put it like that,” Aziraphale said, in as dignified a manner as he could manage. “I am an angel and I love all beings. Though, of course, there are some beings I love much more than others, and some who test my patience –”

“Do you?”

Aziraphale lifted his head to meet Crowley’s gaze and oh for the first time in many days he noticed just how close they were.

Crowley had taken his glasses off again, and his golden eyes glittered, burning with an intensity that Aziraphale could no longer deny.

“I.  I should.” Aziraphale swallowed, trying to force his heart to behave. “I should give you some space. Let you get some sleep.”

Crowley leaned a little closer, and suddenly all Aziraphale could see were his lips, still wet with the wine, watch the shapes they formed as he whispered, “You don’t have to.”

Aziraphale stood up as fast as he could. “That’s quite enough. I know how you get when you’re sleep deprived.” He picked up both glasses and brought them to the sink.

Then he returned and settled into the corner of the sofa, placing a pillow on his lap.

Crowley stared at it, then at Aziraphale, then back at the pillow. “Are you sure?”

“Of course, my dear. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Crowley slithered up the sofa, settling his head on the pillow, pressing it back into the curve of Aziraphale’s stomach, wriggling to get as close as he could.

Aziraphale waited until he was settled, then let his hand fall, gently brushing through the bright red hair.

--

Decision

Every day, Aziraphale looked at Crowley and asked himself, What’s holding you back? In truth he’d been doing that since long before the lockdown started.

One day, he realized there was no good answer to that question.

He stepped before the sofa, before Crowley, so that their knees almost touched. Took a few practice breaths. “Crowley?” He hadn’t meant it to be a question.

The black lenses drifted up, away from the mobile phone, to meet him, face unreadable.

Aziraphale took another breath. “I have something to tell you. It’s, well, it’s rather important. And it might, it might change things…but I don’t think it should. I don’t…you understand I don’t want things to change between us, but…that is…there’s something you should be made aware of.”

Crowley slowly put his phone aside and settled more comfortably. “Do you want to sit down?”

“No, I think…standing might be best?” He wrung his hands. He wanted to pace, as he had the dozen times he’d practiced this speech while on the roof, but he needed to stay here, needed to keep meeting Crowley’s eyes, no matter how he reacted.

“Alright. What is it you want to say?”

Oh, dear. He’d forgotten his speech. Aziraphale scrambled to remember the highlights.

“Well I…that is. I’m an angel, as you know.”

“Do tell.”

“Crowley, please. I’m an angel. And as such I…I am a being of love. I love all beings, even disgusting philosophers and customers who put their fingers on my books. But there are, well, there are some beings I love more than others. Some of them, you know, quite a lot more.”

“What are you saying?” Crowley’s fists clenched where they rested on his knees.

“I’m saying…I’m saying…” Aziraphale looked away, just for a moment, just to gather his strength. Then he turned back and said, as firmly as he could, “I love you, Crowley. Quite a lot, actually. Probably more than anything else in Creation. And with such intensity that I’m rather surprised it hasn’t destroyed me yet.” He took a deep shaking breath. “And I know…I know demons don’t experience love the same way angels do. I’m not asking you to feel the same. And I don’t want it to change our friendship, which is more precious to me than…than anything in the world. But. I thought you should know. I love you.”

“I…” One shaking hand rose to adjust his glasses. “You’re right, you know. Demons don’t…don’t love the way angels do.”

“Well.” Aziraphale nodded, trying to keep his face from crumbling. “That’s…that’s…I expected…” He started to back away.

“Wait.” One of Crowley’s hands landed gently on his hip, stopping him from moving away. The other pulled his glasses off and set them aside, but he kept his eyes downcast. “Let me finish. We are different. I don’t see the same way you do, not as many colors. But I still appreciate a sunset. And…and I don’t hear the same way, can’t catch all the little details like I used to, but I still like all the same symphonies as you.”

His other hand reached for Aziraphale’s waist, and the angel let himself be guided forward, stepping between Crowley’s knees, so very, very close.

“Aziraphale…I know I don’t feel love the way you do. I could never love every being. And I think if I loved with the intensity you do, it really would tear me apart. I’m not like you.” He finally lifted his eyes; they were full of tears. “But, Angel. You are…” He swallowed. “You’re my best friend. My family. My home. And every bit of love I have, it’s yours. Only yours.”

Aziraphale leaned forward, resting his hands on the back of the sofa. He was too lightheaded to stand anymore, but he never wanted to move from this spot. “Are…are you saying…?”

“I love you, Aziraphale. Yes. I really, really do.”

Their foreheads met, resting against each other, just as the first tear rolled down Aziraphale’s face. “Do you…do you think it can work? An angel and a demon, loving each other?”

“Only one way to find out.”

He could feel Crowley’s breath, steaming across his jaw, while those hands still burned where they held him. “I…we’ll work it out. A little at a time. And you don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with, I promise.”

“Mh. Aziraphale.” Crowley’s sharp nose brushed against his. “I’ve been waiting for you to kiss me since we got those oysters in Rome, and if you don’t –”

His lips found Crowey’s and they melted into each other, his arms around his demon’s neck, Crowley’s around his waist, and it was quite some time before either of them spoke again.

--

Integration

Some days later, Aziraphale lay stretched out on the sofa, reading a book. Crowley draped across him like a blanket, head tucked under Aziraphale’s chin, half-asleep, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. Aziraphale’s arm seemed to move of its own volition, wrapping around Crowley, holding him in place, making little circles on his back.

“Any word on when the lockdown ends?” Aziraphale wondered.

“Ngk.” Crowley peeked at his mobile, but he hadn’t been paying it any attention. “No. But if they don’t make a decision soon, I’m going to have to head back to my flat.”

Aziraphale’s hand froze. “You don’t…you don’t have to…”

Crowley pushed himself up until he could meet Aziraphale’s eyes. He wasn’t wearing his glasses. He never wore them at all anymore.

“That is,” Aziraphale said quickly, “You can leave if you want, but I’m not…you can also stay. As long as you like. After the lockdown ends. However…long…”

Crowley smiled. “Angel, I do have to go back. All my plants are still in Mayfair, and can you imagine what they’re getting up to unsupervised?” He leaned down and kissed the bridge of Aziraphale’s nose. “As for staying as long as I like, well, that has a certain appeal. But not until you find a place for my bed. And my television. And my fine art.”

“Dearest, I’ve seen how you decorate, and I assure you that is not fine art.”

“I have a sketch of the Mona Lisa!”

“Yes, but you also have a pornographic sculpture –”

“They’re wrestling, Angel!”

“—and I believe that cancels out all of your da Vinci works.”

Crowley settled back against Aziraphale’s chest, but something was clearly bothering him. After a moment, he muttered, “I don’t know if there’s…room for me in your life.”

“I will make room for you, dearest.” He kissed the top of Crowley’s head as he thought. “There are a few rooms upstairs. It’s meant to be a flat, I think, but I’ve always used them for storage. We can clear those out easily enough and move your things in. And the plants can go on the roof. We’ll set something up to keep the pigeons off them. That should do for the rest of the lockdown, don’t you think?”

“And…after the lockdown?”

Aziraphale pursed his lips. “I think at that point we’ll be ready for a vacation. Perhaps someplace towards the coast. I’ll close up the shop for a bit. We can find a nice little cottage and…” He found his hand was rubbing across Crowley’s back again. “And stay for as long as we like. Months. Years. Decades. Whatever it takes.”

Scrambling to sit up, Crowley looked down at Aziraphale incredulously. “You’d really…why would you leave this shop, leave London?”

“Because, my love,” he took Crowley’s hands. “We deserve a break. We deserve a place we can both call our own. And we deserve a chance to work this out, together, without any interruptions.” He sighed. “We could be there now if I hadn’t been so slow to say anything.”

Crowley bent down and kissed him on the mouth, pulling his breath away. “It was perfect, Angel. All of it. Every moment. All six thousand and twenty-four years. Don’t ever think differently.”

“Fine.” Aziraphale kissed him one more time, then sat up. “But no more delays. Let’s go measure out your new rooms immediately.”

He took Crowley’s hand, twining their fingers together, and led him up the stairs to start their new life.

--

(Thank you for reading! The section titles are based on the Kubler-Ross Change Curve, though I found a few variations. Granted I went into this knowing how the story would go, then absolutely just looked for the model that matched my story.

The poem is Edna St. Vincent Millay’s “Renascence,” or at least the first few lines. I felt the depression and frustration evident in the poem, where the speaker moves through her emotions to new love and acceptance of the world, were very appropriate...)

(Oh, also I broke one of my rules and let Crowley have his sappy I love you speech. I figure we could all use it these days.)

#good omens #good omens prime #good omens fan fiction #ineffable husbands #aziraphale and crowley #aziraphale #crowley #oblivious aziraphale #aziraphale loves crowley #crowley loves his angel #emotional h/c #hurt comfort #love #quarantine fics #Ill Omens #cw: quarantine #first kiss #love confessions #love conquers all #love for the ages #My writing

[chaos-ineffable]

Snakeskin

I’m a tad bit late but here’s some snuddles (snake cuddles) for the Great Good Omens Snake Off. I haven’t written in a bit and forgot how much fun it can be so this was a nice reminder!

Edit: I thought of a better name while posting to AO3 but I still like Snuddle Time

                                                ____________

Aziraphale likes to consider himself a patient man. He has dealt with a lot over the last six millennia and humans, in all their chaotic beauty, have taught him that patience is indeed a virtue. But even he has a limit.

And that limit is currently being poked, prodded, nudged, pushed, and elbowed sharply. By his darling husband, no less.

“Angel, why do we have to go again? I thought we were going to have a bit of a lie-in. Do the whole lazy morning lie-in shtick. Cuddle, snog, get some well-deserved rest. Maybe even fuck, if we felt up to it. Why are we not doing that?” Crowley whines, following Aziraphale out of the bookshop and tossing their overnight bags into the back of the Bentley. He leans against the car and folds his arms over his chest, practically radiating displeasure in Aziraphale’s direction.

“Dear,” Aziraphale sighs. He inhales slowly, reminds himself that he is, in fact, in love with the demon, and releases a calming breath. “We have been over this. Anathema and Newt need someone to watch over their cottage while they are visiting Anathema’s family in America. It is only right that we lend them a hand after everything they did to assist with Armageddon. Now, please, stop asking. We are going, whether you like it or not.”

Crowley’s face pinches in anger and he grumbles something under his breath but he doesn’t try and argue further. He pushes off the Bentley and stomps back into the bookshop.

Aziraphale watches him go and adjusts his waistcoat in annoyance. All day, Crowley has been like this – angry and picking for a fight – and Aziraphale cannot begin to fathom why. Life has been good since the failed Apocalypse. They’re finally free to live how they like, to be in love and completely entwined in each other. They’ve been happy. So Crowley’s sudden bad mood leaves the angel confused and more than a little worried. But he already promised Anathema they would be to Jasmin Cottage by this evening, so there is nothing he can do about it now other than ride out the demon’s horrible mood.  

Crowley returns with the box of pastries Aziraphale had put aside for the trip. He places them in the backseat and glares at them, ensuring they won’t dare to be smashed or go stale during the drive to Tadfield. “That should be everything. Get in, angel.”

Aziraphale chooses to ignore the grumpy tone and does as he’s told, settling in for a long, silent ride.

---

No one is there to greet them when they reach the cute cottage Anathema bought shortly after helping stop the Apocalypse. There is a note on the door written in neat handwriting explaining that Newt and Anathema had had to leave earlier than expected because of a miraculous ticket switch that will get them to America at a far better time than two in the morning.

Aziraphale glares at Crowley’s back as the demon saunters into the cottage before him, bags in hand and scowl still in place. “Really, dear? We at least could have seen them off.”

Crowley rolls his eyes, the movement obvious despite his dark glasses, and sneers at Aziraphale, “Yes, right, of course. Because going out of our way to help with their damned cottage isn’t enough, we should have walked them into the plane as well. Sorry I didn’t realize this was a fulltime babysitting gig.”

“Really, Crowley, what is wrong with you today?” Aziraphale admonishes.

Crowley doesn’t respond. He growls and huffs and grumbles his way out of the cottage, slamming the door hard enough to make Aziraphale wince in sympathy for the poor frame. He shakes his head and turns away from the door, looking over the bags Crowley had dropped in the middle of the kitchen floor. With a wave of his hand, they were in the bedroom, tucked neatly under the foot of the bed.

Crowley will be back, hopefully in a better mood. In the meantime, Aziraphale could really use a cup of tea. It doesn’t take long to find all the necessary parts and he’s lounging on a soft couch with a steaming mug in no time.

He’s working on his second cup when the door opens and closes softly. He waits expectantly for Crowley to wander in, an apology on his tongue and a fine wine between his fingers. But all he gets is the even softer closing of the bedroom door.

He lets out a sigh. He can’t deny he’s worried now. It has been over a year since they broke ties with Heaven and Hell, a year since Crowley has been this upset about anything and unwilling to tell Aziraphale what is wrong. He sighs and takes a sip of tea. He’ll give Crowley a little more time.

Two hours later and Crowley has yet to leave the bedroom. Quietly, Aziraphale puts his mug down and stands. He has given Crowley long enough to address what the matter is. If he won’t come to Aziraphale, then Aziraphale will just have to go to him.

He knocks softly on the bedroom door. “Crowley, darling, can I come in?”

No response.

He knocks again and asks the same question a little bit louder. This time there’s a muffled hiss. It sounds annoyed but Aziraphale learned a long time ago that when it comes to Crowley, annoyed doesn’t necessarily mean no.

“Okay, I’m coming in.” The door swings open easily and Aziraphale stares at the sight before him.

All he sees is black and red. Loops and loops of it fill the room, coiling around the furniture, writhing and shifting constantly. It shines in the low light of the setting sun, glimmering in a way only newly revealed skin can. Around the edges of the room, tucked beneath muscular coils, is a dried-up pile of old skin. A pair of eyes stare unblinking from the mattress, a sheath of white-blue scales covering their true brilliance. A blue-black tongue flicks at the air and Crowley hisses softly. He sounds ashamed.

“Oh, my love. You should have told me you were shedding.”

Crowley hisses again, his tail flicking against Aziraphale’s wrist and wrapping gently around his arm. He shifts his head on the mattress, adjusting his coils, each the width of a small child, and pulls Aziraphale towards the bed.

Aziraphale goes willingly. “Do you need help, dear? Water, perhaps? Although it looks like you’ve got most of it off yourself. And how beautiful you look. Your scales are positively gleaming.”

There is no reaction to his praise. Crowley simply flicks his tongue out again and recoils slightly when it brushes against Aziraphale’s trousers. He recovers quickly and presses his head into Aziraphale’s hand, rubbing his snout against his wrist and working his way up, until he is nosing at Aziraphale’s face. He wraps around the angel’s shoulders and squeezes gently, hissing a soft apology into Aziraphale’s collarbone.

“My heart, there is no need to apologize. I should have asked why you did not want to come here instead of assuming I knew. Let’s both promise to work more on communicating and we can forget any of today ever happened, yes?”

Crowley unwraps himself from Aziraphale and hisses in agreement. He lowers himself back down to the mattress and rests the side of his head against Aziraphale’s fingers. This close Aziraphale gets a better look at the eye caps. They’re cloudy with a tint of blue and completely cover Crowley’s eyes. “Do you need me to pull these off, darling?”

Crowley nudges his hand again.

Aziraphale pulls away enough to inspect the area around the eye, worrying his fingers until he sees a small flap of dried skin still attached to each eye cap. With a mumbled warning and as gentle a touch as he can manage, he grabs hold and pulls each eye cap away, taking his time to ensure he doesn’t cause any harm.

Crowley lets out a hiss of relief when the second eye cap falls to the floor. He raises his head and twists, inspecting the rest of his very long body before turning to Aziraphale. His eyes, back to their full sunflower glory, are enrapturing. He flicks his tongue, waggling it against Aziraphale’s cheek.

“Oh, stop it, you old fiend,” Aziraphale laughs, stroking a hand down one of the coils near his hip. “Now, why don’t you turn back so we can do some of that cuddling you mentioned earlier.”

The last word barely leaves his lips before he finds himself thrown onto the mattress with several pounds of snake wrapped around him. Crowley rests his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder and offers some more snake kisses.

Aziraphale shakes his head fondly and wrestles an arm free, patting Crowley’s snout before miracling a book into his hand. “I suppose this works too, wily serpent,” he mumbles happily before he settles further into the comfortable weight of Crowley’s coils and prepares for a long night of snake cuddles.

#good omens #great good omens snake off #ggoso #ineffable husbands #my writing #fanfiction #good omens fanfiction #snake crowley

[thefatedthoughtofyou]

If you’re still looking for chubby Az prompts, I’ve got millions 😂 I think he might be reluctant taking off his shirt in front of Crowley for the first time and Crowley keeps trying to sniff out why he’s avoiding it every time they’re about to do anything- and eventually Az admits it’s because he doesn’t want him to be “disappointed.” It baffles Crowley, and breaks his heart. Obviously, he has to set his angel to rights and try to make sure that Az never feels that way ever again

(Ahhhhh look at me i filled a prompt!!! This was so so soooo lovely!!!! i hope you like it my dear!!!! <<<333 Thank you so much for sending it! and the other one which i will get too!!!!!! thank you thank you thank you! enjoy!!!)

Ao3

Rainy Day Insecurities

Something was wrong.

The world had been saved. They’d gotten their shit together. Crowley had moved into the bookshop with his angel. And said angel had finally made a move. Crowley had taken it well. He definitely hadn’t cried. And even if he had… that’s beside the point. The point was. Something was wrong. Things had been good. And are good. Aside from one little thing. There was a problem.

They’d been… more intimate lately. In fact, two days ago, Aziraphale had intimately pressed him into a bookshelf after hours and shattered him to pieces, and then put him back together again. There were still scorch marks on the shelf Crowley had been holding onto for dear life. He knew Aziraphale could miracle them away. Was confused about why he hadn’t, until he saw him walk past the shelf, his eyes passing over the blackened wood, a smirk curling his lips. He’d left them there on purpose. A memory. Crowley had shivered, his entire body trembling at the memory, and at the look Aziraphale had given him after smirking at the shelf. But that wasn’t the problem. It was, in fact, the exact opposite of a problem, in Crowley’s opinion. No. The problem was, Aziraphale’s shirt.

As problems go it was a small one. But that was just the tip of the problem, there was something else. Something under the shirt. Some underlying issue that Aziraphale had been refusing to address. Any time Crowley tried to remove his shirt, the angel directed his hands elsewhere. And while Crowley was perfectly fine taking whatever Aziraphale gave him, shirtless or not, he could tell there was something else. Something deeper. He could feel it. And he could feel Aziraphale pushing it away. Hiding it deep. Burying it inside himself so that neither he, nor Crowley, could see it.

Crowley had this nagging little itch to go digging.

~*~

Aziraphale had his hands in Crowley’s hair, fingers tugging and soothing in a constant rhythm that was driving Crowley mad. Aziraphale had pulled him close, hours ago it seemed now. Pulled him in, nestled him between his thighs and held him there. And Crowley had left himself be pulled, nearly always did, letting Aziraphale take the lead, holding Crowley where he wanted him. His Jacket was gone. Crowley made quick work of it. The vest was next, now crumpled on the floor. Crowley’s nimble fingers had undone the fly on the angel’s pants in record time. He’d then snapped his fingers to remove the pants entirely. Aziraphale had pulled away from his mouth then, given him a look. Crowley closed the space again, mumbling something about not wanting to move. Aziraphale laughed into his mouth and pulled him closer still, fingers curling against Crowley’s scalp, making him shiver.

Crowley almost didn’t try it. Didn’t want to ruin the mood. Because he wanted this. He wanted his angel. Wanted to see what new way he’d thought of to completely turn him into a shaking mess. But the little voice in his head, the annoying one who was almost always chattering about Aziraphale’s this or that, had egged him on. And so, his hands moved slowly over Aziraphale’s sides, he gave his hips a rough squeeze and smiled against Aziraphale’s mouth when he writhed under the touch, pressing up into Crowley with a moan. His hands moved further, over the angel’s soft stomach, and found the buttons on his shirt. Aziraphale’s hands were on his wrists immediately. Fingers wrapped around his wrists gently.

“Crowley.” His voice a whisper against Crowley’s lips.

“What?” he whispered back, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of Aziraphale’s mouth.

“Don’t.” Was the answer he received, and he felt his angel tense beneath him, in front of him, both beneath and little in front of him. He pulled back, putting more space between them so he could look at Aziraphale.

“Why not?” he pushed. He knew he was pushing. Knew this would make his angel uncomfortable. But he couldn’t help it. That itch to dig up what was bothering him was too strong. Aziraphale’s grip tightened, he pushed Crowley back even further.

“Crowley please.” He was begging now. His eyes not meeting Crowley’s. His hands gone from the demon’s skin, they were now tangled in his own lap, his eyes locked on them.

“Angel what’s wrong? I don’t understand.” Crowley pleaded, his hands open in front him, like he was waiting to be handed something, and in a way, he was. Aziraphale looked at him. His eyes much harder than they’d been in a very long while.

“There’s nothing to understand.” He sighed, through gritted teeth, snapping his fingers, his pants and vest back on him in an instant. Crowley made a sound in his throat and surged forward, stopping the angel from getting up, from walking away. His fingers now wrapped around the angels’ wrist.

“Please. There is. I can feel it. Every time I try to take your shirt off you stop me. Or move my hands somewhere else. And I’m not complaining, I enjoy whatever we do, shirt or no shirt I just…” he trailed off, moving to sit beside the angel, who was staring at him, eyes wide and clouded with what looked like suspicion. Crowley hated that.

“I can feel… something. Something bad. When I try to take your shirt off, something inside you. And I just- I want to understand.” He moved one hand up Aziraphale’s arm, over his shoulder, to press against his neck.

“I want to help. If I can.” He moved his thumb over Aziraphale’s jaw, and watched the angel watch him. He looked at him for a long moment. A very long moment. But Crowley didn’t move. He’d stay that way forever if he had to, until his angel was ready. Aziraphale deflated with a sigh, pressing into Crowley’s soft touch on his neck like a cat.

“It’s so stupid.” The angel said, a huff of laughter escaped him and then Crowley smelled it, salt. Aziraphale was crying.

“It’s not stupid if it’s hurting you, angel. You’re in pain. Please just tell me what’s wrong.” He moved his other hand to Aziraphale’s shoulder and pulled him close, arms wrapping around him, shielding him. But Crowley was having a sinking feeling that whatever it was that was bothering his angel, he may not be able to protect him from it. Aziraphale pulled away, just enough to look at him.

“Thank you my dear.” He smiled sadly, his eyes wet with tears.

“I just- I don’t want you to be… disappointed.” Aziraphale said, pulling away a bit more. Crowley let him, wanted him to have as much space as he needed.

“Disappointed?” Crowley echoed, confusion pulling his brows together. Aziraphale huffed and stood up, leaving Crowley on the couch to stare up at him.

“With this!” he moved his hands toward himself, up over the length of his body and then back down. Crowley’s frown deepened, he was terribly confused.

“With…” he started, not sure what to say, he had no clue what was happening. He didn’t want to say the wrong thing. This seemed to agitate the angel more, he sighed again, frustrated now.

“With me! With this body! It’s not- it’s not exactly in the best shape! Not like it once was. I’ve gone soft down here, on earth. Eating all that ridiculous food when I should have been preparing for a war. Oh it’s ridiculous Crowley. Please, just… forget about it.” he waved his hand, a tear falling as he turned away.

“Angel. I’m-“ he didn’t want to say he was confused. Though he still was. Aziraphale seemed the perfect shape to him. All soft edges and warm beautiful curves. He’d been hypnotized the moment he’d seen the angel standing on the wall, all those years ago. Looking so very touchable as the light had hit him just so. But he didn’t know what to say to not upset him.

“I like it.” is what came out. Blurted out awkwardly. Not said with any kind of softness, but he’d always been bad at that. He was good at shouting. He did it often. Words would flash though his mind and his mouth would open and they’d just force themselves out, over his forked tongue, past his teeth, and out into the open they’d go. And it would seem, though the situation was serious, his brain and mouth were still the same as they’d always been. Aziraphale turned to him, his eyebrows high.

“Pardon?’ he asked, his hands resting gently in the pockets of his vest.

“I said,” he cleared his throat and pushed himself off the couch.

“I like it. Your… shape. Or what have you.” He flailed his hand awkwardly in Aziraphale’s direction. The angel scoffed and turned away again.

“Really now, you don’t have to do that. I know how I look.” His voice was dismissive. Crowley growled inwardly. He was going to have try harder. Much much harder. And he could do it. He knew he could. Maybe not for everyone. He’d certainly never tried hard for hell. But for his angel. He could do it. Just this once. And then any time in the future. Whenever his angel might need more reassurance.

“I really don’t think you do.” He mumbled, mostly to himself, but he knew Aziraphale could hear him. Knew he’d pick up on the tone in his voice, the exasperation, the hidden just beneath skin, wanting. He watched Aziraphale turn toward him, just the slightest, smallest, tiniest, bit. He could see his face in the reflection of the dark bookshop window, the rain falling outside distorting his features the smallest bit, but he could see that expression. The one that meant he was listening, begrudgingly, Crowley was intimately familiar with that look.

“Oh no?” the angel asked, over his shoulder, his voice dripping with sarcasm, flippant even.

“No.” Crowley confirmed, his voice low in his throat as he began to walk, slowly, toward the angel.

“You really don’t.” he wiped his palms on his thighs and took another step.

“Because if you could see what I see. There would be no doubt in your mind. None at all.” He stared at Aziraphale’s reflection in the window, watched it staring back at him, brows creased in concentration now.

“Oh?” the angel asked, his shoulders swaying a bit more to the side. Crowley could feel him wanting to turn. But their eyes were locked in the window and it was like he couldn’t look away. Crowley smirked, satisfied that what he was attempting might actually work, and nodded.

“Yeah. Because what I see. Every time I look at you. Is beautiful.” He was close enough to touch the angel now, but he held back, kept his arms by his sides, traitorous hands twitching against his thighs.

“Your clothes don’t hide what’s underneath them angel. Not really. They cover you, but they don’t hide you away. And I know you try.” He sighs, close enough now the he could pull the angel to his chest. He doesn’t. He stops. Just inches away, and moves his hands to Aziraphale’s shoulders, rests them there and smiles, a small thing, when the angel sighs at the touch, eyes falling closed in the reflection on the window.

“You try so hard. All these thick, soft, layers, you cover yourself with. But I can still see it angel. I can still see you. All softness and curves.” Aziraphale tenses under his hands, Crowley presses his fingers into his shoulder and moves his hands down.

“It’s the curves you’re worried about then?” he asks, pressing forward, his nose pressing into the angel’s hair. Aziraphale shivers at the breath tickling his neck, and nods.

“Well I like them. A lot. Always have.” He moves his hands again, slowly pressing them under Aziraphale’s arms to wrap around his waist, resting his palms flat against his stomach.

“From the day I saw you standing on that wall. The light was hitting your robes so perfectly. Lighting you up. Making you shine. And I could see everything angel. All your curves, all the softness. Everything I could ever want to touch. Shining in that light, like it was waiting for me.” He moved his fingers deftly over the well-worn buttons of Aziraphale’s vest, pushing each one through slowly, with meaning, making Aziraphale shiver as he pressed against his back.

“Crowley.” He breathed, and it sounded as if was admonishing him.

“Hmm?” he hummed, nosing at the angel’s ear, making him shiver again.

“You couldn’t honestly see everything.” He turned in Crowley’s grasp, just enough to look at him.

“Everything angel.” He said, voice just a rumble in his throat now.

“And I wanted it.” a whisper as he pressed forward. His nose brushing Aziraphale’s as he groaned and bit his lip, turning away from Crowley again.

“Really my dear-“

“I did. I wanted you. All of you.” He moved fast then, snaking his way around Aziraphale, to stand in front of him, the backs of his thighs bumping the table of books they’d been standing in front of.

“Still do.” His fingers slipped under the angel’s vest, hands moving over that soft white shirt underneath, pushing the vest off his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. Aziraphale’s cheeks were red, his neck growing red as well as Crowley looked at him. His fingers resting on the buttons of that white shirt. Buttons that he longed undo.

“What’s under this shirt, could never. Ever. Disappoint me.” He lifted his eyebrows, for emphasis, looking at his angel with determination. Aziraphale swallowed hard.

“I know the curves under this shirt. I know them. I’ve seen them for 6000 years angel. And wanted them. Wanted to look at them.” He pushed a button through, waited for Aziraphale to stop him. Smiled when he didn’t.

“Wanted to touch them.” Another button, pushed gently through. Aziraphale shivered again.

“Wanted to kiss them.” Another button followed whispered words.

“Aziraphale.” His hands stopped, for a moment. The angel’s wide eyes moved from his hands to his face.

“Hmm?” This small hum, barely audible over the rain pounding against the windows and their hearts pounding in their chest.

“Tell me to stop. And I’ll stop.” Another button, and another. He reached Aziraphale’s neck, pulled his bow tie loose with one hand, making Aziraphale groan again. The last button. Crowley’s eyes searched Aziraphale’s face. The angel nodded, though he was trembling beneath Crowley’s gentle touch. He pushed the last button through, smiling softly as he moved his hands down, parting the angel’s shirt, at long last exposing parts of his angel he’d been longing to see.

Aziraphale moved then. Finally. His hands coming to rest on Crowley’s wrists again.

“I- I don’t-“ he huffed a laugh again, clearly flustered and out of words.

“You’re beautiful.” Crowley sighed, his eyes not moving from Aziraphale’s chest and stomach. The angel huffed again and Crowley did look up. His eyes hard suddenly, the yellow in them having long since bled out to engulf his eyes.

“You are. So beautiful.” He moved his hands, pressed them past the shirt to touch, a searing press of skin against skin. Aziraphale gasped at the touch.

“All of you.” Crowley breathed, staring into Aziraphale’s eyes as his thumbs brushed small circles into the soft skin on his angel’s stomach.

“Every.” A kiss. Pressed gently to the angel’s forehead.

“Single.” Two kisses. One for each eyelid.

“Inch.” Another kiss. Pressed to Aziraphale’s lips this time. Deepened by the angel, pulling him close frantically, humming into his mouth as Crowley touched and touched and touched him. Hands moving over soft skin, fingers pressing in, pulling closer, sounds dragged through clenched teeth. They moved together, pushing and pulling in a maddening rhythm until they were both panting on the floor, the rain covered windows now covered in fog, the heat pouring off Crowley something he could never control. Aziraphale rested on top of Crowley, they lay there, pressed chest to chest, the shirt long forgotten.

Crowley moved his fingers slowly up and down Aziraphale’s back, relishing the feeling of soft skin beneath his fingers. Aziraphale sighed, his body a wonderful steady weight on Crowley’s chest.

“Alright angel?” he asked, voice muddied with affection and afterglow. The angel sighed again, and nuzzled into his chest before shifting, laying his hands flat on Crowley’s chest, resting his chin on them and looking at him.

“More than alright I think.” He hummed, smiling up at him. Crowley moved his hand to the angel’s cheek, his fingers moving gently into his sweaty hair.

“How do you always know?” he asked, looking at Crowley with love in his eyes. Crowley shrugged, pouting his lips momentarily, before smiling fondly down at him.

“You’re easy angel. Always have been.” He shrugs again, just one shoulder moving against the rug on the bookshop floor.

“I’m easy?” Aziraphale gapes, his face full of accusation and cheer.

“Well..” Crowley moves his hand in their general direction, motioning over them both sprawled on the floor, naked.

“Obviously.” He settles his hand on Aziraphale’s back again.

The angel looks at him. For a long moment, eyes moving slowly over Crowley’s face to the point where he nearly starts squirming under the scrutiny, and then he’s laughing. Full belly laughing, his head falls back to Crowley’s chest as he clings to him. Crowley watches him for a moment, soaks in the happiness flooding off his angel, filling the air around them with a pleasant warm feeling. And then he joins him, the laugh bubbling up from his chest, where his angel lies.

They lay there, curled together, full of happiness, and love. And they laugh.

#anon #request #requests #prompts #good omens request #good omens #good omens fic #good omens ficlet #ineffable husbands #my writing #Anonymous

[acedesigns]

Forever [Good Omens: Aziraphale X Reader X Crowley]

Word Count: 1487

Warnings: Alcohol use, some angst, some fluff

--

“[Y/N]!” two voices slurred over the phone. You had answered, seeing it was Crowley. But the moment you heard their voices you knew exactly what was going on. Sighing, you stood from where you were sitting and grabbed your car keys.

“Drunk again?”

“C-Could you drive us to Azirah…Aziraphil…Aziraphale’s bookshop?” Crowley hiccupped and struggled with his best friend’s name. “We’ve got reading to do!”

“I thought you didn’t read,” you chided.

“It was a joooke,” Crowley whined. “B-but seriously…couldyou pickus up?”

“I’m already getting to my care,” you said. “Where are you two at?”

“Wh…Where are we at, Angel?”

You heard some murmuring between the two as they tried to figure out where they were. You sighed and started your car. Your fingers tapped on the steering wheel, waiting for them to decide the destination.

“Oh! We’re at Purgatory,” Crowley said with shock.

“Gotcha,” you reversed your car out of where it was parked and headed to the winery that the two tended to frequent whenever they were in the mood to drink wine. “I’ll be there soon.”

“THEY’LL BE HERE SOON!” You winced as Crowley’s voice blared through your ear.

“Oh goody!” a faint Aziraphale cheered in the background.

Not wanting to risk hearing any more yelling from either of them, you quickly hung up your phone and focused on driving through the streets of London. It wasn’t long before you pulled up to the winery. Crowley and Aziraphale were standing out front. Both had a bottle of wine and were leaning against each other while swaying back and forth.

“I swear,” you muttered under your breath and got out of the car. “Oy, let’s get a move on, yeah?”

The two shot their heads in your direction and cheered. They stumbled over towards you and both pulled you in for a bear hug.

“I’’m sooo glad to see you,” Aziraphale hummed.

Crowley was the first to pull away and slithered into your car. He rolled down the windows and laid down all across the back seat with his feet sticking out the window. Aziraphale was barely able to crawl into the front seat without dropping his bottle of wine. You rolled your eyes at the pair and quickly got in the driver’s seat.

“Are either of you going to get sick?”

“Angels don’ get sick,” Aziraphale said while holding the bottle of wine like a baby.

“No, but you do get very, very drunk,” you said and started driving as smoothly as possible towards his bookshop.

“Ya know,” Crowley said and lifted his head off of the seat to look at you. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink.”

“Humans have to drink to survive,” Aziraphale said, very sure of himself.

“That’s tea! They have to drink tea to survive!”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said with a nod of his head and muttering tea to himself. You didn’t bother to correct them.

“What I meant…What I meant was that I’ve never seen you drink alcohol.”

“That’s because I don’t drink alcohol,” you said.

Crowley sat up so quickly he slammed his head into his knee. “We have to fix that. Give them wine,” Crowley said with a groan.

“Here.” Aziraphale held out his bottle of wine to you, and put the end of it to your lips, as though he were trying to feed a baby.

“Azira—Aziraphale, stop! I’m driving.” You tried to swat the bottle away from you, but he still kept putting it up to your mouth, even though the cork was still in it.

“Heeere comes the airplane,” Aziraphale cooed.

You sighed and pretended to take a drink. “Mmm, very nice. Thanks.”

Aziraphale nodded his head victoriously and returned to holding the bottle like an infant with a sense of pride.

Crowley’s eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out what the Hell had just happened. He saw that the bottle wasn’t even opened, but you just acted like you drank some wine! “Oh, I’m too drunk for this,” he muttered to himself.

“Are you going to sober up?” you glanced at him through the rearview mirror.

“Nevah!” he yelled and threw his head back dramatically.

You sighed and parked the car. Not even bothering to inform them of your arrival, you got out of the car and started heading to the entrance. The two scrambled out of the car and staggered over to you.

“I don’t have keys,” Aziraphale said in shock as he tried to open the door but it didn’t budge.

“We’re locked out,” Crowley mumbled while also trying to open the door.

Sighing, you took out the spare Aziraphale had given you a while back and unlocked the doors for them. You didn’t trust the angel or demon to use their magical abilities to open the door as they usually would do.

You all managed to make it towards the back without tripping over too many things. The angel and demon took a seat, while you started moving stacks of books out of the way so the pair wouldn’t knock them over or spill their wine on them. Sober Aziraphale would be very upset if his precious books got damaged, after all.

“You two are drunker than usual, did something happen?” you asked and finally sat down next to Crowley.

“No.”

“Yes.”

You raised an eyebrow and assumed that Crowley was lying while Aziraphale was telling the truth. You looked expectedly at Aziraphale while he was sheepishly pouring himself a glass of wine.

“What happened?” you said sternly. You felt your anxiety growing at the thought of something being wrong.

Aziraphale opened his mouth and then closed it again as if he was trying to get his thoughts straightened out.

“Angel,” Crowley growled with a warning.

“Aziraphale, what happened? Is everything okay?”

“Oh yes! Everything is fine,” Aziraphale said and seemed to sober up a little. “It’s just that Crowley and I…Well, we…We realized that perhaps we may have put you in danger.”

“In danger?”

Crowley sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “We’re not completely sure, that why we didn’t want to tell you.”

“Why would I be in danger?”

“When we stopped Armageddon, Heaven and Hell were furious with us. They tried to have us killed, but thanks to a prophecy, we were able to stop that, too.” Aziraphale looked at his glass of wine and swished it around ever so slightly. “Now, they may think that they can’t physically harm us, but they could target the things that we care about. And, well, we care about you very much, [Y/N].”

“Oh…” you whispered and looked down at your hands. “So they’ll use me to get to you.”

Crowley let a hiss out. He stood from the couch muttering how he need some fresh air and left the room. Aziraphale watched him sadly and put his glass of wine down on the desk. He winced as he started to sober up and alcohol started to refill the wine bottle.

“We…We decided that we would see what you wanted to do. It is your life and you should have full control over it.”

“I…” you started and paused, thinking over what exactly was going on. You could stop seeing them all together, but what kind of life would that be? Even if it ended up being longer, you couldn’t imagine your life without your angel and demon. But if you kept on being with them, you could end up dying tomorrow. Tears started to run down your face. Aziraphale hurriedly got up and sat next to you before pulling you into a hug.

“It’s okay, we understand if you want to go,” Aziraphale whispered.

“No,” you said and sniffed. “I want to stay with you. Both of you. And no matter what happens, I love both of you. So much.”

Aziraphale smiled softly and tears built up in his own eyes. “We love you, too.” He kissed your forehead and pulled away from you. “You should go tell Crowley.”

You nodded and quickly stood up. You saw Crowley standing outside of the bookshop and stepped outside. He was looking up at the sky with a frown on his face. He didn’t look over at you when you stepped out. Instead, his jaw clenched tightly and his lip trembled.

“Are you leaving?” he managed to ask. His voice shook with each word.

“No,” you said just above a whisper. “I’m staying here, with both of you.”

Crowley inhaled sharply and pulled you against him. He grasped onto you tightly as if you would disappear if you let go. “I was so sure you’d leave,” he sobbed. “I didn’t think you’d want to stay with me.”

“Crowley,” you muttered and held onto him just as tightly. Your heart throbbed in pain at his self-doubt. “I love you. I can’t imagine life with you or Aziraphale. I promise I’ll stay with both of you forever.”

“And I’ll love you forever.”

#Good Omens #Fanfiction #Fanfic #fan fiction #fan fic #Crowley #Anthony J Crowley #Aziraphale #Reader #Reader insert #Fluff #Angst #Crowley X Reader #Aziraphale X Crowley #Aziraphale X Reader #Crowley X Reader X Aziraphale #Aziraphale X Reader X Crowley #Crowley X Aziraphale #Heaven #Hell #Angel #Demon

[possessive-crowley-central]

As we see in 1967, Aziraphale just gets into the Bentley and Crowley doesn't comment on that - so imagine Aziraphale calling Crowley to come get him, maybe after a meeting with Gabriel, just getting into the car, telling him to drive. Crowley will comfort his angel and, if he can, bring Hell upon whoever upset his angel.

Crowley would just pick his angel/just drives all over. He doesn't push his angel to talk about what is wrong. He will let his angel talk when he is good and ready. He will let a comfortable hand rest on his angel's thigh, and let his angel get as close as he wants. He'll always be there to comfort his angel.

After a while after aziraphale has explained what has happened with Gabriel, Crowley stays calm until he gets aziraphale back to the bookstore. He's keeping a calm face when really he's ready to rain hell fire down on who ever fuckin ruined his smiling angel's mood.

#good omens #crowley x aziraphale #top crowley #fableasks #protective crowley #possessive crowley

[thisbitchinthecorner]

Last Christmas (Day 7 Silent Night Prompt!)

For @drawlight All of my fics for this advent challenge are connected and I will reference past fics to continue the story of their relationship through the ages. This fic in particular references Day 2-Snow prompt that can be found here https://archiveofourown.org/works/21651316

Last Christmas

In an antiquated bookshop in London’s Soho, an angel and a demon are quietly reflecting on the events that have lead to coming of the final days.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale began. “I’ve been thinking, what if this really is the very last Christmas.”

“I’m sure it won’t come to that, angel.” The demon tried to calm himself.

“But what if it does?”

“Then we should make the most out of tonight then. Cheers.” Crowley tipped his wine glass towards Aziraphale’s.

They continue their drinking and reminiscing long into the night. Finally, Aziraphale brings up a topic they had not spoken about in thousands of years.

“Do you recall the first Christmas? Back in Bethlehem?”

“I recall you making a rather large mess of things.” Crowley replied with exaggeration.

“How was I to know the inn keeper’s feeble-minded son was tending the inn that night? I told the inn keeper to keep watch for a heavily pregnant woman and her husband. Humans.” The intoxicated angel languished.

“Come now, sometimes they get it right.” Crowley chided. “I remember you having to give some speech sitting on top of that terribly rickety horse stable.”

“If I’d been any heavier, I would have fallen straight through and damn near taken out poor Joseph.”

“I doubt he would have minded. God really chuffed it up for him. Poor man just wanted to get married and he gets saddled with raising the Christ Child.”

“It was an honor!” Aziraphale argued.

“It was cruel. Seems like something my lot would do.”

“You know what I remember about that night?” Aziraphale said quietly. “I remember feeling relieved when you arrived. That by your being there, everything was going to be alright.”

“There I was thinking you were going to be upset with a demon appearing for the birth of the Lord’s child.”

“You’ve always been there, always fixing things, helping out...saving me.”

“You get into a lot of trouble for an angel, you know that right?” Crowley raised an eyebrow, and Aziraphale blushed.

“Well, I suppose I’m lucky that you always manage to turn up.”

“Still think it’s been luck?” Crowley laughed. “You don’t give me enough credit.”

“You mean...you knew?” Aziraphale said in amazement.

“Of course I knew! One of us had to keep our eyes open and pay attention!”

Both are quiet for a moment.

“Crowley,” the angel said, breaking the silence between them. “I’m glad it was you.”

“Ngh.” The demon shrugged his shoulders.

“Should it go wrong, should the world really be ending in a matter of months, I’m thankful to have spent the time with you.”

“Don’t get sentimental on me, angel.” Crowley forced a fake groan, secretly delighted at the angel’s words. “It won’t come to that. We raised Warlock as best we could, and he’s a delightfully normal child.”

“Even still, if this is the last Christmas, I’m happy to be spending it with you.” The angel handed the demon a small box, wrapped in fine paper and trimmed in gold. “This is for you. It’s nothing much.”

Crowley opened the box, inside was a scarlet red flower. The demon looked up, clearly confused by this gift.

“It’s from that night, when Christ was born. You had them in your hair, one fell out when you were helping Mary give birth. I kept it.” Aziraphale’s voice was gentle, his eyes filled with warmth.

“You’ve had it all this time?” Crowley’s voice nearly breaking.

“It’s a shame you never got any credit for all the things you’ve done for humanity.”

“I didn’t do it for the humans, angel.” His eyes beginning to well with tears as he spoke.

“Oh.” The angel blushed once more.

“I should probably be going, it’s getting late and you know, demonic work to do, temptations to accomplish.” Crowley reluctantly stands.

“I think we both know you’re going home to sleep off all the wine you drank.” Aziraphale laughed.

“You might be correct.” Crowley reached into his coat pocket and produced a box wrapped in green with a silver bow. “I got you a little something too. It’s nothing special, open it when I’m gone.”

Aziraphale escorts him to the Bentley parked just out front of the shop. The street is silent, something quite remarkable for London at night, and even more so for the holiday. The air is cold, and the moon a waining crescent glittering in the sky. All is calm.

“Nothing like a silent night, am I right?” Crowley joked to lighten the mood. Something had shifted between them, and if he stayed any longer, he might not ever leave. “Happy Christmas Aziraphale.”

“Happy Christmas Crowley.”

The angel watched the elegant car drive away into the night. He went back into his bookshop and closed the door. He opened the box the demon had left for him, inside, a box of chocolates from the little Italian bakery he was so fond of; the ones Crowley thoughtfully brought him over the years. He selected one, a rum filled cherry covered in dark chocolate, and as he lifts it from the box, a small slip of paper slips to the floor. He carefully picked it up, and read it.

“il mio amore per l'eternità”

“My love for all eternity.” He whispered to himself. Lucky enough to get the special chocolate again. He thought. Crowley’s words from earlier rang in his ears, “Still think it’s been luck? You don’t give me enough credit.”

Oh, my dear. The angel smiled while hummed his favorite Christmas hymn as he placed the slip of paper into a unadorned box. These treasures were, far and away, the most important and special of his possessions. One he had given away on that night, and it was replaced by a message of love. “Sleep in Heavenly peace, my darling.” He sighed as he closed the lid to the box. “Sleep in Heavenly peace.”

#31 days of ineffables #good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #justenoughofabastardtobeworthknowing