#yes I have demon aziraphale hiding somewhere

[die-o]

some good omens swap, as a treat

this is cael! he sits with his legs neatly crossed, and never can get universal healthcare working quite right. he does his best.

#good omens #art #digital art #good omens fanart #crowley #crowley good omens #aziraphale #angel baby #gold #good omens season 2 #good omens season two #good omens season one #amazon prime #get excited get wild #terry pratchett #neil gaiman #yes I have demon aziraphale hiding somewhere #not in this drawing #hiding in my brain

[ineffable-baker-street]

based on david bowie's song 'love you till tuesday, because it is literally them. listen while reading, there's matching lines 🤍

"Just look through your window

look who sits outside

little me is waiting

standing through the night..."

Crowley laid back against the branch he was currently lounging on, continuing to sing softly. Aziraphale was late. Again.

The angel had an annoyingly common habit of showing up late, and considering this had been his idea several hundred years ago, Crowley thought it rather inconsiderate.

Aziraphale had suggested one night back somewhere in the 1500's that they revisit the place in which they'd become cautious acquaintances all those thousands of years ago. For old time's sake.

Technically speaking they weren't exactly allowed in the garden, after the whole Adam and Eve debacle, as well as that nonsense with the flaming sword. However Aziraphale had suggested that, as an Angel, he couldn't really be banished from the most sacred place on earth, and that they were just there to reminisce, nothing devious or anything of the sort. Crowley, delighted by Aziraphale's definitely grey-shaded mischief, and never one to turn down a wicked plan, had promptly agreed.

Therefore, for the sixth time in the last 500 years, Crowley found himself perched on the branch of an apple tree in the centre of the Garden of Eden.

And he was growing steadily more impatient by the minute.

"Crowley? Where are you?" the cautious voice of Aziraphale called out.

Finally.

"Hello... Crowley??" Aziraphale's voice sounded again, closer this time and pitched higher with concern.

Crowley swung his legs over the side and jumped down, landing half a foot in front of Aziraphale, and making him jump just as high.

"Don't be afraid, it's only me," Crowley grinned at the scandalised face of Aziraphale.

"Don't do that Crowley," Aziraphale huffed, breath rather shorter than usual. "You know how I hate to be frightened."

"Oh of course I do Angel," Crowley said, his eyes glinting as he removed his dark glasses. Those eyes, the only permanently serpentine part of him, were always cunning, always up to no good.

"I'm so very sorry I was late," Aziraphale began, accompanied by frantic pacing. "There was a customer in the bookshop who was very persistent, and kept asking all these questions and wanting my best recommendations, oh and! can you believe, they wanted to purchase my original, personally signed copy of Pride and Prejudice. I mean... really?! Have you ever heard such a thing Crowley? Jane hand-delivered that to my door for Heaven's sake, of course it isn't for sale, and then they finally left and I... what?" Aziraphale stopped his pacing as he glanced at Crowley, only to be met with a fond smile he was not the slightest bit accustomed to seeing on the demon's face.

"Oh nothing, carry on," Crowley said, waving a hand and putting his sunglasses back on in a hurry. A not-so-subtle attempt to hide his expression.

"Tell me!"

"It's nothing Aziraphale, continue with your John or Janet or whoever story," Crowley insisted, folding his arms and leaning back against the tree.

"Well now, you know perfectly well it's Jane, and stop trying to distract me," Aziraphale said with a huff. "Now tell me what you were thinking about."

"Oh alright alright!" Crowley pushed off the tree and held his hands up in the air.

Aziraphale waited expectantly.

"It's- it's just that, well, I was, well- I was thinking about that day in the garden. In this garden." Crowley began, and Aziraphale was bewildered at the tightness of his voice.

"Yes?"

"Well just about you... and- and me..."

Oh no. Surely he wasn't doing what Aziraphale thought he was doing. Not here, not right now, he wasn't prepared for this.

"And, well, and, and I- I um- ARGH WHY IS THIS SO HARD?!?"

"What is so hard Crowley??" Aziraphale asked, his own voice now thickening with the onslaught of tears. This was most certainly forbidden, they should not be discussing this. Not now. Not here. Not anywhere, but certainly not in the birthplace of humanity.

"We- we can't..." Aziraphale continued when Crowley didnt speak. "This isn't, we can't, it's not right! I'm an angel, and you're a demon and we can't-"

"I was very lonely till I met you on Sunday," Crowley interrupted, looking through his glasses at Aziraphale.

"You- what? What Sunday?"

"It's a line. From a song. You wouldn't know it, bebop and all that," Crowley said, waving his hand impatiently.

"But I was. Very lonely. Until I met you," he continued haltingly, taking his glasses off again, and looking at Aziraphale, directly into his eyes.

Aziraphale sighed, and covered his face with his hands despairingly. This was forbidden in every book to ever exist in Heaven and Hell, every rule, every warning, they were under no false impressions that a demon and an angel were permitted to fraternise, let alone anything else. And then Aziraphale made his choice.

"Well," Aziraphale began, clasping his hands just below his chin. "I hear the world is supposed to end sometime on a Tuesday, in several billion years," he continued, glancing away and then back at Crowley, trying to disguise the smile that spread across his face.

"Did you- did you just reference my song to me?" Crowley asked, looking inordinately proud. " You did! I thought it was all 'bebop'? What about all your classical rubbish?" he said, smile turning delighted as Aziraphale shuffled and shrugged.

"Well I just thought, couldn't be so bad. If you like it. Though I suppose that would make it just so wouldn't it?" Aziraphale said with a chuckle.

"And you mean that do you?" Crowley asked suddenly, ignoring the joke, desperation coating his voice "What you just said? Do you know what you just said? Because if you don't you better tell me right n-"

"Yes. I know what I said, and I meant what I said. I've always known and I will always mean it, from now until, well, until Tuesday I suppose," Aziraphale grinned, pleased at his joke.

"Oh, shut up," Crowley said, grabbing the collar of Aziraphale's coat and dragging him in, their lips colliding and falling into rhythm with each other. It was like they had been molded at the beginning of time to one day fit together like this. It felt right. Aziraphale sank into the kiss, running his hands across the back of Crowley's jacket and pulling the demon in sharply, drawing him even closer, so close that the two fell back against the sacred tree, breaking apart for a moment of air.

"Maybe I'll stretch it to Wednesday," Crowley grinned, as he tightened his grip on the angel's collar and pulled him back in.

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #crowley and aziraphale #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #ineffable idiots #aziraphale is adorable #crowley my beloved #good omens 2 #good omens tv #good omens ficlet #good omens fic #david bowie #neil gaiman #yes this is self indulgent #what do you want from me

[rebeccadewinterthinks]

Good omens The Book of life Conspiracy theory Part 4

the previous parts of this theory you can read here: part 1, part 2, part 3

4. Is he lying or not?

I'm not an expert on brain function, but when Gabriel comes to the bookshop, he behaves like a person who has lost their memory. You believe that he doesn't know who he is, where he is, and what he's doing here. He reacts and behaves like a curious child. At the same time, he has a vague sense of anxiety and a vague sense of recognition of Aziraphale, and all of this seems quite natural. However, at a certain point, it started to seem to me that Gabriel is lying. Let's start with the fact that he suddenly stopped asking questions, he no longer asks: who am I? how do you know me? who are you? what miracles are happening here? A person who has lost their memory is only interested in book trading and gravity, really?

Review the listed episodes. Don't you think the same as I do?

« – And now I will make a noise when I move around…»

He is clearly trolling Aziraphale, smirking and walking away, very pleased with himself, it's obvious. He's not a child, but a self-satisfied bastard [06:25 Ep.2].

Aziraphale talks to the Archangels on the street in front of the bookshop [12:45 Ep.2]:

The door opens, and Gabriel appears, loudly and joyfully declaring that he is Jim, the bookseller's assistant. Why would a person who has lost their memory, who knows that something terrible awaits him, loudly come out onto the street in front of strangers? Maybe because this is Gabriel-with-memory, who, of course, recognized the ones who came, understands that a hiding miracle of immense power has been performed, and is now simply testing the limits? When the miracle passes its final test (Michael doesn't recognize Gabriel up close), he mockingly calls after the angels:

« – What...what about me? Uh, guys, shouldn't you keep a close eye on me too?»

very recognizable audacity and self-assurance.

there is a theory that an angel cannot be punished outside of Heaven. After all, in the first season, Aziraphale had to be kidnapped first and then executed by Heaven. So, Gabriel, having regained his memory, must realise that with all his powers, he is practically invulnerable on Earth. This is indirectly confirmed in episode 6 when representatives of Hell and Heaven demand that the escapees be handed over to them. It seems like they are right in front of you, punish them all you want. By the way, humans don't have such problems, only Crowley's intervention saves Maggie and Nina from immediate transformation into salt pillars.

however, it's possible that Gabriel is just a very audacious son of a bitch.

there are more obvious signs that the fugitive is mentally sound: you can't fool Crowley so easily [21:24 Ep.2]. He carefully listens to the nonsense that Gabriel is spouting and says:

I think at that moment the Archangel realizes that it's better not to push Crowley further, "shines" his eyes, and delivers a biblical phrase. Think about it, if ALL his memory is in the fly, where did this piece come from? Well, the trick worked, and they back off.

Gabriel blurts out a prophecy about the Second Coming [38:45 Ep.3]:

«– There will come a tempest, and darkness, and great storms. And the dead will leave their graves and walk the earth once more. And there will be great lamentations. Everyday it's getting closer.»

Is this a conscious attempt to warn? Or a random trigger on the word «tempest»? The only thing that's clear is that his memory is with him again.

conversation with Crowley [41:35 Ep.3]:

« – You have no idea the trouble you're causing, do you? - No. Or yes. Or...no. - Yeah, I'll tell you something Jim, or Gabriel, if you're there somewhere. If any harm comes to Aziraphale because of this, I will…»

And Gabriel listens. VERY carefully. And he looks like he understands everything.

Crowley comes into the Archangel's room [14:20 Ep.5].

The demon openly berates him. Gabriel is visibly nervous. When Crowley says that Aziraphale wasn't at the execution, Gabriel asks in surprise, «He wasn't there?"». Not the reaction you would expect from someone who doesn't understand what's being talked about, right? And it becomes even stranger when Gabriel almost jumps out of the second-floor window. For a person, with or without memory, that's guaranteed injury (the floor is high, and there's asphalt below), and the action is completely senseless. But for an Archangel, such a jump poses no threat, but it's an excellent way to escape from an extremely unpleasant conversation. Then Crowley demands that Gabriel remember. He replies:

«– I don't have my memory. – Well, where is your memory, then? – In a matchbox. No, I took it out, first. I took it and put it in the box and I brought it here… And now it's everywhere.»

First of all, how do you know all this? Secondly, what do you mean, everywhere? It's no longer in the fly? You don't want to admit that you've already got it back, do you? I have a theory as to why the memory (partially) could have leaked back into Gabriel's head. And also why he doesn't hurry to get away from the bookshop, even though Heaven is already on his heels.

the part 5 is here

#good omens #go2 #go2 spoilers #good omens 2 #good omens season 2 #good omens spoilers #good omens meta #good omens theory #crowley #aziraphale

[thesherrinfordfacility]

do you have thoughts about the fact that when aziraphale and crowley both perform their "half-miracles" to hide gabriel from everyone in episode 1, that it read to heaven as a MASSIVE miracle? I've been seeing people hypothesizing about it being due to the combined powers of aziraphale and crowley being unexpectedly strong which I don't really buy because i don't think the show really suggests that, it also doesn't really make sense to me, and why didn't hell notice it then (unless I missed that somehow)?

aziraphale suggested that crowley do his half by hiding gabriel from heaven and aziraphale do his half in hell, which makes me think that this strong signal that sent alarm bells off in heaven is mainly influenced by crowley, in relation to the fact that he was seemingly a VERY high ranking and powerful angel pre-fall? OMG WHO WAS CROWLEY

hi nonnie!!!✨

so i thought the answer was that Gabriel was still in there somewhere. then i switched to it being crowley, before i realised that if crowley performed miracles as part of the arrangement, that would also sure come up on the radar, especially if in proximity to aziraphale...

but then i thought well no, he's a demon, so why would it come up anyway? it wouldn't... so why would it change now? i also thought well yes the miracles are done at the same time, but they're not necessarily one whole together, and aziraphale and crowley aren't even touching each other...

then i rewatched the scene, and realised that the chair goob was sat on was on top of the rug, on top of the sigil/transportation portal... and with the additional context we now have re: metatron... i think he somehow used the portal to spy on them and amplify the miracle, bringing attention to Gabriel in the bokkshop and bringing about the ultimate events of the ep6 ending.✨

#good omens #good omens season 2 #good omens spoilers #good omens 2 spoilers #not a shitpost but its good omens babyyyy #ask

[ask-but-beware-the-consequences]

Note: OK, first things first, I started drawing this while traveling on a bus, in an Easternish Europian country, so the roads were very bumpy and it was hard to write, so I'm going to write here the texts too. I hope you like this short story I came up with! ^^ (I'm obsessed with putting easter eggs into everything)

1: God: Today I unite you, God: And all shall witness.

[Crowley hides themselves with his wings] 2: A: It's alright, my darling. No needd to cover me. God: He is right, Crowley. You can't fight anyone's fate. God: For it has already been written. God: My sweet children, I have sent humanity for you to learn from. God: And you two were the first ones, who ever did. Crowley, my fallen archangel, Raphael, guardian demon of the tree, and aid of humanity…- A: What?! You're an archangel?

3: C: Does it matter now? A: N-no. God: Aziraphale, principality of the Eastern gate… my softest angel. Your worries may layed to rest, for from this day forward, you shan't leave one another. God: Take my gift, he will be the guardian of humanity. The fruit of your love will be Rathma. A, and C: What?! God: Demon, will you take my gift, and his hand? C: … I'd like to hear it from him first! God: Very well, angel? A: Crowley… I will.

4: C: Then, C: I will too… God: You may kiss your spouse.

5:

6: later, somewhere in London [wings flap, they are falling apart, from being untangled from their wings, finally falling back into cushions at the library] C: What- What just happened? A: I think… we just got married.

7: C: Angel. Did you really want this? C: I mean, them leaving us alone is nice and all, but… Isn't this going too fast for you? A: Crowley, dear. This was just a ceremony of spending our time together. I think we already did that for 6000 years. C: Did you not hear the part about Rathma?! A: Crowley, I will do no such thing until I know you can love me. C: Oh, so you mean to tell me, you also don't have free will. Beacuse angels can't have that.

8: C: You just heard Her. We are on our own side. C: You didn't say yes, just because you were forced, right? A: It's not as if we can't set our own pace. She didn't say any date. C: So you do lov- A: Ahah, would you like some wine? Let's get drunk! [alcohol appears]

9: C: …sure. I'd like to be summoned while I'm too drunk to care about the change of surroundings. If that happens again. [Bunch of alcohol later] C: My point is… Ducks! [A: again?] C: They have eggs. Real good parental defene… defenend… guardians! Put their heir in an egg! Kids fresh out the egg can run! See! Speak too! Snakes have eggs!

10: A: So you're suggesting we should also store them in an egg? C: I-I-I I mean, I don't suppose any of us want to carry them the way others do, right? A: Like humans? C: Imagine fish… A: Ugh… I'd rather not. A: Do we even carry them? How-… Do they?… How would we even get there? I don't think others have done it before.

11: A: How are angels born? C: Why ask me? You're the angel! A: You were an archangel! You should know more than I do! C: I-I don't know! C: God sorta just created them! In adult form. Or at least in a permanent state. C: …You don't think-. They will just show up anytime? A: She said they'll be born as the fruit of our love… A: wait. A: If we are good and evil. Then they will be good and evil. But humans are good and evil. What if they will be human? They grow so fast!!

12: C: I go for a longer nap and they might be old or dead! [Even more alcohol later…] A: I can't help it, I'm an 'Ngel! I'm made out of love. I can only love you. Even if you can't- [Drunk vision begins] C: No. Angel,

13: C: I'm sorry if you ever thought that. If you ever held back because of me. Of fear I'd hurt you. C: I can't ask you to believe me, I only earned distrust for my fall. But I have loved you since the moment we first met. Even if I hate to admit it. There's no other being I want to protect more than you. If not me, the nature of the animal I've been cursed with, can be believed.

14: A: Crowley… You just said that you love me! C: I-… I did? Aziraphale, barely can be heard: Dear, you're shaking! Are you alright? Oh don't fear, it is mutual, rea…

[Crowley's brain has stopped working] 15: [Reality check starts, drunk vision ends] C: OFC I LOVE YOU, ANGEL! PLEASE! IT'S BEEN 6000 YEARS! hic WHAT DO YOU MEAN I GO TOO FAST FOR YOU?!! HUMANS NEED LIKE ONE YEAR. Why do you think I slept so much?! "Devil don't sleep", Angel! I-… [reciting of the last words, showing they really were said]

[Time was spent, and now it's morning] 16: A: Mhm… C: Nothing's too fast for you now, is it? A: You're never going to let that go, will you? C: That's basic standard~ C: Angel. Will you marry me? A: But we're already married? C: I want it to be your decision. When you want it. When you're ready. A: Crowley~ You're the nicest being that I ever known, [C: That's a problem] A: Of course, I will!

17: [much later, in Raphael's church, with Raphael's painting showing him holding a snake. Others have been invited too.] C and A: I do. [A: Now that I think about it, it's kind of obvious]

18: It has been ages since they were on earth. [ominous humming] In their celestial star-shape. A star smelter, in the sky. A new star was believed to have occoured. And a new star was born. (A demigod).

19: And soon, delivered to Earth. Vanishing from the night sky. An Angel's egg. [later, at their cottage house] A: Crowley~ [Crowley is shown in snake form, holding a marker, indicating he drew on the egg the shades]

The end!

Thank you for reading!

#good omens #good omens s2 #ineffable husbands #Anthony J Crowley #Aziraphale #comic #short comic #David Tennant #Michael Sheen #Crowley was Raphael archangel in this fic #idea that he kept the count of the wings even after the fall he just hides them #so does Aziraphale #but only sometimes #the angel's egg inspired me again #also diablo 4

[pockykierra]

Though I've Done No Wrong Chapter Two

You can read the whole thing here on A03! Here's the first little bit:

“Because you and Mr. Fell don’t ever talk to each other.”

The suggestion was highly offensive, Crowley thought - and also very wrong. “We talk all the time!” He exclaimed in response, readjusting himself in Aziraphale’s chair, sitting up straighter, then flopping back down like it was his personal throne. “We’ve been talking for millions of years.”

They really had been. As Crowley made various blabbering sounds, he thought back to truly how long they had been talking. Even before Crowley had Fallen and become the demon he was, the two had interacted - though he much preferred to think about the ones that happened after. The ones he could remember clearly that weren’t hazy and filled with vague flashes of white robes and an exploding universe. Witnessing the Flood of Mesopotamia together. Getting drinks in ancient Rome. Confirming the Arrangement somewhere in five hundred A.D. Meeting William Shakespeare as he rehearsed his - thanks to Aziraphale - most popular play.

So, the notion that didn’t talk? Ridiculous. They talked plenty.

“I say something brilliant; he says something unintentionally funny back. It’s great.” He continued, sure that the point Maggie and Nina were trying to make - whatever it was, he still wasn’t sure - would be settled. Because after everything, only Crowley and Aziraphale knew how much they talked. That was between them and no one else.

“You never say what you’re really thinking.” Maggie replied gently, her face scrunched with sympathy and tenderness. Nina’s face was far more closed off, but even she looked at him with some level of understanding. “That was all we needed.” She continued. “It’s what you two need as well.”

Crowley’s stare was blank as he looked at them, but inwardly, his mind was racing. Of course there were things Aziraphale and him hadn’t said - but that was because they couldn’t have, what with Heaven and Hell breathing down their backs all the time. Of course they couldn’t say every little thing that came to mind.

Of course, there were the last few years, but- they had been... busy. Busy building their new existence together without their respective offices there to tell them what to do. For them to have just come right out with it could very well have thrown their fragile new lives into chaos and confusion. And they didn’t want that, not at all. Best to have just... kept it down.

“Just think about it, will you?” Nina said finally, standing and motioning for Maggie to do the same. “We still don’t understand much of anything that just happened, but if things need to be said, might as well just say them now.”

Crowley stood along with them, though as they said their goodbyes and started towards the door, he didn’t follow. Deep down, in a place he tried so desperately to hide even from himself, he knew they were right. He was making excuses. And he was making them because- what, because he was scared? Scared about how Heaven and Hell might react? Nervous about what would happen were he to reveal his feelings? Worried that Aziraphale would flee back to Heaven if Crowley let loose all the things he had been hiding for thousands of years, even after they tried to burn him in Hellfire?

Yes. Yes to all of it, he was realizing.

But now - things had changed, hadn’t they? What with Gabriel and Beelzebub running off together to Alpha Centauri, and the way they had danced together, and how Aziraphale had looked at Crowley when he returned from his (unsanctioned) trip to heaven, and how they had once again survived a possibly catastrophic situation.

Surely, of all times, now was the best. He just needed to get it out, quick, fast, and easy. Say what they had both been thinking for so long and then start their much-needed ‘them time.’ He just needed a bit to think-

The bell of the bookshop rang out, and through his haze, Crowley saw Aziraphale step inside. He cursed silently, turning his back to the angel and pressing a hand to his chest. This was it, and he hadn’t even had any time to think about what he wanted to say. What could he say? What could possibly be said to sum up thousands and thousands of years of trust and companionship and love? And for Crowley to be the one to do it- he hadn’t even dared to deal with the emotions of telling Aziraphale he was living out of his car. And now he was supposed to just- tell him all his feelings?

#aziracrow #aziraphale #crowley #good omens #good omens fanfiction #PKFanfics #why is writing for Crowley so much harder than Aziraphale (personally) lmao #also my keyboard is acting up real bad so if you see any double letters no you didn't

[esthermitchell-author]

Scene Addition #2 - "Helping Hands" - Filling in the explanation

Settling into his usual spot on the settee, Aziraphale smiled softly as Crowley snuggled his way in against him, baby Jem now dozing in his arms.

"Don't you have something to tell me, angel?" Crowley tilted his head slightly to look at him, mischief twinkling in his yellow eyes.

Aziraphale couldn't for the life of him imagine what Crowley was talking about. "I have no idea what you mean."

"How is it you know the proper way to hold a baby? Or how to feed one? Or any of the rest of that sh-- stuff?" His eyes narrowed playfully. "Hiding a gaggle of kids somewhere around here, are you?"

Aware Crowley was teasing him, as much as asking a question, Aziraphale just rolled his eyes and shook his head at his demonic love. "Don't be silly. I have exactly the same number of children as you, and you're holding her."

Crowley's teasing expression faded, replaced by blatant curiosity. "Serious, though. Where've you been learning this stuff? And why? And don't try to tell me you read it in a book."

Aziraphale sighed fondly, stroking a fingertip over Crowley's cheek. He really didn't want to talk about how he knew about babies. "You're really very lovely, you know. And you have such pretty eyes..."

He leaned forward just a bit, touching his lips to Crowley's in a brief, gentle kiss. Crowley kissed him back for just a moment, then pulled away.

"Nuh-uh. I'm holding the baby, and you're not distracting me like that."

Another sigh pushed from Aziraphale. "Oh, very well. You're not the only one who's had experience raising children, you know."

Crowley blinked in clear confusion. "Raising...? Wot? The Warlock thing? That hardly counts, since he was five by the time I got his care. 'Sides, I'd hardly call it childcare. I was supposed to be training him to destroy the world."

"Yes, well," Aziraphale tried his best not to fidget, in deference to Jem being asleep. Still, he wasn't sure how Crowley was going to take this. "I may have... Oh, drat it. I was assigned to help Mary take care of Jesus, all right?"

The surprise on Crowley's face told the angel just how little his demon had been expecting that particular admission. "You...? Why?"

"Because she was a brand-new mother who had no idea how to care for an infant. Because I was on the planning committee for creating humans. I was being assigned Eden, and the first humans, and the Almighty wanted me to know how to assist in any way necessary, once things got going, so I..." He flushed slightly. "Well, the Almighty made it my job, in the lead-up to creating humans, to detail the steps of childhood and how children should be cared for."

"Any way... Yeah, I'm not going there." Crowley chuckled, then immediately stilled. "Wait. You're the one behind the whole birthing process?"

"Goodness, no! That was supposed to be Gabriel, but he handed the job off to some cherub not even on the human committee." Aziraphale shook his head in dismay as he recalled the whole incident. It'd been so unfortunate, and left women with such a terrible burden to bear, because the Supreme Archangel at the time couldn't be bothered to handle his own responsibilities.

"Figures," Crowley muttered, sounding completely unsurprised. Then, his eyes narrowed. "Hold on. So, when we were planning that caper to restore Job's lot... You knew all along that wasn't how it worked, didn't you?"

Aziraphale shrugged. "Of course."

"And you just let me go on..." Crowley laughed, then, his head dropping back against Aziraphale's shoulder, even as he kept a careful hold of Jem. "Oh, angel. You were more devious than I gave you credit for, even then."

"I haven't a clue what you mean. I'm an angel. We aren't devious."

Crowley lifted one brow, his lips flickering in sly humor. "Can't believe you can even say that straight-faced, after everything we've been through in the past year, angel."

Aziraphale pretended he hadn't heard, though he could feel his lips twitch with the desire to smile. Crowley was right, after all. They'd faced some downright evil angels, in the past year. After a moment, he caved, sighing as a small smile curved his lips. "Fine. Some angels can be quite devious. I, my love, am not one of them."

"So you call letting me continue believing that whole rib myth for nearly a century being honorable, do you?"

Aziraphale softened, smiling warmly at his demon. "You were so proud of yourself, Crowley. I didn't have the heart to tell you that wasn't how it worked. Besides, I knew Gabriel would think the same thing, since he never paid attention in committee meetings, and it was better to let him go on thinking that was how it was done, or we'd never have gotten away with it. I wasn't trying to embarrass you, love."

"Ah, it's fine. I woulda done the same thing, just to get one over that smug arse."

#good omens #good omens fandom #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #crowley #azicrow #ineffable spouses #fanfic #Born of Starlight #good omens fanfiction #gomens fandom #gomens #gomens fanfic #go fanfic #go fandom

[castthy-nightedcolour]

One- Shot: The Seaside Dream (written as part of my series ‘don’t worry about a thing’ on AO3, link can be found at the bottom of the post as it won’t let me embed it)

Fandom: Good Omens

Characters: GN Reader, Aziraphale, Crowley

Warnings and Tags: depression, skipping meals, dynamic duo, here come the boysssss, soft crowley

Summary: you don’t show up for wine with crowley and aziraphale, and the two hurry to your apartment to see what’s going on

Word Count: 2281

Link to original: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31055930/chapters/83889112

‘Crowley, please hurry!’

The pained cry of the angel came from the top of the flight of stairs in your apartment block, echoing off the concrete walls. This mixed with the reverberant sigh of Crowley, and the ever- so- slow tread of his footsteps.

‘CROWLEY. This is important! Do you not care?’

The demon stopped dead in his tracks, planting his feet at the bottom of the set of stairs that the out of breath Aziraphale stood at the top of.

Crowley was not at all happy with the angel’s question.

‘Do I not what? Care? Oh Angel, you’re asking to be pushed down these stairs,’ he responded, almost growling under his breath. In any other circumstance, this might have actually pleased Aziraphale, however this time, he was actually terrified.

-

The scenario had started with what Aziraphale called ‘a dreadfully funny feeling.’

Since Armageddon was narrowly avoided, the angel and the demon had found themselves at somewhat of a loose end on Earth, enjoying their free time together but still constantly striving for some higher purpose.

That’s where you came in. Little did you know that a walk into a lovely little bookshop called A.Z Fell & Co. one day to search for an overpriced illustrated copy of your favourite book would lead to drinking a couple of bottles of wine with the owner and his companion for seven hours straight, and that this would become a weekly tradition. You just clicked with the pair, you found them magnetising and, well, you were a fascinating human to the angel and the demon, so they quickly grew fond of you.

The two supernatural beings then decided that their purpose would be caring. Caring for you.

Not in a suffocating way though, at least that was never the intention. Between the two of them, Crowley and Aziraphale decided from the get go that they would just be there for you as a friend, with little extras added on top like going out and buying your shopping for you whenever there was a thunderstorm, or baking you enough cake to feed the 5000. But, the pair’s talents in observance and intuition slowly made them realise that something was always just slightly off with you.

To them, it seemed like there was always something hidden behind a wall in your head, like a pretence that you constantly held up. Granted, part of their realisation came when in one of your drinking sessions at the bookshop, you let slip that you hadn’t eaten a proper meal for two days and they both nearly hit the roof. They asked you why, and kept asking why (Aziraphale in particular was extremely persistent) but you brushed it off- you always brushed it off.

‘No no, it’s nothing to be worried about, I promise! I’ve just been so busy, y’know? It’s nothing, please Aziraphale, you can sit down. Don’t you worry about me.’

Now, Crowley could sense a lie from a mile off considering he was the lord of them, and Aziraphale could feel that your inner emotions were about as steady as a mongoose riding a pedal bike, and they therefore deduced that they should in fact worry about you.

And so the slightly incompetent suffocation began.

This was definitely mainly from Aziraphale, as his senses for detecting emotional suffering and hurt were a lot stronger than Crowley’s- this was just down to how long he’d been pulling angelic manoeuvres. Crowley was a lot less practised however when he felt that something was off, he really did feel that something was off. This however meant that wherever in London you were, Aziraphale would realise that something was wrong, no matter how small the inconvenience.

Notable occasions included when the tubes on the Central Line were running one minute late and Aziraphale unsuccessfully attempted to miracle another train up, causing even more delay and destruction, when the bottom of your shoe fell off in a puddle and Aziraphale got so upset that he cried for an hour, (to be fair, he’d had a long day; someone had tried to buy a book from the shop which had displeased him greatly) and when a seagull crapped on your shoulder while you were sitting outside a bar at Canary Wharf and the angel managed to manifest a fluke bolt of lightning which struck the seagull down right into your food.

And all this from the comfort of his own home.

Crowley had tried to tell the angel that not every inconvenience could be sorted out, that the pair needed to pick their battles with the perils of the human life.

‘Yes yes, I understand. I’ll stop, I promise. We’ll stick to the original plan. Now have you seen my banana bread recipe? I think they could do with a pep up.’

This lasted for 22 hours.

You hadn’t shown up to the bookshop like you did every week.

‘Oh Angel do stop pacing, they have a life of their own you know,’ Crowley nagged, holding a bottle of red wine in one hand as he stood in the doorway between the main shop and the back room.

‘Something is wrong, Crowley. I have a dreadfully funny feeling,’ Aziraphale insisted, wringing his hands and pacing at twice the average speed of an angel.

‘Right, yes, okay but the problem is, you’ve said that every night for two weeks and it hasn’t been true once.’

‘You can’t sense it like I can.’ The angel stormed towards the coat stand, reaching for his coat.

‘Oh no no no, we agreed, no suffocation. Put that down, you’re not going anywhere,’ the demon asserted.

‘Oh yes we are. Put that wine in the back, you’re driving.’

Crowley had rarely heard Aziraphale’s voice like this before, low and extremely demanding. There wasn’t any way he was getting out of this, the angel was on a mission.

-

And so, Crowley drove the angel to your apartment block and the two of them ended up in the stairwell facing off with each other. Too highly strung for their own good.

‘What if this is the one time that I’m right? You’re here getting all… demonic on the stairs and-‘

‘I will get demonic, Aziraphale. I am in fact a demon, plus if this is the one time that you’re right then you’re holding both us back by squabbling. Move out of the way.’

Crowley marched up the stairs stony faced, swooping straight past Aziraphale to your front door.

He did care. He really did. He just didn’t like to show it around Aziraphale because he always felt inferior in they way that he cared compared to the angel. He didn’t have those massively intuitive senses, his baking skills weren’t up to scratch, he felt held back by control. But something in the demonic form burned when he thought of the idea that you were hurting- and that burning was made more painful by Aziraphale’s suggestion that he didn’t care.

He snapped his fingers at your door, and it violently swung open, hitting against the wall of the hallway as it did. He stormed inside, barely letting Aziraphale follow behind before he snapped his fingers again to close it. Darkness and silence fell over the hallway as the angel and the demon stood completely still, their anxious breathing slowly filling the space.

They could both easily sense one important thing- you were present in the apartment, you were safe within the four walls. There was a collective sigh of relief.

‘Told you,’ Crowley sneered under his breath, trying to hide his still present anxiety. As much as he could feel your presence, he was struggling with any of the finer details, your emotional state or your exact whereabouts.

‘Don’t be like that. I was only trying to help,’ Aziraphale whimpered, taking a small step forwards. Unlike Crowley, he could just about tell that you were somewhere in the general direction of your bedroom. The angel clicked his fingers and uttered a small ‘let there be light’, allowing the hallway to be illuminated by a faint white glow. There was no other light coming from anywhere due to a distinct lack of windows in the architecture of this building, the only three were in your living room, your bedroom and your kitchen and even then, you’d shut all of the curtains and all of the doors in the place.

The angel padded further down the hallway, leaving Crowley to look at the prints on your walls like an awkward cousin at a party. By the time Aziraphale had reached your bedroom door, Crowley had moved onto examining the items on the coffee table that was slightly further down the hall. There wasn’t a lot to examine, a couple of books, your keys, an Alexa that you’d turned the microphone off on. The one thing that caught Crowley’s eye was a small painting of a seaside town just laying down on the table. It wasn’t anywhere near being finished and much to Crowley’s dismay, it was crumpled up. He assumed two scenarios from this, either someone had given you an unfinished painting and you felt so strongly about it that you took to crumpling it up, or this was in fact your handy work that had been partially destroyed.

‘Crowley, what now?’ Aziraphale whispered from the end of the corridor, bringing Crowley’s gaze up from the table and back to reality.

‘Uhhh, don’t scare them. Don’t just burst in,’ the demon responded, moving down to meet Aziraphale by the bedroom.

‘I wasn’t planning on doing that! I just mean, do I knock? Just go in? Announce our arrival?’

Crowley rested his hand lightly on your bedroom door, looking quizzically at Aziraphale who was jumping through every possible scenario in his head. The demon sighed.

‘Just, shush. Okay, let’s just be quiet. Follow me, angel.’

Crowley very slowly pushed your bedroom door open, being greeted with yet more darkness from inside as he did so. Aziraphale hung over his shoulder to try and look inside, with Crowley grunting slightly at this. Through the darkness, Crowley made out a shape in the bed.

You, curled into a ball and fast asleep. Your breathing was heavy, but not laboured, and the bedsheets rose and fell accordingly. You were as close to comatose as could possibly be, dead to the world but luckily, very much alive.

‘Aaah. Oh, look,’ whispered Aziraphale. Crowley glared slightly at the angel, but inside, his sentiments were very similar. The pair stared at your form resting in the darkness for a few seconds, relieved with every breath that you took. With anyone else? It would have been creepy.

But not with these two. It was a deep devotion and concern.

Aziraphale went to take a step forwards but Crowley stopped him in his tracks, stopping the angel from getting anywhere near you.

‘Don’t even think about waking them, look. They’re deep in dreamland,’ the demon hissed, meeting Aziraphale’s puppy eyes.

‘Oh please, I just wanted to check that they’re okay.’

‘Aziraphale, they’re very clearly shattered. I think that we’ve discovered that they’re definitely not okay, but interrupting their sleep won’t help anyone. Let’s just, y’know, help where we can.’

‘But their soul-‘

‘I know. We’ll help with that tomorrow. For today, they sleep.’

Aziraphale eventually backed off slightly, looking down while nodding in defeat. While his deep concern could only ever have come from a place of love, he realised that stepping back for a second could be beneficial to everyone. He started to head towards the kitchen to see if there was anything that he could help with in there, turning back round for a second to ask Crowley what he should do. Crowley however was no longer stood in your doorway, and was instead sat on the edge of your bed, resting his hand on your leg.

The angel went to protest in some jealousy for a moment, but the warm glow that filled up his heart because of the sight stopped him. He just smiled, and turned back.

—

Between the pair of them, you were treated to a clean kitchen, a full fridge, a massive fuzzy blanket for the bed and soft, warm light for each room.

But there was one final detail bugging Crowley.

As the pair crept down your hallway back to the front door, Crowley let out a soft whistle to his friend as he stopped beside the coffee table. The angel turned his head, looking at the objects scattered about the surface.

‘What’s this?’ He asked, strangely intrigued by the small speaker- like object.

‘It’s an Alexa, it’s like a - y’know what, doesn’t matter. That’s not what I need you for. Look at this.’ Crowley picked up the ruined painting that he’d spotted earlier, showing it to Aziraphale. The angel scanned over it.

‘Ooh, its Whitby, the place with Dracula!’ He half gasped half squealed, failing to see what his friend was seeing.

‘It’s fucked is what it is, angel. I think they’ve crumpled it up in frustration or something, which I’m not exactly thrilled with. I’m out of niceness for today, can you do something?’ Crowley sighed, thrusting the painting towards his friend slightly.

‘Oh, easily. Your wish is my command, dear.’

Aziraphale swiped his hand across the paper and watched as the creases disappeared and the smudges eased. The colours got just a little brighter, and the beauty of your half- finished painting was restored.

‘We’ll help them finish it tomorrow, yes Crowley?’ The angel continued. Crowley gave a small smile with all the good energy that he had left in his body.

‘Yes angel. That would be nice.’

#good omens #good omens one shot #good omens fanfic #aziraphale x reader #crowley x reader

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Hello! Not the promised angst, but I needed to cheer myself up today, so here’s some cuteness, a touch of emotional hurt, and a soft ending.

(CW for discussion of drunken shenanigans, after the fact, extremely mild.)

--

The moment Crowley woke up, he knew something was wrong.

Even with his eyes closed – the room smelled too dusty, the air too dry. The pillows were too soft, the sheets nowhere near Egyptian cotton, and he was burrowed under a blanket that was thicker and heavier than anything he owned. It was comfortable, but it was wrong.

There was also someone moving nearby, footsteps treading softly near the bed.

Old instincts activated, bringing him from drowsy to alert in less than a second, without changing his posture in any way. Let the intruder think he still slept. He pictured the layout of his room, the distance to the door, the exact spot of the fancy lamp on his bedside table. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but it should buy time. He’d need to roll over, it was behind him, and from the sound of it the intruder was…inside…the wall?

Pressing his face into the pillow, Crowley slowly cracked open one eye.

The wall was much farther away than he remembered, and the room much brighter, and filled with bookshelves, and…

“For Ssssssomeone’s sake, Angel,” he groaned, sitting up. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

Aziraphale turned from where he was sliding books onto a shelf, blinking innocently. “I’m terribly sorry, did I wake you?”

“Obviously.” He glared around the room, which seemed identical to the rest of the shop, apart from the presence of the bed, and beside the door a wash table with pitcher, bowl, and pile of black towels below a small mirror. Everything else was floor-to-ceiling shelves, filled with spines of bright leather, faded cloth, and even a few paperbacks. The tartan curtains in the windows were identical to those hanging from the four corners of the bed.

“Well, I didn’t mean to. Just tidying up a bit while you rested.”

“Hng.” Crowley abruptly realized those were not towels on the wash table, but a pile of neatly folded clothing. A quick – if hopefully unnoticed – search under the covers revealed he wasn’t wearing much. “What, mmmmh, what happened last night?”

“Last night?” Aziraphale sounded genuinely confused.

“Don’t—” He struggled to remember through the sleep-colored haze. “We went to the Ritz. Celebrating. Then came back here for some wine and…”

“Ah.” The angel set the rest of his books down and crossed the hardwood floor. He’d taken his shoes off, presumably to be quieter, but Crowley could still hear every pad of tartan-socked feet, every creak of old boards. “Yes, we had…quite a lot of wine. I dare say we’d earned it, after the day we’d had, but your mood went from celebratory to rather daring, to, I suppose…downright scandalous.”

“Ngk.” Crowley clutched at the mattress where Aziraphale couldn’t see, and kept his jaw locked and face neutral. He was sure he could have hidden is reaction completely, had he been wearing his blessed glasses. Still didn’t know where those had ended up.

“Oh, yes.” Aziraphale sat on the edge of the bed, almost close enough to touch. “Somewhere around midnight you suddenly leapt to your feet and staggered across the floor, declaring you were…well…you wanted to do something you’d never done before, something you’d never have been allowed while we were still on our old sides.”

“Oh, no.” There was no hiding it now. Crowley’s hand shot out to cover his eyes. “Oh, no, no, Aziraphale…I…”

“It was all quite garbled and slurred,” the angel continued, “but I think it had something to do with teaching the Bentley to fly?”

“!”

Peeking over his hand, he caught a glimpse of Aziraphale’s shining eyes and amused smile. And, yes, now that he thought of it, he distinctly remembered his elaborate plan to miracle the engine and…

“Nnnnrrrrrg, tell me I didn’t crash into anything.”

“Now, really! I was hardly going to let you leave in that state.” Aziraphale quickly stood up, tugging the blankets smooth again. “No, I dragged you up here so that I could lock you in until you agreed to sober up and be sensible again.”

“Oh. Oh. Good.” There was no hiding his red face now. He lowered his hand and tried to subtly pull the blankets a little higher up his bare chest.

“You didn’t seem to think so at the time. Called me a self-righteous jailer, among other less-savory terms. I was worried you’d break the window and escape that way.”

A quick glance revealed that he hadn’t done that, at least. “Aziraphale, I – I—”

“I came in an hour later.” Now his eyebrow arched, an expression Crowley rarely saw. “You had removed most of your clothing and dropped yourself on the floor next to the bed. Claimed you were looking for the bathtub.”

That was it. Crowley was going to discorporate from sheer embarrassment. A perfect ending to their attempted defection. Hell wouldn’t even kill him for this, just make him retell the story over and over for their amusement…

“Actually…” He looked up again to find that Aziraphale’s face had gone serious. “Considering, well, what I’d seen that day…I didn’t find it very funny at all. So I helped you into the bed and told you to stay here until you’d recovered. And you. Ah.” He fidgeted, twisting the ring on his finger. “You asked me to join you. Because…because the forces of Hell were still after you. And nothing would stop them.”

“Nnnnnnnnh.” Crowley dropped back onto the bed, pulling blankets to his chin and turning his back on Aziraphale. He remembered, far too clearly, the two demons barging into his flat – Hastur suddenly appearing in his Bentley, which was more his home than anywhere else – a thousand intrusions of voices and faces over radio and television, whenever he least expected it – the ground rumbling as Satan himself approached—

Aziraphale continued, voice very soft. “You seemed…confused, but truly afraid.”

“Did…did you…?” Even turned away, he couldn’t bring himself to ask.

“No. I thought it would be, ah, inappropriate considering your…state. But…I did promise to stay in the room and watch over you until you woke.”

Somehow, knowing that made Crowley relax, just a little. “And…you were here all night?”

“All night? My dear fellow, that was three days ago. But, yes, I’ve been here the whole time. You talk in your sleep, you know. In dead languages. It was quite amusing.”

“Mmmmmnnnnnnrrrrrgk,” Crowley managed. Then, much softer, “Thanks.”

“It was my pleasure.” The sound of his fingers brushing the fabric of the blanket seemed too loud in the quiet room. “Are you…ah…you may sleep longer, if you wish?” He sounded uncertain.

Crowley shrugged.

“Perhaps I should give you privacy—”

“No.” He bit his lip. Stupid demon.

“Oh. Well. Would you like me to go back to what I was doing? I’ll try to be quieter this time.”

“No.” Stop that. “F’you want.”

“I see.”

A short pause, then the blankets stirred, the mattress sank under the new weight.

And then, pressed up against his back, a glorious warmth, a soft curve of stomach. Aziraphale’s arm draped across him, loose but secure, pulling him a little closer. Protecting him.

“This?”

“Yes.” Relax wasn’t the word for it; Crowley felt himself melt against his angel, a hundred creeping unnamed fears that were always with him suddenly dissolving into a warm glow.

“You rest, then. I’ll be right here.”

“Mmmmh.” He closed his eyes, the better to take in the sensations, the brush of breath on his neck, gentle pressure of fingers, the velvet softness of Aziraphale’s waistcoat.

“Oh. Um. There was one other thing. When I put you in bed you, ah…you tried to kiss me.”

Crowley’s eyes flew open.

“I…I said…you could try again when you were awake. Ah. If you still wanted—”

Quick as only a snake could be – if he were any slower, he’d have time to talk himself out of it – Crowley twisted around and pressed his lips into Aziraphale’s cheek. Then he spun back, lips still tingling, entire body ready to burst into flames from sheer embarrassment.

Aziraphale chuckled. “Sweet dreams, my dearest.” And gently kissed Crowley’s shoulder blade.

“Nnnnnnnk.” He managed to find Aziraphale’s hand and clasp it, weaving their fingers together. “Good night, Angel.”

#good omens prime #good omens fanfiction #good omens ficlet #ineffable husbands #aziraphale and crowley #aziraphale #crowley #soft #soft aziraphale #soft crowley #pointy demon just wants soft angel cuddles #sleepy cuddles #ineffable bed snuggles #my writing #tumblr fic #emotional hurt/comfort #mostly just #fluff #good omens fluff

[sparkkeyper]

A Matter of Trust

My take on the “night at Crowley’s flat” fic. 

Swapping faces requires complete trust. Unfortunately, Aziraphale has not been particularly honest leading up to Armageddon and it's hard to overcome that doubt.

Words: 2295

Warnings: None

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

"You really think she meant switching our actual faces?"

"I've been over it a dozen times and I'm quite sure. I've had the last 72 hours to become familiar with Agnes' peculiar brand of predictions."

Crowley blew out a long breath and took another sip of his coffee. It was the deepest hour of the night. Darkness pressed around the outside of his flat, threatening at the edges of the LED lighting. "Put a lot of stock in this prophecy, do you?"

Aziraphale nodded from where he sat nearby on the couch, the torn slip of prophecy on the cushion between them. "Absolutely. Every prediction in her book came to pass exactly as she saw it. If this is the scenario we're up against, then 'choosing our faces wisely' is our best shot at surviving it."

"Suppose that's settled, then. Once Above and Below start after us, they won't stop unless we really give them a good reason."

"I agree. Now, this will require complete trust and extraordinary focus in order to work. It isn't like lending someone a scarf."

"That's the point, I thought. Something neither side will see coming."

"Exactly. All right then." Aziraphale wriggled a bit on the couch, bracing himself. "Are you ready?"

Crowley set down his coffee and flexed his fingers. "Ready."

Aziraphale held out his hand and the demon took it. Swap with him.

Nothing happened.

"Er..."

"Ngk. Hang on." Crowley gave himself a shake. "Been a long day and all that. Lemme just refocus. Right, let's do it." He took the angel's hand again. Swap. With. Him.

Again, nothing happened.

There were several long, awkward seconds.

Get it together, you stupid snake. This is important. This could be the most important thing you've ever done. This is Aziraphale. Best friend for centuries. You know what to expect from him.

He did know what to expect. That was the problem.

The moment was stretching on far too long. He dropped the angel's hand like it had burned him and scrubbed his palms over his soot-stained face.

"Crowley?"

"It's fine! I'll make it work, give me a blessed break."

He stood and paced the room for a moment while Aziraphale sat stiffly on the couch, watching him. "Is there anything I can do to...to facilitate things? I'm not sure what the problem is."

"There's no problem, it's fine," Crowley snapped. "I've got this. Just worry about your end of it and I'll worry about mine. Right!" He spun on his heel with his hand out and Aziraphale stood to match him. "Swap, then!"

He clasped the angel's hand and tried. He could feel the miracle simmering somewhere in the ether, attempted but not complete. He reached for it, he reached with all his might.

"Crowley-"

"I can do this," he insisted, a pit forming in his stomach. He'd just held his car together for 40 miles, he could believe one little idea for 5 seconds.

"Crowley-"

"I can do this!"

"Oh for goodness' sake-"

The angel was frustrated. He had every right to be but that was beside the point. A frustrated Aziraphale got indignant. A frustrated Aziraphale stormed off.

A frustrated Aziraphale pulled away when they needed most to stick together.

Crowley blessed savagely and spun, stomping for the balcony.

"Where are-"

"I just...I need to get some air." He slammed the door behind him before Aziraphale could respond.

The night breeze from so many stories up was like a slap in the face. Crowley welcomed it, leaning heavily on the balcony railing and burying his face in his hands. He couldn't do the miracle. Not that he didn't want to - he'd rarely wanted anything so much in his life. But he couldn't get his heart into it the way it needed to be.

We're not friends!

It wasn't true, of course. But it was something Aziraphale had wanted to be true. Because it would make the angel's life so much less complicated. Crowley was a friend...until he wasn't. Crowley occupied a place of esteem...until he didn't. Aziraphale worked so very hard to view a messy world in a manageable way and sometimes cuts had to be made.

His coffee sat suddenly on the railing because it knew what was good for it, and when he raised it to his lips it obligingly added a considerable amount of whiskey.

If they couldn't do the swap, they had no future. The Earth had a new lease on life tonight, but if they couldn't swap it would be at the price of their own. He knew Hell would show no mercy and he couldn't fool himself into thinking Heaven would. But Aziraphale... When it came to Heaven, Aziraphale could fool himself into thinking a lot of things.

I don't even like you!

Even if I did I wouldn't tell you! We're on opposite sides!

Aziraphale, who always had excuses to fall back on.

Aziraphale, who had a book with the Antichrist's address and hadn't told him.

Aziraphale who, when the world was on the brink of destruction, had kept calling out to Heaven.

If it came down to their partnership or Heaven, Heaven was the first to be appeased, no contest. Crowley understood his reasons. Aziraphale was, at his core, an angel. He treasured that identity even if he disagreed with his superiors and assignments. He held out hope in goodness, in Her, in a way Crowley never could. He wanted so badly for everything to turn out nice and good in the end, and Crowley could not take that from him.

When Heaven couldn't provide, Crowley was there to be his safety net. But Heaven was always, always first.

The balcony door clicked behind him and hesitant footsteps stepped out into the night. "If there's anything I can do to help you focus, you need only ask."

Crowley couldn't bring himself to look at him. "Focus isn't the problem."

Aziraphale was quiet for a very long moment. "Oh," he said softly.

There was no shock in his voice. No condemnation either. Crowley wondered if it would take some time to sink it, given everything that had already happened to them tonight, but as Aziraphale joined him at the balcony railing he knew that the angel understood what this meant.

Dull blue eyes followed Crowley's gaze out over London and Aziraphale took a slow sip of his tea. "This is my fault, isn't it?"

"Don't," Crowley told him tiredly. "What's done is done."

"But the consequences are ongoing. And will be for a long time, I expect." Aziraphale sighed heavily. "I am responsible, I won't pretend otherwise."

"I tried," Crowley confessed, the words barely audible over the background hum of the city. "I truly did."

"I don't doubt it."

A breeze wandered in. Tousled through red and blonde hair. Wandered somewhere else.

"I suppose I ought to at least ask...was it slow over time or was it because of this past week?"

Crowley didn't answer for a moment, taking another sip of his coffee. "Bit of both."

"Mmm." Aziraphale nodded, not particularly surprised by this. "I should have seen this coming, really. I should have seen a good many things coming."

"Stop it," the demon muttered. "You can't see everything coming. Something something ineffability."

"Is just one of the excuses I've been hiding behind for a very long time. And now it's caught up with me. With us." He sighed. "I suppose it's not just evil that contains the seeds of its own destruction."

Crowley didn't have the energy to come up with a biting response. He just looked exhausted. "I don't regret a minute of it, you know," he murmured. "The Arrangement. You and I. Wouldn't trade it for anything." There were dark circles under his eyes. "But I can't trust you the way I'd need to for this to work. I wish I could. I've tried. I just can't do it."

Aziraphale grimaced to hear the words out loud, but did not dispute it. How could he? "I don't blame you. You're right - it's not fair to ask you to trust me when I've squandered your trust so thoroughly."

We're not friends, hung thick in the air between them.

"Not that I think you don't care," Crowley clarified. "I know you do. You're terrible at hiding it, really. And you came to find me today before it all ended. That's not nothing." He took another sip of coffee. "But you also lied to my face. Repeatedly."

"I did," the angel acknowledged quietly.

"While the world was ending."

"Yes."

"That hurt, Aziraphale."

Aziraphale bit his lip hard. "I know. I'd take it back if I could. But I suppose it's too late to make a difference now."

They stood in silence for a time. Then Crowley sighed and turned back to the flat. "Come on. It's been a long day. There's wine in the kitchen, we may as well enjoy it while we can before they come for us."

The angel followed him inside and watched as he pulled glasses from a cabinet. "Thank you again for allowing me to stay the night. You didn't have to, after everything."

"Stay as long as you like," the demon uncorked the wine bottle. "Your shop's gone. Fuck's sake, I'm not a monster."

"No." Aziraphale's expression was very, very soft. "You're not."

Crowley took off his sunglasses and looked up at him at last: this demon whose heart had been broken too many times. "I want you to be all right, Aziraphale. I need you safe. I need you alive. I want to see you happy. But I don't know how far I can meet you."

"I can't say I'm surprised, after all I've put you through," the angel admitted ruefully. "Denying we were ever friends, or insinuating that you were somehow less than I. I've been a rather dreadful friend to you over the centuries."

Crowley hung his head, wine forgotten. "I know why you keep us at a distance and I know why you lied about the boy. You were doing what you thought was best at the time. I can't blame you for that. But to do what that prophecy wants, when push comes to shove I need to believe with all my heart that you won't leave me hanging. And I...I can't bring myself to believe that." He scrubbed his hands across his face. "Given time I might, but we don't have time. I can't do it. And I hate it. Because that's going to get you killed. I need you alive but once they come for us, I won't be able to save you. Not this time."

"You talk as though you're not in danger yourself," Aziraphale's face crumpled. "Crowley, if Below gets their hands on you they will destroy you utterly. I will not let that happen. I can't take back what I've said but you are the dearest thing in this world to me and I'm not going to stand back and let them take you."

Crowley looked like he was trying so very hard to hope but just couldn't get there. "I want to believe that, I really do. But I can't do blind faith like you can. I don't have it in me anymore."

Aziraphale closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to the demon's. "I'm not asking you to forgive what I've done. And I'm not asking for blind faith. Goodness knows how much trouble that's caused." His voice cracked at that but he plunged onward. "I'm only asking you to believe me when I say that I will not let Hell have you. If we cannot switch our faces, we will find another way."

"But your prophecy. Agnes-"

"Agnes be damned." That shut Crowley up. Tears glistened on the angel's cheeks. "If I have to march Down There after you. If I have to take up a sword. If I have to stand between you and God Herself. I swear to you on everything that I am, I will not let Hell have you."

And in that brief moment, for just that one promise in a sea of other broken ones, Crowley believed he was telling the truth.

His hand scrabbled for Aziraphale's and he pushed for all he was worth before he could lose this moment, he pushed every atom of his soul into the heart of his best friend, gave him everything that he was and ever could be, and in that instant he trusted Aziraphale to keep him safe.

And then Aziraphale was pouring into him and Crowley opened himself up and let it happen, let him seep into every muscle, every bone, every molecule of his being -

-and suddenly there was no difference between them, there was no angel, no demon, just a tumult of soul and hope and pain and fear and resolve and-

Crowley tumbled out the other side like falling out of bed. He gasped in a strangled breath, stumbling backwards into the kitchen counter and staring suddenly into his own face. He stared down at his clothes - beige - and his hands - manicured - and back up, feeling the warmth of his best friend's corporation surrounding him like a blanket. Aziraphale, in Crowley's, did much the same.

There was stunned silence in the flat as they let this sink in. Then one of them snapped, or maybe both, and suddenly Crowley's face was buried in the collar of a stinking, burnt leather jacket and Aziraphale was crushing him close, and both were squeezing so hard the other could scarcely breathe.

"Thank you," Aziraphale managed at last. "For trusting me enough to let me save you."

"Not if I save you first," Crowley choked out, and broken giggles filled the flat.

(Also on AO3!)

#good omens #good omens fic #the night at crowley's flat #aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale having to take responsibility for lying #the body swap #can these two idiots just SIT DOWN AND TALK #trauma is never your fault #being gaslight and coerced is never your fault #but we still have to be aware of those we hurt when we're not at our best #not that Crowley's 100% innocent #they'll figure it out they just need time

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens - A Historic Blunder (Rated NC17)

Summary: Crowley shows up in the Bastille to rescue Aziraphale, but for some reason, when he snaps his fingers, it doesn't only release Aziraphale from his chains, it switches their places. Miffed at all of Crowley's mean comments about his beautiful suit, Aziraphale doesn't just opt to free Crowley, but forces him to earn his way out of his chains by putting his smart mouth and sharp tongue to better use. (1999 words)

Notes: Written for the @coldomenszine - nsfw digital-only edition. Warning for bondage and oral.

Read on AO3.

“What in the …?" Crowley glares at the shackles clamped around his wrists and Aziraphale's gold brocade suit miraculously tailored to his body. His eyes dart over to Aziraphale, clothed in the burgundy coat he arrived in. "Why am I wearing your clothes? And your chains? How the Heaven did this happen?"

"I don't know," Aziraphale says, massaging his wrists, rubbed raw by the shackles he'd been locked in. Indeed, how did this happen? Just moments ago, between pleasant banter and derisive remarks in regard to Aziraphale's unfortunate clothing choices, Crowley had snapped his fingers, performing a demonic miracle to set Aziraphale free. Which he did, so, of course, well done him. But now Crowley is the one in chains ...

... while Aziraphale is dressed like a peasant. 

"Are you losing your touch?"

"Very funny.” Crowley snaps his fingers again. And again. And again. But no matter what he does, he can’t break free. 

Most of what he'd intended when he snapped his fingers happened. Aziraphale is unbound, and the guard who had been sent to fetch him standing paralyzed in the corner. Other than that, nothing else worked the way it was supposed to. 

It's almost as if his spell backfired.

"Could this be a punishment from Hell for you rescuing me?" Aziraphale asks with genuine confusion. "You said your lot don't send rude notes. Could they have taken away your power instead?"

“Don’t know," Crowley says, examining his hands for answers. "Does seem like something they'd do.”

Aziraphale gasps. "Maybe they know you're here, and this was a test! Or maybe this isn't Hell's doing at all! Maybe this is Heaven's!" He looks up and around, trying to sense any Holy influence in their midst. If he finds any, he's going to be very put off, seeing as they made no move whatsoever to aid him.

"All interesting theories," Crowley agrees, giving the shackles a tug, checking their strength. "Theories I would love to discuss with you at length somewhere other than here. So why don't you get me out of this mess?"

Aziraphale tuts at Crowley's tone. He's every inch a demon of Hell, with demon manners, too. "What's the magic word?"

Crowley rolls his eyes. He considers not saying it out of spite, but what other option has he? "Please."

"Could you possibly say it nicer?"

Crowley fixes Aziraphale with the fire of his fierce, yellow eyes. "No."

"Fine." Aziraphale raises a hand to snap his fingers, but he hesitates. 

"Wot?" Crowley shakes the chains to remind Aziraphale what he should be doing. "Wot's the matter?"

“I don't know."

"Wot do you mean you don't know?"

"It was nice of you to sweep in here and help me, but you're being mean to me."

"I'm being mean to you?"

"You made fun of my clothes!”

Crowley sputters like a car struggling to start. “You’re ... you're ... you're going to let me get discorporated because I made a comment about your outfit?”

“It was rude! I'll have you know that suit was a gift from Marie Antoinette herself!”

"Pfft. Fitting you'd be wearing it here then."

Aziraphale tsks in disgust. "Was that really necessary?"

Footsteps overhead, coupled with the sounds of cells opening and shrill cries for mercy, draw Crowley's attention away, make him swallow hard. "Okay, look, none of that matters right now! I got you out of your chains, yes? Tit for tat, angel. Bust me out!"

"Quite right, quite right. I could do that. Bust you out, as you say. But what’s in it for me?”

"Aside from you not losing your head?"

"Yes. Obviously. Aside from that."

“I’ll take you to lunch," Crowley offers.

Aziraphale shrugs. “Alas, I’ve already eaten.”

Crowley pulls a face. “That’s never mattered before!”

“Yes ..." Aziraphale grins "... but today it does.” 

"Wot else could you possibly want?"

"What are you willing to give me?"

Crowley crosses his arms over his chest, fumbling with the cumbersome metal links so he can manage it. "I know you've got something on your mind, angel. So could you help me out? Give me a hint?"

"Well ..." Aziraphale rolls his eyes to the ceiling, stalling in the hopes Crowley might figure it out "... it's been terribly stressful here, locked up by myself, waiting to be executed ..." He busies himself picking nonexistent lint from Crowley's jacket, feigning nonchalance. He has no intention of letting Crowley lose his head. He's having a bit of fun with him. 

But maybe he can finagle a little something more. 

"So you're wanting something to relieve your stress, is that it?"

"Perhaps ..."

Crowley smirks. "The stress of being locked up or the stress of being an arsehole?"

Aziraphale huffs. “Remember, my dear, I can’t stop time the way you can so we don’t have a lot to play around with.”

“How much time are we talking about exactly?” Crowley asks, dropping to his knees. Aziraphale hides his triumphant grin behind a scowl when he sees the immaculate hem of his pants and the toes of his satin shoes come in contact with the grimy floor.

“There are guards strolling the halls, checking on prisoners several floors above us. There’s one a few floors down doing the same, coming up this way. So I’d say you have roughly twenty minutes.”

"Twenty minutes!?”

“Nineteen now.”

“Knowing the response time of your cock when faced with my tongue, I’d say that’s more time than I need.”

Aziraphale glowers. "Eighteen ..." 

"Alright, alright! Help me out! Undo your trousers!"

"You're already down there. I'd say you're in a better position to undo them, don't you?"

"Bastard!" Crowley growls. He snaps his fingers, quadruple checking that it won't work. Wouldn't it be the dog's bollocks if his magic came back in time to shove Aziraphale's snarky attitude right back in his face? 

But it doesn't.

Crowley unfastens the fall-front of Aziraphale's trousers, the rough metal of the shackles doing no favors for his wrists in this position, but that barely fazes him, focused on this particular task.

It's been ages since he's seen angel's cock.

He removes it from the confines of angel's trousers, holds it in his hand, and wonders - has it gotten bigger since? Has Aziraphale been putting extra effort into this part of his anatomy since the last time they were together?

Or is he doing this now for Crowley's benefit?

To make Crowley desire him?

Crowley opens wide, takes him in his mouth, but slowly. More slowly than usual. They might be pressed for time, but Crowley feels a need for vengeance. He's going to drag this out, use all of the eighteen - no, seventeen - minutes they have to frustrate the Hell out of Aziraphale.

Teach him a lesson he won't forget anytime soon.

Crowley's lips around Aziraphale's cock nearly discorporate Aziraphale in an instant. It's been too long since he's sampled this demon's pleasures - his warm mouth, his quick wit.

His exquisite company.

"That's is," Aziraphale moans as Crowley wraps his serpent tongue around him, then drags it down his length. "That definitely hits the spot."

Crowley pulls away. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself. My knees are aching like Christ on the cross."

"Too soon, my dear," Aziraphale mutters, eyelids fluttering shut to block out sounds of clattering chains, guards coming ever closer, screams of prisoners dragged to their deaths, the ominous drop of the guillotine. "Too soon."

This is the way things have been between them for as long as Crowley can remember. These small indiscretions, stolen taboos, are all they're allowed. They never know when they will have time together, so they relish it whenever it comes along. As fun as it is riling angel up, Crowley can't help wishing he could do things up proper: in the quiet of his flat, on a bed of rose petals, with a bottle of champagne, a bowl of fresh cream, and all the time in the world to enjoy it.

“Crowley!" Aziraphale whines, hips bucking, desperation saturating every breath. "They're coming!"

"Are you?"

"This isn't the time for humor!"

"How much time do we have left?"

"We don't have any left!”

As if on cue, the guards Aziraphale has been sensing arrive, going on loudly about what could have happened to their companion (Marcel - the man stuck in the corner). They stop, do a double-take, then go bug-eyed when they spot Crowley, dressed like a member of the haut monde, on his knees in front of Aziraphale.

At first, they don't know what to make of it. They would chalk it up as a victory if not for the fact that, even dressed like one of them, they have no idea who Aziraphale is. And though they recognize the fancy suit Crowley is sporting, they have no clue how the man inside went from plump and pale to thin with flaming red hair and dark glasses.

They try to think up a practical explanation, but as former men of faith, they come to the conclusion that what's going on inside the cell is the work of the Devil. They hurry off, presumably to summon back-up, screaming about witchcraft and perversion. Aziraphale doesn't know for sure. They could be yelling about the weather. His grasp of conversational French isn't as good as it should be. He could ask Crowley to translate, but he wouldn't remove his mouth from his cock for anything.

Tragically, Crowley does so himself. "I think we've been spotted." 

"How did you guess?" 

"Are you even close?"

"Yes! Yes, I am! I ... oh, let me! May I?" Aziraphale grabs Crowley's head but waits for a consenting nod before he holds him still and fucks his mouth to the finish. And Crowley lets him. He may as well have some fun with his mouth before he and his head become strangers. Not that he thinks Aziraphale would leave him there to be beheaded.

But would he? 

"Oh! Oh, dear! Oh for Heaven's ...!" Aziraphale comes down Crowley's throat in a wash of Holy light enough to burn straight through to his stomach, but that's part of what he enjoys about letting angel use him.

That taste of Heaven that accompanies his orgasm.

"Oh my goodness!" Aziraphale pants. "That was exceptional, my dear. Bravo. You really know how to rise to a challenge."

"I'm glad you're satisfied." Crowley wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then licks up every last drop. "But there's still the matter of you breaking me out."

"Yes ..." Aziraphale awkwardly clears his throat "... that."

"You are going to free me, right?"

Aziraphale shoots Crowley an offended look. "Of course, I am! I'm an angel of my word!"

"A-ha. And how do you intend on doing that when you didn't want to use a miracle to free yourself?" Crowley asks, kicking himself for not considering that at the beginning of all this.

"Oh! Well, you see, I nicked the key from that chap over there ..." Aziraphale pats down the pockets of Crowley's coat, then the pockets of his own, chirping a tiny, "A-ha!" when he finds it.

"Why didn't you tell me!?"

"You didn't ask!"

"How did you get it off him without his noticing?"

"Nu-uh." Aziraphale sticks the key in the lock and gives it a twist. "A magician never reveals his secrets." 

"Wait! That means you could have gotten yourself ... and me ... out of those chains this entire time!?" Crowley hisses, shaking out the throbbing in his wrists as the chains fall to the ground. But Aziraphale sidesteps Crowley's question and helps him to his feet.

"Come come now! Let's get moving!" With a snap of Aziraphale's fingers, Crowley is re-dressed in his original clothes while Aziraphale reluctantly switches outfits with the still frozen guard. "We mustn't hang about!"

When the guards return, there's only one prisoner in the cell. 

The aristocrat on his knees and the revolutionary he was servicing are gone.

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #ineffable idiots #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #aziraphale #Crowley

[justkeeptrekkin]

Prompt: Crowely tells Az he loves him by accident while going on a big long rant about (dealers choice) Az catches right away and just smiles and waits as Crowely comes to the realization of what he said

Anon. Anon. I love you for this. 

***

“See, thing is-”

Crowley’s words elude him- as they have a habit of doing, the sneaky buggers. He watches the white lines in the middle of the road streak by, feels the tarmac roaring beneath the car. It’s a rainy evening and they’re driving home from a restaurant north of Watford that Aziraphale has been banging on about for months. Since the world had ended- and then promptly not ended- the angel’s zest for food hasn’t lessened in the slightest. In fact, it’s only gotten bloody zestier, as if their near-apocalypse experience has made Aziraphale realise that life is too short. Even an immortal life such as his. 

Crowley loses his track of his thought entirely. “Thing is…”

“You were talking about-”

“KINDLES!” Crowley exclaims, taking his hands off the wheel to celebrate this eureka moment. Aziraphale straightens out beside him nervously and grabs a fistful of his corduroy trousers. Crowley slaps the leather of the steering wheel enthusiastically as he continues, “Kindles. Are not. Demonic! We didn’t come up with them- that was all you, I’m certain!”

“Why on earth would I invent the Kindle, dear boy? Do you even know me at all?”

“You-plural, not you-singular. Angels you, Heaven you.”

“Well, I certainly didn’t sanction it.”

“Alright but- listen- what’s the problem with kindles? Why’re- what’s the problem? I mean really, it’s a book, isn’t it. Just a book on a screen. What’s the problem?”

“The problem-” Aziraphale begins confidently, bordering aggressively. Then the wind appears to be knocked out of his sails. “Well,” he tries again, a little weakly. “The problem, the problem lies therein. In that. Well-”

“See! See, it’s clearly a good thing, I don’t understand what all the fuss is about- all these people going ‘oh, ho-ho, oh dear, books aren’t physical anymore, what a travesty! Let’s all- grab our pitchforks! And lament the loss of our children’s education’.” He adds a mocking, whinging voice to this last bit. 

Aziraphale tuts, stretches his legs out in front and crosses them. 

“No, you’re wildly misinterpreting the argument, Crowley.”

“You know it’s true, don’t deny it! People are only against them because humans don’t like change- they get all squirmy and anxious about it. As if, you know, as if the transition from a physical book to a little screen is the end of the world- and! Now that they’ve actually had a taste of the apocalypse, they really haven’t gained any more perspective, have they? I mean, you’d think they’d start worrying about global warming properly, but instead they’re just sad about kindles and- oh! That’s another thing, kindles aren’t paper! Less deforestation! Clearly- listen, come on, that’s got to be angelic work.”

Aziraphale pouts and averts his gaze, brows slightly raised in indignance. 

Crowley snorts. He notices the lines of the road streak by a little slower, presses down on the accelerator. 

“Aha!”

Crowley flicks his gaze over to Aziraphale, who’s turned his whole body towards him in his seat eagerly. A smug finger pointed in his face. 

“What? No,” Crowley shakes his head. “You- don’t try and argue with me on this, I’m absolutely certain-”

“Amazon! Kindles are owned by Amazon, notoriously corrupt!”

Crowley scowls, rolls his head wearily. “No, angel, they weren’t always bad, we only got to them a couple of years ago. You can’t argue that-”

“Amazon. Invented. Kindles! Thereby, kindles are evil. The end, full stop. Fin.”

“That’s just- you’ve been around long enough to know that’s not how it works.”

“And you can’t honestly argue that books are bad just because they’re made of paper. Books are knowledge! Books are the weapons against the armies of ignorance! Righteous tools-”

“Righteous tools,” Crowley snorts.

“Against the dark forces of evil!”

“Not this bollocks again. Look, books are fine, books are all well and good, but not everyone’s into them, are they? Times are changing, angel, you can watch things like Netflix or whatever it’s called and, listen to podcasts and- the way people share knowledge is different now. Listen, I love knowledge, love the stuff. You know I do, I was the one who got Eve to eat the apple after all, but even then, even then I’ve never really read books, unless I really have to, the only reason I read Pride and Prejudice is because I love you, and admittedly, yes, it wasn’t the worst thing I’ve ever put myself through- actually, I think trying to read A Tale of Two Cities was what really did it for me, Charles Dickens- Christ alive, did you ever run into Dickens, angel? Miserable sod.”

Crowley drums his fingers against the steering wheel expectantly. The road side lights cast an orange glow in the car- brightening and darkening, brightening and darkening as they drive past one after another. Aziraphale is silent. 

And it’s only then that Crowley realises his mistake. 

It dawns on him the way a glass fills up slowly with water in the washing up bowl and sinks to the bottom. Slowly, then a sinking feeling. And then hitting rock bottom. 

He keeps his eyes on the road. His fingers tight on the steering wheel. 

“You…”

“Don’t,” he snaps. “Don’t. Just don’t. Alright?”

“But Crowley-”

“I said don’t.”

Quiet fills the car. There isn’t even the sound of Freddie Mercury to assuage the nauseating pain in his stomach, the feeling of his throat closing like he’s having an allergic reaction. He wants to cry. He wants to cry for the first time in a very, very long time. He blinks away the feeling, and holds himself together with pure will power, just like he held together this car a few weeks back. 

Only, he’s been holding himself together for roughly six thousand years. It’s getting close to too much. His metaphorical knees are buckling. Atlas only wishes he were as resilient as Crowley. 

Aziraphale exhales- a long, shaky breath. Crowley doesn’t turn to look, can’t bear it. 

Besides, he’s known him- loved him long enough that he can see him in his mind’s eye easily. Eyes sometimes dreamy, brows sometimes pulled together in concern. Lips sometimes twisted in disapproval, sometimes beaming with so much unreserved joy that Crowley has to tease him. Just so he doesn’t end up gazing, bathing in the brightness of that smile. 

And then Aziraphale huffs to himself- a determined little noise that sets Crowley on edge. And he’s already too close to the edge to handle. He’s only just got a hold of himself as it is, hands shaking on the wheels and knee bouncing. The threat of tears still there, threatening to make him choke on his breath- it gets stuck in his throat. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says. So gently. 

That’s almost what does it- it’s almost what makes Crowley lose control, teeth grinding painfully and eyes stinging. The motorway stretching out in front of them, empty. Time stretching out even further. 

Then the angel speaks again. “You can go faster, Crowley.”

The words trickle through his brain slowly, like drops of water building at the rim of a tap. Then- drip. Understanding. Crowley’s throat clicks as he swallows, painfully. 

“That is- of course, only if you want to,” Aziraphale rushes, waves his hands desperately, “You can- drive- go- uh, you can go as slowly as you like, only, don’t feel obliged to go slowly on my account. Anymore.”

The angel clears his throat. And Crowley turns to look. 

He’s smiling. He looks absolutely bloody terrified, eyes a little wide and watery just like that day-

You go too fast for me, Crowley. 

-except now he’s smiling. A quiet, wobbly smile to himself as he stares out of the rain streaked window. Crowley watches the way the orange street light passes through his silver hair, making it appear more like brass. He watches him bite his lip, then continue.

“We could. Oh, I don’t know. We could do that picnic we talked about. Or, perhaps a walk through Wimbledon Common. Together. Or.” He pauses. “Or, if you wanted to, you could drop me off and come in for a night cap. I have some rather nice port hiding somewhere in my office.”

Aziraphale turns to meet his eyes. A look filled with welcome and kindness and understanding. Light catching his face like a Vermeer painting. And Crowley lets himself stare. 

“Eyes on the road, my dear.”

He only realises that his mouth is hanging open when he tries to forumlate his next words. He shuts it, then says, “What?”

“Eyes on the road, Crowley. Before we both get discorporated.”

It takes another moment to register. But then his head snaps forwards and he looks ahead again, the road continuing into the dark towards London. He can feel all the air rush out of him like a balloon. And then something else replaces it- something lighter than air, something that makes his mind feel like it’s drifting to another plane. Something weightless. 

“Picnic,” Crowley eventually says, nodding to himself. He scratches his chin nervously. “Picnic then walk. Or, walk then picnic.”

Because- and Crowley can’t quite believe himself for this- he thinks a night cap might be a bit too fast for him. 

“Lovely,” Aziraphale says. The word comes out in a whisper. “You can pick me up at midday tomorrow. If that’s-”

“That’s.” Crowley stalls. Nods his head compulsively like a nodding car-toy. “That’s. Yeah. Midday’s good. Midday it is.”

“Crowley?”

“Angel,” he replies seriously, business-like.

There’s a moment of hesitation. Aziraphale breathes deeply beside him, like a man stepping off the train from London to Cornwall, taking in the countryside air for the first time in years. 

“I do love you. An awful lot.”

Crowley continues to nod. But he can feel the facade slip. He can sense his bottom lip wobble, so he clamps his jaw tight shut. To no avail. He continues to drive them down the M25, although at this point he could be in St James’ Park, or in the middle of a desert, or on another planet- his mind is entirely elsewhere. 

It’s not a conscious decision to stretch out his hand over the gear stick towards Aziraphale. It’s something desperate in him, something needy and disbelieving. He feels Aziraphale take it without pause, his clasp warm in his own.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #anon #my writing #prompts #fic prompt

[ourownsideimagines]

Hide My Wings Tonight: Not Another Gloomy Play (Chapter 5)

Surprise! Not dead! I suddenly got the oomph today to finish not one but TWO chapters. Chaoter Six will be posted later, but I figured after two years of waiting I would go ahead and put up Chapter 5 right now.

Read it here on AO3!

Or read it below the cut

Based on the one-shot request by @jinxthequeergirl

---

Aziraphale had not seen his sister filled with such joy in centuries as he did in the years following the beginning of her and Crowley’s arrangement. Not that he knew of said arrangement of course, but he didn’t question what his sister did as long as she was happy. He worried about her, that much was for sure, but after she’d blown off his question the first twenty times he’d stopped asking, and started to enjoy the smile she once again gave so freely.

And (name) enjoyed learning to dance. Her demonic partner was not the best at the task, but they were learning together by watching others, and interacting. No one would question their presence at parties and masquerades. And though (name) would never admit it, she enjoyed spending time with Crowley. There was something about him that drew her in. Perhaps that was just how demons were. Enticing to even the purest of minds. Or maybe just to her.

She didn’t like Crowley, Heaven’s no - how could she, he’s a demon - but his company was a nice change from her doting brother and the snobs up in Heaven.

And of course, with their first arrangement, came another one. One that would change the world forever

You see, arrangements can be a tricky thing. 

The one that (name) had with Crowley was simple enough - Crowley would help (name) learn any new dance she desired, as long as she was willing to help him with small things. She had been a bit reluctant to these terms at first, but found that there was some joy in her disobeying Heaven. It was like a huge fuck you to Gabriel behind his back.

Did his coat need mending? Simple enough - it might not look beautiful, but it was presentable. Did Crowley need a name? Most certainly, (name) could get that. Did he need help getting into somewhere he couldn’t get into otherwise? Not a problem, (name) was good at talking her way into places. Did he need Aziraphale distracted for a while while he did some misdeeds? (Name) could turn a blind eye and take her brother out to lunch. Whatever he asked for, (name) was willing to do it.

Aziraphale had caught onto them rather quickly, much to (name)’s dismay. He’d been upset. He didn’t know about the dancing, but he knew that she’d been sneaking off to see Crowley and to help him with his hellish intentions. It had taken hours for (name) to get him to calm down and listen.

And that was how the second arrangement began. This one was just a bit trickier to get away with. After all, hiding something from Aziraphale was one thing. But hiding something from heaven was another - they had eyes everywhere. Even if it didn’t seem like it, someone was bound to be watching. And if not now, then later.

Aziraphale had been against the idea for so many years, helping  Crowley, or God forbid, getting Crowley’s help. But with the way (name) and Crowley insisted it could do us some good, how was he to resist?

So that was how it had been, for many years. The angels helped the demon, and the demon helped the angels. Heaven hadn’t noticed, and as far as (name) knew Hell hadn’t either. That didn’t mean any less sneaking around - Aziraphale refused to meet with Crowley privately. It always had to be in a crowd, somewhere inconspicuous.

And the Globe Theater during the preview of Shakespeare's new play, Hamlet, was anything but.

Aziraphale had promised a crowd, but (name) could count no more than fifteen heads among the crowd - that included the Bard himself, and the woman carrying snacks, Juliet. As they waited for Crowley, Aziraphale purchased himself a bunch of grapes, miracaling a coin out of nowhere.

“If you were going to do that,” (Name) said as Juliet walked away. “You could have just miracled yourself some grapes.”

“Now where would be the fun in that.” Aziraphale said, smiling down at the fruit before popping one of them into his mouth. He glanced around quickly. “He’s late.”

“Really, I hadn’t noticed.” She teased. “Stop looking so nervous. You’re the one who wanted to meet with him here.”

“Yes, well, I assumed there would be a much bigger crowd.”

“There’s never a crowd for a show like this.” (Name) argued. “People are depressed enough as is, they don’t want to be going to a show that will just make them feel worse.”

“I don’t feel any worse.” Aziaraphale argued.

“Yeah, well, you’re also not like everybody else.” The two were silent for a moment. Then, almost as if she could sense him, (name) turned her head and watched as Crowley sauntered into the arena. He saw them, and took no time at coming to stand beside (name).

“I thought you said we’d be inconspicuous here. Blend in with the crowd.” (Name) wanted to smile at this. Aziraphale, on the other hand, huffed, and ate another grape before he spoke.

“That was the idea.” He grumbled, glancing over at the demon. Remembering his manners, he offered the fruits to him. Crowley, however, ignored them. 

“Ah, hang on.” The demon grimaced. “This isn’t one of Shakespeare’s gloomy ones, is it?” He scrunched up his nose. “No wonder nobody’s here.” (Name) smiled at this.

“Shh, it’s him.” Aziraphale grasped his sister's arm, catching her attention.

“Prithee, gentles, madam.” He said. “Might I request a small favor? Could you, in your role as the audience, give us more to work with?” (name) tried not to frown at this, but she had never been very good at controlling her mouth - both what came out of it, and what shapes it decided to make. Shakespeare didn’t seem much interested in her tho, his eyes focused more on Aziaphale who asked;

“You mean, like when the ghost of his father came on, and I shouted ‘He’s behind you!’?”

“Just so!” Shakespeare said. “That was jolly helpful. Made everyone on the stage feel appreciated. A bit more of that.” (name) wanted to argue. She wanted to say that it made no sense, but she didn’t have the chance. “Good Master Burbage, please! Speak the lines trippingly.” The actor on stage didn’t take the advice too well, and (name) was sure he was ready to explode on the bard at any moment.

“I am wasting my time up here.” He hissed.

“No, you’re very good!” Aziraphale insisted. “Isn’t that right, my dear sister?”

“I-” She bit her tongue. Aziraphale has a bad habit of putting her on the spot like this. That, plus a loose tongue, was never a good pairing. “Yes. I just love all the… talking.” She said.

“And what does your friend think?” The actor asked, clearly looking towards Crowley.

“He’s not our friend. We’ve never met before, we don’t know each other-”

“I think you should get on with the play.” Crowley interrupted Aziraphale, and (name) had to raise a hand to cover her mouth. If Aziraphale heard her laugh, he would surely lecture her later.

“Yes, Burbage. Please.” Shakespeare said. The actor continued.

“To be or not to be - that is the question-”

“To be!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “I mean, not to be! Come on, Hamlet. Buck up!” He turned to (name) with excitement, but it quickly died when he saw the bored look on not only her face, but on Crowley’s as well. Still, the actor gave him a grateful thumbs up and continued on. (name) had to keep from laughing when she noticed Shakespeare mouthing along to the soliloquy, looking very proud of himself.

“He’s very good, isn’t he?” Aziraphale gushed.

“Age does not wither nor custom stale his infinite variety.” Crowley dramatized. (name) watched as Shakespeare reached for his pocket, stating how he ‘liked that’ and wandered away while scratching it down on a scrap of paper.

They stood there a few moments longer, listening to the soliloquy.

“What do you want?” Aziraphale finally spoke, popping another grape into his mouth. (Name) took this opportunity to snag a few, cradling them in her hand as she trained her eyes on the man standing on stage.

“Why might you be insinuating that I might possibly want some?” He was behind them now, coming to stand on Aziraphale’s side.

“You’re up to no good.”

“And the two of you are up to good, I take it? Lots of good deeds?” (Name) spared him a glance. He wasn’t even trying to pretend that he was watching the play. Even behind his glasses she could see him glancing at her, then back to Aziraphale.

“Well there is no rest for the…” Aziraphale paused, causing (name) to snicker. The actor on stage threw her a look, which she chose to ignore. “Good.”

“We’re meant to be heading up to Edinburgh at the end of the week. Aziraphale has a couple of blessings to do and I have a minor miracle to perform.” (Name) popped a couple of the grapes into her mouth - they were the perfect mixture of sweet and sour, causing her to hum with joy.

“Oh? Is that right?” Crowley looked at her again and (Name) fought to keep a smile off her face. “Well, I’m meant to be heading to Edinburgh end of the week as well - tempting a clan leader to steal some caddle.”

“Doesn’t sound like hard work.” Aziraphale piped in, too focused on the play and his food to realize what was coming next.

“Well, that’s why I thought…” this caught Aziraphale’s attention, and he all but snapped his head in Crowley’s direction. “Well, it’s be a bit of a waste.” Crowley was starting to smile again. He knew exactly what he was doing. “All of us going all the way to Scotland.”

“You cannot possibly be insinuating,” Azirapahe was beginning to raise his voice, and (Name) hushed him before the actor could throw another tantrum. “What I infer you are implying.” He said in a hushed tone.

“It’s not like we haven’t done it before.” Crowley was turned to watch the play now, but (name) never looked away from him. “The arrangement-“

“Don’t say that.” Aziraphale demanded.

“Our respective head offices don’t actually care how things get done, they just want to know they can cross it off the list.

“Yes, but if hell found out they wouldn’t just be mad,” Aziraphale reminded him. “They would destroy you.” The joy of seeing the demon had finally worn off as (name) let Aziraphale’s words sink in.

They would destroy you.

“Nobody ever needs to know.” Crowley said, lifting a hand to show them a rusted coin. “I’ll toss you for Edinburgh.”

There was a pregnant pause. (Name) could feel the words forming on the tip of her tongue. We shouldn’t do this, she wanted to say. It’s way too dangerous. But she couldn’t. Because a life without seeing Crowley every now and again would be… well, she’s not sure it would be worth living.

“Fine,” Aziraphale sighed. “Heads.” Crowley smiled. Then, he held the coin out to her.

“Would you do us the honor?” He asked. As (name) took the coin, her fingers brushed gently against his own, and despite how well dressed he was and how warm it was, his fingers were cold. Aziraphale’s eyes were trained on the coin so he didn’t see when Crowley gave her a sly wink.

The other arrangement.

(Name) held onto a sigh as she flipped the coin, fingers snapping gently as she did. When the coin landed, she knew it would be tails, but she played her part and gave a small groan of annoyance.

“Well, brother of mine, it looks like we will be the ones going to Scotland.” She displayed the coin. “Guess I’m just a bit unlucky.” She lied.

Before either of them could speak, they heard the bard moaning from the other side of the pit.

“It’s been like this every performance Juliet, a complete dud. It would take a miracle to get anyone to come and see Hamlet.” (Name) didn’t miss the look Aziraphale gave Crowley. The same face he gave her when he wanted something sweet, or was begging her to help him get a new book.

Crowley scrunched up his nose, but let out a defeated sigh.

“Fine, I’ll do that one.” He said. “My treat.”

“Oh, really?” (Name) shuffled a bit, annoyed words threatening to spill from her lips. But Crowley spoke up quickly.

“I still prefer the funny ones.” He gave (name) one last glance before making his way toward the exit of the theater, probably on his way to start on his demonic miracle. It was at that moment that (name) realized she was still holding Crowley’s coin.

“Oh, bugger.” She muttered. “Could you hold on a moment, brother. I will return in just a moment.”

“Is everything alright?”

“Quite. Just need a breather, is all.” He didn’t seem to like that answer, but didn’t argue as (name) tore away from him and walked towards the theater exit. As she popped out onto the empty streets, she could feel eyes on her. To her left, Crowley was leaning up against a wall, waiting for her.

“Sneaky bastard.” She said, “You forgot something.” She said, holding out the coin to him. He stared at it for a moment, but didn’t hold out a hand to take it. So she pulled back, slipping the coin into a pocket she had secretly sewn into her dress. “Is everything okay, Crowley?”

“How are you?” (name) was taken aback by the question, but Crowley seemed genuine in his curiosity.

“I am… fine.”

“You seem happy.” He said. “Even if you weren’t enjoying the show, you just seem… happier.”

“Well,” (name) started. “I am. Times are changing. I haven’t had to visit upstairs in quite a while. And Aziaraphale is happy. So I am happy.”

“Good. That’s… good.” There was silence between them. “I still owe you from last time, too.” He said. (name) hummed in agreement - she hadn’t gotten her promised dance lesson for the last temptation she had assisted him with.

“I guess this next one will just have to be a bit longer, then, no?”

“It would seem.” Crowley was smiling. “Have fun in Edinburgh, Angel.”

“Have fun with Hamlet, Demon.” She shot back, trying not to laugh as he grimaced. Crowley pushed off the wall and began to saunter off, leaving (name) to return to her brother. When she reached into her pocket, she couldn’t help but laugh to herself.

The coin was gone.

#hide my wings tonight #HMWT chapter 5 #chapter 5 #crowley x reader #crowley x angel!reader #crowley x fem!reader #crowley x reader good omens #crowley x angel!reader good omens #crowley x fem!reader good omens #x reader #x angel!reader #x fem!reader #reader insert #good omens reader insert #Aziraphale’s sister!reader #my writing #reese writes

[commander-diomika]

Fear and Faith

WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT MY FIRST FIC IN FIVE (???) YEARS! Fandom: Good Omens Pairing: Crowley/Aziraphale Rating: Explicit Word Count: ~6000 Additional Tags: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Trans Male Character, Trans Crowley, Spanking, Restraints, Service Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Bottom Crowley, Established Relationship, Pining .

(YES it’s true, they’re established, yes they’re banging, but also somehow still pining at the same time! Read on to find out how I managed that mess.) Summary: Aziraphale gives Crowley a little payback for his outburst at the convent. This is a “deleted scene” fic where we pretend that Aziraphale doesn’t spot the book in the backseat, and instead they flow nicely from business to pleasure that evening. "Aziraphale looked into Crowley’s eyes. The posture was still full of attitude but the eyes… the eyes told a different story. This was the beginning of a change in mood, stepping from one role to another.

They played a different game in private. Aziraphale liked it that way. He liked people thinking he was a perfect gentleman, liked being on the arm of his tall demon in public. It was only Crowley who he allowed to see the bastard in him. Probably because it was Crowley who encouraged the bastard in him, through near-constant needling and teasing. It was, after all, something only a friend and lover of thousands of years could do." Read on Ao3

Or

“Not one single person would say bebop.” Crowley draped himself over the Bentley in what he thought of as an enticing manner. He dangled the topic change like bait.

Aziraphale took it, though in an unexpected direction. “I don’t think that’s really what we ought to be discussing, you know.” Crowley’s eyebrows arched up over the frames of his glasses as Aziraphale came round the car, heading for the door to the bookshop and opening it. With a tiny motion of his head he indicated after you. “Do come in.” There was flat fall at the end of the cadence, almost like an order.

“What ought we be discussing then?” Crowley asked, heading inside, hearing the order and unable to resist biting back. “We can’t contact anyone til the morning, angel, I don’t think there’s anything else we can do about it tonight.”

“No, I completely agree on that front.” They both automatically headed to the back room, treading a well-worn path with both their feet and their words. Crowley took off his jacket and tossed it over the back of a chair, before finding a perch on the edge of the couch. There was something expectant in his posture, as though he wasn’t planning on getting comfortable there.

“I think what we ought to be discussing,” Aziraphale said as he hung up his jacket, smoothing creases out of it, “is your little… outburst at the convent today.” He turned and fixed Crowley with a pointed stare.

“Oh,” Crowley said, and despite his lanky frame, he suddenly looked a little smaller under the heat of Aziraphale’s stare. He was in trouble… which meant things were going exactly to plan. He felt a smug throb of self satisfaction.

It was not that angels and demons didn’t have genitalia, as such. It was more than, unless they were thinking of it, the bodies beneath the clothes simply didn’t exist. In the same way that their wings waited, just off this plane, so too did anything not immediately needed to give the appearance of a human. The clothes were the body, for Crowley, willed into existence so that other beings could perceive him.

So until a stimuli brought what was under the clothes into this reality, it usually didn’t exist.

Usually.

That day, Crowley had been painfully, achingly aware of the juncture between his thighs, and the way Aziraphale now looked at him with a dangerous, thrilling intent only intensified that feeling. Perhaps the looming end of the world was playing its part in the heat that Crowley felt dripping from his heart, to stomach, to crotch.

“You seemed so upset for me to have called you nice, my dear boy, and the way you behaved was simply atrocious.”

“Yeah?” Crowley asked, tilting his head back to reveal the line of his throat, almost daring his angel to go for it.

Aziraphale still hadn’t sat down, and he took a single step closer to the couch, chin drawn slightly down, gaze dark and indulging. He understood perfectly what Crowley was playing at.

“Stand up,” he said, breath popping slightly on the end of the word. This had not so much the air of a command as the earth, fire and water of one.

A taut moment passed, where Crowley deliberated. He could continue being generally insufferable, or he could lean into the energy building in the room, and obey the command given by his oldest friend.

Crowley decided he’d been bratty enough for one day. He swallowed. Unfolding a seemingly endless amount of leg from his perch on the couch, he stood.

“Forward a few steps, there’s a dear,” and Aziraphale’s voice never lost that buttery sweet quality, even though Crowley could hear the knife’s edge of desire underneath.

Aziraphale, unlike Crowley, had brought his body, and the ability to feel sexual desire, fully into this reality centuries ago. It had happened in Rome, when he had sat across from Crowley and watched him eat oysters for the first time. Since then, he had inhabited his earthly body to the fullest, draping it with cloth the same way as humans did, hiding his sexuality as Adam and Eve had once learnt to do.

Crowley’s heeled boots gave a series of dull clicks on the wooden floor of the shop, and he stood for Aziraphale’s inspection. He had the air of a naughty schoolboy awaiting a telling off, one hand in a pocket, the other hanging loosely, weight on one foot and hip slightly popped. He licked his lips with a tongue that was looking slightly more split than usual.

Aziraphale took deliberate steps forward, and asking permission with his eyes, reached for Crowley’s glasses. He folded them with care and placed them aside. He might as well have stripped Crowley naked. Well, plenty of time for that later.

Aziraphale looked into Crowley’s eyes. The posture was still full of attitude but the eyes… the eyes told a different story. This was the beginning of a change in mood, stepping from one role to another. They played a different game in private.

Aziraphale liked it that way. He liked people thinking he was a perfect gentleman, liked being on the arm of his tall demon in public. It was only Crowley who he allowed to see the bastard in him. Probably because it was Crowley who encouraged the bastard in him, through near-constant needling and teasing. It was, after all, something only a friend and lover of thousands of years could do.

Aziraphale nodded, a wordless acknowledgement of the shift in the air. He began a scrutinizing walk around Crowley, a mockery of the what the demon usually subjected him to in public

“Yes. Very… nice.” Now Aziraphale was the one dangling bait. Crowley made a noise like he’d be punched but didn’t move an inch.

“What, no protestations? No manhandling me against a wall in a most undignified fashion?” Aziraphale teased. Crowley shook his head. “It’s almost like you were trying to get a rise out of me in the convent today.” Aziraphale watched, delighted, fascinated, as Crowley ducked his head, mouth twitching one way and then the other, as though the sly smile was trying to fight its way to the surface.

“You truly are an awful man, aren’t you, accosting me in public when you know I’m far too nice to do anything in retribution.” He wasn’t too nice by half, but he did have an image to upkeep.

Crowley glared down his nose at Aziraphale. “Pfft, don’t you try that with me, angel.” Aziraphale simply stared back with mild reproach, then continued to pace around him slowly.

“What have we here?” Aziraphale said, as he reached the empty space behind Crowley. Though he had his back to him, Crowley could still see Aziraphale, every atom of the angel clear and singing in Crowley’s perception of the world, as it always was.

Aziraphale pressed in, front suddenly flush to Crowley’s back, threading his arms around Crowley’s waist in a possessive gesture. The sudden physical contact was agonisingly intimate. Outside of moments like this, they rarely touched. Crowley’s little stunt at the convent had flouted an unspoken part of the Agreement.

They lived with the fear of being watched from all sides. But the shop was specially warded against such prying eyes. Customers and angels alike could enter the open shop, but once that sign flicked to “Closed”, they were safe. Safe to close that gap, for Aziraphale to hug Crowley to his chest, to turn his cheek and press his face into one lean shoulder.

One hand slid up to curl into the satin of Crowley’s shirt over where his human heart sat, brought into this reality by his aching need to feel the pulse of his own blood.

Aziraphale’s blunt nails scraped Crowley’s chest through the deliciously thin black satin shirt. The other hand moved in a firm slide from Crowley’s navel and down, stuttering slightly over the belt buckle on the too-tight jeans and stopping over Crowley’s fly. Where one might expect to find a bulge.

“Oh.” Aziraphale’s single syllable was all feigned surprise and dark delight. “My dear boy,” he began, emphasizing by sliding the hand a little lower, to dip into the vee of Crowley’s thighs. “Does this mean you’re in the mood to be had?”

Crowley made a noise in the back of his throat, somewhere between a gulp and grunt, that if it had to be given form sounded like “Urnghk.” To Aziraphale’s ears, well-practised in translating such noises, it sounded like a cavalcade of words, like yes and please and fuck me, Angel.

“Take off your boots, please.” Aziraphale said as he let go.

Crowley obeyed. This was part of it, the orders, the undressing, the vulnerability of standing in front of his angel, eyes bare and feet resting on the warm wooden floor. “And your shirt and trousers, too.” Aziraphale felt his cheeks redden at this request, but his gaze remained steady.

Crowley raised one hand to click away the offending items of clothing, a hurried, twitchy energy burning off him, but before he could complete the action Aziraphale caught the hand, firmly.

“The old fashioned way, if you please.”

“Oh come on,” Later, Crowley would deny that this was, undeniably, whiny.

“Plenty of time for that later,” Aziraphale was warming up to it now, something wicked in his eyes. “You know I like to watch this part.”

Crowley, denied instant gratification, undressed speedily, clothes flung in all directions.

Aziraphale folded his hands, perfectly composed as he watched Crowley’s little display, expression indulgent as a sock hit him square in the face. With a gesture from Aziraphale, all the scattered clothes, the black shirt, the inside-out jeans, socks and tie appeared draped over the back of the couch. Something in their folds seemed apologetic for the mess.

“So you’re allowed to do that and I’m not, is that it?” Crowley challenged, bold despite the fact he was wearing nothing but a pair of black briefs. His belligerent tone was betrayed by his naked eyes. His longing was clear in the warm lighting of the bookshop.

Seemingly without taking a single step, suddenly Aziraphale was standing very close to Crowley, almost nose to nose. The small height difference between them was eaten up by the fact that the demon was barefoot, semi naked, and Aziraphale was still dressed, standing tall in his soft leather boots. “That, my dear, is exactly it.” They stared at each other, breath mingling for half a second.

Aziraphale took half a step back and his face softened, something so tender writ clear in the lines between his eyes. “Before we go any further, do you remember the safe word?” he asked.

“It has been awhile, hasn’t it.” Crowley murmured. It had been almost five years. Crowley remembered every second of their last tryst, back when he was still fond of playing the role of Nanny Ashtoreth, even in her off hours. He had worn her, but she wasn’t a costume. The only thing Aziraphale had said on Crowley’s presentation was an uncharacteristic enjoyment of the easy access allowed by skirts with no panties.

Time had a way of slipping by when you were 6000 years old.

“Crowley.” There was a soft reprimand in the way he said it. A pleading, a need for them both to be safe

Crowley sighed, acquiescing. There was nothing in the world he wanted more than for Aziraphale to feel safe. “Eden.”

Aziraphale didn’t reply, simply reaching out to run his hand gently through Crowley’s hair, letting his hand come to rest on the back of his neck. The skin there felt cool to touch, and unbearably soft. The provocative energy the demon had been radiating moments ago shifted to something slow and fervent. He blinked, eyes closed for a whole second as if rocked by the intensity of Aziraphale’s gaze.

“Now, my dear, what is it that you want?”

The question was asked so that Aziraphale could be certain he did not misstep, but he already knew what Crowley wanted. He just liked to hear him say it.

“Want you topunifhshd.” Crowley trailed off to something unintelligible.

“What was that?” Aziraphale asked cheerfully.

“Want you to punish me.” Crowley’s eyes were anywhere but on the angel’s face.

“Why?” Aziraphale lifted a hand, and with a firmness belied by his soft fingers, caught Crowley’s chin. With gentle but inexorable pressure, he turned Crowley’s head until their eyes met.

“Because I’m bad,” he admitted hoarsely.

“Now… we both know that’s not true.” Aziraphale released his grip to slide his hands firmly down Crowley’s arms, and without thinking about it too much, took both of Crowley’s hands in his. “But I will give you want you want, because I am the giving sort.” And because I love you, he thought. It was yet unsaid between them. One didn’t simply go around saying these things to their hereditary enemy. Besides, Aziraphale thought, as he drew Crowley over to the leather ottoman at the foot of the couch… surely he already knew.

“Kneel, please.”

Crowley knelt, quiet and obedient for the moment. Aziraphale knew it wouldn’t last.

Aziraphale settled on the couch as Crowley draped himself over the lavish footstool, acquired sometime around 1855 for this exact purpose. A plush rug, previously elsewhere in the shop, had understood where it was needed without being asked and appeared beneath their feet, giving Crowley’s knees some protection against the wooden floor.

As Crowley settled, he turned his head to face the other way, but Aziraphale had other ideas. With a tug at the hair on the nape of Crowley’s neck, he guided the demon to turn and face Aziraphale. Without breaking eye contact, he pulled the legs of Crowley’s briefs up a little, bunching fabric into the demon’s crotch and revealing the sweet spots of curved buttocks.

Crowley shifted, wiggling a little at the sudden pressure of fabric against his cunt. “You really are a bastard, you know,” he said, half-mumbled into the leather of the ottoman.

“What was that?” Aziraphale asked innocently. “Didn’t hear you, my dear.”

“I said, you’re a basta-AHrd!” He yelped into the latter half of the word as Aziraphale planted a firm smack on Crowley’s behind.

“Well, yes.” Aziraphale admitted, a little breathlessly. “I suppose I am.”

One hand resting firmly in the dip of Crowley’s lower back, Aziraphale set about spanking him with the other, relaxed and rhythmic. Crowley turned his head to press his damp forehead directly into the firm leather, breathing deeply. He relished each impact, stinging at first then settling into something deeper. A beautiful, slow-growing ache.

Aziraphale savoured it. Each muttered pant, each slight whine, he responded. They barely needed words after all this time, but they still used them, because what was the point of having these amusing human forms if not to wring every possible pleasure out of them?

“You look so perfect, my dear,” he murmured, massaging warm buttocks in his hands. Crowley whined and pressed his head against the leather, each sound saying need and want as clearly as if he were shouting it.

“Not nice,” was all he managed to choke out, arching his back up, begging for the blows to continue. He felt sweaty, and annoyed, and deeply in love.

Aziraphale smiled fondly, and resumed.

Angels and demons don’t get tired. They don’t get interrupted by hunger or full bladders or cramped knees, so when they are properly engaged, they can sink into that activity. Time becomes secondary.

Their bodies might not get tired, or interrupted with mere mortal concerns, but they can bruise, especially when their human bodies feel so present and raw. They can feel red welts begin to raise on sensitive skin, or they can see and marvel at the slow rise of blood, deep mottled purple under fair skin.

Aziraphale was murmuring steady praise now, my beautiful demon, my dear, you horrible, wonderful creature. He felt warm from exertion, so lost in the flow that he barely noticed his own arousal, his erection pressed into his trousers. He paused to run gentle hands up Crowley’s spine (which was still blessedly cool to the touch), and was overcome with his own desire.

“My dear,” He spoke more clearly, breaking the spell.

Crowley acknowledged with a wordless mewl, sounding dazed and a little pissed off.

“Would you mind if we took these off?” Aziraphale tapped a finger on the waistband of the black briefs. Crowley gave another muffled grunt and turned to stare up at Aziraphale. His eyes were glassy, the dusky yellow leaking outwards, pupils huge and dark.

Sudden worry seized Aziraphale. Perhaps he’d gone too far. “What is the safe word?”

No reply but for a long, slow groan, and more alarmingly, Crowley’s eyes fluttered shut as though to hide from Aziraphale’s concerned gaze.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale spoke sternly.

As if dragged up from a great depth, he opened his eyes and finally replied. “Eden. C’mon angel, I can handle it.”

“Be that as it may, I asked you a question.”

Crowley lifted his head slightly and stared, surprised. He looked flushed, not dissimilar to how he would look after an evening of wine and whiskey. “Eh?”

“Your pants.” Aziraphale repeated, shifting. His worry assuaged, the distraction of taking care of Crowley briefly paused, he shifted part of his awareness back to how hard he was. “May I take them off?”

Crowley gave a lopsided grin, showing all his teeth. If they looked a little more pointed than they might in public, it was not a worry. If his eyes were blown fully wide, now golden right into the corners, it meant only that he felt safe. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“Is that a yes?” Aziraphale knew the answer, knew the dance well enough by now, but he still had moments like this, where he felt uncertain that it was right to take what Crowley so wantonly gave.

“Yes angel, please, you can do whatever you want with me right now.”

Aziraphale felt his breath catch in his throat. It was right, and it was hot, and it was sacred. His friend and lover knelt at his feet and offered himself up, this time the same as ever and somehow different.

Aziraphale found his way to the floor, kneeling to one side, running hands delicately down Crowley’s flanks, curling his fingers beneath the waistband and tugging them down over narrow hips. Aziraphale’s hands felt sensitive and tender; even the soft fabric sang against his skin. He deliberately dragged the bunched briefs across the raw flesh of Crowley’s behind, his mouth twitching with the edge of a wicked smile as Crowley gave a soft yelp.

It was awkward to pull the underwear down thighs, helping his demon lift one knee then the other to remove them completely. Ungraceful, but Crowley’s body was so painfully real now, brought so fully into this world by desire and impact. In this moment, to miracle clothes away would have felt sinful.

Crowley settled his naked form heavily back onto the ottoman, sighing. In the soft light of the bookshop, Aziraphale admired the lines and angles of the demon, the hollow dip of his spine leading tantalisingly down to tenderised buttocks, to the wet slit between. The sun would yet rise on one of the last days on this blessed earth, and they would have to deal with what that meant in the light of that penultimate sunrise, but for now, there was this. There was them.

Aziraphale started on his own buttons; Crowley in this state would wait for a time, the impatience literally spanked out of him. So Aziraphale savoured the undressing like he savoured everything, wanting this moment to last forever. It felt like it would, and that time would continue the way it always had. If not for the unpleasant knowledge, looming in the distance, that the clock was ticking for all of them.

Aziraphale swallowed, brushing away the tickle in the back of his mind that this may well be the last time. They would find a way through this. They would.

He let his movements be slow and considered, pausing between each item of clothing to run warm hands over Crowley reverently, across shoulders, down his neck, fanning out over angled shoulder blades to the places where Aziraphale could feel the wings sprouting into the plane just next to them, unreal but ever-present.

Once he was naked, he carefully moved Crowley’s ankles apart, kneeling between them but keeping a polite distance. Massaging the tender, bruise-flecked skin of Crowley’s backside with one hand, he touched himself properly for the first time that evening, relishing the feeling of the hot skin of his cock on a tenderised palm. “My dear, you are beautiful.” Aziraphale sighed, taking a hold of himself and stroking.

Crowley’s response was to exhale through his teeth argumentatively. The rippling arc of his back muscles and slight press back of his hips, cunt needily pressing toward Aziraphale, spoke his true feelings.

Aziraphale smiled with that same fondness. He let his massaging hand stray, thumb slipping between wet lips. “Was this what you wanted, dearest?”

Crowley’s response could only be described as a hiss

Flipping his hand to let four fingers dip between Crowley’s legs, cupping his whole sex, Aziraphale let the full length of his thumb slip inside.

Crowley keened, jamming his hips back hard. If there was a flash of dark wings, spread wide to fill the room, or a ripple of scales down his back, no human eyes could have perceived it.

Aziraphale felt winded for a moment, to feel the wet heat on his hand, to feel the way Crowley consumed the single digit and pressed back for more, looking so perfect, divinely his. Normally never an issue, he felt lost for words and uttered a simple, breathless, “Oh.”

But as much as he enjoyed giving Crowley what he wanted, somehow a little denial first made it all the sweeter. Aziraphale squeezed his hand gently, momentarily, pressing down into the sweet spot and rubbing teasing fingers across Crowley’s clit, before drawing the hand back.

“Oh no you bloody don’t-” Crowley lifted one hand from its resting place on the floor and planted it on the ottoman, lifting and twisting his body as if to reach back, movements desperate and unrefined.

Before he could achieve anything with this quick movement, Aziraphale responded. He surged forward and flattened Crowley back down against the leather, strong enough to knock the wind out of the demon. The same amount of measured force Crowley had used to slam Aziraphale into the wall that very afternoon.

There was a puff and a wheezing sound as the air in the cushioned footstool was pressed out. There was also a slight puff and wheezing sound from Crowley, but he was undoubtedly playing it up for dramatic effect.

Aziraphale knew exactly what Crowley could take. Knew exactly what Crowley would like. And he liked this very much, to be flattened down by Aziraphale’s solid weight, squashed from thighs to neck against the sticky leather. This was the closest they’d been physically in years, and Aziraphale felt all the tension and attitude melt away from the body beneath him.

“Now then,” Aziraphale panted into an ear. “I can’t have you writhing around like that, Crowley. Wouldn’t be proper.”

There was a breath, and two anchor points came into existence. Without taking his weight off Crowley, Aziraphale slid sure hands down Crowley’s arms and guided each wrist to the loops, cream silk ties appearing then binding wrists to the side of the footstool. Crowley was safely secured in this position, kneeling with his arms wrapped and bound to each side of the ottoman. Aziraphale straightened up.

“You absolute cocktease. Give me that right now or I’ll call the whole thing off.” The epithet, despite not being applicable right this very second, still made sense. Crowley did have a cock sometimes, after all. Aziraphale made him beg for it even then.

“Safe word?”

“EDEN!” he yelled, hammering hands on the side of the footstool with as much momentum as the slack would allow him

“Are you using it?”

“No! You- arrghbfr.”

“So, what you’re saying,” Aziraphale leant forward and laid the line of his chest against Crowley’s back again, cock pressed between his stomach and the crack of Crowley’s buttocks, “is that you like me teasing you.”

“For sata- for FUCK sake I- you,” Crowley started about three different sentences before giving up, though he still wiggled between the angel’s weight and the ottoman.

“Say it,” Aziraphale said. He felt dizzy with it, the joy of feeling Crowley’s skin pressed so close to him, their bodies salt-sticky and warm.

“You’re a TEASE.”

“No, say that you like it!” Aziraphale was lost in it now, “Say you like me teasing you.” He wound a hand into Crowley’s hair, pressing him with just enough firmness down into the cushioned leather.

Crowley resisted upwards into the grip. If he wanted to be free, he could be back in his own apartment in the blink of an eye. Or maybe… he couldn’t. They had never tested their powers against each other in this realm. They had never needed nor wanted to. There was a thought, momentary but bright, that maybe Crowley actually couldn’t escape. And that if he tried, he would find himself blocked not just by the heavy body across his back but by the full might of Aziraphale’s heavenly power. Such a concept sent a wave of arousal coursing through him. He was hot, achingly wet, and he couldn’t even rub his thighs together, so firm was he being held, neck down to his knees against the ottoman.

One moment passed in which Crowley pushed his body back up against Aziraphale, but with no way to gain purchase or momentum, he collapsed down in submission.

“Angel… I love you teasing me.”

“Good boy,” he murmured in Crowley’s ear, before moving his hips back just enough for the head of his cock, wet with precum, to skim deliciously first against Crowley’s asshole then finding its way to the entrance of his slick cunt, sliding in to the hilt in one fluid motion.

Aziraphale sighed, and without moving, pressed a kiss to the back of Crowley’s neck.

Crowley froze at the tender gesture. His breath, which had felt so present up until that moment, disappeared completely. The love he felt, unspoken and bright, seemed to replace the air in his lungs. If he didn’t say something right now the next words out of his mouth were going to be I love you. And that simply wouldn’t do.

“Angel, if you don’t start fucking, I’m going to discorporate,” he said instead. “I’m serious.”

The only response was a low chuckle. Without taking his weight from Crowley’s back, Aziraphale ground his hips down, eliciting a wet choke from Crowley. “Like that?”

“Sure, if that’s the best you’ve g-“ Crowley stopped at the sensation of another sensual grind, Aziraphale making sure that as much of his fleshy hips were pressed into where Crowley’s skin was most tender. The witty riposte died in his mouth, and he moaned instead, breath returned but that same dazzling feeling in his chest. If not now, when?

The issue of the end of the world and when would be the right time dissipated as Aziraphale straightened back up, to curl assured hands into Crowley’s hips, and start moving.

The pace he set was steady, eyes shut and lips parted. It was Crowley who forced the pace, rutting back. The enthusiasm with which he rocked back, wordlessly begging for more, harder, would have been strong enough to drag the footstool along the floor. But Aziraphale wanted it to remain immovable… so it stayed put like a good footstool would.

Crowley was desperate, little grunts of exertion escaping his lips as he pulled back on his bonds, trying to drive Aziraphale deeper. It was rough and urgent but he felt undeniably gleeful. If Aziraphale just gave him what he wanted, if he didn’t have to wrestle for it, it wouldn’t be nearly as fun.

Aziraphale was in control. Until he wasn’t.

Without being conscious of the moment he lost the tease, he started to meet Crowley’s needs. He plunged forward as Crowley pushed back, meeting in the middle with a growing urgency. To give Crowley what he wanted was the agreement, after all. When Crowley’s frantic motions slowed just enough to declare his satisfaction with the pace, Aziraphale leant forward to grip Crowley’s shoulder. His hand wrapped all the way round, fingertips brushing a clavicle, pulling Crowley back into each thrust, to give him more.

This was what it was, for an unknowable amount of time. When the moment was right, as was his decision to make, Aziraphale slowed, then paused, untying and guiding a sweaty, mussed demon to the couch. Aziraphale knelt between Crowley’s legs. They looked at each other for what felt like the first time in a long time. Sweat and exertion had ruined Crowley’s careful quiff. Aziraphale brushed a strand off his forehead.

“My dear,” Aziraphale’s voice was rough and low. “you look divine.”

Crowley gave a manic half-laugh, half-sob. Without Aziraphale’s cock to distract him, the fear that this was ending, that everything was ending, was about to overwhelm him. He took a shuddering breath to steady himself and came back to the moment. “More?”

Aziraphale huffed out a disbelieving laugh, and without speaking leaned forward and kissed him.

This was divine, thought Crowley, as he turned his face up into the kiss, not allowing Aziraphale to take his mouth away once it was given. Aziraphale navigated by feel and experience to slip his cock into Crowley again.

The energy had shifted. Crowley had taken his punishment, and now it was simply time for mutual reward. Aziraphale could have continued to tease and deny, but he didn’t even break the kiss as Crowley snaked a hand between their bodies to touch himself.

Aziraphale fucked Crowley steadily, body an anchor for Crowley to writhe and squirm against. The angel kept his body forward, letting his weight rest, firm but gentle, on Crowley’s chest.

Aziraphale buried his head in Crowley’s neck, and automatically long legs and arms came up to wrap around and pull Azirphale close, both panting with each stroke.

This is what Crowley had wanted all day, had been begging for it. The need had been spoken by twitchy energy and a violent shove and Aziraphale had heard it, had read Crowley like he always did and given it to him. Gave him everything he wanted, except for the words I love you.

For some reason, the sex and the games they played felt safe in a way the words didn’t. Both still held a fear in their otherworldly hearts. The fear that perhaps those words, like a prayer, would be heard above and below, and that the power in them would shatter the wards they had built to keep this space safe. Fucking and love weren’t the same thing after all; it has been clear for hundreds of years now, that this particular activity was no more visible or condemnable than all the eating, drinking, and doing each other’s damned or blessed chores had been.

Aziraphale paused and took a deep breath. They could truly stay in this rhythm forever, but all things had to have an end, didn’t they? Wasn’t that divine will?

Cupping one hand behind Crowley’s neck and winding the other around his waist, Aziraphale lifted and drew Crowley’s body forward on the couch, moving him so his hips practically hung off the edge. All this Aziraphale without separating their connection. This position curled Crowley’s head into the back of the couch, but he was a bendy creature, and quite pliable in his current state.

“Crowley, my dear?”

“Mmrf?”

“Would you like to come for me?” Technically, it should have been impossible for a demon to look so wrecked, but Crowley was unique in that. His only response to the question was to bring his hand back to his clit and let his eyes flutter shut. He ran fingers up and down his wet slit, dipping down to explore around the shaft of Aziraphale’s cock where it entered him, thick and full, stilled for the moment.

This time, Crowley’s wordless response was enough of an answer for Aziraphale. With Crowley more forward on the couch, Aziraphale was able to bring Crowley’s legs up. Delightfully flexible was his demon. From this position he could stroke into Crowley with the full length of his member, deeply, thoroughly. Aziraphale lost himself in giving, enraptured as he watched Crowley circle his fingers over his clit, eyes half closed, incoherent with it all. Together they brought him to an orgasm.

The sound he made was choked back, as it always was, some part of him still scared that somehow, someone would overhear them. Some part of him needed to hold that shining love safe, and protect it. At least in that moment, he was blissfully free of the fear that the world that they so dearly loved, the world that gave them these moments of hedonism and pleasure, was about to end.

Aziraphale ground his hips in Crowley, as deep as he could go. Aziraphale was breathless, delighted as ever to be the one to reduce Crowley, debonair, quiffed and elegant Crowley, to such a state. Aziraphale shuddered as Crowley came around his cock, but the angel was not yet spent. Crowley was floppy, fuck-drunk, pliable and warm on the other side of his orgasm. Aziraphale slid his hands up long thighs to hold the backs of Crowley’s knees, knowing exactly how much weight he could lean there as he finally allowed himself to get lost in the sensations of Crowley’s warmth around him. In his own blissful moment after he came, Aziraphale couldn’t escape the thought that truly, this felt sacred. Perhaps the thought was profane, but he had learned long ago that even the Almighty could not see inside his mind. Or if she did, she did not disapprove.

As they untangled themselves, unfolding Crowley’s long body, the sweat and ejaculate simply disappeared, without thought or action from either of them. The pleasure they shared was indescribable, and it was the marvel of the sweaty, sticky human bodies that made it all possible. But why worry about a clean-up if you didn’t have to? A cosy blanket knew it was needed nearby, and the two of them settled on the couch and pulled the tartan fabric over them, Aziraphale tucking his back against the seatback, and drawing Crowley close to his chest.

Crowley had regained just enough of his faculties to start to feel something akin to nausea as he settled his back to Aziraphale’s chest, firm arms drawing him close. If not now, then when? If he didn’t speak the words that gave shape to the luminescent glow inside him now, would he get another chance?

He knew what Aziraphale would say if he asked something like that. Hold fast, my dear, we’ll sort it out, there won’t be a war, you worry too much, I have faith in the Almighty, pip pip

Crowley felt ill with fear even as he felt all the tension melt out of his body, warm in Aziraphale’s arms. Their bodies somehow fit so perfectly together. Almost as though they had made these forms for each other. He was afraid that perhaps, despite everything, he hadn’t gone fast enough, and that they were both about to run out of time. Overwhelmed from the spanking, the sex, and the safety of the space the two of them created inside of the shop, he closed his eyes, feeling tears squeeze out.

Navigating by touch, Crowley lifted Aziraphale’s wrist to his mouth. He wished that he could draw a little of that faith into himself through the pulse there, so he kissed the inside of the wrist. Feeling the gentle throb of Aziraphale’s blood on his lips, he sent out a prayer he feared fell on uncaring, callous ears.

Please Lord… just give us a little more time.

 Notes:

*arrives two years late with starbucks* "Why are so many people determined to see Crowley as the top in this dynamic?" I ask my partner. They reply "It's because some people confuse brat energy with top energy. I can see where the mix up comes from."

Hope you enjoyed this piece, the first I've written in about five years. I may write a follow up where they actually DO get their love confessions out, but I couldn't resist the angst of it all.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable partners #crowley #anthony crowley #aziraphale #good omens fanfiction #good omens fan fic #trans crowley #reblogs>likes #hank talks #hank writes #aziraphale good omens #crowley IS gender #good omens smut

[sushiandstarlight]

For a prompt, what about the first time Crowley found out Azraphaile could sense love?

You Will Still Love Me Tomorrow

Read this story on AO3

Aziraphale had dropped his hand as soon as the bus stopped.  Crowley was pointedly not thinking about it.  He didn’t think about it as they took the short walk up to his flat, the not holding hands anymore.  He didn’t think about it as he unlocked his door with a flick of his wrist and invited the angel into his home.  He didn’t think about it as he sauntered past what remained of Ligur, hoping that Aziraphale would ignore the foul puddle, too.

Crowley did such a good job ignoring the fact that they weren’t holding hands anymore that it didn’t even register that Aziraphale hadn’t followed him into the kitchen until he turned around and took visual notice.  He pressed his lips together at the absence, but continued to his goal anyway: unstoppering a bottle of dark red wine and pouring two glasses.  He took a deep breath and carried the glasses as he retraced his steps.

He told himself that having the angel out of his sight was fine.  They hadn’t always been together before.  Long periods of time passed without catching sight of one another.  It shouldn’t be any different now.  But, his heart refused to listen to his brain, instead thrumming away against his ribs.  They’d scarcely made it this far and tonight might be the last night to drink and talk into the wee hours.  He told himself that it didn’t matter, but he knew that every moment of it mattered.

He found Aziraphale amongst his plants in the atrium, though the angel’s eyes were somewhere else.  Crowley understood; he’d had a home once, too, and it had been ripped away from him without his permission.  His heart beat harder in his chest as he contemplated what he had lost in his Fall.  But, also, what he had gained.  It was worth it, every bit of the pain was worth it.  The torment from hell’s other inhabitants was worth it.  All to be here, even up to this moment, side-by-side with his best friend.

“Wine?”  He held one of the glasses out between them and watched as the one quiet word startled Aziraphale out of his thoughts.

“Oh, yes, thank you.”  They both took a deep gulp of wine and didn’t look at one another, examining the plants instead.

“You know...” Aziraphale started, that far away look returning to his eyes even as he looked like he was studying the perfection of the ficus in front of him, “I always thought that maybe they were better at hiding their feelings than I was.”

“They?”

“My fellow angels.”

“Hmm.”  Crowley took another hearty sip, eyes darting from the wine in his glass to Aziraphale and back.

“Before your fall... Oh, is it alright to ask?”

“Sure, angel.  It’s old news.”

“I know it’s not.  But, I’m afraid I’m too curious not to ask.”

“Never one to dissuade curiosity.” Yet, inside he trembled a bit.  Possibly their last night and Aziraphale wanted to know about his fall?  Or before.  He’d said before.  Crowley steeled himself.  If this was going to be their last night, their last chat over wine...  Then he would be as open and honest as he could.  Whatever the angel wanted.  Not that that... was much different than usual, even he could acknowledge that.

“Could you feel love when you were an angel?”

“Nah,” Crowley rubbed at his chin, “can’t say that was ever really one of my talents.  Creation, that was my bag.  Pulling things from the ether.  Real magic.”  There was something pinging around in the back of his brain: a softly sounding siren of warning.  A thought forming, but from far away.

“I always thought that perhaps all the angels I consorted with were better at concealing the love they felt.  I never really understood why, you know?  There’s no need to hide your heart in heaven.  It should be safe there.”

Crowley made an inarticulate noise, unsure how to answer that.

“The truth is, though, that they didn’t love me.  I’m not sure they loved each other, either.  Dare I say, they might not even have loved Her.”

“Likely,” Crowley sighed, drawing closer almost unconsciously, “likely, they only really knew love for themselves and their positions.”  The siren was getting louder, the thought forming but still just out of reach.

“If that.”  Aziraphale swirled the wine in his glass, “But you, you’ve never hidden it.”

“Hidden what?” The siren in his head was nearly deafening now, the other shoe poised to drop.

“Your love.  You’ve never hidden it from me.”

“Ngk?”  Crowley’s fingers went numb as the thought finally coalesced: all this time he thought his feelings had been trapped in his own chest, his own heart, but was it possible... that they had all been laid out at the angel’s feet all this time?  He nearly dropped the wineglass, only thinking to clench it at the last possible moment.  Even so, some wine splashed over the rim.

“On the wall, overlooking Eden, I told you that I had given away my God-given flaming sword.  And you loved me for it.  You hardly knew me.”

“Well, I-” Crowley choked on his own tongue.

“I tried to put it aside, you know.  Demons can’t love, they say.  But, I would run into you again and again and again and it would be there every time.”

Crowley set his wineglass down by the plants.  He wasn’t sure if he was going to cry or pass out, but neither supported his desire to keep a cool demeanor. 

“Your love was always there, bright like any star in the cosmos and warmer than the hearth of home.”

He was definitely getting light-headed.  He sat down on the ledge by the ficus before he lost all dignity and collapsed.  Aziraphale still wasn’t looking at him, despite his continued venture into transparency.

“I daresay, you’ve been more of a loving home to me than heaven ever was.”  And now Aziraphale was looking at him, earnest eyes shining.

Crowley removed his sunglasses and tucked them into the collar of his shirt, meeting Aziraphale’s eyes purposefully because words had utterly failed him.

“I am sorry, dear, that I’ve needed to push you away so many times.  I know,” Aziraphale swallowed hard, “I know I have a lot to make up for as far as that’s concerned.  But, more than that, I’m sorry that you can’t feel how very much I want to be your home, too.”

“You are,” Crowley croaked, unable to hold himself back any longer he reached out his hand and Aziraphale took it in both of his.  Those soft, warm angel hands.  His world stopped spinning sideways, righting itself as the touch grounded him, “you are my home.  Six thousand years, you’ve been my home.  Maybe... maybe before that.  I just didn’t know what was missing.”

“All the same, I wish you could feel it like I do from you.  You don’t know, darling.  It’s like basking in the gentlest sunshine.  Early morning, with all it’s colors and all it’s quiet.  I don’t sleep, but I imagine it feels like waking to a new day.”

Crowley tugged at his hands, pulling him close enough to hug him around the middle.  He peered up at the angel, making sure this was okay.  It was a sight more than holding hands.  Aziraphale moved even closer.  Crowley rested his head against the soft belly in front of him.

“I suppose I could just tell you.”

Crowley squeezed him, again finding himself out of words.

“I love you, Crowley.”  Aziraphale’s fingers had found their way into the soft hair at the back of his head.  Crowley couldn’t breathe and he was, once again, unsure if he was going to start crying, “I love you and I believe in our side- yours and mine.  This will not be our last night together.”

Crowley sucked in a deep breath, holding the angel closer.  He’d said all of that in a way that rumbled and glistened somehow with Truth.  The Truth of an Angel, sent by God Herself.  He wanted to believe in it.  He would believe it.  He didn’t believe in God, outside her existence.  He didn’t believe in Heaven’s angels with their thirst for power and control.  He didn’t believe in Hell, that place could continue to rot.  But, Aziraphale.  He believed in Aziraphale.  Regardless of whether or not he could feel the love he claimed.  He just knew.  His belief in this didn’t need tangible proof, it was written between the lines of six thousand years.

“I expect,” Aziraphale’s hand traveled down his jaw and tilted it so they could meet eyes again, “to feel all of this from you tomorrow.  And all the days after.  Can you promise me that?”

“I promise you, Angel.  We’ll come up with something.”

#aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #good omens #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #star light-reads #fic pompts #thank you so much for the prompt! #this one totally gained a life of it's own and got away with me #which is so much fun :) #as always I'm open to any prompts sent my way #it's nice to have a springboard for writing! #mintymallo

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

The Ritual Of Propagation - Chapter 3: Hesitation

Sorry for the delay, chapter 3 is now up!

Aziraphale and Crowley have finished the preparations for their ritual, but... have they really thought this through? (No, they have not.) Crowley finds that he still has some lingering doubts, but isn't sure how to share them. And Aziraphale has not, in fact, told him everything.

Warning: This fic is rated M, NS/FW and concerns r*pe, pr*gnancy, miscarriage, and ab*se. Please mind the tags before reading.

The following excerpt, however, does not have any of those, and I encourage you to read it even if you aren't following the story!

--

“Curious. No, hold on.” Aziraphale paused, flipping through the thesaurus. “Ah, inquisitive.” He quickly wrote the word on his list, which already spread down an entire page. “Yes, what else? Intelligent? Or, oh, perceptive. Perhaps both?”

“Why not wily?” Crowley said from across the dining room where he stood with his back against the wall, arms crossed, mouth twisted into a grimace as if he’d just eaten a lemon.

“Well… I suppose that’s acceptable. But we should really try to avoid any terms that might be construed as… underhanded.”

“Why? I like underhanded.” He pushed away from the wall and crossed the room, spinning the thesaurus to face him. “Also deceitful. Rebellious. Oh, or impulsive, ornery, recalcitrant, reckless, rowdy—”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale tried to snatch the book back but his husband scooped it up, taking a step away. “One would think you wanted our younglings to be uncontrollable.”

“Yeah, actually.” He snapped his fingers, the pages flipping on their own. “And intractable. Intransigent. Undisciplined, unmanageable…”

Aziraphale leaned back in his seat, massaging his forehead. He had quite the list of traits already, and he thought them rather suitable, but Crowley had been reluctant to contribute. He shouldn’t dismiss the suggestions out of hand. “How about… headstrong? That seems reasonable. And… and spontaneous.”

“Sure. Fine.” He tossed the book down and turned away. “Whatever you want.”

“It’s not about what I want, it’s—Anthony J. Crowley, get back here now!”

The demon dropped into another chair with a sigh, looking sullen. Aziraphale twisted the pen in his hands, trying to calm himself. “My dear fellow. I thought you were excited.”

“I am.”

“Because I have been up all night preparing this ritual, while you… you… made snide comments!”

“And tea.”

Aziraphale tossed his hands in frustration, the pen clattering somewhere on the floor behind him. “You know, I don’t know why I bother. I should have expected that once there was the slightest bit of work asked of you—”

Crowley slouched deeper into his seat, looking away. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, but from the way his eyes darted, Aziraphale knew he was thinking about them.

Taking a few deep breaths, the angel tried again. “Dearest. This should be something we do together.”

“We are.” He shrugged, or possibly hunched his shoulders, trying to shrink. “S’fine. The things you said. Sounds good.”

Aziraphale rubbed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. How long had Crowley been sulking like this? He hadn’t said much since coming downstairs, and that had been… good Lord, many hours ago. Already the sun was rising, the sky brightening as every bird in the South Downs hopped around, singing its heart out. The tension between them was also clearly rising, but Aziraphale didn’t want another fight. What else could they do?

“Let’s go for a walk.” The angel smiled hopefully at his husband. “I think it will be a marvelous day for it.”

“A… walk?”

“Yes, dear. Hike the old trails, stop by the pond. Browse about the village shops for something we don’t need. Maybe go for a drive? Down to the seaside?”

“You hate going for a drive.” Crowley’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“I know. But I was thinking…” Aziraphale stretched out his wings, brilliant white feathers reaching nearly to the ends of the table. “If… when the ritual succeeds, I will have to keep my wings out all the time. I’m not sure if hiding them away would be dangerous, but I’m not willing to take that risk.” He traced a finger across his own feathers, trying to remember how it would feel. “And if… if we manage it on the first try…”

He glanced at Crowley, whose eyes had gone wide.

“Oh, I… dearest. Did you still… that is, we don’t actually need to try today.” He looked down at the list, trying to sort out the strange feeling in his stomach. “We can… we can wait. However long we need to. Perhaps another year or…”

“Angel.”

Crowley stood beside him now, face relaxed, almost smiling. Offering his elbow, as he used to do when they first became an item, when simply clasping hands had been enough to send Aziraphale into a tizzy.

The angel stood, carefully taking his demon’s arm, leaning his head on the offered shoulder. Feeling the love prickle up between them, flowing across his skin.

Read more here!

#good omens fanfiction #aziraphale and crowley #good omens prime #south downs cottage #bickering #aziraphale loves crowley #crowley loves his angel #mpreg cw #cw noncon #cw very brief fat shaming (in the fic not the excerpt) #aziraphale #crowley #my writing #good omens angst #whump #aziraphale's children #ao3 fanfic #ao3 link