#would NOT explain why aziraphale said you go too fast but like maybe more things happened in between them.

[girlbloggercrowley]

i am a believer in the s3 1941 kiss

#good omens #it just makes Sense. #like the way i shot out of my seat when aziraphale said he did the apology dance in 1941... WE HAVEN'T SEEN THAT YET!!!! #my delusional theory: they kiss on the night of the zombies/blitz after their gay little romantic dinner #they freak out about it and crowley leaves #GOD what if aziraphale initiated it then. and then he shows up later in the year (?) to do the dance #as an olive branch cause at this point he's painfully in love he just wants to see crowley again #so he does the dance as like. “sorry for freaking you out here's our joke it's all okay right?” #and then crowley has to watch as aziraphale apologizes for kissing him. yeah that works! slams my head into the wall #that would explain the weirdness in 1960s #would NOT explain why aziraphale said you go too fast but like maybe more things happened in between them. #oh my god what if like they fully dated then during those years but had a messy breakup #and then crowley wants to keep going he's sad they broke up but aziraphale had issues with heaven or something so he's scared #every day i hurt my own feelings

[blorbosondeck]

fic rec masterlist

canon divergent/finale fix its

Anamnesis

THIS! FIC! this fic lives in my head rent FREE it is so good and it makes so much sense in the narrative that the shitty finale concocted, as to why they wouldn't mention cas or anyone else and its just. so good and they write chuck in the most villainous way that i love!!!

"Chuck is depowered, Jack is the new god, and the world is free. Dean and Sam get into the Impala and chase down the miles on an endless highway, and their story is finally, finally their own to follow. At least, that's what Dean tells himself. But the diners and motels and painted interstate lines are blurring together and the smallest details keep catching at his brain like tiny fishhooks and he can't quite shake the feeling that not everything is exactly as it should be. Fix-it/alternate series finale. Canon-compliant through the end of 15.19."

Sunset Sound: Stairway to Heaven by @adhdeancas

GOD FUCKING CHRIST this is so good and sweet and im such a sucker for team ups and reunions!!! its 3:30 am rn and i just finished it and i love it SO much it made me laugh a lot and the last few chapters i had the stupidest grin just plastered to my face

The Closer the Star, the Greater the Parallax by @rocksalts​

repressed bastard dean submits to the mortifying ordeal of being known and receives the rewards of being loved but only after some miscommunication i LOVE this i read it last night and it’s a fast favorite. my interests have overlapped and i am INTO it

“When Dean sits down to watch some bullcrap Discovery Channel episode with Cas, he doesn’t expect to actually learn anything. Except, with Cas explaining, he makes an effort to connect the dots.”

Don't We All Deserve To Be Happy?

VERY sweet and a VERY good pick me up. all around feel good fic!!! 

"Post-canon fix-it, divergent from 15x19 where Jack stays and Dean doesn't die and Cas comes back and everyone is happy. Take a shot every time I'm salty about the finale."

Keep Your Love Alive

okay. okay okay okay this may be my favorite finale fix it just because of how well reasoned it is. like this feels what should have happened i love it SO much

"Dean gets to spend eternity sharing beers with Bobby on the Roadhouse porch and riding around in his Baby with Sam. He’s at peace… or he feels like he should be. But a few things nag at him: Where is Cas, and everybody else Dean had been hoping to see in Heaven? Why does he feel like he’s stuck in a loop, reliving the same memories over and over again? And who are the strangers wearing Sam’s and Bobby’s faces?"

The GoldenRod Revisions by @aethylas​

this is one of the most well written things ive ever read. the script format DID make it feel more real and honestly? this is better writing than this show deserves. the finale that could have been ♥️

“A rewrite of Supernatural’s final two episodes, expanded into a five episode arc - in which Chuck needs to be defeated, Castiel deserves to be saved, and the characters in this story get a very different ending.“

Ascend by @wanderingcas​ 

THEE finale fix it fic!!! written by the AMAZINGLY skilled and talented @wanderingcas !!! it’s 50k of angst and hurt/comfort and pure bliss

“Something in the world is wrong.

Demon activity is rising where mysterious black substance oozes and unusual ecological events are shaking the world. Dean, grief hanging on his shoulders, restlessly searches for answers that might lead him to the Empty… and to Cas.

But what Chuck wrote can’t be undone. The narrative thread pulls Dean along, forcing him to comply. Because once a story already has an ending, it can’t be rewritten.

Or can it?”

Things Happen (They Do, And They Do, And They Do) by THEE @sobsicles

i KNOW everyone has already recommended this and likely you’ve all already read it. but it has to go here bc REPRESSIOOOOOOOOON i LOVE this so much it is one of the most perfect things i’ve read. are you bisexual? did you have a kind of weird relationship with your best friend and not realize that how you felt about them wasn’t necessarily how other people felt about them and you were maybe a little bit in love with them but were too repressed to realize it? you’ll feel seen. maybe a little too seen

Closer (isn't close enough)

are you a sweet and sappy yet horny bastard? do you like cas exploding light bulbs? you will like this.

“the one where they finally talk about what cas said before the empty took him”

You and Your Husband

it is exTRMELY sweet!!! repression dean strikes again <3

"Five times Dean corrects someone about his relationship with Cas, and one time he realizes he doesn't need to."

Tall Grass

miscommunication and a slowburn! despite being written in 2017 and finished in 2018, it feels like a fix it. ft. plant obsessed cas <3 

Invictus

a LOVELY and short (relatively) finale fix it

“They saved the world. They're free. It's done.

Except it's not, and carrying on is the last thing any of them are thinking about.

They still have someone they need to save.”

Unchained Link

post finale- it’s a great case fic and i am compelled i want more!!!

"It's after the end of things. Life continues on while Dean is "livin it up" in heaven. But it's never that simple, is it? A freak occurrence sends Dean into another time stranded back on Earth. And he thought his hunting days were over. But, no worries. His knight in shining armor comes to the rescue. Hijinks, therefore, ensue."

fun and time unspecified

Ladies and Gentlemen, This is Love Potion No. 5

very funny and sweet! miscommunication at its finest ♥️

"Cas gets drenched with a mystery potion from the ‘love spell’ shelf and... Dean has a sneaking suspicion, angel or no— the spell may have taken effect. And Cas might be in love with Sam."

The Way We Were

Y'all. It is so good its a great mix of funny and serious- extremely fun to see dean as like a base bisexual

"Dean and Castiel pose as a couple to gain access to a gated community known as 'The Glen', a pleasant if secretive location that the boys believe might be linked to several dead bodies showing up over the years bearing signs of ritualistic sacrifice. All seems well until Dean's memory is affected from an incident during a solo exploration, leaving Dean convinced that their cover story is true. Castiel is left trying to resolve their case without taking advantage of an increasingly enthusiastic Dean"

While You Were Sleeping

this is basically just the movie but replacing sandra bullock with cas. this is my comfort movie and imo, one of the most perfect rom coms. the fic isn’t finished but i still have the tab open on my phone and i will straight up go back and re read it when i need a pick me up. 

aus/rewrites

The Harvelle Gospels: Offscript

i know everyone ever ( @jewishcharliebradbury ) has recommended this fic. and for good reason go fucking read it

“The Apocalypse is averted, the angels are in Heaven, and Jo is free from the threat of possession. Somehow it couldn't be farther from a happy ending.“

absolute riots

An Ineffably Profound Bond

i honestly would have put this in the finale fix it section! look. i know. i know you've been burned by crossover fics before. but this is Thee good omens/spn fic you want. its funny as hell and immensely satisfying. im weak for everyone working together tropes and that is this

"After Chuck sets 'The End' in motion, the remaining members of TFW make a miraculous escape. Not willing to waste any time, Castiel comes up with a plan to travel to one of the other worlds to try and get help from the angels there, but after a fight with Dean, it's the hunter who gets sent into an alternate universe,with seemingly no hope of return.

When a mysterious human with a heavenly weapon shows up in Aziraphale's shop, he and Crowley learn that their world is not the only one. Now it is up to them to decide whether or not they want to join forces with the human and help him save his world or simply find a way to send him home."

Somebody Up There Likes Me by @lafilleredige

cas is hit with a spell that turns his vessel into a woman, hijinks and sexuality crises ensue etc etc sam is a supportive and bitchy little brother and its all SO fucking funny and also. horny as hell i love it i love it i LOVE it

“’Dean doesn’t want to talk about your breasts, it’s making him uncomfortable because he hasn’t acknowledged the complex fluidity of human sexuality.’“

Stray Cat Strut

a long crack fic that IS one of the funniest things i’ve ever read and i can’t explain why. it’s so ooc but its so funny that i don’t care. if you need a laugh you gotta read this

"Sam and Cas are immediately in love with the adorable kitty they find outside the bunker door, and occupy their time planning how to convince Dean--who they believe is off sulking after a botched hunt--to let them keep their cat. Along the way, Dean learns to use a litter box and hears some confessions he maybe wasn’t supposed to hear, all while realizing just how much he loves Castiel.

Now all Dean has to do is convince Cas and Sam their new pet cat is actually him before they do something crazy--like neuter him!"

canon compliant or slight canon divergence

Give

by @doublestuffedimpala post season 7 episode 7, kind of ambiguous ending but truly a cas is happy to bleed for the winchesters fic

Punch Like Bones 

short, post 5x04 homoerotic moment that i wish we’d gotten

#lmao please interact with this i spent so much time on it #i had to go onto desktop for this #ill keep adding on to it #my fic recs #fic rec #spn fic rec #deancas fic recs #charlie.txt

[ellenripleysbelieveitornot]

Aziraphale was at a bit of a loss. After all, how do you ask someone you’ve been dating for several centuries if they’d like to take the next step? Would a simple ‘will you marry me’ suffice? Or did the weight of all those years necessitate something with far more pageantry?

He fiddled with the ring (the winged one that used to find its home on his little finger) as he considered his options. It would be easiest to just wait it out and let Crowley ask him, but Aziraphale had grown far too impatient for that. After years of looking over his shoulder and keeping Crowley from getting too close out of fear of what might happen to him, now that they finally had some peace, Aziraphale found that not only did he want it, but he wanted it now.

He knew what Crowley would do in his shoes. The proposal itself would be big and dramatic, and would most likely be preceded of an entire day out, taking him to all the places that Crowley knew he liked. But as much as Crowley enjoyed making these grand gestures, he seemed to be entirely uncomfortable with receiving them. And wasn’t that what it was about? Doing something Crowley would like?

With that realization he decided to keep it as low-key as possible; simply give Crowley the ring and let the rest sort itself out. 

They were in the backroom of Aziraphale’s shop, enjoying a bottle of wine between the two of them. He waited until Crowley seemed sufficiently at ease before he set down his glass and moved to sit next to him on the couch. 

“Crowley, dear,” he began, gently taking Crowley’s hand in his own as he looked into Crowley’s eyes, the shades he typically wore having been discarded earlier in the evening. It was easy to get lost in those eyes, and he almost did until he remembered himself. Clearing his throat, he fished into his pocket to search for the ring. “I have something for you,” he said as he drew it out.

Crowley looked at the gold band in Aziraphale’s hand, then up at him. “It’s your ring.”

Well, at least his observation skills were intact. “Yes,” Aziraphale said patiently. “It’s yours if you want it.”

“Oh.” Crowley didn’t seem to know what to say to that. “Uh, sure. I mean, if you want me to have it.”

“I do,” Aziraphale said gently, a soft smile gracing his lips. “...May I put it on you?”

“Oh, yeah, why not?” 

Crowley spread his fingers and Aziraphale slipped on the ring. He was delighted to discover that it was a perfect fit. Until it occurred to him that Crowley had yet to actually give him an answer.

“So?” he asked, looking up hopefully through his eyelashes. “What do you say?”

Crowley, who had been gazing down at the ring, snapped out of his reverie. “Oh, right!” He smiled. “Thanks, Angel!”

Aziraphale watched dumbly as Crowley poured them each a glass of wine, and then resumed chattering away about whatever he had been talking about before, leaving Aziraphale to wonder about what exactly had just happened.

---

Aziraphale was at a bit of a loss. It had been several weeks now, and Crowley had yet to take off the ring. It should have made him happy, seeing the golden wings there on Crowley’s finger, but not like this. Not after the rejection and how easily Crowley had brushed it off.

He’d finally decided that he had enough. “Give it back,” he said, holding out his hand and standing before Crowley on the couch.

Crowley looked up from his phone and blinked. “Give what back?”

“My ring,” Aziraphale said, extending his open hand more insistently. “Give it back.”

Crowley puled his left hand to his chest and curled his other hand around it protectively. “What? No! You gave me this ring! Why’d you give it to me if you were just going to ask for it back?”

 “That ring was intended for my fiance, and since that’s not what you want to be, you need to give it back.” It sounded a bit silly to his own ears. As if he’d even want to give it to anybody else. Maybe later he’d give the ring back to Crowley as a symbol of what they already were, but for now, he stood his ground.

Granted, that would have been a lot easier, were Crowley not gaping at him as though he had suddenly declared he was going to sell every book he owned. “I- Your- What?! Who said that’s not what I want to be?!”

“I...” Aziraphale looked less certain and his hand dropped a bit. “You did! When you didn’t accept my proposal!”

“You never said anything about it being a proposal!” Crowley countered, still cradling the hand with the ring close.

Aziraphale let out an exasperated huff of breath. “Well, I should’ve thought it was obvious, given how long we’ve been dating!”

Crowley froze. “We’ve been... dating?” His voice suddenly sounded so small.

Oh. “Oh.” Shit. “Bother.” He sat down heavily on top of the coffee table. “I mean... Haven’t we? All those dinners and those walks and those days at the park?”

“But- I thought- You said I go too fast for you!” Aziraphale hated how distressed Crowley looked. “You said you didn’t even like me!”

Aziraphale could only blame his complete bewilderment over how far this conversation had gotten away from him for what happened next:

“Of course I don’t like you, you idiot, I love you!” He cringed as soon as the words left his mouth. That... was not how he wanted to say it. Not for the first time. Heavens, it wasn’t even true. He did like Crowley, in fact, he liked him so much that he had fallen in love with him.

He opened his mouth to explain this, but Crowley spoke before he could, jumping off the couch to land on his knees in front of Aziraphale.

“Let me take you on a date.” he pleaded. “A proper date. Our first official date, wherever you like, I’ll hire a violin quartet, we’ll order everything on the menu so you can sample it all, we’ll hold hands! I’ll be a perfect gentleman, I promise, I-”

Aziraphale silenced him with a finger to his lips. “Crowley,” he said with a gentle laugh. “You don’t have to woo me, I’m already yours.”

“I know,” Crowley said, but he sounded like he didn’t believe it, not yet. “I know, but I want to. Please, Angel, let me do this right.”

How could he say no to that? “In that case...” He smiled. “Pick me up at seven?”

Crowley grinned. It was so beautiful, that smile. 

“Oh!” he said suddenly, as though he had suddenly remembered something. “You wanted your ring back.”

He hid it well, but Aziraphale could see the disappointment in his eyes as he pulled the ring from his finger.

“Keep it,” Aziraphale said, placing a chaste kiss to the corner of Crowley’s mouth. “In case you do want to marry me someday.”

Crowley scoffed. “Angel, I already want to marry you, there’s just a lot of other things I want to do first.”

“Well, then.” Aziraphale snatched the ring from Crowley. "Crowley, dearest, after you have wooed me to your heart’s content, would you do me the honor of becoming my husband?”

“Aziraphale, of course, that’s what I just said, I-” Aziraphale slipped the ring back onto Crowley’s finger. “...Oh.” Crowley held his hand up. “Well, look at that.”

That evening, their poor waiter was incredibly confused when Aziraphale informed him that it was their first date and that Crowley was his fiance within the same breath.

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #anthony j crowley #crowley #my fic #this is so much longer then I meant it to be

[mortuarybees]

Exclusively For People Made Feral By “You go too fast for me, Crowley.”

The kind of fanfiction I enjoy is the kind which requires me to take a decompression breather every paragraph or so because I’m repressed and tenderness is physically painful. i want there to be yearning and pining and brooding and ultimately, intimacy: fics which embody the mortifying ordeal of being known, as well as the reward of being loved in the end. So here are the fics I’ve read that satisfy this requirement, or in some cases are just extremely tender, in no particular order, with a quote that made me absolutely wild, as well as a few things that aren’t fic

another soul to cling to by strawberry_bee/my best friend @femmeaziraphale​

Crowley is born a run of the mill angel. There is only one catch though. He is given a prophecy by God to be the first and only angel to fall in love. That's clearly off the table when he falls from Heaven though, right? // in progress and the only in-progress fic on the list but it is Too Good and also i have a direct line to the author and they will finish it

“Do you promise to stay still if I turn out the lights?” Aziraphale asked.

“The dark is a demon’s favorite place to be,” Crowley joked, feeling the urge to make light of the situation. He rather felt like he was being taken on a jaunty little date, human skulls included just to woo a demon in the right sort of way.

“Quiet, foul fiend,” Aziraphale said, snapping his fingers again. They dove into darkness, and before Crowley could find some sort of clever quip, he felt Aziraphale’s arms about his waist. His brain turned to mush, the only thing he could think of being ‘oh, so this is love’ before he felt Aziraphale’s lips brush gently against the edge of his mouth.

“Thank you, my dear,” Aziraphale murmured, before pulling away. Crowley reached out blindly, coming up with nothing. He turned to the entrance, spotting the outline of Aziraphale as he ascended. Crowley leaned against a wall, hand resting against the forehead of a skull.

get religion quick (cause you’re looking divine) by brinnanza:

So it was fine. Even if Crowley couldn’t love him, he clearly liked him well enough, and that was almost the same thing.

It no doubt would have continued to be fine, or at least fine-adjacent, were it not for a narrowly averted apocalypse and several bottles of a really quite nice Riesling Aziraphale had found in the back room of his newly restored bookshop.

“I love you, do you see? Not for work. I’m - I suppose you could say I’m in love with you, to use a human phrase.”

Crowley went very still. Aziraphale withdrew his hands and folded them primly in his lap, moving back to their more customary distance. “It’s quite alright that you don’t love me,” he hurried to add. “It doesn’t change anything. I just wanted you to know in case... Well, anything could still happen with our superiors, you know? Neither side is probably very pleased with us at the moment.”

Crowley stared at him over the rim of his sunglasses, looking rather stricken, and he was making an odd, creaky sound like a strong wind through a poorly-sealed window. The mostly-empty wine bottle he’d been holding slipped out of his loose grasp and clattered to the floor, wine drops spattering on the hardwood. “Aziraphale,” he said finally, voice ragged, “what the fuck are you talking about.”

a home at the beginning of the world by stereobone (explicit)

"Oh," Aziraphale says. "I think Crowley might have moved in with me." // okayokayokay there’s Meaningful Interior Decorating and a couch metaphor and like the fact that they actually goddamn brought That Quote into it...unacceptable

"My dear boy," Aziraphale says. "You could have said something."

"But we never do that," Crowley says.

He's back to worrying at the fabric of his trousers.

"Besides," he says. "Didn't want to go too fast for you."

Aziraphale feels something swell in his chest, and it feels all encompassing. Like love and heartbreak at the same time. Like being back at the Eastern Gate watching Crowley slither up to him for the first time, question everything while Aziraphale himself was trying not to. He's spent so long, too long, telling himself he could never be ready for this. He reaches out and grabs Crowley's hand, stops him from worrying at his trousers any further.

the nuances of ‘together’ by mirawonderfulstar

Everybody in the whole world can tell Aziraphale and Crowley are a couple. Everyone except, apparently, Crowley.

“Oh, don’t look like that, my dear.” Aziraphale said airily. “I don’t mind sharing.”

“It’s—that’s not the bloody point.” Crowley exclaimed, his feelings from the last week finally coming to a head. “Why do people keep assuming we’re together and why do you keep letting them?”

Aziraphale froze, a forkful of chocolate cake halfway to his mouth. He looked like he’d just been slapped. He was focuing very hard on a spot over Crowley's shoulder and his eyes seemed rather wet. Crowley felt a panic begin to slither up his throat, constricting his breathing. He wanted very much to say something, anything at all to make Aziraphale stop looking like that, but he had no idea what.

a culmination of miracles by prettydizzeed

Crowley has chronic pain, and six thousand years later explains that to Aziraphale. I adore the small intimacy of Aziraphale asking him to print him articles about it so he can better understand, and their characterizations, and it seems so much like an exchange from the book I’ll likely have difficulty remembering it isn’t canon in the future, which I’m fine with.

“I don’t read books,” Crowley corrects. “The occasional article, well, maybe.” He figures he’s going to need to extend as many olive branches as he can find, so he adds, “Some of them help. Sometimes quite a lot, actually.”

“Could you—would you print some for me?” Aziraphale asks. “I’d like to understand better.”

“Yeah,” Crowley says, looking at him as long as he can bear. “I’ll do that.”

the hour/the spot/the look/the words by planethunter

Crowley watches Pride and Prejudice (2005) and it spurs a realisation. // fuck guys it’s literally about the hands and perfectly captures like nothing else does the feeling of watching Pride and Prejudice (2005)

One of his hands rests over the other, the tips of his fingers cold. He watches as Darcy takes Elizabeth's hand, gentle, like handling a bird, their fingers curling over each other's. He mimics the gesture with his own hands, brushing his fingers over one another. Slowly, slowly closing them to a grasp. Opening them again, brushing his knuckles with his thumb. He continues, back, and forward, watching with mild fascination. The sensation relaxes him, like a trance, and he only feels some sensation building inside him when it had risen so high that he had to sigh to release it. Now his hands lie still, holding each other limply. He releases them, letting his fingers brush past each other on the way. When he looks up, the television had cut to adverts. 

covet by mirawonderfulstar

pining aziraphale and an amazing confession scene that i absolutely adore.

Aziraphale, little good though it did him, wanted desperately. He wanted with an urgency that scared him. He wanted wine, and cocoa, and the occasional tea. He wanted gravlax with dill sauce, and Pappardelle Bolognese, and those awful little iced biscuits they had at Tesco at Christmastime. He wanted dinners at the Ritz and long walks in the park and late nights in the back room of his shop. He wanted Crowley. Fervently, achingly, he wanted Crowley.

a city wall and a trampoline by kafkian

5 times Crowley knows he’s in love with Aziraphale + 1 time he knows the reverse.

Crowley has a system in place for dealing with moments like these. He developed it sometime in the fifth century, when it became clear that the thoughts and feelings the angel inspired in him weren’t going to go away, and neither was the cast iron certainty that they were largely unreturned. The angel loves him, of course, but only in the slightly absentminded, mandated way he loves all other living things. Crowley has long since made his peace with this. It just stings a bit sometimes, like taking a sip of tea so hot it burns the roof of your mouth. (Not that Crowley himself has had this experience. He has gathered from the mental exclamations of many, many humans, however, that such a mishap brings forth a similar sense of aching hurt, betrayal and a wistfulness that things might be different.)

The best Crowley can do is just let himself feel it – let the love go through him, unnatural and sticky though it may be, always trying to glue itself to the inside of his veins – and wait for it to come out the other side. Sometimes it even works.

such surpassing brightness by handful_of_silence

The revelation that Aziraphale might have been in love with him for thousands of years is surprising. The fact that literal books have been written on the subject comes as even more of a shock.

Crowley had always assumed – perhaps disingenuously – that Aziraphale was like most other angels. Capable of grand expressions of love when it came to humanity, but generally avoidant of the topic personally. A love for all things, a love for Crowley even, but the love of a kind, well-meaning relative who sends birthday cards on the wrong day and with a fiver inside with a note to buy something nice like you're still at primary school. Love but distant, separate, and impersonal.

But now, at least according to the rumours, Aziraphale had spent most of the medieval ages playing wingman to a bunch of queer martyrs and church-folk. Which meant that there must be something there, a comprehension of love beyond his angel-standard, over-arching love for mankind. That Aziraphale could, and apparently did, pick favourites.

That he could, just possibly, feel love himself. On an individual level.

listen (he’s already told you five times) by darcylindbergh

Not everything Crowley says is said out loud. Aziraphale doesn't always hear him at first, but he's learning to stop being surprised. // love!!! languages!!

He wonders what Crowley can feel through this touch. He wonders if Crowley can feel him back.

“I’ve never felt anything like you,” he finally says, looking up to meet Crowley’s eyes. They’re wide, awaiting judgment: something in them is terribly resigned, but when Crowley tries to draw his hand back, Aziraphale doesn’t let him go. Instead he steps in closer and says, at nearly a whisper so as not to startle, “What I mean is, you’re beautiful.”

There is a pause, and then Crowley says, soft with surprise, “Oh.”

Aziraphale kisses him.

tell me all the ways by tinsnip

One little speck of sentiment: was it so much to ask? // crowley struggles to tell Aziraphale how he feels out loud; he finds a way around it. pairs well with the fic above, I think.

“I’m not smitten, angel. I wouldn’t say smitten.”

“Oh?” He’d looked at Crowley’s hand in his, looked back up. “And what would you say?”

Suddenly a change in Crowley’s posture, a tilt of his head; there was the sideways smile. “I’d say I lust after you, angel. I covet you. I idolize you. But... smitten? I mean, honestly.” And Crowley had shrugged, as if that had been that.

For some reason, this morning, that hadn’t been enough.

“And?”

“And... and what?” Crowley had looked a bit desperate.

Aziraphale’s mouth had tasted like tea and toast. “And you love me.”

penance by blissymbolics (explicit)

It’ll happen, Crowley tells himself. This time, it’ll finally happen. // it’s porn with feelings, crowley has a praise kink, just read the tags if you’re interested

Maybe being deprived of his right to come was a necessary component of being a demon. It was permanent, chronic proof of his disobedience. But fuck, God already gave him his snake eyes and revoked his retirement benefits. Messing with his dick was just foul play. It probably violated the Geneva Convention.

Around the turn of the twenty-first century, he began to think that maybe it’d be best to just accept his lot and call it quits. It’s obviously never going to happen. So why keep torturing himself?

Or at least, that’s how he felt before Aziraphale. Before a certain day in the year of our Lord, 2019. Before he felt a shift in the solar system, and knew that they were now spinning together as one gravitational unit. They shared the same space. The same time. And on one occasion, the same bodies.

Also, I wrote a fic: all i need, darling, is a life in your shape

it’s about repressed aziraphale and pining and it was inspired by strawberry blond by mitski.

Not Fics But Fuck, Man

Meta: why is aziraphale so gay? by dictionarywrites on ao3: a very extensive meta exploring how aziraphale canonically presents himself as a gay man, and why exactly he does that.

this crowley space meta and this crowley space meta really fcking did me in

the unadulterated yearning in this mitski-inspired art by @poladraws i think about it at least once a day and it is. A Lot

this from eden fan video on youtube

this two part amnesia post by @thealogie like i don’t even fcking like amnesia fic but like. “this discovery and several other little reactions of yours have led me to believe that the Other Me, that is the Me that has all his memories, has let standards slide and is not doting on you as he should be. are you cared for? do i need to kick my own butt?” oh my goddddd

@mulderswatch made a spotify playlist titled angels dined at the ritz hat makes me personally suffer every single time i hear it. he began it with predatory wasp of the palisades (”touching his back with my hand, i kiss him / i see the wasp on the length of my arm”) and ended it with strawberry blond by mitski (”can you hear the bumblebees swarm? / watching your arm / i love it when you look my way”) his  m i n d

The best anon in the world asked me for my mitski a/c song associations and here it is

#this is admittedly 90% reference for me in the future #henry speaks #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #fic rec #good omens reference post

[lady-divine-writes]

Ineffable Valentine’s “Romance in the Rain” (Rated PG)

Summary: Crowley tries to come up with the perfect first kiss for Aziraphale, but Mother Nature doesn't want to co-operate.

Notes: Written for the @ineffable-valentines prompt 'kiss'.

Read on AO3.

“Come on, come on, come on!” Crowley mutters at the clouds overhead, scowling as if they’ve done him a grievous and unforgivable wrong.

“Is there (*gulp*) something the matter, my dear?” Aziraphale squeaks as they swerve left and fly past a hearse, coming so perilously close to the vehicle they’re in danger of causing additional casualties among the living occupants. But it’s par for the course. Crowley has spent more time driving with his eyes on the skies than on the road ahead of him. They’ve scattered a group of businessmen, nearly clipped a planter, and sent a traffic cop writing a citation careening backwards, the Bentley long gone before the poor bastard knew what hit him.

Aziraphale wishes they could have stayed at Crowley’s flat, and not just because of the current danger of losing life and limb. They were having a splendid time. At least, he thought so. They’d been sitting on the sofa sharing a bottle of brandy (at noon on a Tuesday, but Aziraphale reasoned it’s five o’clock somewhere) as they watched Romeo and Juliet on the BBC starring a promising older gentleman that reminded him of Crowley if he squinted his eyes and tilted his head just so.

It was the perfect day for cuddling on the sofa - cold and gray, clouds clustered above threatening rain, granting it in spurts. Aziraphale had sniffled once or twice over the performance - he’s angel enough to admit it. He couldn’t help himself. He loves sweeping romances, and Romeo and Juliet is about as sweeping as one can get.

And if he happened to imagine that Crowley-looking actor playing opposite himself once or twice - caressing his face, looking into his eyes, kissing him passionately (which they’ve had yet to do) - who could blame him?

He thought he’d caught Crowley glance over at him on a few occasions, probably rolling his eyes at Aziraphale’s blubbering. But romance isn’t Crowley’s thing.

Never has been as far as Aziraphale could remember.

“We’ve seen this play about a thousand times already,” Crowley had said. “You’d think you’d remember that they die in the end. And take pretty much everyone with them along the way.”

“I know, I know,” Aziraphale whimpered, patting his pockets for a handkerchief, accepting one from Crowley when it was thrust toward him. “It’s just … it gets me thinking. That’s all.”

“Thinking about what?”

“About love,” he’d answered honestly since he didn’t see a reason not to. “About romance. About …”

And here he’d sputtered. He wasn’t about to make any confessions of love now, sitting on the sofa in front of the television with a head full of liquor; wasn’t going to wax philosophical about the long, long years he’d spent pining for Crowley, knowing that Crowley didn’t feel the same.

Knowing there was no way on Earth a demon could fall in love, and definitely not with an angel.

“About …?” Crowley had asked, but Aziraphale remained tight-lipped and shook his head.

“Doesn’t matter,” he’d replied.

And Crowley had shrugged it off and went back to the movie.

But out of the blue, not ten minutes later, Crowley turned off the television, climbed off the sofa, tossed Aziraphale his coat and said, “Come along, then. We’re going for a drive.”

And drive they have, taking the fastest, most chaotic tour of London Aziraphale has ever had the misfortune to participate in.

Crowley manages to drive past every single picturesque spot Frommer’s has ever touted without stopping, his gaze fixed vindictively on the sky overhead, guided by the shifting nimbostratus. They drive for over an hour, re-visiting a few places more than once but never leaving the car. Eventually Crowley seems to give up and head back to St. James’s Park. He grumbles something to the affect of, “Damned bloody clouds. There were a whole gang of you an hour ago! Where the Hell have you gone off to?” but he doesn’t explain.

He parks his car, throws on a boot to keep the cops off his back, then grabs Aziraphale’s hand and yanks him out. In determined silence, he drags the angel down the jogging paths and through the grass. Aziraphale pants behind Crowley as he fights to keep pace, and while he does, Crowley curses. He curses the blue sky peeking through the clouds, curses the golden rays warming their skin, curses the children coming out to celebrate the sunshine, their parents for bringing them when they should have work to do, even the dogs that accompany them for playing catch so enthusiastically, so focused on his goal, whatever it is, that he almost forgets Aziraphale stumbling along behind him until the angel speaks.

“Crowley … my dear … can we slow down?”

Crowley looks over his shoulder, eyes apologetic behind dark lenses as if he only now realized he might have been walking a hair too fast for him.

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that.” Crowley stops on an obliging patch of grass to let Aziraphale catch his breath, shoulders slumped in defeat. He scans the grounds, glaring at every happy face in sight. He spies a solitary ice cream cart braving the weather and shrugs to himself.

“Fancy a lolly?” he asks, voice flat with disappointment.

“Oh, yes. Please.” Aziraphale smiles and nods, hoping that by agreeing he might lighten Crowley’s inexplicably sullen mood.

Plus, he could really use a nibble.

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” Aziraphale asks, following Crowley down the slope to the cart.

“Wanted to try something,” Crowley says gruffly, ordering Aziraphale a strawberry lolly, then waving off his change from the man at the cart.

Aziraphale smiles at the snack Crowley hands to him. “Trying your hand at being a hopeless romantic?” he teases, though he’s certain he’s way off the mark.

“So, what if I was?”

“It would be a first.”

“Would it really? I mean, I do try my best, Aziraphale. Sometimes, it’s just … not obvious.”

“I …” Aziraphale looks from the lolly melting on its stick to the demon standing in front of him - head bowed, fingertips shoved into pockets that have no business being called such, cheeks red and splotchy, yellow eyes staring at his shoes as he passes a single pebble from the toe of his left to the toe of his right. “I guess I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Yeah, well, not sure if you’ve noticed, but it’s not all that easy for me. Not when … you know … it matters.”

“Maybe I haven’t,” Aziraphale admits, thinking with regret over the times he’s felt sorry for himself that Crowley wasn’t making the first move when he himself could have done so. Or when Crowley might have been, Aziraphale just didn’t catch on. It never occurred to Aziraphale that it might be difficult for Crowley. Aziraphale saw it along the same lines as tempting. If he could conjure feelings of lust in other people, he should be able to conjure similar feelings of love in himself.

Aziraphale realizes only now how wrong that thinking is.

How base and reductive.

“But thank you. It’s incredibly sweet that you tried.” Aziraphale puts a hand on Crowley’s shoulder and buoys up to kiss him on the cheek. Crowley turns into it, capturing Aziraphale’s lips, pulling him close with an arm wrapped around his waist. Aziraphale yelps in surprise, self-conscious at first, but then lost in kissing Crowley in St. James’s Park on such a beautiful, sunny afternoon.

“I’ve wanted to do that all day,” Crowley sighs against his angel’s lips. “For a while now, if I’m being honest.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I wanted it to be perfect. Memorable. And I thought … you know … considering our past, our history together, that rain would make it perfect. But it seems Mother Nature didn’t feel like cooperating.”

Aziraphale stares at Crowley wide-eyed for several seconds. Then he bursts out laughing. “Crowley! You idiot!”

“What!?”

“We’re supernatural. No need to negotiate with nature.” Aziraphale snaps his fingers. Over their heads, the clouds begin to gather, darkening the park so quickly, everyone takes notice. Laughter goes quiet as the humans huddle together, speculating in whispers over what might be going on. Suddenly, the sky crackles with electricity. A large boom shakes the air and rain pours down, drenching everyone … except Crowley and Aziraphale, standing quite comfortably beneath an invisible shield, one shaped suspiciously like an angel’s wing.

“Oh.” Crowley smirks. “Right. You’ve got a point.”

“So … are we just going to stand here, or are you going to kiss me again?”

“Aren’t you worried about the paperwork for …?” Crowley’s eyebrows bounce upward, indicating the rain, the wing, the screeching humans running for cover.

Aziraphale grins, not the least bit concerned. “Screw the paperwork.”

Before Aziraphale’s lips close on his, Crowley growls. “Ooo, feisty.”

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #ineffable valentines #aziraphale #anthony j crowley #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley

[alienbactria]

Summary: After the not-pocalypse, Crowley goes back to the Dowling’s estate and adopts Warlock. Aziraphale is reluctant for adopt him at first, but after some persuading, Warlock Dowling becomes Warlock Crowley-Fell. This fic takes place 3 years later, when Warlock is 14 and has been attending a school for a bit. (He call’s Aziraphale papa, but Crowey is still Nanny) Warlock is having trouble with a class assignment, but figured out that the answer was in front of him the whole time.

3:25 in the afternoon

Warlock tapped his sharpened pencil on the wooden table. His brain coming up with ideas left and right, but none fit the mold of what he wanted. The class was Creative Writing, one of his favorites, but only after living with Aziraphale for the past three years. The assignment was to write a poem about someone important in their lives and something that person went through. The first part was easy. Of course he’d choose Nanny or Papa. The only problem was what story for the long list.

His head was starting to hurt from all the ideas and frustration. The ringing school bell cut through his thoughts and interrupted the growing migraine. Warlock sighed and packed up his bag, thinking about the prompt. He walked outside and saw his Nanny, Crowley, waiting for him at the side walk, leaning against the Bentley, hands in the pockets of their tight jeans. They smiled and waved for Warlock to get in so they could head home. Warlock rushed to the car, careful not to hit his head getting in the front seat.

“Have a good day today, devil spawn?” Crowley asked as they sped away from the school. He only asked as a formality, already sensing his child’s frustration.

“It was fine, Nanny. I’m just stressed on a project. I need time to think about it.” Warlock sighed. He was exhausted and decided to take a nap as soon as he was done with the writing. Good-Old Fashioned Lover Boy started to play in the background, and the two started humming along. Humming turned to mumbling and soon both Crowley and Warlock were in concert mode. The Bentley pulled in on the side of the street next to the bookshop, but Warlock and Crowley were too busy giggling and singing along to notice.

“Thanks Nanny. I needed that.” Warlock said with a smile.

“It was no problem, Warlock. Now let’s get inside.” Warlock catiously climbed out of the passenger side door and walked with Crowley to the front door of the old bookshop. As they stepped inside, the scent of old books and hot chocolate filled their senses.

“Aziraphale! We’re back!” Called Crowley. They were happy to be home. Warlock walked over to his favorite spot and claimed it with his bag. It was an old blue chair with a clear view out the window and a table right next to it. The perfect place to do homework.

“Oh hello! Warlock, how was your day?” Aziraphale greeted happily.

“It was alright. I have a lot of homework to finish. I should probably get right to it.” Warlock replied sadly. Aziraphale and Crowley shared a knowing look.

“Well, your papa and I were going to go to the Ritz in an hour or two for dinner. Would you like to go?” Crowley knew Warlock was going into one of his moods where he felt too stressed to move on from a project.

“I’m alright, Nanny. I just have a bit of homework to do and need to stay home. Anyways, you and papa haven’t had a date in a while. Go have fun.” Warlock collapsed in his spot and got to work.

Fast forward a few hours to 10:45 at night

Warlock had been working since his parents had left, an hour and a half ago. He had finished his math, science, and history without a problem. French had caused a little trouble, but it was easier than he made it. Now was the same poem he couldn’t write in class. This is when Warlock decided he needed a break. He went to the kitchen and pulled out a mug, some cocoa powder, sugar, and some potato chips. He opened the fridge and grabbed the milk. He was mixing some milk with cocoa powder and sugar in a pot on the stove when his phone rang. Warlock sighed and walked over to his phone. Adam was calling.

“Hey Adam. What’s up?” Warlock put the phone on speaker and went back to his hot chocolate.

“I was just wondering how you were doing. I sensed that you were frusturated and I was just wondering why.” Adam seemed hesitant. So much so that Warlock laughed.

“I’m fine. I just have to write a poem for class. It’s actually a bit harder than I first thought.” Warlock added a laugh in at the end.

“Oh ... well, maybe I can help? It might be easier to figure out what you want to do out loud than just on paper. What’s the poem about?”

“It’s supposed to be about in our life and some important thing that happened to them.” As we explained the task, Warlock grabbed the pot of hot chocolate and poured it into his mug. He grabbed the cocoa and his phone, taking them back to his spot by the window.

“Well obviously you have to do either Crowley or Aziraphale. They raised and adopted you.” Adam was sure with his answer, but that just made Warlock a bit more frustrated.

“I know! But the problem is what story...” Warlock trailed off as it hit him. The last story that Nanny has told him when he asked. The only story that had been real (as far as Warlock knew). The one that changed both his parents’ life.

“Adam! I’ve gotta go. I got an idea.” Warlock hung up the phone hastily and grabbed his bowl of chips. He grabbed a pen and paper and got to work. Within five minutes he was done.

“And to think I thought it was going to be difficult. Now I just need to go to ...” Warlock slumped over, asleep. He hadn’t been sleeping all week and the relief of his finished homework was enough to make him go to bed.

20 minutes passed and finally the Bentley pulled up in front of the bookshop. A giggling angel and smug looking demon popped out and headed inside.

“Warlock! We’re-”

“Shhhhhhh. Crowley. He’s asleep. Look” Aziraphale gestured over to the chair where Warlock, truly was, asleep.

“Whoops... well I’ll clean up his mess if you take his dishes to the kitchen” Crowley offered with a shrug. Aziraphale nodded, grabbing the young teen’s dirty dishes and carrying them out.

Crowley took one of the angel’s several tartan blankets and wrapped his child up in them. He left Warlock in the chair and started to put his work away, but then stopped. In front of Crowley’s hand was a well written poem with the title “He Who Fell” written across the top. Crowley was intrigued and decided a little read wouldn’t hurt.

Crowley was stunned. He didn’t know what to say. He silently glanced between Warlock and the paper in his hand. This is what his child had written. He didn’t know what for, but he had written it. Aziraphale has snuck into the room behind Crowley. He had too read the poem, but decided it was better to get Crowley to bed then to be shocked.

“Come on, love. Let’s go to bed.” Aziraphale whispered, carefully taking the paper from Crowley’s hand and placing it on the side table. That shook Crowley out of his state.

“Oh. What? Right! Yes, let’s .. let’s go to bed.” The two walked away, Crowley still looking back every once in a while before they were finally in bed and up the stairs.

The next morning at 7:45

Warlock was scrabbling to get ready. He grabbed all of his stuff and ran out the door. He got to school, just in time and made it to class. Everything was going alright so far, now it just needed to stay that way.

That afternoon at 3:25

Warlock had turned his poem in and hoped for the best. His teacher said that poems would be handed back at the end of the block, graded. And Warlock was scared out of his mind.

Two minutes before school ended and the teacher started to hand back papers. When he got his, he couldn’t believe it. There was a 100 at the top.

Warlock couldn’t have been more relieved. The bell rang and he ran outside to tell Nanny.

“Nanny! I got a 100 on my project!” Warlock saw a smile light up the pale face of the red head.

“That’s wonderful, devil-spawn!” Crowley didn’t even use a miracle. He knew the poem was fantastic.

#ineffable dads #ineffable husbands #good omens #warlock dowling #crowley x aziraphale

[readingwritingcrying]

Heaven Sends More than Rude Notes

To be honest, Crowley feels as if he’s still reeling from promises of one day to ‘you-go-too-fast-for-me’, to… well, to whatever it is they seem to have now.

Slowly, painstakingly slowly, Aziraphale has started to catch up. He isn’t sure what changed with the angel, but there’s something a little more daring lately, and Crowley can’t possibly refuse it.

So of course, when he offers drinks at the bookshop in a week, Crowley accepts immediately. He wouldn’t miss those hidden carefree nights for anything – even Lord Beelzebub herself. And that night can’t possibly come quick enough. Patience is a virtue, after all, and Crowley figures as a demon, it’d only be natural for him to ignore that one.

And if there were anything more to it, well, no one but him would have to know.

He knocked thrice on the door, vaguely eying the rather confusingly complicated sign displaying opening hours. Aziraphale must’ve changed them again. Before Crowley could consider this further, the door swung open.

“Crowley! Do come in,” Aziraphale stood in the doorway of the bookshop, gesturing for him to go by with a smile. Tension seemed to drop off Crowley’s back as he did; he could always let his guard down just a little bit around the angel.

“Right,” Crowley said, “What drink of choice shall we drown ourselves in unseemly amounts of this time, angel?” He smirked, eyebrow cocked.

Although the intention for the two of them was most definitely to get absolutely pissed (he’d put it more politely when inviting the demon over), Aziraphale still had the audacity to send a judgmental eye at him anyways. He snorted. Of course, the angel would.

Still, Aziraphale grabbed several bottles of an old-looking French wine. “I’ve found a rather lovely few bottles of some Chateau Lafite,” he explained, pouring some into his and Crowley’s glass. He began to ramble about the wine, the good year it was made in and so on. Crowley couldn’t find it in himself to pay much attention.

Aziraphale’s cheeks were flushed. His eyes darted about, and he constantly fiddled with his hand. Clearly he was nervouse about something.

“Angel, what’s wrong?” Crowley cut him off mid-ramble.

Aziraphale froze for a moment, and then sighed, sitting down in the chair across the couch Crowley usually lounged in. “It’s nothing, my dear boy,” he reassured. “At the least, nothing that should concern us now.”

Usually, Crowley would leave well-enough alone. Usually, he’d do the easy thing, and forget about his companions anxiousness – after all, they’d soon be drunk enough it wouldn’t matter much anyways.

But maybe he had been getting too confident, because this time, he pushed. “C’mon, Aziraphale, spit it out,” he insisted.

The angel gave him a long, thoughtful look, and then an annoyed huff.

“Well. Apparently heaven views curing anyone that passes the shop from that nasty flu that’s been going around as a ‘frivolous miracle’. Although perhaps combined with the bit I pulled to make sure that sushi resturaunt stayed opne-you know the one?” Aziraphale looked at him expectantly.

Crowley nodded, although he could think of several that he might be referring to. “So, what, you’re worried about a stern letter from,” Crowley pointed up with a tad more dramatic flair than necessary.

Aziraphale smiled, but it was tight, and not quite genuine. “Something like that,” he said, and the topic was clearly closed for discussion.

As the two of them caught up on each other's lives, Crowley shrugged it off. After all, they so easily slid back into their usual back-and-forth banter, so even if Aziraphale seemed nervous, it mustn’t be that bad.

He was quite drunk now, standing and pacing about the shop as he complained to Aziraphale about the disobedience of one of his plants who had slowed down growing that winter. Aziraphale listens dutifully.

“Really, you must be gentler wi-” There was a ding of a bell in the front of the bookshop. Someone had opened the door. Aziraphale looked to Crowley, eyes wide in horror. “They mustn’t find us here together,” he said in a panicked whisper. “They can’t know about the Arrangement, please!”

Crowley didn’t want to go, but he didn’t want his angel in trouble either. Quickly, he miricaled away the drinks, as well as the alcohol from his own system.

With less than a thought, and a feeling nearly like shrugging off a heavy jacket, Crowley was a snake, smaller than he had been in Eden, and perfectly capable of hiding under Aziraphale’s couch unseen.

Gabriel stepped into the room, Sandalphon and Uriel behind, giving a disapproving sniff. “Really, Aziraphale, why do you keep these kinds of books around?” Crowley watched the Archangel, pupils dilated as if he were about to attack.

Other angels never seemed as harmless to Crowley as his angel did, and anyone that took that tone with Aziraphale was already in his bad books. He just wanted them to get this lecture or whatever over with. Him and the angel had drinks to finish, after all.

Shifting, Aziraphale was careful choosing his words. “It’s easier to blend in with the humans,” He explained, “And their presence puts me off the radar of any… enemy forces.”

If snakes could laugh, Crowley would have. Even surrounded by the most filthy books, it would be easy to sense Aziraphale. If Crowley tried hard enough, he could find him anywhere he might be on earth, but it wasn’t something he did often.

Just when they hadn’t seen each other in a few years, is all.

Gabriel considered the explanation and found that he didn’t really care. It made enough sense, and that was that. “You know you aren’t to be giving such careless miracles.” It wasn’t a question.

Aziraphale stared at the ground, purposefully keeping his gaze away from Crowley’s form under the couch. “I was just trying to help them,” He defended softly.

Gabriel's stare was cold. “And who said you could do that? I never asked you. She certainly didn’t.”

“They could have been sick and died!” That little stubborn, defiant look was in Aziraphale’s eyes. Crowley loved seeing it. But.

Before the Beginning, that would have been more than reason to fall. And as much as Crowley loved encouraging that little spark in his angel… falling wasn’t something he would wish on anyone.

“Yes,” Sandalphon agreed. “But without someone telling you, how do you know it’s not in the Plan?” Behind him, Uriel raised a smug eyebrow, daring for any disagreement.

Aziraphale opened his mouth and for one exhilarating, terrifying moment, Crowley thought that he might question it. The Plan. Instead, Aziraphale hung his head in shame.

“Right,” Gabriel clapped his hands together. “Great talk,” he said, in the tone of someone who was clearly glad to stop speaking to whoever it was they were talking to. Gabriel nodded to Uriel and Sandalphon.

When he left, Crowley was certain that the other two Angels would follow. After all, that was a proper reminder, and about all he would expect from heaven. So when they stayed, he wasn’t sure what to think.

The air was tense.

Crowley couldn’t remember seeing Aziraphale look quite as scared as he did now, and he felt something cold run through his veins.

“You know how many times we’ve had to speak with you of this conduct?” Uriel asked.

“Yes,” Aziraphale all but whispered.

“Too many times if you ask me,” Sandalphon said. Looking almost bored, he snaps his fingers. Suddenly, Aziraphale is stripped of all of his top layers, torso bare. Another wave of the hand, and he is suspended inches off the floor, arms held outwards, like a cross.

The cold feeling in his veins is dread, Crowley realized. He has no clue what they’re doing, and he can’t catch Aziraphale’s eyes for even a bit of reassurance. He can’t even do anything, because he couldn’t alert the Angels to his presence.

All Crowley could do was watch.

What Uriel pulled out wasn’t quite a rod, in the traditional sense. It was rather rod-shaped, but it was made out of glowing, holy light. It hurt his eyes just to look at for long, but he forced himself to anyways.

Uriel draws her hand back and lashes Aziraphale. He writhes in pain but holds back the noise that threatens to spill from his lips.

Crowley couldn’t breathe (and was, at that moment, grateful he didn’t need too). What they were doing… if it were to a demon, it would be smiting. But to do it to an angel?

He wouldn’t have thought Heaven would even try.

Clearly, he was wrong.

Uriel didn’t stop after her first lash. Her pace was slow, intentional. Aziraphale’s lip bled as he tried to hold back the noises of pain. But the wounds extended to his very being, and his soul was screaming with the agony.

Crowley could hear it.

He wanted nothing more than to jump out and attack, fighting Uriel and Sandalphon, destroying them. Anything to get them away from Aziraphale.

A hit. Blood. Screaming.

No matter what Crowley wanted to do, or how much he couldn’t stand it, he would have to bare it. Smiting could kill him at worst, and at best he’d be sent to the depths of hell with little chance of being able to crawl his way out to help his angel any time soon.

Another lash. “If you’d listened last time, it wouldn’t have come to this, you know,” said Sandalphon matter-of-factly.

Last time? Crowley’s stomach flipped. Had they done this before? How many times?

It seemed endless. There couldn’t have been more than around twenty lashes, each carried out with brutal, smug impersonalism, but with the taunting reminders, it seemed to drag for an eternity.

“Please,” croaked Aziraphale. His voice was barely recognizable, through the thick distortion of pain. That one word felt like shards right into Crowley’s chest, and silently, his tail flicked.

They had to be done soon, they had to.

“Haven’t you learned your lesson, this time?” asked Uriel, the rod raised, but pausing.

Slowly, almost mechanically, Aziraphale nodded. “Ineffable,” he managed to sputter out, although it seemed like he had originally planned on more words to go with it.

Still, for the moment it seemed to be enough for Uriel. She nodded to Sandalphon, who lowered his hand, letting Aziraphale collapse to the floor. The angel didn’t even try to catch himself. In less than a blink, the two were gone, leaving Crowley and Aziraphale alone.

Quickly, Crowley slithered out from underneath the couch, slowly approaching Aziraphale. “Angel,” he hissed softly. How could he believe that all Aziraphale had to deal with was a stern talking to? This was something that would have better-suited hell, and Crowley should know. He’d been on the receiving end of it more than he wanted to remember. So how could he have missed this? Had it always been like this for Aziraphale? When did it start?

Too many questions blundered about Crowley’s head. Aziraphale was still unresponsive as he approached, and when he shifted to a more humanlike form, his brow creased with worry.

“Aziraphale?”

There was only a weak groan in response. Crowley could sense the angel – his soul’s presence was weak, cold, and blisteringly pure. Even he could tell that it had practically been torn apart by what they did to him.

Slowly, he reached out to Aziraphale, keeping his movements slow and smooth. He didn’t know if he’d even be welcome, but Crowley couldn’t leave him like this. When he reached out, carefully placing his hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder, the angel leaned into his touch.

He was freezing. Almost as if his body was lifeless, and if it weren’t for the struggling little breaths and the way he was almost desperately leaning into Crowley’s hand, he might fear the worst. “How many times?” His voice broke. He could barely manage a full sentence.

The angel’s eyes shut tighter as he almost imperceivably shook his head, a sort of sob wracking his body. Crowley couldn’t stand it.

Gingerly, he tugged Aziraphale so he way laying on his lap. So that he could cradle his face in his arms and let his angel’s tears soak into his jacket. They stung as only something holy would, but Crowley couldn’t bring himself to care. All he wanted to do was to think of a way to make this better for Aziraphale, to stop the violent shudders that had begun to shake his body. “Please, angel, how many times,” he begged, although Aziraphale wasn’t able to answer him.

He tried to heal the wounds on Aziraphale’s back, but the moment he touched the red swollen skin, Aziraphale flinched away with a yelp. He couldn’t do a thing about them, he realized in horror. Only an angel could cure wounds like those, and a flash of self-hatred rammed into Crowley.

He pushed it down. Now wasn’t the time.

He couldn’t heal his body, but he could stop it from hurting physically. Concentrating, Crowley miracled away the pain of the wounds, deadening the nerves of Aziraphale’s human body to it. There was some relief, but Crowley could still sense the agony from the angel’s true form, his essence damaged in a way that wasn’t controlled by his corporeal form.

His soul felt cold, blisteringly pure, and… empty. All the love that was there, gone. Smote out of him by the Angels. The wounds to his essence were deep and ragged.

Of course. What better way to torture an angel? He thought bitterly.

But dammit, if love was what he was missing… he didn’t have ethereal Love, maybe, but he had love. And it was the angel’s anyways, really.

Crowley curled around Aziraphale, properly cradling – even cuddling – the principality, and he hoped desperately that once this was over, Aziraphale could forgive him for these feelings. He reached his hand to cup Aziraphale cheek and poured every bit of love he could into the angel.

He loved him. He loved his voice, his body, his fluffy white hair, his eyes. He loved how he could be so unsure one moment, and so cocky the next. He loved his love for food, for humanity. He loved him. His bookshop. His smile. His laugh, his hands, the way his eyes would find his face and dart away as soon as Crowley noticed. He doesn’t say all of it – not the things that are too romantic, even though Aziraphale must feel it, but the more innocent things he murmured in a voice so soft, he hardly recognized it as his own.

He let himself feel every bit of it, the love he’d done his best to control, suppress, and it burned like hellfire through his chest. Crowley must’ve been crying too, at the point, but all he could hope to do was hold Aziraphale tighter and let himself love. “It will be okay,” he whispers, rocking back and forth slightly.

Aziraphale’s sobs grew louder. It hurt Crowley to hear. He keened and cried and his breaths were unsteady, erratic and catching on each exhale.

The angel grabbed weakly at Crowley’s jacket, clutching onto it as if it were a lifeline. Holding Crowley there, stopping him from moving away (not that he would even think of such a thing). Slowly his ethereal form healed, putting the broken pieces back together again, helped along by the love Crowley provided.

Hours past, and although Aziraphale’s tears ran out, his chest still shook as he cried. It took longer for that to quiet, turning into just the occasional bout, to just tremors, shaking softly in Crowley’s arms, which still held him tight.

The sun had finished setting, and at some point, it came up again. Crowley didn’t move unless it was to pull Aziraphale closer. It was bright outside by the time he quieted completely.

He wasn’t sure if Aziraphale was asleep or not. His eyes had closed, and his breathing was slow. He didn’t dare disturb him, so he waited with more patience than really should be allowed for a demon.

Crowley had almost drifted off as well, as awkward as the position was for him when he felt Aziraphale stir.

“Crowley,” he said in a rough voice. He pushed himself up and off of the demon, not meeting his eye.

Crowley leaned back. “Aziraphale…” For a moment, neither of them could find the words to speak.

“I’m so sorry you had to see that, my dear boy,” Aziraphale said eventually. He placed his hand over Crowley’s his blue eyes meeting Crowley’s slitted yellow ones.

Crowley frowned. “Don’t,” he said. “I can’t… I couldn’t stand for you to be alone through something like that, angel. You shouldn’t have been hurt like that, to begin with.”

Aziraphale looked away, not disagreeing with him, but still looking guilty anyways.

“How many times has this happened?” Crowley blurted quickly before he could lose his nerve.

Aziraphale considered this, his eyebrows creasing his forehead, looking troubled. “It wasn’t like this at first,” he reassured quickly. “But, well…. After the revolution in France, they were already frustrated with me. And it. Well. It escalated. So maybe a dozen.”

His voice was small and shaky as he finished the sentence, and Crowley felt as if the air had been punched right out of his lungs.

Part of him was relieved, at least, that Aziraphale had only been lying about this for a portion of their time together on earth. But there were so many instances that Crowley could think of where Aziraphale had mentioned being reprimanded, and the thought that this is what had happened, and the angel had just been left to heal all alone was just too much.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Aziraphale glanced away.

“I didn’t think it was that important,” he admitted meekly.

Crowley gritted his teeth. “What the fuck, angel!” he hissed. He was given a disapproving look at the language but carried on despite it. “Of course it is! You’re important!”

Aziraphale looked at him softly, sadly. “But you couldn’t have done anything, my dear boy.”

Anger bloomed in his chest. The bastards, hurting his angel. “It won’t happen again,” he said with conviction.

“Dear, you can’t... you can’t know that,” Aziraphale looked panicked.

Crowley shook his head. “I don’t care, I won’t let them. And hell doesn’t keep track of my miracles anyways.” If he had to take on more in their Arrangement, he would gladly do it.

Still looking worried, Aziraphale nodded. “I would… greatly appreciate that, Crowley. It’s very-“ the angel stopped himself. “Well, anyway, as long as you don’t try, to, I don’t know, fight them or anything silly.”

Crowley snorted. “No promises, angel.”

Aziraphale looked alarmed. “Crowley!” His voice was raised a few octaves, and his eyes pleaded with him.

Sighing, he conceded, “Fine, yeah, whatever.” If it ever came to it… Well, no one would blame a demon for lying, Crowley thought darkly,

The angel didn’t look quite convinced, but he let it go anyways. They lapsed into a comfortable silence for several minutes, processing.

“Would you mind terribly staying awhile?” Aziraphale asked softly. “I’m afraid I’m rather tired and I… I don’t want to be alone.” Crowley blinked in surprise.

He hadn’t planned on leaving soon, of course, but Aziraphale so rarely asked for something as bold as that so directly. “Of courssse,” he agreed, managing to both stutter and hiss. Damn.

Smiling softly, Aziraphale stood, offering Crowley a hand. He took it, bones creaking and cracking as he stood, and pointedly ignored the sympathetic look the angel shot him. His own aches didn’t matter, not right now.

Aziraphale led them to the flat above his bookshop (which Crowley was very much certain hadn’t existed when the angel bought the blessed thing) which held a bed covered in cozy quilts and a rather absurd number of pillows.

Aziraphale changed into nightclothes the long way, the ritual soothing. Crowley watched (and it’s not like he was making an Effort, or they hadn’t seen each other before). He slid under the covers, the old bed creaking under his weight. When he settled, he looked at Crowley, who was still standing there, looking exceedingly awkward, unsure of what to do with himself.

“You can join me, you know,” Aziraphale said, an eyebrow raised. “After all, you enjoy sleeping much more than me.”

Crowley choked, letting out a few surprised coughs. He couldn’t deny Aziraphale when he looked like he wanted Crowley to lie next to him. With a snap of his fingers, he was clad in black silk pajamas. Forgetting how to move like a normal human, Crowley managed to stammer his way under the covers next to Aziraphale.

The bed was a bit dusty, but it was warm sharing it with his angel. “You know,” Aziraphale murmured, “I never thought a demon could give so much love. Or anyone else, for that matter.” He turned around to look at Crowley. There was recognition in his eyes, even if he couldn’t say it.

“Nngh. Well. Uh. It’s for you,” Crowley replied weakly. Aziraphale smiled and scooted just a bit closer to him.

They didn’t say anything else. Couldn’t, really, not now. Not when they had to be on opposite sides. But when they both drifted into sleep, their bodies entangled, seeking each other’s warmth.

When they woke, they would be holding each other, going just a little faster than before, even if they couldn’t put words to it. And Crowley wouldn’t stop sending his love to Aziraphale in waves throughout the whole night until eventually, they would have to part again.

#good omens #good omens whump #good omens fic #hurt aziraphale #aziraphale whump #Ineffable Husbands #otp: ineffable #good omens fanfiction #gomens #whump #crowley #Aziraphale #protective crowley #hurt comfort #go michael #go uriel #go sandalphon #GO

[throw-away-world]

Some Lessons He Was Thankful For

Warlock understood that he is a peculiar selfish child as a peculiar selfish teen could be at his age. He has a very good grasp of most things--especially when it comes to people. Brother Francis has taught him to be very insightful. He knows that his family is broken, riddled with politics that made his father arrogant, his mother annoyed, and him seeking refuge away from it. He knows that there are little things he could get away from without being scolded by his power-hungry father. He knows that his mother loves him but not in a way that would salvage his relationship with her. She was always just trying to be the wife instead of the mother. And he especially knows that there are only three things he ever really cherishes and loves: himself, his Nanny, and his Brother Francis.

When one day they disappeared, without even a goodbye on his 11th birthday, it had put a damper on his mood. He had been enjoying the food fight at first but when he noticed that the two hadn't come out of their rooms, he had run towards them. Only to discover empty rooms, not a single trace of any article to hint that they may return.

As a child, who constantly feel lonely when it is just him and his parents, he had locked himself for weeks after. His mother trying to coax him out of his room by promises of presents or travels--wherever he wanted! But he does not want anything. He wanted his Nanny and his Brother Francis back. Because frankly, they're more of a parent to him than his mother and father would ever be.

That was 3 years ago. Three years of searching and feeling futile, thinking that maybe he really would never see them again. Three years of feeling abandoned by the whole world. Three years of feeling that he is all alone against everyone. He never really imagined that he would see them again. But here they are, in front of his very eyes, his Nanny in an all black wear, hair much longer than when he was with them, and Brother Francis, much more handsome than he remembered him to be.

"NANNY!" He yelled across the street, feet running at a speed his Nanny trained him to (Warlock, you need to run fast. A lot. Because I can't very well save you every single time)

The first thing he really noticed when he tackled his Nanny is that he is a man now. All sharp edges and flat and male voice that is just a tad lower from being feminine. The second was the startled expression crossing both the adults' faces. And the third was the young boy behind them.

"Warlock?" Nanny's voice was apprehensive, lips tightening. He nodded, "I am. I see that you're a man now. Who's that?"

"Ah.. This. This is Adam." Brother Francis introduced as the boy waved at him. He distinctly notices how close the atmosphere is. It seems that they knew of this boy and has been affiliating with him for quite some time. Warlock understood the concept of envy. It is especially strong when it comes to these two people.

"Is he the new boy you are babysitting?" The three could hear his 'is that why you left me?' in the air. It wrings the atmosphere with tension, high enough to loudly accuse of abandoment.

"Nanny?" He prods. Nanny sighed, hands raking his curly hair. "Look, Warlock," He started, "I am not your Nanny anymore. You can just call me Crowley. And is there any reason why you could be here in Tadfield?"

"Crowley!" Brother Francis reprimands, "Don't be too hard on Warlock." He pauses, "What are you doing here, my dear?"

It's a little bit embarrassing to actually tell them in person, a little more so when they have an observing audience. But he shrugs, manifesting the one of the other things his Nanny taught him: being blunt, "I was searching for you. I wanted to see you again."

Brother Francis smiled softly at him and he, for all the times he did not cry, felt like compensating for it. "Warlock, did you miss us?"

"I do!" Unabashedly, he crowed, "I do, Brother Francis. I travelled a lot with my mom. Because I thought I would get to see you somehow. And... And... We were going to the airbase but I told them I would just wait here. And here you are! Here you two are."

He felt warm arms encircled him and for the first time, he felt as if his Nanny is not trying to reject him. "Warlock," his Nanny gently said, "were your mother and father so incompetent with raising you after we were gone that you have to search for us?"

"They are." He replied. There was a brief silent when he asked, "Why'd you left me on my 11th birthday, Nanny?"

"Because you weren't the Antichrist."

"Adam!"

"What?" Adam innocuously shrugs, "He should know the truth."

"What truth?" He peered at the boy curiously, "That I would not be the one to rule the world?"

"Warlock..." Brother quietly assessed, eyes down casting in a manner he always does when he felt upset.

"I heard you a long time ago." Warlock explained, lips tightening, "Back in the garden, when I was nine. You two talked as if I wouldn't understand. I did. So it is true. You left because I was not the one you were looking for."

And it is okay. It is okay, Warlock has a lot of time to spare to reassure himself whilst feeling so abandoned. When they left on his eleventh birthday, he realised it himself (because Brother Francis taught him to be insightful). And he was really angry for a short time for it. How could they just abandon him after not being what they thought he was? But every time he remembered his time with them, they always felt raw and genuine. They were never force like his father or careful like his mother. So even if they thought of him as someone else for a long time, they had cared for him greatly.

"I forgive you." He is almost crying. It's so funny because he didn't tend to cry. He was so unattached that his parents and his friends would always tell him that he's a cold person. "I forgive you. So please take me too. Even if I am not that Antichrist or something. Don't leave me behind with those people, Nanny."

.

Crowley felt guilty. And he knew his angel does too. Warlock does not know but they always look after him from afar. He was their child. Having seen him desperately search for them was hard. They don't want to drag him to whatever shenanigans that Heaven and Hell would pull next. He would be safer if he's not with them.

Aziraphale has this heartbroken look in his eyes as if he couldn't believe that Warlock has been feeling this way. Sure they thought it odd that he is still searching for them, but he never understood why. He thought it is enough if they just watch over him from a distance.

They never thought that Warlock could feel so abandoned when they left. He has been a free spirited child, always so happy when he was with his friends doing mischief. He felt assured that they were leaving him with a good surrounding--his friends had looked nice.

Why would Warlock clung to them so?

"Oh." He realizes as he watches Warlock hug Crowley as his dear demon awkwardly returned the hug.

"Brother Francis..." Warlock peered up at him, and he felt warm. Warlock exuded such adoration that it is filling the air.

He looks at Adam first before realising that the boy had run of, probably to tell his friends about their abandoned child.

"I am sorry, Warlock." He whispers as he craddles the boy who is not so much as a boy now.

"It's okay." It's okay. It's okay. They're here now.

.

.

When Nanny and Brother Francis thoroughly explained to him about things that had occurred years ago, that's when he really truly had forgiven them. A trait that, funnily enough, was taught to him by his Nanny. As if he knew that, one day, he would be asking for forgiveness in a manner without asking. So he forgive them in a manner without saying it out loud lest his Nanny gets all awkward again.

#good omens #aziraphale x crowley #crowley #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #ineffable spouses #otp: ineffable #nanny ashtoreth #brother francis #warlock dowling #adam young #In which Aziraphale and Crowley didn't know that Warlock would feel abandoned when they leave #Might expand later in ao3

[sorion]

Ineffable Husbands Fic Recs

My favourites in alphabetical order with word count and AO3 rating (list will be edited; always check the link in my profile for the latest version)

NOTE: Both pre and post S2. (The list of post S2 will be expanded.)

Post S2

Clandestine Driving (2.2k, T) After a second successful run around of heaven and hell, Aziraphale and Crowley meet up in the Bentley to discuss the Plan.

The F-Word (21.5k, T) How the living f**k is Crowley ever going to find solace or comfort? Whiskey? Coffee? Cursing? Antisocial behavior? Yes, all of the above.

The Front Page of the Internet (4.5k, M) Following their breakup, Aziraphale reaches out to the internet on his celestial smartphone, searching for a certain answer regarding a certain demon: "AITA for quasi-rejecting him?"

I’m the Treasure, Baby I’m the Prize (9.4k, E) Crowley is very good at faking sex work, as it turns out.

Mirrors (2.5k, T) GO/DW crossover: "Would you mind explaining why you’re wearing my face again?"

Muriel Does a Fantastic Job (13.8k , G) Muriel is hard at work running A.Z. Fell and Co and will maybe get a commendation for doing such a good job! But it would be easier if Crowley would stop coming round and knocking things over.

Mine:

The Third Coming (2.8k, G)

Never before in the history of all existence had bleak odds ever seemed more promising.

Pre S2

A Brief History of Touch (12k, E) Six thousand years of pining, stolen glances, almost-touches, plummeting towards the inevitable end.

Accidental Love (that one doesn’t actually have a title, I just added one for the list; 1.5k tumblr prompt, G) Crowley confesses his love mid-rant without realising it. 

Always too much Thinking (10k, E) “For once, will you just say what’s on your mind?” Crowley was pleading.

An Angel Who Did Not So Much Fall in Love as Settle into It Gradually (8k, G) The story of the little moments over the millennia that shape an angel’s regard for a demon, and the way he slowly, with great reluctance but inevitable surety, falls in love.

And the Antichrist Makes Three (18.5k, T) Crowley didn't exactly intend to kidnap the Antichrist. It just sort of happened. And now they're stuck with him.

Between the Shadow and the Soul (13k, M) Every so often, Aziraphale tried to talk to God. 

Black Sails (21k, E) Aziraphale has been a nun all her life, never given a choice to what path she might take. Her innate curiosity is rewarded when she meets a sailor in the tavern.

Fine Dining (14k, E) “When you're… dining out… what cutlery do you prefer to use?”

Five Times Crowley Fails to Demonically Seduce Anyone and One Time He Doesn’t Need to (11k, M) Like it says on the tin, but very well and elaborately executed.

Honey, You're Familiar Like My Mirror (11k, T) “Crowley,” Aziraphale said, and hesitated. He looked a touch apprehensive, a touch hopeful. “I’d like to take you up on your invitation, if it’s still on offer.”

I Got You to Help Me Forgive (16.5k, E) They have loved each other in the Garden, but only one is allowed to remember.

Keep on Building on the Ground (34k, M) Having kidnapped the infant Antichrist, Crowley finds himself hunted by both sides eager for their war. Desperate, he turns to the only being on Earth who might be able to help him: a Fallen angel playing vintner in Provence.

The Kind of Thing One Says Easily (15.5k, E) Crowley just straight up told Aziraphale pretty early on that he loves him, so it was a fact of their dynamic for centuries before the apocalypse.

Laugh When It Sinks In (12k, G) “Are you sure you’re alright? A-are you having, like, a mid-life crisis or something now that Heaven’s cut you loose? You’re worrying me. What’s next? Cherry red sports car?”

Lit in the Darkness (40k, M) Times throughout history Crowley and Aziraphale have shared a bed. 

Meantime I Ask You to Be My Valentine (26.5k, T) “I heard tell of a place of period-atypical religious tolerance and a fast-developing food scene. Figured your angelic wiles were behind it.”

More Delightful Than Wine (15.5k, E) “They don’t work.” - “I’m sorry, but what don’t work?” - “My parts.” Crowley glared at the parts in question.

The Starting Hinge (49k, T) When a rare book collector is mysteriously killed, DI Barnaby and DS Winter are on the case.

These Furious Passions, These Chances (13k, E) Love, confessions, and passion at a time when their world isn’t quite ready for it.

What’s There to Say (13k, T) A crossover you didn’t know you needed.

When I’m Ready to Die From These Wounds (20k, E) Aziraphale finds Crowley in snake form with barely any demonic energy to him. He tries everything to help him recover.

Weight to a Moral Argument (11k, T) “I’m really fucking in love with you too, and I’m going to say it back properly, which is going to be very romantic and extremely embarrassing.”

You, Soft and Only (9.5k, E) It’s always been them, really. They could never not be.

Mine:

Saturday Night & Sunday Morning (4.5k, E) God's plan may have been ineffable, but so were Crowley and Aziraphale. And God's plan couldn't hope to compare, really.

#ineffable husbands #good omens #fic recs #fanfiction

[mostfacinorous]

34, Warlock?

Angels, you would think, would be firmly against murder. And, despite them mostly having been created for righteous smiting and that sort of wrathful thing, they really did frown on it these days.

For the most part.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, was aware that while murder was, you know, one of the Big No-Nos, there were times when it was the better option.

Case in point; his godson.

The accidental un-antichrist had shown up, bawling, his shirt and hands all but soaked in blood that gave off a distinctly demonic aura.

Crowley had been on his feet immediately, his yarnwork vanished-- possibly into the fire on the off chance that whoever it was would actually see him doing anything so patently uncool, but either way it seemed he hadn’t given it a second thought.

He’d crossed the room in a few strides, gathered the boy into his chest, and started barking orders.

“Angel, the safeguards!”

With a couple of quick tugs, the house was sealed against supernatural meddling-- be it heavenly or demonic in origin.

“Warlock, deep breaths, there’s a good lad. What’s happened?”

Warlock took a gulping, shuddering breath of air and shook his head.

“They came for us-- we came back and there were a bunch of ‘em, and they all looked the same, and they did something, and... mom and dad are dead.”

Aziraphale sucked in a gasp, horrified that Hell would move on the Dowlings, when they so obviously had nothing to do with anything.

“How did you get away?” Crowley asked softly, still cradling Warlock, even as he gave him space to talk.

It had been only a handful of years, but Warlock was on the verge of growing into a fine young man-- not anywhere so tall as Crowley, but certainly taller than Aziraphale. Still, in Crowley’s arms, he looked about ten.

“I don’t--” The panic was fighting for control again, and Warlock began shaking. “I just-- I screamed, and I reached out, I was trying to get to mom, to save her and...”

“And...?” Aziraphale prompted, soothing a gentle hand over Warlock’s ichor slick hair.

“And they all exploded!” Warlock wailed.

Crowley traded a wide eyed glance with Aziraphale.

No wonder hell wanted him. And if they knew, heaven wouldn’t be far behind.

“There now, it’s alright, you did the right thing. Why don’t we get you cleaned up, get you some new clothes and something warm to drink, and then we’ll discuss what comes next. Alright? You’ll be safe here.” Aziraphale kept up his stream of comforting calmness all the way until he got the boy loaded into a shower and his clothes chucked into a miraculously clean pile in the hamper.

“How long d’you reckon we can keep them out?” Crowley asked, keeping his voice low, in spite of the running water.

“Not long. Not if they know he’s here. Certainly not long enough to help him learn to control it.”

“Whatever it is-- where the heaven did this come from?”

Aziraphale spread his hands, equally lost.

“What can we do, then?” Crowley asked, collapsing back into his spot on the sofa.

“We should call Anathema.” Aziraphale decided, already making his way to the phone on the wall.

Crowley blinked, then pulled out his mobile.

“I’ll call Adam. He can help, probably.” He answered, already pulling up the number.

Aziraphale paused in his dialing.

“Do you think that’s wise? Putting the two of them together? Won’t they be an even bigger target?”

“We’ve always been stronger together.” Crowley answered, lifting the phone to his face. “I can’t imagine they'll be any different. Adam?”

Aziraphale let him be as he stood and wandered away to explain the situation, and completed his call to their resident witch.

It wasn’t long before the cottage was more full than it had been since their house warming. Adam had ridden his bike over, Anathema had been dropped off by her husband, and Warlock had finally emerged from his very long, very hot shower, and was wearing Crowley’s clothing, which suited him well, and dark red rims on his eyes, which didn’t, though none of those assembled remarked on either.

“So.” Adam pursed his lips and crossed his arms. “Are you the antichrist now?”

Warlock looked to Crowley, who shrugged.

“I dunno-- maybe? He said I was, when they were my nanny and gardner.” Warlock gestured at Crowley.

“Yes, dear, but we were mistaken-- it was Adam here all along. Which means that we’ve no idea what sort of title you might bear, only that you have power and we have no explanation for it.”

“He’s got the same sort of aura as Adam does, these days. The mostly human, a little not kind.” Anathema shook her head. “It’s not like either of yours, and it’s not like my family’s auras, so. Maybe they’re their own thing.”

“Great.” Warlock said, flumping down into Aziraphale’s abandoned chair. “So what does that mean-- you have to teach me, Adam?”

Adam shook his head. “I only had my powers for a week or so before I went insane and almost killed my friends, and then stopped the apocalypse by being a little shit to satan. Other than than... what’s left of my powers, it just sort of happens. Usually I hope for something really hard.”

“Well, I didn’t hope for those... demons, I guess, to explode, I just knew I had to do something.” There was horror in Warlock’s voice, but annoyance, too. And fear.

“I think there are more pressing matters than the semantics of your gifts--” Anathema muttered, looking up at the roof. “The angels are about to arrive.”

All around the cottage, the sound of their wards being tested went off, and they could hear the angels cursing outside. Crowley cast a smug look in Aziraphale’s direction, but Aziaphale looked ashen.

“It wavered. Just a flicker. Did you feel it?”

Crowley shook his head, but then, as the angels outside coordinated their efforts, he too looked afraid. “When the demons show up, if they try too, it’s going to give.” “They’re on their way.” Anathema announced.

The children were huddling together now, in front of the fireplace, looking young and scared. It firmed Crowley’s resolve.

“Anathema, can you cloak yours and their auras? Aziraphale and I can hold them off-- take the boys and run.” Anathema nodded, already going to work on the spell.

“But what about--” Warlock began, but Aziraphale gave him a silencing glance.

“We’re going to send you away. The moment your feet hit the ground, I need you to run, as fast as you can.”

“And don’t any of you dare look back.”

“But what are we supposed to--”

“My dear boy, I hope you figure it out. We’re going to need your help, on the other side of this.” Aziraphale traded a glance with Crowley, Anathema waved her hands, and the angel and demon snapped together-- and then they were alone again, with the first of the demons arriving outside.

“We’ll need them, provided we survive, you mean.” Crowley muttered. Aziraphale sighed and reached for his hand.

“Well, that was a given. And I didn’t want to make them feel responsible should they fail.”

Crowley squeezed him back.

“Shall we?” He asked, and together, they reached for their respective powers, ready to rain heaven and hell on Heaven and Hell, if only for long enough to buy time for the witch, antichrist, and human with unnamed power to escape.

#xandwyrms #Good Omens Fic #angst prompts #that writing thing I do

[yamisnuffles]

Falling For You

A week after receiving the thermos of holy water from Aziraphale, Crowley leaves London to try to clear his head. It goes even worse than expected. Luckily he has someone to save him from himself.

Read on Ao3

- - - - -

Crowley was falling. No, not like that. He'd already done that once and thankfully it wasn't the sort of thing you were expected to do twice. Also not like that. That sort of falling, for someone as it were, was something you could do more than once but Crowley never had. Well, perhaps he had but it had all been for the same person, time and again. No, this was a completely mundane fall, the sort humans did countless times a day. Only, this was no trip over a step and he was no human. He was a demon who had accidentally stumbled right off a cliff.

It was stupid. It was so stupid that he couldn’t think of anything else. He really wasn’t looking forward to explaining himself in Hell when he got discorporated. Did he leave out the part where he’d seen an angel, got so distracted by that fluff of hair as white as the cliffs that he hadn’t paid attention to where he was walking? Of course, if he left that out, it just left him with the scenario where he’d gone and stepped right over the edge. For no reason. There really wasn’t a good way to spin it. He’d have to spend however many decades getting mocked for it while he waited for a new body.

Great. Fantastic. What a way to finish the week. Start it by going too fast and end with a quick tumble to his death.

He closed his eyes and readied himself for a crash into the rocks. Instead, he heard the loud whump of something large passing through the air above him and came to an immediate stop. His eyes snapped back open to find that the very angel who had literally just about distracted him to death had come to save him. Aziraphale had his arms wrapped around him and his cloud white wings flared wide to abort their fall.

Crowley thought he should say something but apparently thought was still not playing nice with him. Instead he garbled out a bit of nonsense as Aziraphale adjusted his grip on him and flew back up. Aziraphale had Crowley held flush to his body in an iron tight embrace and Crowley thought he was just as likely to discorporate from that as from the fall.

Aziraphale flew up, up, up, until they were nowhere near the cliff edge and then lay Crowley on the grass. His arms were still draped loosely about Crowley, as though he was afraid if he let go altogether, Crowley would toss himself to the sea. Unlikely, Crowley thought, given that all he could do was gawp at the angel’s still unfurled wings and the light press where their bodies met at the hips on the ground.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, in his best, most chastising tone, “what were you thinking?”

Crowley worked his mouth.  He still couldn’t get his brain to work, let alone form words. Maybe he had died and he had been granted one last ridiculous fantasy before he left his body.

“Well?” Aziraphale pressed.

“Wasn’t. Thinking.” Try again. “Wasn’t thinking.” This whole impromptu trip was an exercise in that. He’d climbed in the Bentley without a destination in mind and driven until he hit the sea. “Was just sort of-” He waggled a pair of fingers like legs to get across the idea of walking.

“You just walked. Off. A. Cliff?”

“Nnnnnnh…” If he hadn’t wanted to tell Hell that he’d fallen because he’d spotted Aziraphale, he certainly didn’t want to tell the angel himself.

Aziraphale took his nonanswer as confirmation. His face crumpled and his sea blue eyes turned grey. “I know we didn’t part on the best of terms and while I’m quite glad you didn’t turn to the holy water for this, I didn’t think… I had hoped…”

Crowley felt like he was tumbling off the cliff again for the way his stomach plummeted. He waved his hands quickly to stop that line of thinking. “Angel. Angel. Angel.” There were tears falling onto his face now and Crowley couldn’t handle it. “Stop. Hey. It wasn’t on purpose, okay? I was just out here to clear my mind because being in the city was starting to drive me crazy and then who should I see but you and I, er, well. Ijustwalkedoffonaccident.”

Aziraphale blinked quickly to try to rid himself of some of the tears. “What was that?”

Crowley wrinkled his nose, swallowed hard, and sighed. “I said I just walked off on accident. I was so surprised to see you here that first I thought maybe I was hallucinating. Then I thought, hallucinating isn’t good. Then you were running toward me and shouting and I guess I figured that was a weird thing for a hallucination to do. But that meant you were really here. So then I felt stupid for staring and, well, ah, off I went.” He shrugged his shoulders as best he was able while lying in the grass in an angel’s arms. “Whoops?”

It was Aziraphale’s turn to gape. His mouth worked around word that wouldn’t come. Finally he said, “It was an accident? Truly? Why didn’t you fly back up yourself, then?”

Crowley blinked. Good question. “Uuuuuuuh… Could have done that, couldn’t I? Not my finest hour, gotta say.”

Aziraphale pulled Crowley in for a proper hug. With the Principality’s surprisingly strong arms, Crowley felt like he was being crushed. He wouldn’t complain, though. Wouldn’t dream of it. It felt like Heaven or better, really, since it was Aziraphale embracing him like both of their lives depended on it. 

“Oh, Crowley. Oh, thank goodness,” Aziraphale said between sniffling breaths. 

Crowley felt hot tears soak the shoulder of his jacket where Aziraphale’s face was buried. He let his hands flutter uselessly for a moment before he finally worked up the courage to put them on Aziraphale’s back. “There, there. Wouldn’t do for an angel to cry over a demon,” he said. He moved them in what he had intended to be a soothing motion but the effect was probably ruined by the way they jittered with his nerves. After more hesitation, he reached a little further and let his fingers ghost over feathers. And then, though he hated to say it, “Also probably wouldn’t do for any humans to see those.”

Aziraphale finally remembered himself. He released Crowley with a start and folded his wings safely back into another plane as he shuffled backward. With a water laugh he said, “Right. Silly me.”

Crowley tried to regain some dignity from the day’s events by picking himself off the ground and rematerializing sunglasses that he’d lost in his fall. He brushed off his jacket with his hand to buy himself a moment more. It wasn’t enough. When he looked back at Aziraphale, the angel’s eyes looked startlingly blue against the red that rimmed them.

“So, I guess you were out here for the same reason as me? Get away from London and-” You. He didn’t need to say it for Aziraphale to understand.

The angel nodded. “Funny that we both ended up in the same place.”

“Yeah, funny that.” He scratched the back of his neck. There was still air that needed clearing. “I know you still have your own ideas about why I wanted that holy water and I can promise you that’s not it until I’m out of breath but… What I’m trying to say is… Still the Ritz to look forward to, yeah? Listen, I’m not great with-” He wheeled his hand around in a gesture that didn’t really mean anything. “Anyway, sorry for scaring you, I guess.”

Aziraphale gave him a wide, wobbly smile. “Sorry for being such a distraction that you walked straight off a cliff.”

Crowley laughed, a real whole hearted laugh for the first time since that night with the thermos. “You bastard.” He jammed his fingers into his pockets to keep from reaching out and drawing Aziraphale into another hug. He jerked his chin inland. “Want a ride back? Unless-” Could he say it without shredding his own heart? Two could be bastards and he had a reputation to upkeep. “-You still think I go too fast.”

Aziraphale swatted his arm. “You do drive abominably. But, yes, I believe I would appreciate a lift.” He strode forward a few more steps at the demon’s side before adding, “That is, if you think you can keep your eyes on the road and not drive right off another cliff.”

“Alright. I’m not gonna hear the end of this, am I?”

“Hmmm, no, I don’t think you ever will.”

Crowley groaned. “Look, it’s not like this is worse than marching into the middle of a revolution to get some crepes.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, my dear.”

#crowley #anthony j crowley #good omens #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #fic #my writing

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Communication

Well, looks like I’m only...three days behind on @drawlight‘s advent challenge? *Sigh*

ANYWAY. At least this time I remembered to give it a happy ending.

13 - Wrapping Paper (2,047 words)

“Angel,” Crowley said to the empty room, then paused for a long moment.

“Ugh, no, that’s – try again, you idiot.” He took a deep breath and paced the length of his study, trying to organize the thoughts in his brain. “Hey. Hi, Aziraphale. What’s new – oh, don’t even.”

He miracled a mirror onto the wall, studying his face, shaggy hair, large glasses. Glasses off? No glasses on.

He switched a few more times before finally leaving them on.

“Aziraphale. Happy Christmas. No, I’ve never said Happy Christmas in my life. What’s wrong with me?”

It shouldn’t be this hard. He’d known the angel for almost six thousand years. Yes, they hadn’t been speaking much lately, but that wasn’t new. They used to go centuries without seeing each other. He’d never worried about how to approach Aziraphale back then, just saunter over and shout “Hello!”

But this time…

First, there’d been the fight. It still twisted his gut to think of the things they’d said. Of how many nights he’d sat up angry in this flat, angry at Aziraphale, angry at the universe so stacked against them, angry at himself. What had he been thinking, asking Aziraphale for holy water, just out of the blue like that? How was the angel supposed to react?

Then there’d been the War, and the church, and the bomb. Crowley jumping in to rescue the foolish angel as he always did, burning his feet in the process. He’d tried not to notice the way Aziraphale looked at him afterwards, tried not to hope. He’d waited for Aziraphale to contact him after that. 

Waited for over twenty years.

And then – Aziraphale in his Bentley, handing over that thermos. A look. A tearful almost-smile. You go too fast for me, Crowley.

It had been six months. They hadn’t spoken. Crowley replayed the conversation in his mind every day.

He walked back to the table, placing his hands on the large square box, wrapped in silver-white paper covered in blue shapes. Stockings, candles, sprigs of holly, even little angels. All the Christmas cheer you could ask for.

“Hello, Aziraphale. I know we don’t…we aren’t… Well, I figured since you got me something, I should – For Satan’s sake, DO NOT SAY THAT!” He stormed away, circling the table, ready to pull out his hair in frustration.

A hundred and five years. They’d spoken, what, twice since the argument?

Everything they’d built across all the centuries destroyed. All the trust, all the evenings at the theater, all the shared jokes, the warm smiles, the way Aziraphale looked at him when the angel thought he couldn’t see. All gone, because Crowley had asked for something, something Aziraphale hadn’t been ready to give.

And then…Aziraphale gave it to him anyway.

Crowley leaned against the wall, staring at the blue-and-white box. It was an eyesore, that’s what it was. Hideous. Covered in all the things he, as a demon, wanted exactly nothing to do with. Shouldn’t even have it in his flat.

Could he use that? “Hello, Aziraphale, I bought this but it’s absolutely horrendous and I need to get it as far from me as possible. Why did I buy a present? It’s – I – nnnrrrrrrr.”

He sank down to the floor, head still resting against the wall. At least he couldn’t see the gift, sitting accusingly on the table, from down here.

What he could see was that sketch of the Mona Lisa. And behind it, the safe. And in the safe…

Aziraphale thought it was a suicide pill. What must he be thinking every day since handing it over? Did he think Crowley had used it on himself? He must have worked out by now that Crowley would never…

He felt sick just thinking about it.

All Crowley wanted was to make amends. To make this right. To get back to where they’d been before he steered them both off a cliff. But he couldn’t explain, he couldn’t even talk about it, not without opening the wounds, making it worse.

This had seemed like such a clever solution. A Christmas present. Perfect opportunity. But he couldn’t figure out what the Heaven he was supposed to say.

“I’m a coward,” he muttered from where he sat, slumped in defeat. “I’m a coward and an idiot, and I just… I want you to talk to me again. I want my friend back. Please.”

Crowley forced himself to stand up, pick up the box, and walk out the door.

--

He hadn’t thought of the words by the time he reached the book shop. The Bentley had never driven so slowly, and it still wasn’t enough time. But the lights were off, the shop was empty. Crowley sat in the car, drumming his hands on the wheel. Maybe he could take another trip around the city, give himself time to think –

“Crowley? What is that you?”

“Who else is it going to be, Angel?” he snapped before he could stop himself. Well, that’s one way to break the ice.

Aziraphale stood on the pavement next to the car, hand wrapped around a steaming cup, the other holding a box from the bakery. They hadn’t changed their packaging in a hundred and five years. Crowley opened the door and stepped out to meet him.

“Hello, Aziraphale,” he muttered.

“Are you…” he took a step closer, eyes shadowed. “Are you…alright? Did something happen?”

“Did – no, I’m fine. Obviously. I’m here, aren’t I?” Crowley sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I didn’t mean that. I just – you don’t have to worry about me, alright?”

“I always worry about you.” His voice was so soft. Then he closed his eyes, stood a little straighter, and found his usual pompous tone. “I mean, it is my job to know what you’re about. You’ve caused me no end of concern by being so quiet for so long.”

“Yeah. Well. I.” Crowley spun around, reaching into the car, retrieving the ugly box. “Look. I got you something. Just shut up and open it.”

Aziraphale looked at the box, then at his own hands, already occupied, and raised his eyebrows.

“Fine, here, I’ll get the door.” Crowley snapped his fingers, front doors swinging wide. “Where do you want it? You’ve got enough tables.”

“Put it on the one by the sofa.”

That was well back in the shop. Crowley swallowed, and considered tossing the box onto the nearest table and just running.

No, he had to see this through.

He walked to the back corner where the two of them had sat so many times, sharing drinks and plans and secrets, even if they hadn’t thought of it that way. Sharing looks over glasses that they would never put into words.

He put down the box, quickly but carefully, as if it might explode, and turned to leave.

Aziraphale was blocking his escape. “Well, since you’re here. Let me offer you a drink. Tea? Wine? What are you in the mood for?” His tone was as stiff as his back.

“’M fine,” Crowley mumbled, leaning against the nearest pillar, arms crossed.

Aziraphale pursed his lips, then pushed past, settling onto the sofa. It seemed odd. That was where Crowley sat but, bless it, this was his shop, he could sit wherever he wanted.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as Aziraphale carefully removed the wrapping paper, as if he might re-use that blue-and-white monstrosity on another gift. Then he looked at the box inside, not saying anything, not reacting at all.

“It’s a telephone,” Crowley finally said, when he couldn’t take it anymore.

“I know what it is.” Then, after a pause, “I don’t use them.”

“I got one for myself, too.”

“Yes, Crowley, I know you like to have the latest gadgets. I prefer not to give strangers another way to intrude on my time –”

“Aziraphale.” He stepped closer. “I – I wrote my number on the box. Right there.” He pointed to the row of digits. “I’ll show you how to dial it.” He pushed his hands into his pockets again, staring at the box, not at the angel. “I’m not – I won’t push you. Take all the time you need. But, when you’re ready, when you want to talk…” He cleared his throat. “I just…I don’t want it to be…”

“Crowley.” He finally looked over to meet Aziraphale’s eyes. The angel sighed and moved over on the couch to make room.

Crowley settled next to him, and it was like the universe had shifted, everything back where it was supposed to be, everything so close to being right again. He clenched his hands into fists on his knees, trying to keep the tears from his eyes.

“I’m really not sure this is something I can use.” Aziraphale picked up the box, looking at it from different angles. “I don’t like the idea of just anyone being able to call, you know. And I much prefer to see the people I’m talking to. I think most do. Can’t imagine these new devices will catch on.”

Crowley shrugged, not trusting himself to speak.

“But I suppose…it is quite a clever device. It might have potential, as a way of making plans. Go for dinner. Take a walk in the park. That sort of thing. What do you think?”

Crowley nodded, but felt something more was required of him. “Yeah, uh, yeah. You could do that, I suppose.”

“And, I suppose,” the edge was back in his voice, “if you were worried about someone, you could just – just sort of call them up and make sure they hadn’t done something foolish. Instead of waiting for them to deign to visit you in person.”

“You can call me – you can call whoever you want, any time. That’s what it’s for.”

“Of course, it also gives people another way to avoid you, doesn’t it? Refuse to take your calls, pretend they aren’t in. Probably some way to silence it when you want to sleep for a decade or two. Or just unplug it when you’ve had enough.”

Shaking his head, Crowley tried to keep his voice calm. “I won’t. I promise. You call that number, and you’ll get an answer.”

He clenched his teeth, a hundred things we wanted to say, almost overwhelming him in their demand to be spoken. Not too fast. Give him time.

“And…” Softer tone now. “If someone did want to contact me, I suppose I’d have to answer. In case it was an emergency.”

Crowley didn’t have the first idea how to respond to that. He rubbed his palms against his knees, staring straight ahead.

“I suppose,” Azirapahle finally concluded, placing the box back onto the table before them, “this isn’t such a bad little machine after all. I think I’d like to try it out rather soon. You wouldn’t mind, would you? If I called you, just for a test, in the next day or so?”

Crowley shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.

“I…I missed you, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, voice loud in the silence.

Crowley’s hand drifted across the space between them, and suddenly encountered Aziraphale’s, moving towards him on its own quest. Their knuckles brushed, they both froze, terrified of what came next.

Heart pounding, Crowley snatched Aziraphale’s fingers, soft and neatly manicured, warm, trembling, and squeezed, just for a second. “I missed you, too.”

Then he dropped them, pulling away, standing up as if the sofa might come to life and attack him. He glanced over to see that Azirapahle had stood as well, straightening his waistcoat and lapels.

“Well,” said the angel, glancing over. “First thing is to get this wretched device working. Do you actually know how to set it up?”

“Ah, yeah, I can do that.” Crowley’s hands fumbled over the box, finding the seam where it opened. “Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”

“Good.” Aziraphale bustled off. “Now, the bakery down the street has changed the recipe on their hot buns, and I’m not sure it’s an improvement. I’m going to need a second opinion on this. Oh, and I picked up a bottle of Eiswein in Germany, it’s become a bit of a fad and I want to know what you think. And I should tell you about this customer I had…”

Crowley smiled, and got to work.

(I honestly do think, however you interpret it, that the thermos “You go to fast for me, Crowley” were intended to heal the breach between them. But since these poor babies never learned how to actually communicate, it left things in a rough place. It’s hard, knowing both parties want to reconcile, but not knowing how to begin...)

#good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #31 days of ineffables #aziraphale and crowley #you go too fast for me crowley #advent calendar #writing prompt #my writing #crowley #aziraphale #fanfiction

[confidentweirdo]

Aziraphale has been whining for a while now that humans are terrible at taking hints. Even though the door on his bookshop said “closed” at least fifty per cent of the daytime, and the shop owner has been known to confidently change the topic every time someone actually wanted to buy a book, it still attracted customers.

Crowley didn’t understand what was so bad about it until he saw the actual interaction. Apparently, some humans, more sensitive to the whole supernatural thing, felt the aura of love that surrounded Aziraphale. Which was only logical, because he, after all, was an Angel of God and all-forgiving love was kinda what angels were known for. Well that and cute butts.

Perhaps it was one of those reasons or both of them combined why Crowley was now stuck watching the eighth person hit on Aziraphale in the course of a week.

After Aziraphale kindly explained the customer that ‘no he is not available for a dinner tonight he has another arrangement and no tomorrow’s not good either and no he does not have a phone number or an e-mail he can be contacted through and yes he is flattered that the lady thought him to be handsome but unfortunately he was not interested’, Crowley noticed that the angel looked kind of tired from all of that attention.

“Just pretend you are married,” the demon said nonchalantly, while playing snake on his phone. He always considered this activity to be rather ironic for him.

Aziraphale’s face had a strange expression but Crowley convinced himself it was his imagination and the dim lighting in the room.

A few months later when this whole train of thought had been long forgotten, Crowley came by the shop to bring angel their favorite doughnuts. In the middle of drinking tea and having a pleasant conversation, something caught demon’s eye.

It was a simple golden ring sitting comfortably on angel’s ring finger. The sun shining from the living room’s window was making it look like a tiny unusually placed halo. Crowley’s eyes must have become as wide as the moment he found out Aziraphale gave his sword away to humans.

“Nice... accessory,” Crowley mumbled, not knowing how to address this sudden elephant in the room. Somehow, he felt absolutely miserable about this situation, even though he wasn’t ready to acknowledge why.

Aziraphale must’ve understood him correctly, though.

“Oh, this one?” he demonstrated the hand to Crowley. “I have to thank you, it was your idea after all.”

His idea?! Crowley certainly would’ve remembered if he gave angel the hell’s equivalent of blessing for a wedding!

“I don’t recall,” he said calmly and coldly, sipping on the wine.

“You said it would help keep the unwanted romantic attention of customers away? It actually worked, I have to thank you for that one, my dear.”

Crowley’s exhale and immediate relief were apparently too visible to go unnoticed.

“Are you alright, darling? You look rather pale, or at least more so than usual.”

Crowley slid into his armchair and finally let the alcohol get to his brain.

“Nah, I’m just thinking... I am also very popular, y’know? Among humans, I mean. Maybe I should get myself one of these?” his tone was casual and teasing, but his eyes did not leave angel’s face even for a second, trying to catch every glimpse of emotion.

Aziraphale looked up, and a shy but hopeful smiled appeared on Crowley’s face. If it was just a bit lighter, angel could’ve sworn he saw a blush.

He nodded knowingly.

“I suppose it is only logical to do so. If we both keep the humans away from showing interest in us, we can be... more efficient in our jobs?”

“Right, right,” Crowley frowned and nodded along, although he wasn’t really sure if they were on the same page.

Aziraphale met his eyes, this time on purpose, and carefully said:

“Shall we get the matching ones then?”

Crowley has never said the word “absolutely” so fast in his life.

Aziraphale’s radiant smile was definitely worth it.

#good omens #don’t judge #i literally woke up in the middle of the night to write it down #‘cos i thought you lot would enjoy it #crowley #aziraphale

[fly-flower-fanfics]

Hey me again I loved “Late Night Whispers” could I possibly request another one but with a Touched starved Crowley x reader (you can choose the gender) and maybe add some angst and Crowley denying that he isn’t and doesn’t need the reader but he does (hope this makes sense) thank you

I’m glad you liked Late Night Whispers! I always get nervous that the requester won’t. I hope I got what you wanted! 💕

Stolen Touches

Crowley x Male Reader

Warnings: Verbal fighting

*Crowley has long hair because fuck it, I love his long hair.*

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

I groaned as I plopped down onto the couch. “Can’t we just do this later?” I asked. I felt so empty and drained.

“Later?” Crowley hissed, whipping his head to face me so fast that his hair covered his face entirely for a fraction of a second. “You want to do this later?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I said,” I snapped back, folding my arms over my chest. “Later.”

“I don’t want to do it later.”

“Yeah, well I didn’t want to half the things you did to me!” I pushed myself up into a standing position. “Hiding things from me. Lying to me. Whatever the bloody fuck else. I didn’t want that. And I don’t want to do this now. So boo-hoo that you do. For once in my goddamn life, I’m doing what I want to do!” I turned from him and stormed down the hall, slamming the door of our bedroom shut and locking it.

I sunk onto the floor, folding my arms over my chest again as I glared daggers at the wall. As I thought about what I said, my shoulder dropped, and my heart suddenly felt very heavy. Crowley did let me do the things I wanted. He did listen to me. And he explained his reasoning for hiding things and lying; they had been unbearable secrets, and he was scared. He had finally trusted me — and not all that long ago either — enough to say it.

And I crumbled his mistakes up and threw them right back in his face.

Asshole.

I knew I should go back out and apologize, but what did I even say? ‘I’m sorry for being a total asshole?’ No. I couldn’t. Well... maybe that would work. I was an asshole.

Would he forgive me? Would he understand where I was coming from? It’s not that I didn’t want to have the discussion he wanted; I was just scared. He’d understand that. I didn’t want to talk to him about what would happen when I aged, and he didn’t.

I didn’t want to think about what would happen when I got too old for him or when he finally moves on to someone else. Maybe he’d fall for Aziraphale; the two of them are extremely close.

I was just scared of becoming a forgotten memory.

There was a knock on the bedroom door. I knew it was Crowley.

I’m sorry, Crowley. “Go away, Crowley. I don’t want to talk to you.” That’s not what I want to say!

“Just let me in.”

Just let me unlock the door. “I don’t want to see you.” Tears pooled up in my eyes. You fucking idiot, stop talking.

There was silence. I could hear my heart pounding in my chest, and part of me wished it would just stop beating altogether.

“I’m not leaving until you let me in,” he replied softly after a couple of minutes.

“I’m not letting you in the goddamn room.” Shut. Up.

The lock clicked, and the door swung open. For once, I was glad that Crowley had the magical powers to do that. I hadn’t moved from the spot on the floor where I was sitting. I didn’t turn to face him.

“Too bad,” he said, circling around to my front and standing over me.

“Go away,” I muttered, violently rubbing the tears on my face. I always hated crying.

Crowley knelt in front of me and took my hands in his. “I’m not leaving.”

“You’re so damn stubborn. Any other fucking time...” I trailed off, unsure of what I wanted to say. What I really wanted to do was apologize, but I didn’t know how to make my mouth cooperate. I pulled my hands from his, folding them over my chest.

He resituated himself, sitting cross-legged where his knees touched mine. “Look,” he hissed before taking a deep breath. “Look, I’m apologizing. Work with me here.”

I only turned my head away, chewing on the inside of my cheek. He was apologizing; I’d never seen him do that before.

Crowley reached out and grabbed my face in his hands, turning me to look at him. “Please...”

I stared at his eyes for a moment before an understanding slapped me in the face. “You want to be touched.”

A look flitted over his face before creasing his lips into a frown. “What? No.” His hands fell rom my face, but he didn’t back up to untouch our knees.

“You do,” I said softly. “We hadn’t had time to cuddle in so long because of me having to work and shit. And you never come right out and say it when you need it. That’s why you’re so tense today... I hadn’t been able to pick up on the signs. It’s not just the conversation; you wanna be touched.”

Crowley scowled, but there was a light red dusting his cheeks, and he refused to meet my eyes. “That’s simply not true. I don’t need to be touched. I’m a demon; I’m fine on my own. I don’t cuddle.” He scrunched his nose up in disgust.

I took the demon’s hands in mine. “Then cuddle with me for my sake?”

He turned, looked at me, and hesitated a few moments before agreeing. We crawled up onto the bed and into each other’s arms. We laid on the bed in silence for a couple of minutes. I raked my fingers through his hair, twirling the strands around my fingers. Crowley’s arms were wrapped firmly around my waist.

“I don’t mind that you need touching,” I whispered softly. “I do, too. We all do, and that’s okay.” Crowley’s grip only seemed to tighten around me. “You don’t need to be afraid to tell me about it. Sometimes I need to be touched and held, too.”

Silence filled the room, and I closed my eyes. A soft sigh left my lips as I continued to run my fingers through his long hair. I didn’t really know what to say, but I didn’t want to force anything.

“Crowley?”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” he answered softly. “I was... wrong to push it. I know it’s hard for you.”

“It’s hard for you, too,” I mumbled. I knew it was. I could tell from the side glances he would sometimes give me. “It’s always on your mind. Every day I go to bed and wake up, you think about it. Each day I grow closer and closer to dying and growing old.”

“Shut up.” Crowley buries his face in my chest. “I don’t want to hear it anymore.”

I smiled sadly and held him protectively against my body. Neither one of us wanted to have the conversation anymore.

“I love you, Crowley,” I whispered. “I love you so much.”

“I love you.”

We stayed silent, just holding one another and being in one another’s presence. His fingers draw little patterns across my stomach. It tickled a little bit, but I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want him to stop. I ran my fingers up and down his back, closing my eyes so I could focus more on my touch instead of sight. I wasn’t sure how much time passed, but it was a decent amount.

“Thank you.” I swore I almost missed the demon’s hushed words. “Thank you. For this...”

“Absolutely. You can always ask for it, but I’ll always be on the lookout. I’m sorry I yelled at you, Crowley. I’m sorry I acted the way I did.”

“Doesn’t matter now,” he replied. “Just... hold me.”

And we did. We held each other for a while. The sun started to set before we even though about letting go of one another. It was dark in the room by the time we did.

“Would you like some tea?” I asked, sitting on the bed next to Crowley. “I can get some biscuits, too.”

“No,” he said. “I got what I needed to feel better. And I’ll always have you.”

I stood and placed a kiss into his forehead. “I love you.”

“And I love you.”

#x male reader #gay #good omens #lgbt #good omens x male reader #crowley #crowley x male reader #anthony j crowley #good omens fanfiction

[eiressofinspirationwrites]

Imitation

Pairing: Crowley x Gender Neutral Reader

Word Count: 1589

Requested: Yes; Anonymous

Description: After watching Crowley for quite some time you decide to try your hand at imitating his style in hopes of boosting your own confidence. Seems like a foolproof plan considering how confidently Crowley carries himself all the time. Things don’t go as planned.

********************

“Alright,” you muttered to yourself as you stood outside a boutique, which was slightly more upscale than the ones you normally frequented, “you can do this. It’s not going to be that bad. It’s just clothes shopping.”

You took a deep breath to steel yourself for the process you were about to undertake. You squared your shoulders and strode into the store as confidently as you could.

Or at least that’s what you had intended to do…

“Shit!” you cursed as you stumbled forward, limbs flailing as you tried to steady yourself.

“Careful!” you heard a voice exclaim and a split second later you were surprised when they caught your arm to keep you from face planting.

“I am so sorry,” you apologized as an angry blush spread across your face.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” your rescuer, a young lady, reassured you, “People trip over that little step all the time. I’ve had to catch three people already this morning.”

“That’s one way to make a good first impression,” you joked awkwardly fidgeting with your hands, “Save someone from busting their head open on the floor.”

“Works wonders to boost my sales,” the woman smiled, “They’re so grateful and/or embarrassed they feel obligated to buy stuff.”

“Well that’s good,” you nodded and then fell silent, unsure of what to say next.

“So, is there anything I can help you find?” the woman asked, “or did you just come in looking to be saved by a super saleswoman?”

“I’m actually kinda looking to update my wardrobe,” you admitted sheepishly, “My current look just isn’t doing it for me.”

“Then you’ve come to the right place,” the woman beamed, “I’ve got a huge selection of clothes that can meet any style you’re looking for. Do you have anything in particular in mind?”

“Um, this is gonna sound kind of stupid,” you said, “but I’m kind of looking to go for darker colors and really fitted clothes. Maybe some blazers, vests…”

“I think we can manage that,” the woman said as she wandered towards some clothing racks, “My name is Lydia by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Lydia,” you smiled politely, “I’m Y/n.”

“Well, Y/n,” Lydia grinned widely, “Let’s update your style!”

********************

“Hello, Angel,” Crowley greeted as he slid into the seat next to Aziraphale.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale beamed at his friend.

“Where’s, Y/n?” Crowley frowned when he noticed that the third seat was empty.

“I’m afraid they’re running late,” Aziraphale sighed, “I’m actually starting to worry. It’s not like them to be this late.”

“No, it’s not,” Crowley’s mind started to run through all of the horrible things that could have happened to you.

Normally, you were irritatingly punctual which was why he was two seconds from sprinting out of the restaurant to search for you. That didn’t end up being necessary when the pair heard your voice behind them.

“Hello, loves,” you greeted as you slid into your seat.

“Y/n!” Aziraphale exclaimed when he saw you, “Where have you been?! My dear, we’ve been worried sick about you and what on earth are you wearing?”

“I decided to try something new,” you shrugged as you adjusted your blazer and slipped your sunglasses off your face.

“What brought that on?” Crowley raised an eyebrow as he took in your new wardrobe.

“Been feeling a bit stale,” you said as you slouched back in your seat.

Before Crowley and Aziraphale could interrogate you further, the waiter appeared at the table to take your orders. Once the waiter was gone, you didn’t give them the chance to bring your new clothes back up.

“So, Aziraphale, read anything good lately?” you asked.

Crowley groaned as Aziraphale launched into regaling the tale of how he came to be in possession of his newest book. The conversation wasn’t going to be going anywhere else for quite some time and he knew that’s why you chose to ask about that topic.

********************

“Angel, what do you think of Y/n’s new look?” Crowley asked one afternoon a couple of weeks after you unveiled your new clothes.

“I really would rather not comment,” Aziraphale sighed as he placed one of his books back on its shelf.

“You don’t like it either, do you?” Crowley smirked.

“No,” Aziraphale admitted reluctantly, “They always looked so nice in their other clothes. I don’t understand why they thought all of these darker clothes would be a good idea.”

“They just don’t look like they’re comfortable either,” Crowley shook his head, “Their pants are tighter than mine most days.”

“I’m worried,” Aziraphale admitted, “Y/n’s been behaving differently as well. Quite frankly they’ve been behaving more like…”

“More like who?” Crowley arched an eyebrow when Aziraphale didn’t finish his sentence.

“More like,” Aziraphale paused uncomfortably before he finished, “Well, more like you, my dear.”

“Me?!” Crowley choked on his wine, “What makes you say that?”

“Crowley, it’s very obvious that they’re trying to emulate you,” Aziraphale rolled his eyes, “The blazers and skinny pants? The dark sunglasses?”

“I can’t say that I noticed,” Crowley shrugged.

********************

“Two strawberry lollies,” you ordered upon reaching the ice cream cart.

“Since when do you like strawberry?” Crowley asked after the worker handed over the lollies and you started to wander away.

“I’ve always like strawberry,” you said as you took a bite out of the cold treat, but you didn’t hide your grimace very well as you tasted the treat.

“What’s wrong?” Crowley asked.

“Nothing,” you lied as you swallowed.

“Y/n, is there a reason that you’ve been copying me lately?” Crowley asked, deciding to ignore your lie.

“What makes you think that I’ve been copying you?” you asked indignantly.

“Love, it’s rather obvious,” Crowley said gently, “and I can see you cringe every time you’re short with a waiter.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said evasively.

“Love, come on, you can-,” Crowley was cut off by you whirling on him and seizing fistfuls of his shirt.

“Lay off will you!” you bellowed angrily.

A second later your eyes widened, and you fell back a few steps, “I’m so sorry. I-I’ve got to go.”

“Y/n!” Crowley yelled after you, “Come back!”

“Stay away from me, Crowley,” you ordered as you ran away.

“Please, just wait up,” Crowley’s heart fractured when he saw the tears running down your cheeks.

Crowley tried to catch up to you, but you were too fast and disappeared into the streets.

********************

Crowley decided to give you a few hours to cool off before he made the drive to your flat.

“Love, I know you’re in there,” he called through the door after he knocked on it, “I need to know you’re alright. I’m worried about you.”

“Go away, Crowley,” you called through the door.

Crowley sighed in relief when he heard your voice, “We need to talk.”

“Go away,” you said again.

“No,” Crowley said stubbornly, “If you don’t let me in, I’ll let myself in. I’m demon after all. Doors aren’t really a challenge.”

“You’re insufferable,” you rolled your eyes when you opened the door.

“Part of my charm,” Crowley grinned when he brushed past you into your flat, “Now we need to talk about whatever’s been going on with you.”

“Nothing’s been going on,” you said stubbornly after you shut the door.

“We both know that’s not true,” Crowley said, “Why have you been trying so hard to be like me?”

Crowley trailed off and waited for you to start explaining yourself.

“Because you’re so… confident and amazing,” you explained as you flopped onto your couch, “and I’m not.”

“What are you talking about?” Crowley was dumbfounded, “You’re so amazing. How could you think you’re not?”

“It’s the truth, Crowley,” you rolled away from him, “I’ve never been anything but… ordinary. Not good. Not bad. Just regular. I thought that if I tried to be more like you, I could break out of my shell and be better. I didn’t work.”

“Of course it didn’t work,” Crowley snorted, “Do you want to know why?”

“I get the feeling you’re going to tell me no matter what,” you muttered and you felt Crowley take a seat on the empty cushion by your feet.

“It’s because you’re already perfect,” Crowley told you, “You are smart, kind, and extremely beautiful. You put the needs of others ahead of your own. I wish I was capable of being like that.”

“Yeah, right,” you snorted.

“Look at me,” Crowley ordered gently.

You sighed and sat up to face him.

“You are perfect just the way you are,” Crowley said, “You don’t have to change your clothes to shine, love, because you already do.”

“You don’t like the clothes, do you?” you asked.

“Not really, no,” Crowley admitted.

“Can I tell you something?” you whispered and when Crowley nodded you continued, “I hate these bloody clothes. I don’t get how you can move in these pants. They’re so bloody tight.”

“What do you say we get you back into your clothes, gather up all the awful new ones you bought, return them and then we can go get a bite to eat?” Crowley asked.

“That sounds amazing,” you smiled.

“Good, let’s get a wiggle on then,” Crowley said using one of Aziraphale’s lines and stood up to offer you a hand up.

“There’s just one thing I need to do before we leave,” you said as he helped you up.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“This,” you said before pulling his face down to meet yours for a kiss.

  ********************

A/N: Hello, loves! Sorry that I’ve been absent lately and that it’s taking me so long to turn out requests. I promise that I haven’t forgotten anyone. That being said thank you all so much for your patience with me since school has started back up. I truly appreciate it and it gives me so much motivation when I see all of your feedback!

I’m closing in on 200 followers and I’ve got an idea in mind for how to celebrate that so stay tuned for more info on that! Requests are still, in fact, open and feel free to drop into my ask box to chat or anything else!

~M

#crowley x reader #crowley #anthony j crowley #anthony janthony crowley #good omens #good omens fanfic #reader insert #gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader insert #crowley x gender neutral reader #good omens reader insert

[anasticklefics]

The In Between

Fandom: Good Omens

Characters: Crowley/Aziraphale (very pre-slash, thanks Aziraphale)

Summary: They meet at the in betweens - between the beginning and the end - and yet Aziraphale refuses to acknowledge what they’ve been through. It hurts Crowley more than he can explain.

Words: 1 284

They met at the start of the world, and they met at the potential end. But during the in between, they did more than meet.

Crowley had accepted that Aziraphale refused to acknowledge the in between when they met again during emergencies, but he remembered. He remembered the walks along the Nile, watching Egypt thrive. Cleopatra’s reign, the fall of the Roman Empire, the Vikings taking over the sea. He was there for all of them, sometimes with Aziraphale at his side, the latter frowning or smiling depending on what part of history they were witnessing.

Crowley remembered the meals shared in small taverns on Greek side streets, both remembering when those lands were a battlefield.

“I talked to Homer once, you know,” Azi had said, his eyes on the cobblestone. “I asked him to write it all down.”

They met on the mountainside in China, took a short trip through Mogadishu, once had lunch in Moscow. On one particularly rough night they stayed at a motel in California, like some sort of cliché. But he remembered the week in Bolivia the most. They truly had had no reason to stay a week. Aziraphale had already purchased his bookstore at that point, and yet they’d stayed, in a small town up north.

Much had been said during that week. Too much, Crowley decided when Azi refused to act on it once they’d left. Maybe he hadn’t understood what Crowley had meant when he’d said that he could spend the rest of eternity by his side and not once be unhappy. Maybe Crowley had been too forward, but come on, they’d known each other at least 5000 years at that point.

“You go too fast for me, Crowley,” Azi said many years later, the two in Crowley’s car. Maybe that was true, but Satan help him if he had to slow down to Azi’s snail pace anytime soon.

Yeah, he was bitter. Bitter that only he seemed to remember the in between.

Usually, they met in London. On a park bench, having ice cream or coffee or nothing, and then sharing a meal at whatever restaurant Aziraphale led them to. But Crowley’s mind was still in that motel in Bolivia, tucked between the sheets in the dimly lit room with only one bed. Silk pyjamas even in the heat, the TV on way past their bedtime. No reason to stay, finding many reasons to leave, and yet staying anyway.

For years, Crowley would return, without Aziraphale, just to make sure the place had been real. He even shed a tear, when he returned one day to find it gone. Demolished. An earthquake or an accident or a thoroughly thought through decision to let that part of the village go.

He never told Azi about all of this. Had had his heart, or whatever the demon equivalent to it was, broken too many times when Aziraphale pretended not to remember. Made light of the whole thing. He would never understand it.

“I don’t even like you.”

“Way to go, angel,” he’d wanted to say. “You’ve discovered how to kill a demon without holy water.”

And then they’d saved the world, and with Aziraphale’s bookshop burnt to the ground he’d had no choice but to come spend the night at Crowley’s.

“You can have the bed,” he told him. “I’ve passed out on the couch more times than I can count anyway.”

“I can’t possibly kick you out of your own bed, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, appalled.

“And I can’t put a guest with nowhere to go on my shitty couch.”

“Well, I guess we’ll have to share the bed then.”

Crowley blinked, once, twice, took off his sunglasses as if he’d hear him more clearly without them. “You want to share a bed?”

Aziraphale wasn’t looking at him. “I see no reason why not.”

“You’ll pretend it didn’t happen tomorrow,” Crowley didn’t say aloud. “You always do.”

Nothing would happen. Nothing happened in Bolivia, apart from words. It was enough for him. Always had been. Aziraphale padded across the room, slid in under the covers beside him, and Crowley felt the sadness engulf him. Aziraphale’s sadness for the bookshop. The inevitable consequences. Their ineffable situations.

Crowley shut his eyes, willing sleep to come quickly. Unable to stand another moment of Azi’s weight beside him without any proper contact. 6000 years of this. 6000 years of Aziraphale pretending they weren’t friends. 6000 years of Crowley pretending he didn’t care after each rebuke.

He cared so much it almost broke him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t let you grieve for your car,” Aziraphale suddenly said, his voice so low Crowley might’ve imagined it.

He opened his eyes again, turning his head to see the vague outline of his one companion. Aziraphale wasn’t looking at him, as far as he could tell.

“It wasn’t the time,” Crowley replied. “Much more critical matters to take care of.”

“Still. It was unfair of me to dismiss your feelings.”

“Is this about your bookshops?”

Aziraphale exhaled slowly. “I’m being selfish. I only realized your pain once I was going through it myself.” He turned toward him, rolling onto his side so that their faces were almost touching. “I’m gonna go visit it tomorrow. Say a proper goodbye. If you want I can go with you to the Air Force and do the same to your car.”

Crowley didn’t dare move. “I’ve made my peace.”

“You haven’t.”

“Since when are you an expert on my feelings?”

“Can’t you see, you silly demon?” Aziraphale was smiling. Crowley could hear it in his voice. “I always was.”

6000 years for that acknowledgment. 6000 years of stolen in between’s.

Crowley didn’t know what to do with this moment now. He felt damn near close to exploding.

“Can I hold your hand?” Aziraphale finally asked. “Just this once?”

“I’m not letting you hold anything if you’re only gonna do it once,” was Crowley’s reply, and Aziraphale laughed and laughed and clutched at his fingers, the contact so sudden Crowley nearly withdrew.

“So needy.” Azi gave his hand a squeeze. “You were always so needy.”

Crowley had to admit moments like this weren’t anywhere near his area of expertise so, naturally, he panicked; thinking a poke to Azi’s side was the appropriate response.

Oh, but Aziraphale’s response was definitely one for the books.

“6000 years and I find out you’re ticklish now.”

“It’s my vessel-”

“Which you’ve had since we first met.”

“Oh, come on now, don’t do anything drastic.”

“When have I ever done anything drastic, angel?”

“Do I really need to answer that- wait!”

Crowley never expected his first proper contact with Aziraphale to be due to a sensitive vessel, but he’d take anything he was given. To hear his laughter wasn’t too shabby either, he had to admit. Sitting up so that he could trap him against the mattress more effectively, Crowley let his fingers spider up Azi’s sides.

He hadn’t tickled many people (or any), but he’d seen it happen on both screens and in front of him, and when he expected Aziraphale to kick out and try to get away, he found him merely squirming. Giggling, yes - which was wonderful, shh - but other than his body’s automatic response he didn’t seem to be suffering too much at Crowley’s hands.

Huh. That was a first.

“Stop it,” he pleaded anyway, gripping one of Crowley’s wrists, but doing nothing to push it off.

“Can’t handle it, angel?”

“Don’t be mean!”

“I’m a demon.”

“You’re a softie- ah, no!”

“That’s for the insult.”

The night turned out to be much easier than they’d expected. A good way to prepare for the hardships of the next day, Crowley decided.

#tickling #tickle fic #ticklish!aziraphale #ineffable husbands #ineffable husbands fic #crowley/aziraphale #mine #the in between #ana's fics #good omens