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do-not-lick-the-walls · 4 months

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a devil put aside | chapter one - when it all goes to hell

masterlist | read on ao3

(gif from this lovely set by wearecrowley)

beelzebub x fallen angel!reader

summary: six thousand years after the war, you crash-land in hell's accounting department. someone unexpected comes to your rescue.

(she/her pronouns are used for the reader in later chapters, no use of y/n)

warnings: graphic depictions of injury, near-death experience, themes/ideas of death & dying, religious themes & trauma, strong language, vaguely sexual undertones to some of this lol

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Your wings drag useless through the air as you plummet down, down, down like a falling star. All the eyes inside of you have gone dark; you're seeing only through your corporal ones, staring between your smoking feathers at the mass of sky that heaven dissapeared into. You're both weightless and heavy at once; the drop lifts behind your hips, pushes on your shoulders, tugs at your fractured wingbones. It's a long way down, and you're going down backwards.

As you fall, you realize that you've never really been afraid before. Not like this. You've never had the cause to be. Even back in the war, fear couldn't take you, for you had trust that She would shield you. And you were powerful, beautiful, six-winged and twelve-eyed in your true state of being, bright enough to blind, holy and free and clairvoyant.

And now you've lost it all.

This isn't anybody's fault but your own. Michael may have been the one to break your wings, and Gabriel may have thrown you over the edge, but it was you who lit this match and set yourself on fire. You and your pride.

As the sky goes dark and the air grows hot, there's nothing left to do but wait for impact.

It's not an easy landing.

You crash hard through what must be the roof of hell, then hit the ground a second after. You go tumbling, knocking into and through unidentified obstacles with enough momentum to push them over or send them flying. The unmistakable sound of scattering printer paper takes over as you bowl straight through what feels like a stack of it, before bouncing against something metal and being thrown off-course, only to hit something else and shoot off in another direction.

Eventually, you roll to a stop, banged-up and unable to tell right from left or wrong.

A sob chokes from your throat. Whether it's born of relief, or grief, or pain, you don't know. Your brain spins inside your head, and something---no, many somethings---are shouting, hissing, chattering. Wherever you've landed, you're not alone.

You lie wrecked in a pile of fiberglass, copy paper and sin, bathed in dingy florescent light and the remaining embers on your mangled wings. An oppressive green tint hangs over the world. Filing cabinets lay toppled like Babel, and the hole you smashed in the ceiling stares down in judgement.

With a struggle, you pull yourself into sitting up. Even through the blur, you can tell the room is trashed, and get the impression it was so even before you made an entrance. Paper stacks cover half the floor, water damage crawls along the walls, the air reeks of sulfur and oil and cigarettes. Despite never having eaten, you feel the urge to retch.

You tried to prepare yourself on the way down. You tried to come to an acceptance. But now that you're looking at what you'll become, every peace you've made with this situation goes up in flames.

You're surrounded. By uncanny, fucked-up mirrors of the ethereal, as if somebody cut out an angel and they crawled in to fill the empty space left behind. Animalistic traits wind through some of their bodies---horns, tails, claws. One hisses at you with a long, forked tongue, another bares several rows of jagged teeth. They're speaking, but whatever they're saying, you can't hear it over the ringing in your ears---when did your ears start ringing?---and the tangle of voices and growls and snarls all fighting to be the loudest.

Desperate for space, you scramble backwards, ignoring how a white-hot jolt goes shooting down your wings as they drag awkwardly across the concrete. The demons are starting to crowd around you fully now, melting from individuals into more of a living mass that edges you back while it closes in. Then you're up against the wall, and there's nowhere else to go. Something wet runs down your face. You can't breathe---since when do you even need to breathe?---and there's nowhere to go, nowhere to go, nowhere to go. This is how you die, and it is your fault. Your fault, your fault. You squeeze shut the eyes you have left, curl inward, and brace.

"STOOOOOOOOOP."

It stops.

Everything goes quiet. The room holds its breath as you let yours out. For a moment, all you can hear is your own ragged sighs, and your heart---you don't normally have a heart either, why do you have a heart?---thumping in your ears. After a few seconds, you risk looking. Everyone's turned in the direction of the voice.

"What is the meaning of all this noizzze?"

The demons shuffle, mumble, and avoid eye contact in an obvious attempt to dodge the speaker's wrath. In another world, it might've been funny. You suddenly remember yourself and a few other angels doing something very similar once, Before the Beginning, when Gabriel caught you playing with stars instead of working.

Then the sea parts, and leaves you before your rescuer. Your eyes land first upon their shoes, then scan upward over the rest of them. They're dressed better than the others: sharp lapels adorned with pins, ribbons at their throat, red sash hanging like a warning sign across their chest. Everything about them radiates command. Authority. They are unmistakably in charge.

You know who this is.

Half of you knows to shrink away. The other half wants to reach out and touch.

Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies, Prince of Hell, and Grand Duke Below fixes their gaze upon you. There is nothing left to protect you. Not your wings, not your miracles, not your mind. On desperate instinct, you start to pray, then realize it's futile. God can't hear you, and she wouldn't listen if she could. You are alone in the belly of this whale.

"Oh."

Beelzebub moves in a manner unlike the other demons. Less hurried. Their gait is smooth, deliberate as they cross the space between you, free of any unpredictable motions and with an unsettling kind of calm. They crouch to your level in that same careful way, and your eyes meet theirs through the hair that's fallen over your face. A gentle buzz fills your ears.

"Well, what have we got here?" They muse, cocking their head to the side. "C'mon, love. Talk to me."

Their voice contains the same authority as before, but it's softened around the edges, taken on a tone that's not unkind.

This is a trap.

The crowd is starting to push in again. There's a curiosity about them, a hunger, like they can't wait to rip out your throat and see what's inside. You can practically feel their mouths watering.

Beelzebub registers this as well, and must not like it any more than you do, because they whip back over their shoulder, and shout "Everyone, back up! Yes, ALL of you lot! Go on, BACK."

This is met with obedience from the lesser demons, and, although the yelling makes you flinch, you're grateful for it. If you're to be torn to shreds by the Prince of Hell, at least you'll have some breathing room while it happens.

Beelzebub reaches out a hand, wrapped in a netted glove that ends before the knuckles. Up close, it's construction is almost like that of spiderwebs. Long fingers lead to nails unexpectedly well-kept, unlike your own bitten-down ones. And, odd enough, their skin looks soft. Then you realize that this is probably not the time to notice things about their hand, considering it's about to clamp around your neck and squeeze the life from you.

It doesn't.

No suddenly-appearing claws wrap around your throat. Or gouge out your remaining eyes, or dig into your throbbing wings. They don't rip you apart.

They brush the hair away from your face.

"Let me see you, sweet."

Beelzebub is gentle as they urge your chin up. Careful, touch almost like that of a doctor with a patient, or a lover with their beloved. The ghost of a buzzzzz presses into your skin where their fingers nest beneath your jaw.

You shiver.

As they take in your face, their expression shifts many times over, though you can't place the emotions, then settles into a soft frown. Their thumb drags along your cheekbone, wipes away the wetness beneath your eye. The taste of smoke sits heavy on your tongue.

"Be not afraid, angel."

They say it like they're making a decision.

"C'mon. I'll fix you up."

In that smooth, slow manner, they rise and offer their hands. Their upturned palms aren't a command, exactly, but they're something close to it. The voice in your head continues to shout that this is a trap as you slide your hands into theirs, but there's no other option, here. Not really.

They grip you tight around the wrists and pull. Your wings cry out in protest of the movement, stabbing, as you fall upward into their chest with a gasp. The world is swimmingspinninglooping, and now you're the one gripping tight to them while you stumble and blink like a newborn foal.

"Go on, hold on to me. There we go." They anchor you upright. Something hot and wet drips onto the back of your knee, and after a moment, you realize that it's all over your back, too. It's soaking into your clothes, and now that you're standing, dripping onto the floor. Smears of red around where you just sat---and the heart that's been put inside your chest---tell you exactly what it is.

Once you're stable enough, Beelzebub maneuvers your arm over their shoulders, and wraps one of theirs around your waist. Every accidental touch to a wing doubles the ache pounding through your broken bones, leaving behind a trail of whimpers and pained hisses that spill from your lips like prayers. Beneath your fingers, the fabric of their blazer is soft and thick, not so different to that of your own jacket; save for the color, and the way that yours is steadily growing wetter down the back.

After a deep, shaking breath and an attempt to swallow the taste of iron, you nod. They look back at the crowd of still-curious demons.

"What are you looking at? Back to work, all of you!"

The demons pretend to go back to work as Beelzebub helps you through the room. "Right. Stay close," they mumble, as if you weren't already wrapped to their side and relying on them to keep you from eating concrete. But still, you lean in a little further. There's strength there, you find, far more strength than their frame would suggest by it's lean build and delicate features. They're Prince of Hell, of course they're strong, your brain helpfully supplies. Are you an idiot?

Yes, say your wings, dragging lifeless behind you. Yes, you very much are.

Beelzebub keeps you on your feet as you stumble through the doorway and into the crowded throats of Hell.

Contact of any means is rare in heaven; being supported like this is already the closest you've been to another in centuries. Having to push through hell's living river of bodies is near enough to suffocate. Demons run hot, and soon, sweat begins to drip from you alongside the blood. You can't tell what's worse-- the shooting pain when the crowd jostles your wings, or the sheer discomfort from the heat and the stick and the smell. The loss of your inner eyes has left your vision at the mercy of lighting, like everyone else's. You weren't built to see in the dark, and the hallway lights are so dingy you're not sure they do anything at all. There are no windows here, just flickering overheads that buzz along with the flies.

So you focus on your feet. Partly to watch your step, partly because you can't take the way the demons keep leering at you. The laces of your oxfords have come untied and one of your spats is missing, probably lost in the fall, while the other one's twisted strangely around your ankle and coming undone. Beneath the green overhang, your pretty, cream stockings look diseased. Your heels less click than clomp as you stumble endlessly forward.

"Hold your head up," Beelzebub's voice slips into your ear, barely more than a whisper. "They can smell fear. Don't give it to them."

You don't know why, but you obey. Maybe there's comfort in a task, or maybe you're longing for approval. Maybe, deep down, you've got something to prove. Whyever you do it, you wipe your eyes, pick up your head, and stare back at those who stare upon you.

For the first time in six thousand years, you glare.

"Good," Beelzebub praises, in a way that makes something pleasant roll down your back. "Very good, angel."

They don't seem to mind the weight you've pushed onto them; you're hanging off their shoulders like they're the edge of the world. And, at this point, they might as well be. Your dead wings are getting heavier with each step, your throat's gone raw from heavy breaths, your newly-beating heart's still going wild. Every inhale has got you sucking down the cigarette smoke---or probably something worse---that lingers in the air. Every exhale trembles. Waves start taking over, make you dizzy on your feet. You're coming up on the end of your rope.

"Just a little further, next door on the left. Almost there."

You clench your teeth. Dontgiveittothemdontgiveittothemdontgiveittothem.

"Josh, get that door for me---out of the way, idiots!" Beelzebub pushes past a small crowd, positioning so as to keep you shielded from any more touch. Up ahead, somebody ('Josh'?) swings open a panel in the wall. They all but carry you the last few paces---you're falling apart at the seams, white-knuckling their shoulder as they help you duck through the doorway.

"If any of you so much as think about coming in, you'll be spending the next century without a tongue."

The door slams closed, leaves you in the pitch-black.

You slip from Beelzebub's grip.

And you're back where you started. Crumpled to the floor, dripping in your own sin. Snapped in half and deserving of it. You bury your face in your hands. It's all too much--- the falling, the crowds, the pain, it's so much. You don't have enough space in your head for it, you're going to crack open. You're going to crack open. You're going to crack open. The tears are spilling hard now, pooling on your face then running between your fingers. Your trembling breaths match time with the throbbing in your bones.

God can't hear you, and she wouldn't listen if she could.

"I know, angel," Beelzebub's voice rings soft beside you. Something brushes against your head, begins to card through your hair, and, after a moment, you realize it's them. The Prince of Hell is sitting next to you in the darkness, running their fingers through your hair.

And you let them. You let them whisper nothings while you cry, you let them push their hand through your hair, because it feels good. Because it feels good, and you're dying, and you can't make yourself shove them away like you should. You don't have it in you.

"Let there be light," they whisper.

The room takes on a gentler shade of black-tinged-green, just enough to allow sight. For you, at least. You have a feeling they could already see you through the dark.

"Alright, I'm gonna fix you up now, and I'm gonna be honest, it won't feel great. Hey, look at me," a hand wraps around your cheek, guides you face-to-face. They don't look very much like the Lord of Hell right now, you think, with their soft eyes and long lashes, and their thumb brushing away your tears. Their slow, calculated mannerisms are dropping into something less regulated, though still careful.

"I'm gonna need you to trust me, angel. I know that's a hard ask, if I were you right now, I sure as heaven wouldn't trust myself. But if you go thrashing about when I start, it's gonna make things a lot harder for both of us. I need you to trust me here, and stay still. Can you do that?"

You manage a nod.

"Good, now lie down for me."

It's entirely irrational. Borderline suicidal, this situation; to let yourself be locked in the dark with Hell's Prince, to freely bare your wounds to them. But it's not like you've got anything left to lose. You're dying as it is.

As they help lie you down on your stomach, half of your heart is able to trust them. And right now, in the dim, in the warm, on the concrete, half is enough.

"This is going to hurt, angel, so brace yourself. Alright, three, two, one..."

Their hand presses into your back, and you cry out as the dull, shining throb of brokenness contorts into something alive. You forget your one job. The instinct to struggle, to writhe against the ungodly sensation takes over your body. Beneath your skin, your wingbones are realigning and sewing themselves back together, sliding through limp, wet muscle and burned flesh to get to their places. You push into the ground, bite down on nothing, make desperate, useless movements with no object as you succumb to throes of agonized frenzy.

"Fuck, angel, stay still--"

You're pinned down by another hand on the small of your back, jerking you partly out of your craze. You gasp, whimper, dig your nails into your palms, will yourself to staystillstaystillstaystill while your bones snap into place. Your chest heaves against the ground.

Slowly, slowly, it ends. Relief takes over. Beelzebub lets you go with a sigh, and you echo it. Your wings are bloody and sore, but you can move them again, the cuts are closed, and you're finally in enough control to put them away.

You are exhausted. You are alive.

You breathe.

Whether angels can actually die, at least, by means other than hellfire, nobody's ever told you. You've never really thought about it before, and you sure as hell don't know now. To just have come so close, to be so certain that you're not going to make it, and then to be forcibly put back together and come out living... it's not the kind of thing that gives you any answers.

Beelzebub flops to the ground beside you, panting, and you're struck with the fact of what they've done for you. Somebody meant to be nothing but evil given form, and yet, they're the one who pulled you from the rubble. Who dragged you somewhere safe, who just held you down and mended your wings. Who saved you, their hereditary enemy of six thousand years.

"...Why?"

They don't answer.

You're not sure what happens now. Maybe you've fallen into a trap after all. You don't really want to find out, but you suppose you'll have to. And soon. But, until then, you're content to lie here on the floor.

A heaviness flutters over you, and sleep comes for the first time.

#good omens fanfiction #beelzebub x reader #good omens #good omens beelzebub x reader #x reader #beelzebub good omens #good omens demons #beelzebub #beelzebub/reader #fic #im proud of this ngl #good omens x reader

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shuichiakainx · 5 months

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they finally announced the third auspicious season I can't wait 😭❤️ I'm very happy but at the same time I'm scared for what will happen in this third season

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astrid-sama · 9 months

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Ineffable bureaucracy x reader

They are overprotective, especially Beelzebub because having tortured many people in Hell he knows how easy it is to hurt a human.

- Both you and Gabriel are very devoted to the Almighty and often pray together (in the meantime Beelzebub looks at you in disgust from afar).

- Beelzebub has ordered one of his flies to keep an eye on you at all times so it is sure you are safe.

- Beelzebub finds it adorable that you like to talk to his flies.

(you also gave names to the flies, some names: Lapis, Stolas, Musa, Cassandra, Tony, Achille, Camille...).

- You're trying to teach Gabriele to cook (he's not good at all, but you don't give up).

- You are very fond of physical affection, so you hug your partners very often and both love it (although Beelzebub will never admit it).

- Gabriele loves it when you stroke his wings.

- You and Beelzebub often watch horror movies together.

- Gabriele started crying the first time you had a fever because he was convinced you were going to die.

- When you first took them on a roller coaster ride they were about to vomit.

- Sometimes he sings Everyday all three together.

- If someone makes you cry Gabriel will be there to comfort you while Beelzebub will go and kill the bastard.

- Beelzebub often gives you bouquets of black roses to show how much he loves you.

- Sometimes Gabriel and Beelzebub try to make you breakfast but every time they burn it, but you don't care because you appreciate the thought.

- God ship you

- When you found out they weren't human you ran away terrified but after a few hours you came back and told them you would love them regardless of who they really were.

#good omemes #good omens beelzebub #good omens gabriel #ineffable bureaucracy #good omens x reader

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roxannepolice · 9 months

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I've seen people criticising the "no nightingales" line as too 4th wall breaking and... see, I kind of agree. I personally like 4th wall breaking in general but I get it, the moment was a bit too dramatic for that. Buuuuuuuuttttt....

A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square was written in 1939 and released in 1940. And this isn't canon, but I'll go with the fanon that Aziraphale and Crowley weren't talking between Holy Water incident and 1941 (though I think the following theory works just as good without this fanon, i.e. they would just meet every now and then).

Just. Imagine Crowley in his totally not noir anti-hero outfit hanging out with Manning Sherwin and casually starting to whistle a tune that just kinda flows from his metaphorical heart. Just a few notes, but Sherwin immediately comes up with a proper melody.

Now imagine Aziraphale, hammered and playing fucking truth or dare with Eric Maschwitz and having to tell the truth about his dream date and being tipsy enough to longingly murmur something about two angels dining at the Ritz while a nightingale sings... somewhere or other.... Just that, leaving Maschwitz to write the full song.

And now imagine Maschwitz meeting Sherwin and talking about how he came up with those wonderful lyrics for a romantic song, and Sherwin saying he's got just the melody for that.

And now imagine post-blitz Ineffables listening to Vera Lynn and both finding out they acted as the tennis rackets that brought the balls of melody and lyrics for this song together. And now consider that just like Gabriel blessed(?) a jukebox to always play Everyday for Beelzebub, so Aziraphale blessed(?) every live musician playing at the Ritz to play A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square for Crowley.

I'm just. Going to sit in my little headcanon that it's not just their song for 4th wall reasons, but it's their song for very in-text reasons.

#good omens #good omens s2 #good omens spoilers #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable bureaucracy #gabriel x beelzebub #aziraphale x crowley #mind you this isn't explaining away what might well be just a not best timed 4th wall break #it's more of a intentio operis author left a loophole for reader to get into #good omens meta

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judoswriting · 2 months

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Beelzebub and Gabriel/Jim headcanons!

AN:my first actual post!! These were so fun! Could be seen as poly but I did seperate.

Beelzebub

1. you both probably stumbled upon eatch other some how, and multiple times maybe? Esp if your human

2.regardless of what you are, they probably wouldn't care much until the first few times you both stumble opon eatch other.

3.after the first few meetings tho, you catch their eye. And their intrigued by you. You start to see them more often, they (or you) make small chat ect.

4.at first Beelzebubs quiet, doesn't speak unless needed. But eventually opens up more as time passes.

5.after that awkward stage, they love your company. Expect a fly or 2 to follow you around almost every were you go.

6.MAY or MAY NOT have named a fly after you (you won't ever hear that tho.)

7.secertly I feel like They are very romantic, they just have a hard time showing it. Expect a rose every now and again on your night stand when you wake up.

8.VERY protective esp if your human, they've seen how delicate humans are. They'll be dammed if something happeneds to you.

9.when telling you they love you, I feel like it could go 1 of 2 ways. Either very stright forward or they're a blushing mess<3

10.Beelzebub rarely ever goes in for physical touch, unless they know you need it. Or they need it. Very bad at comforting but they try their best .

Gabriel/Jim

1.depending on when you meet he's very different.. If he met him as Gabriel, he's judgy as hell. He makes snarky remarks A LOT but as Jim he's a total sweetie, a little dumb.. But a sweetheart at that

2.as Gabriel sooner or later the remarks stop or get rare, you can tell the way he looks at you changes as well. As Jim he loves your company, complements you alot as well.

3.Jim loves making dad puns to you, he loves seeing your smile. Gabriel starts taking interest in your hobbies, you like to paint/sculpt? Use him as reference! You read? Expect to find all your tbr books if he hears you don't have them.

4.regardless of witch you meet, his love language is gift giving (receiving but giving as well) I feel like either would be slightly strange gifts tho. Gabriel would stumble upon a rock, think of you, and give it to you. Jim however can't really get you anything, if he's reading and he finds something that reminds him of you. He will RUN to you and talk about it

5.when confessing, I feel like both would be a mess, neither would understand what these feelings are and it would mess them UP. Gabriel more then Jim

6.Jim would be such a romantic, flowers, poems, hugs, hand holding, ect. Gabriel would be on the calmer side but I feel like he would like to slow dance? Esp if you two have a favorite song.

7.would try to cook... would fail and almost burn the kitchen down.. But at least he tried? :)

8.ok but when sleeping Gabriel DEFINITELY covers you with his wings on occasion. He likes knowing your safe. Jim could also be the same way as well.

9.never gets flusterd offen, but complement something about him and KMFNS esp he eyes me thinks

10.LOVES when you get him something and especially if you made it like you spent time?? On me??? I love you. (If it's Gabriel he would blush and say something like "ofc you would spend your time on me. I'm GABRIEL" but inside he's screaming<3)

Hope you likes them!!

#x reader #good omens #good omens x reader #good omens beelzebub #good omens jim #good omens gabriel #gabriel x reader #beelzebub x reader #headcanon

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novthewolf · 5 months

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Good Omens Masterlist

*-*-*-*-*

Two’s company, three’s a family - Masterlist

*-*-*-*-*

Aziraphale x Reader [Request Open]

Headcanons :

- Aziraphale's NSFW Alphabet

Imagines :

None

*-*-*-*-*

Crowley x Reader - [Request Open]

Headcanons :

None

Imagines :

None

*-*-*-*-*

Aziraphale x Crowley - [Request Open]

Headcanons :

None

Imagines :

None

*-*-*-*-*

Aziraphale x Reader x Crowley - [Request Open]

Headcanons :

None

Imagines :

None

*-*-*-*-*

Grabriel x Reader - [Request Open]

Headcanons :

None

Imagines :

None

*-*-*-*-*

Belzebub x Reader - [Request Open]

Headcanons :

None

Imagines :

None

*-*-*-*-*

Beelzebub x Reader x Gabriel - [Request Open]

Headcanons :

None

Imagines :

None

*-*-*-*-*

#good omens #aziraphale x reader #crowley x reader #crowley x aziraphale #crowley x reader x aziraphale #aziraphale x reader x crowley #good omens s2 #reader insert #david tennant #ineffable husbands #micheal sheen #gabriel x reader #gabriel x beelzebub #beelzebub x reader #gabriel x reader x beezelbub #twoscompanythreesafamily #masterlist

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d3l1c4t3s0vl · 5 months

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Idfk if any of my moots know what good omens is but WHERE THE FUC is the Beelzebub smut

This pretty lord RIGHT HERE ^. I've been going feral for them.

#i want Beelzebub smut #good omens #beelzebub #plushcrushrant #good omen x reader

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doctordethlyk · 7 months

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Hi I will be writing for Good Omens now because I feel like it so here are my rules for requests:

no smut (suggestive is fine)

no incest

no character x character (character x character x reader is allowed though)

I will write polyamorous relationship

all kinds of relationships are allowed

Those are all of my rules here is what I will be writing:

headcanons

oneshots

drabbles

Characters:

Aziraphale

Crowley

ineffable husbands

Nina

Maggie

vinylatte

Anathema

Newt

ineffable descendants

Beelzebub

ineffable beuracracy

Adam (platonic only)

Warlock (platonic only)

Muriel (platonic only)

Thats it please and send in requests :)

#fanfiction #good omens #good omens x reader #crowley #aziraphale #anathema device #nina good omens #maggie #muriel #beelzebub #gabriel #adam parrish #warlock #newt pulsifer #ineffable husbands #ineffable bureaucracy #vinylatte

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dragon-kazansky · 8 months

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Ineffable Bureaucracy x Reader

#good omens #ineffable bureaucracy #gabriel x beelzebub #ineffable bureaucracy x reader #moodboard #draft #dragon #dragon moodboard

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judoseepy · 2 months

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You ever love a character so much but there's absolutely NO fan fiction or even x reader's of them so you just go "fuck it I'mma do it myself"

#good omens #good omens beelzebub #good omens gabriel #jim.. short for Gaberal #x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #srsly.. beelzebub and jim deserve love to<\3 #random #rant ig

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kingofvipers · 6 months

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Good Omens Masterlist

Crowley and Aziraphale (most of these will either be parental and/or platonic)

Curse of the Fever- male reader-fluff

Adam

Warlock

Gabriel

Beelzebub

#good omens #good omens x reader #good omens x male reader #x reader #x male reader #x gn reader #x teen!reader #x child reader #fluff #angst #romantic #platonic #aziraphale x crowley #adam young #beelzebub #gabriel #warlock dowling

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do-not-lick-the-walls · 2 months

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Hi! i love your writing, i was wondering if you could do a beelzebub head cannon list?

love like yours | beelzebub headcanons

masterlist

a/n: ahhh hi nonnie! Thank you so much for my first request!! <3 ive never done a headcanon list before, so I hope this is good/what you meant! I went with some falling in love stuff since you didn't specify any theme or anything. Happy Valentines!

ineffable taglist: @sarcastic-sourwolf , @angelofthenight <3

---

• They fall without realizing it.

• Centuries of shoving down every positive emotion has them so, so horribly out of touch with their feelings. They don't believe they're actually capable of love. Or anything else that... soft.

• But you make something bubble up in their chest. A kind of fluttering that's refusing to stay down, no matter how many times they stuff it back under the bed.

• It's infuriating.

• It's fascinating.

• You're fascinating.

• Every habit, every mannerism, every little oddity of yours they discover is pinned to the map of you that keeps popping up in their head.

• They don't mean to study you so intensely, it just... keeps happening.

• How can they not?? You're just sitting there being so damn interesting, what else are they supposed to do? Confront their own feelings? Hahahahahahaha

• No.

• They're falling harder every day and desperately trying to ignore the shit out of it.

• Eventually the council gets fed up and stages an intervention. All this emotional repression is piled on so thick its becoming a workplace hazard.

• "You need to get it together, Beez. This is physically painful to watch."

• "I am not in love!"

• "Stop lying. I found this poem in your room. Its horrible."

• "Give that back!!!"

• (The poem is bad. Like really, really bad. It never sees the light of day again, for everyone's benefit.)

• Even after they're done repeatedly going through all 5 stages of grief and finally accept that they love you, it still takes a while longer for them to fess up.

• They chicken out like 4 different times before finally going for it.

• They try to be suave and cool, but you kind of turn them into a puddle of lovestruck goop.

• They dont know how to express their feelings normally, let alone while you're standing right there in front of them, and looking at them with your gorgeous eyes and smiling your little smile and oh god oh fuck---

• It comes out as mostly a string of incoherent words and noises that sound like they might be having some kind of celestial stroke.

• When its clear they're not getting the point across, they just kiss you.

• ...?

• ...!

• !!!!!

• That does the trick.

• <3

#fic #good omens #beelzebub #beelzebub x reader #good omens x reader #x reader #beelzebub good omens #good omens beelzebub x reader #good omens fanfiction #good omens fic #headcanon #headcanon fic #bullet point fic #x reader headcanons #i hope yall enjoyed this ive never done it before #ive only ever written like #fully #so this was fun!#also i spent way too long making that dumb little banner thing at the top

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shuichiakainx · 5 months

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I love them too much 😭❤️ please I need a 3rd season of good omens it's been almost 5 months but I can't get over this scene 😭💔

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bi-bard · 9 months

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When a Demon Stumbles onto the Doorstep of a Bookshop - Crowley Imagine [Good Omens]

Title: When a Demon Stumbles onto the Doorstep of a Bookshop

Pairing: Crowley X Reader

Word Count: 1,944 words

Warning(s): **SEASON 2 SPOILERS** mention of abandonment, drunk character

Summary: [Post-Season 2] After Aziraphale's departure, (Y/n) joins Muriel in the goal of taking care of the bookshop and the tasks that may come with that. One of those many tasks includes being prepared for the moment that a familiar demon finds his way to the doorstep at odd hours of the night.

Author's Note: Listen. I said that I was going to focus on my writing challenges. I know. But someone made this headcanon on Tiktok and I couldn't shake it. If anyone has the user, please let me know because I cannot find it, but I might also just be stupid.

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

When I first found Muriel in charge of Aziraphale's bookshop, I knew that I needed to step in and help where I could.

Well, that's not quite right.

I actually started off very scared.

After what had happened the night before that with the legion of demons coming to attack and Crowley ushering everyone away from the building, I knew that I needed answers. The only way to get those answers was to get back to the bookshop when the coast seemed to be clear.

If I had slammed the doors open any harder, then they would have surely popped off the hinges.

What I saw was Muriel standing in the middle of the room with a stack of books in their hands. They jumped at the sudden noise, quickly scrambling to keep from dropping the books.

"Oh, you scared me," they said before placing the books on the table. "Hello!"

"Who are you," I asked, ignoring any introduction.

"I am a human police officer," they motioned down at their all-white uniform. Angel. Got it. "And bookshop owner... now."

"Where's Aziraphale?"

"Oh, just... off."

That was the very moment that my fear turned to annoyance and anger. "Off?"

"Yeah... y'know, off."

"Where?"

"Oh, well..."

I stepped forward. "Listen. Aziraphale has been one of the dearest in my life for years now. I know about the angel thing. I know about demons that were here last night. Hell, I know about the failed apocalypse. So, when I hear that he's 'off' and has left his beloved bookshop in the charge of some random angel that I've never seen, I get very upset and very worried. I suggest that you tell me what happened to him."

"I can't-"

"And I suggest that you do it quick because he is not the only celestial being that I have on speed dial."

That seemed to be the only push that Muriel needed to tell me everything that had happened while I was gone. Gabriel's memories coming back, Gabriel and Beelzebub running off together, the offer that Aziraphale had taken, and the one that Crowley had apparently turned down. All of it. Well, as much as Muriel knew at the time.

I stood there for a few moments. Stunned into silence.

"Are you-"

"He didn't even say goodbye," I muttered.

"Well, the Metatron seemed very insistent that he needed to go right away- where are you going?"

I had already turned around and walked out of the bookshop again. I looked down the street before going to grab my phone. I frantically clicked Crowley's contact.

It rang a few times before going to voicemail.

"Crowley," I murmured. "Please, answer. Please. I... I found out about Aziraphale and I... I don't know what to do or where to go. Please."

I hung up and walked a little further down the road, wiping my eyes as tears started falling.

The moment that I went to call him a second time, I heard a car engine racing closer to me. I looked down the road to see the all too familiar Bentley pulling up to the curb next to me.

I put my phone away as he got out of the car.

"Crowley-"

I was cut off by him pulling me into a hug. I hid my face in his shoulder for a moment.

"He didn't even say goodbye," I repeated pathetically.

"Trust me, it would've been worse if he had."

It was then that I knew that we were losing the same person, yet grieving two very different things.

After that day, I made myself a new home in the room that had previously been used by "Jim". I had thrown a bit of a fit about the bookshop being entrusted to some random angel instead of a friend. Muriel was kind enough to let me stay. I think that they needed the help, but I was willing to call it merely an act of kindness if it made them feel better.

I didn't know how beneficial my presence would be in the shop.

I knew that I could help organize and clean. I could protect Aziraphale's precious books and keep Maggie's record shop safe. I could try to teach Muriel how to appear more human. I knew that stuff.

I never expected to become accustomed to Crowley turning up at odd hours of the night, often- if not always- drunk.

He would knock on the door or just barge in, yelling for Aziraphale. He wouldn't stop until I had gone down there and broke the news to him that Aziraphale may not come back. That he might be staying in Heaven forever and we may never be able to see him again.

It hurt. And I imagine that it always will. Having to put him to rest on the couch or watch him stumble back outside.

He always wore his glasses, but the heartbreak was so clear that it passed the lenses too easily.

It was one of those nights that he told me the truth of what happened before Aziraphale left. What happened between them.

I had been startled awake by the loud sound of the door slamming open and shut.

I walked out of my room immediately. Muriel stepped out, but I held a hand out. I had been taking care of this since it all started. I wasn't going to stop now.

I walked downstairs, hearing Crowley calling for his angel as I made it downstairs.

"Angel!" he was spinning in circles as he yelled. "I know that you can hear me! Come here and talk to me!"

"Crowley," I said gently as I approached him. "Stop it."

"Angel!"

"Stop it!"

He didn't listen to me, instead still walking around and spinning as he yelled for Aziraphale to just talk to him.

He didn't stop until I grabbed his wrists and forced him to look at me.

"Stop, Crowley," I tried to keep my voice firm. "This is not going to get Aziraphale to come back! I don't even think that he can hear you! Stop it!"

The demon fell quiet as he stared at me. There was a long pause between us. I immediately began to question what I had said. I was constantly terrified of being too harsh. I didn't want to be some additional reason for Crowley to be hopeless over the whole event.

I grabbed the wine bottle that was sitting in his hand before placing it on the table nearby. "Come on... you're staying here tonight."

He didn't follow me when I tried to drag him over to the small couch.

"Crowley..."

"I don't... I don't want to sleep on that couch."

I frowned at him. "I'm not letting you sleep in your car right now, Crowley."

We both stopped. I had learned a lot about stubbornness over the course of my friendship with Crowley. And he knew that. And I'm certain that some part of him despised teaching me that skill.

"Come on," I said, dragging him toward the staircase. He followed me begrudgingly.

I pulled him to my room and motioned to the small bed in there.

"Go on," I pushed when he didn't move at first.

I heard him grumbling under his breath as he walked over. He somewhat flopped on the mattress, and I shook my head as I went to pull the blanket over him.

"Better?"

"Yeah, sure," he grumbled.

"Want to take off your glasses-"

"Leave them."

He hadn't taken off his glasses in front of me since Aziraphale left. Not that he often did anyway.

I took a deep breath and went to walk away.

"Would you...," he trailed off.

"What," I asked.

"Nothing. Never mind."

There's that stubbornness and closed-off attitude. "What is it, Crowley?"

"Would you stay?" he finally muttered.

"Just stay in here? Sure-"

"I meant lay with me. Please."

I glanced at the minimal empty space next to him for a moment. "Are you sure that you'd be comfortable with that?"

"I'm a demon. I have spent my nights in far more uncomfortable places than a small bed."

One day, I would need to question him on those 'I'm a demon' excuses.

I awkwardly shifted my way under the covers, fixing them over him as I did so. After a few more awkward moments, I reached out and wrapped my arms around his torso quietly. I expected some grumbling or some kind of fight. Nothing happened. Instead, Crowley merely sighed and seemed to relax into the pillow more.

I spent some time thinking. Mainly about whether or not demons actually had any need for sleep or for blankets to keep warm. I had thought about it before.

There was plenty that I knew.

I knew that food was more of a luxury than it was a necessity. I knew that they had a lot more control over things around me than I thought before. I knew that they could travel to and from Hell with a particular elevator or particular stairways.

I also knew that Crowley had the ability to sober himself up in an instant.

He had shown me that trick ages ago because I was curious.

So, when he began showing up at the bookshop while completely drunk, I questioned why he wouldn't sober himself up when on the couch or in his car or on any occasion like this.

It didn't take me very long to figure out why that was the case.

It was grief.

Not just normal grief, but grief for someone who was still very much living and breathing.

There was something so much worse about grieving someone who wasn't even dead yet.

When they aren't dead, there's always some remaining shred of hope that they will choose to come back. Which should be comforting, in theory. But when they don't come back... it only feels like a constant reminder that you truly may not be enough for them to fight for or want to fight for.

I could only guess that those thoughts were going through Crowley's mind because they were going through my mind.

"I kissed him."

My ears pricked up at his sudden words. "What?"

"I kissed him," Crowley repeated.

I knew that Crowley and Aziraphale loved each other. It was painfully obvious. I always thought that one of them finally saying something about it would have a dramatically different ending. I imagined them both hiding away in the bookshop. Not much changing... just what was normal for Aziraphale and Crowley but with a little more hand-holding. Not this.

I took a deep breath. "When?"

"After I rejected his offer to become an angel," he explained. "He had told me all about the Metatron's plan. I would have rejected it no matter what, but I had just been scolded by Nina and Maggie for not telling Aziraphale about how I felt. It just... It felt like the only chance that I had left to get him to stay."

I wondered if Crowley was telling me this because he trusted me or if it was merely because he was drunk.

"I miss him."

"I know," I muttered, hugging him a little tighter. "I miss him too."

I closed my eyes as I did that.

What else could I offer?

There was so much that I could understand. So much that I could offer him in terms of help and comfort. All I could do was hope that everything would eventually work itself out.

And at that point, that hope was getting harder and harder to hold onto.

Maybe some force in the universe would keep me from letting go of it completely. Eventually.

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

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#imagine #fanfiction #x reader #good omens x reader #good omens fanfiction #good omens imagine #anthony j crowley x reader #anthony j crowley fanfiction #anthony j crowley imagine #crowley x reader #crowley imagine #crowley fanfiction

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 8 months

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Hey I would like to request a good omens Crowley x reader angsty sad fic where they are pining over him but he loves aziraphale and they don’t want to interfere. Kind of Laufey’s song Let You Break My Heart Again vibes. Thx!!❤️

"Why couldn't I have what THEY had, [y/n]?! Maybe it's...it's all part of God's great ineffable plan! As if fallin' weren't enough...y'know? Why not allow him to walk outta my life and crawl back to the other angelss, too? Keep fuckin' me over, I suppose. This must be karma, I swear.."

"Crowley.." You began, only to stop as the demon on the other end of the line continued his drunken sorrowful ramblings.

He was still clearly hurting, and you were his only company left.

The only one who knew about him and Aziraphale and everything they've done together for the past 6,000 years.

You've been around for a thousand or so, not aligned with Heaven nor Hell, but living as a simple immortal being.

However, only very recently have you learned that they've in fact known each other since the very dawn of Creation.

So their history goes way back.

It's no secret that Crowley's been pining after the angel all these years, forced to pretend he hates him just because he was on the "opposite side".

But he was sick of doing all of that, and finally got the courage to tell him how he really felt. He begged him to stay, to stop taking sides, and to think about just them for once.

In the end, Aziraphale still chose the side that shunned him for conspiring with a demon, halting Armageddon, and hiding Gabriel on Earth...all because he was offered a higher position of power and couldn't so easily let go of Heaven.

Not as easily as Crowley could. He couldn't understand that, or why Gabriel and Beelzebub could go off together and they couldn't.

Now you were here, having to comfort the very same demon that you've fallen in love with yourself.

It felt like such a selfish desire, knowing that you haven't lived nearly as long as either of them. You weren't there at the beginning of Everything. You weren't there at the Garden of Eden.

You could never fully understand their deep-rooted bond.

There's no way he would ever see you in a remotely similar light.

Even still, the heart wants what it wants..even if it's unobtainable.

"Listen, Crowley.." You tried speaking again. "I'm next in line, do you want anything?"

Perhaps that was rather poorly worded, as you heard a sniffle and what sounded like him holding back a sob. "I just want him to come back.." His voice broke.

There was that feeling again, constricting your human heart with pain.

It was such a fickle organ, you often thought. It kept people alive, yet when put through emotional toil..it felt like it was killing them, and they wanted nothing more than to rip it out of their chest to be rid of the pain.

But right in this moment, you felt like that because deep down...you wish he instead said that he wanted-

"W-Wait..you're..at that café 'cross the bookshop, right?" You heard Crowley mumble. "I'll get the usual..assuming she remembers. Actually...don't bother-"

"It's fine, Crow. It'll be my treat. I'm getting something, too...not that we actually need it. But we both enjoy it, right?"

"...right." He chuckled depressingly. "Fine. I'll be outside."

That was a surprise, although when you briefly glanced outside the window of Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death, you noticed the Bentley parked next to the sidewalk. You sighed, hanging up the phone before you stepped up to the register, smiling at Nina.

"Hello, Nina. I'll have my usual..and Mr. Crowley's, too. Six espresso shots, was it? And one of those [favorite flavor] pies, pretty please." You pointed to the menu.

"On it." She nodded, already getting to work on your order. "You know, I haven't seen that chap around in a while. How's he holding up? I heard he took it pretty hard."

"Yeah." You muttered, recalling how you've talked to her about your own feelings for Crowley.

You weren't expecting a human to solve the relationship woes of immortal beings when she herself was going through her own issues.

She worried that her and Maggie's little "intervention" caused the demon and angel to split up, but you didn't blame her. And neither did Crowley, although he was torn between wishing he didn't kiss Aziraphale and wondering if he'd regret not doing that at all.

He hasn't been back at the coffee shop since.

"Well, do you plan to tell him anytime soon?"

You nearly choked on your own spit. "N-Nina...I..I can't just do that. He clearly doesn't see me that way. He talks about him every day and night. I've stayed up past midnight consoling him, letting him stay with me the moment I learned he's sleeping outta his car. But...it's him he loves, not me. And I can't interfere with that..it would be wrong."

"Then...what's your plan from here?" She asked with a raised eyebrow.

"..I'm not sure anymore. I guess hope that one day..I'll stop falling in love with him. Maybe his angel will come back and everything will be as it was."

"Sounds like wishful thinking at this point, but I'm sure things will work out. Maybe he'll move on."

"I doubt it, but time will tell."

"Right." After finishing the drinks, she set them down into a cupholder, before giving you the pie as well. You paid and bid her farewell before heading out of the café and to the Bentley.

Inside, you saw Crowley sulking, lost in thought until you knocked on the passenger's window. He sat up with a start, fixing his glasses when he realized it was you. "S-Sorry."

The door opened, and you slid inside, passing him the tall cup with tons of espresso shots. "It's okay. So..where did you wanna go today?"

"I was thinkin'..St. James Park. Feel like I've been neglecting the ducks for far too long."

You blinked. 'Wasn't that..his and Aziraphale's thing-?'

"Yeah, I know..it...was our thing." He responded as though he read your mind. "'s just..been so lonely without him to chatter to. I hate siting all alone on that bench. But it's not like I can just walk Upstairs and tell him to screw all of them, right?"

"Sadly..no." Shaking your head, you glanced over your shoulder at the plants he's shoved into his backseat. Closest to you was a venus fly trap that had spots and other flaws, looking rather frail and wilted and sad.

Not too different from how its owner felt.

You smiled sadly and stroked the top of its head with your thumb, feeling it cease its trembles. Its mouth closed as it seemed to...purr?

How cute.

"Well would ya look at that...ya even treat the bloody things the same as he did.."

You tensed, looking back to Crowley and frowning upon seeing the tears sliding down his cheeks. But he was quick to wipe them away once you noticed them, yet a sniffle still managed to escape him.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to keep doing stuff that reminds you of him.." You set a hand on his back. "Do you...want me to drive?"

"No, it's fine.." He shook his head, sniffling loudly one last time before he managed to pull himself together. "Let's just..go."

You nodded, taking a sip of your coffee and a small bite of your pie, before you reached for the radio-

However, you forgot that the Bentley was sentient, instead turning it on for you and playing a song that nearly made you choke once again.

"--All I've had is coffee and leftover pie. It's no wonder why. Ooooh, still you take up all my mind. I don't even think that you care like I do. I should stop, Heaven knows I've tried..."

Even Crowley froze as he listened to the lyrics.

And not because it wasn't a Queen song.

"One day, I will stop falling in love with you."

Neither of you spoke a word, instead staring at the dashboard with looks of sadness upon your faces. You thought he would've changed the song by now, but...when you looked over, you could see his glasses now resting on the bridge of his nose.

His golden irises have almost completely taken over the whites of his eyes.

What little you saw of them..

Were growing redder and glossier.

"Some day, someone will like me like I like you."

You felt your own eyes start to sting, too, so you looked away and opted to pet the venus fly trap that was nuzzling your hand, clearly asking for more much-needed affection.

Sentient plants were easy to comfort.

If only your demon friend could be the same way..

If only you could show him that you wished to be more than just friends..but this simply wasn't your place to tell him that.

Not here, not now...and possibly not ever. For as long as you lived on this mortal plane.

All you could hope was that one day, the feeling will pass.

If Aziraphale came back, things might be better. You wished the idiot would at least check in with you both once in a while so you knew he was alive.

If that's the last time you hear from him, well....you weren't sure if Crowley would ever want to try loving again after what he's suffered through. He poured his heart out, only for it to get broken and stomped on before being left all alone on Earth.

He couldn't go through that again.

And you didn't wanna say anything about how you felt for the centuries you've known him. He could very well perceive that as you trying to replace him and ruin this friendship.

The wounds in his heart are still clearly fresh..and they likely will be for a long, long time.

For now, you'll just be by his side and be mindful. Perhaps he'll eventually realize how you felt about him...but you doubt it.

"Until then, I'll drink my coffee, eat my pie. Pretend we are more than friends. Then of course, I'll let you break my heart again-"

Crowley's hand suddenly shot towards the button, the car filling with an abrupt silence as he shut off the music. Then he switched between several Queen songs, eyebrows furrowed as none of them seemed to suit his current mood.

If Queen didn't make him happy anymore...he was seriously in emotional distraught.

But eventually he settled for "Somebody to Love", and you smiled, wiping your eyes as you leaned back in the seat. "Good choice."

He nodded absentmindedly, before finally driving off to the park after adjusting his glasses.

No further words were exchanged. You didn't even scold him for speeding down the tightly-knitted roads of London. That's the last thing he needed right now.

Especially since you picked up that habit from Aziraphale.

But even as Freddie's voice reverberated through the Bentley, you two couldn't stop thinking about the lyrics of Laufey's song and what it meant to both of you.

Yet the people it reminded you of...were completely different.

#ough i listened to this song on repeat while editing this </3 #hurts like a bish #clanask #good omens x reader #good omens 2 spoilers #crowley x reader #ineffable husbands #immortal reader #angst

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