#but the way he just stops breathing when aziraphale interrupts him

[captain-flint]

Crowley literally fighting for his life here looking like he's about to throw up and pass out trying to 'hold that thought'

#good omens #goodomensedit #goedit #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #david tennant #michael sheen #aziraphale #anthony j crowley #i've never seen a more realistic love confession on tv #my guy was Struggling #but the way he just stops breathing when aziraphale interrupts him #like he's literally about to burst #😭😭😭 #my stuff

[vidavalor]

Crowley actually says a barely-coded "I love you" to Aziraphale back in 2.03

In his proposal in the S2 finale, Crowley told us that he and Aziraphale know they're in love and have known it for damn ever but they pretend they're not a couple. This, by default, means that they've not specifically said the words "I love you" before, by Crowley's own admission. They've said I love you in their own little language and we've watched it before. It's little demonic miracle of my own. It's don't go unscrewing the cap. It's just a little bit of a good person and just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing... But what Crowley says in the S2 finale is that they've never-- ever-- said in 6,000 years is just I love you in those normal people, human words. It has always been too dangerous for too many reasons to count so they have euphemisms for it and whole conversations around it and have made that be enough. Why do I bring this up? Because Crowley found a middle ground between the words and their coded language with one another in S2 and it's flying under the radar.

So you know that scene when Muriel has shown up and interrupts Crowley and Aziraphale talking in the back room? The one where while Crowley is speaking, Aziraphale suddenly looks like he's about to pass out with sheer want? Yes, our angel always looks at Crowley like he hung the damn moon (which he did but lol...) but this scene is different. This scene is like... someone get Aziraphale a chair and a glass a water because he is pupils-dilated, audibly breathing, and eyeing up Crowley with naked want. More than the lust? He looks happy. He looks delighted. You can basically hear his heart race from that look on his face. Why here? Yes, Crowley looks hot. Yes, he's in profile in a way that is a visual parallel to Before the Beginning (which was an inspired choice for this scene.) Yes, he's here with a Plan and taking charge of the Muriel situation and swaying his hips a bit while he speaks. It's not any of that. Those are nice bonuses. Aziraphale likes them. He gets them all the time. It's what Crowley said in this moment. To Aziraphale. Through what he said to Muriel.

Crowley cracks a dry, kinda dark joke that is meant for an audience of one: just Aziraphale. He knows Muriel won't get it. Since Muriel is cosplaying as what they think is a human Inspector Constable and they are here to verify the miracle Aziraphale has told Heaven and so are monitoring them, Crowley quips that Muriel is here to spy on them (since they, well, are, actually) and that he knows that many human police officers like to make a bit of a hobby out of spying on "people in love."

People. In. Love.

In a one-two punch in the same sentence, Crowley called him and Aziraphale queer humans and he called what they have love, using the actual word *aloud* for the first time in 6,000 years. He said he loved Aziraphale in front of an angel of Heaven in a little coded joke but this time, using the coded bit to say the real thing for the first time.

Then, just to hammer it all home and make sure that Aziraphale really knows it was very much intentional, Crowley says 'love' again in the next sentence. He starts going on about how Muriel can come to him anytime with any questions about love and he's happy to assist with their understanding of human love with all of his implied vast, vast years of experience with the subject and how he'll be here to answer their questions, in the bookshop, while Aziraphale drives his car to Edinburgh.

Go back and tell Heaven I'm here, Inspector Constable, I don't give a fuck anymore. *We* don't give a fuck anymore. You go tell The Archangel Michael that I'm who they're going to get managing Angelic Embassy X aka The Bookshop until Aziraphale gets back-- yep, me, former Demon of Hell. The Boyfriend in the Dark Sunglasses. He's asked me to, which is his way of saying he wants to stop hiding and asking me not to sneak out to my car in the middle of the night which hallefuckinglujah, Inspector Constable... Go tell Their Beatitudes that we ravish each other all over the bookshop. You won't even be lying. As Maggie'll put it later in the season: I'm done being afraid all the time. I love him. We're in love. There's your hot intel.

Aziraphale:

Aziraphale: Inspector Constable, be a dear and spray me down with all 700 of our fire extinguishers, will you?

#ineffable husbands #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #aziracrow #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #good omens meta #good omens 2

[mimisempai]

There's no limit to your kindness

Summary

Aziraphale wakes up in the middle of the night to find that his demon is not there. What he didn't expect was to be playing wing doctor in the middle of the night. 

Notes

For Seaweedwrites in exchange for your donation to Alzheimer's search UK. Thank you! Prompt requested : Some sort of wing fic. I hope you'll enjoy it.

INEFFABLE ADVENT CALENDER

On Ao3

Rating G -  1090 words

Aziraphale awoke with a start and automatically turned to his bedside table to turn off the old alarm clock. 

It wasn't until he pressed it that he realized it wasn't ringing.

He was wondering why he woke up like that when he suddenly heard a noise coming from downstairs. 

Now wide awake, he realized that Crowley wasn't by his side, and a slight feeling of concern washed over him. 

He got up quickly and made his way down the stairs to the ground floor of the bookstore. Halfway down the stairs, he heard the unmistakable sound of a curse followed by a groan from below. He quickened his pace and nearly fell down the last few steps before stopping dead in his tracks.

Crowley was sitting on the floor in the middle of the room, his black wings outstretched.

What struck the angel most was the grimace of pain that distorted the demon's face.

He shouted, "Crowley! What's wrong?" before rushing over.

Crowley shook his head, but did not respond. 

As Aziraphale moved closer, he saw that Crowley had curled one of his wings and was holding the tip in his trembling hand. 

Aziraphale knelt in front of him and placed his hand on his, loosening the fingers that were clenched around the wing.

He saw that one of the feathers was bent and understood the reason for the demon's pained expression.

Aziraphale murmured softly, "Oh, my poor dear..." and looked at the demon. Crowley's lower lip was caught between his teeth, his eyes clenched, his entire face tensed with pain. 

The angel asked softly, "Will you let me take care of this?"

Because of the pain, the demon didn't answer, just nodded jerkily.

Aziraphale sat down on the floor in front of him, then gently placed the wing on his own lap before saying softly, "One small miracle and everything will be fine. Why didn't you make it, my dear?"

Crowley hissed through clenched teeth, "'t was too painful. Couldn't think straight."

As he closed his eyes again, Aziraphale could see a single tear trickle down the demon's cheek and caught it with his thumb, gently stroking his cheek as he said, "I'm here now."

Not wanting his demon to suffer any longer, the angel gently moved his hand over the damaged feather, which returned to its normal position. 

Crowley immediately exhaled in relief and dropped his head forward.

Aziraphale let go of the wing and leaning towards the demon, asked worriedly, "Crowley, are you okay?"

The demon raised his head, and Aziraphale could see for himself that the demon was better. He was smiling at him, though his eyes were still shining with unshed tears of pain.

In a slightly shaky voice, he said, "Thank you, Angel."

Aziraphale took his face in his hands and said, "Idiot, why didn't you tell me in the first place?"

Crowley replied, "You were asleep, I didn't want to..."

"Idiot," the angel interrupted again.

"Hey, you don't insult someone who just suffered."

"You wouldn't have suffered so much if you had told me right away."

The demon dropped his head on the angel's shoulder and breathed, "Okay, Angel. I admit I was an idiot."

He felt the angel plant a kiss on his hair before asking, "How did that happen? Not while you were asleep for sure. Did you use your wings yesterday?"

Crowley sighed, he had no choice but to explain what had happened.

"Mommyyyy! Mommyyyy! My balloon flew away!"

Crowley, on his way to the bookshop, turned to see a little girl reaching for the sky. He looked up and saw a balloon already high in the air.

The mother knelt down in front of the crying little girl and said, "Sweetie, it's okay, I'll buy you another one.

"But it was the only balloon shaped like an angel! Ouaaaaah!"

The helpless mother didn't know what to do to comfort her child. Crowley walked to the nearest alley, made sure it was deserted, then spread his wings and took to the sky.

Moments later, he handed the balloon to the little girl, made a lame excuse about another balloon vendor not far away, and mother and child took off again, the angel-shaped balloon hovering above them.

"I guess it must have happened when I spread my wings in the narrow alley. At first I just felt a little discomfort, until now when the pain woke me up."

He realized that Aziraphale was looking at him adoringly and knew exactly what he was going to say. That was why he hadn't told the story in the first place.

The angel said in an admiring tone, "You are so good. There's so much kindness in you." He didn't even let the demon interfere, holding him close and whispering into his hair, "Oh no, you're not going to protest this time. You literally suffered because you couldn't stand to see that little girl crying over her lost balloon. No argument will hold against that. Forget it."

Crowley mumbled against Aziraphale's chest, "Because it was an angel."

Aziraphale pulled the demon back and asked, frowning, "Who? The little girl?"

Crowley grumbled with a pout, "No, her balloon, it was an angel."

Aziraphale's eyes widened, then he burst out laughing.

When he calmed down, he said with a twinkle in his eye, "You're still kind," then he stood and held out his hand to the demon, "Come on, let's go to bed."

Crowley stood, moving his wings a little before bringing the wounded tip closer to see it. 

He commented, "It's like nothing ever happened. Thank you, Angel."

"You're welcome, my dear. Here, to make sure it's healed."

The angel leaned forward and gently pressed his lips to the damaged feather.

Crowley retracted his wings and, with a small gleam of mischief in his eyes, put his finger to his cheek and said, "I'm a little sore here too."

Aziraphale looked closer and shook his head, "I don't see anything."

Crowley replied, "Kiss it to be sure."

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and, with a false look of reluctance, gently kissed the spot Crowley indicated.

"Is there another spot?" he asked, not doubting his playful demon's answer.

Crowley placed his finger on his right eyelid and Aziraphale indulged in this little game, again and again, until Crowley tapped his lips.

With a chuckle, Aziraphale hurried to dispense his special remedy, for when it came to Crowley, he was always willing to give a lot of himself. 

Because he knew he'd get just as much in return.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable Growing Love series : (After season 2) 

Part 1 Story 1-99

Part 2 Story 100-?

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here (Before season 2)

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

[howmanyholesinswisscheese]

i made more sad stuff

Three days ago I made a post here about aziraphale and crowley and it made a lot of people sad. One of those people was adoptive son and disappointment to the family name @weirdly-specific-but-ok, who proceeded to hit me back by unearthing my deep seated dad issues writing a movie.

Long story short we roped each other into a duel slash sad-off, because i cry easily and he decided to exploit that because he's evil a great guy, and now it's my turn to throw a punch.

Take this Asmi. Take this. The long version, under the cut.

***

Relief is… Relief is. Relief is a difficult emotion.

Relief is, technically, a feeling of reassurance and relaxation following release from anxiety or distress. Aziraphale should know – he owns several copies of the dictionary. And Crowley should, too – he helped write it.

There are many things relief is, and there are just as many if not more that relief is not.

Relief is not seeing your best friend again. There is no reassurance, no relaxation to be found in glimpsing his familiar white curls at the doorstep of the bookshop he abandoned when you know the reason he’s here, and it’s not you. There is no release to be gained from the sort of desperation that forces you back to the sullen, once affectionate eyes that you know will hide from you behind dark glasses despite how much you love them – only a dull, familiar pain.

Relief is not saving the world with him. Not when you’ve done that before. Not when he is your world, and you have failed so spectacularly at keeping him safe as to end up hurting him. When humanity is saved once more, distress still lingers, and your hands still shake at the thought of reaching out and touching him.

Relief is not being alone with him. When all is said and done, and you both return to the home that is not your home, the scars left by each other’s words still bind your hands like fishing wire, sawing deeper into your skin the harder you struggle to break free. To walk by his side is to wade through a sea of regret, knee-deep, and you cannot stand to see the pain you put on his face.

Relief is not this bookshop, this sacred place you tarnished with an offer you will never stop regretting. With insults you would give your life to take back.

Relief is not any of this.

Relief is a Demon interrupting your bumbling attempts at filling the hollow silence that fills, unbidden, the place you wish you could both call home, yet do not dare to anymore. Relief is a gentle voice, a voice so soft that you could never tell that it comes from the lips of a fallen angel.

Saying, “Aziraphale. Stop. Just stop.”

Relief is permission to breathe.

Relief is an Angel gathering his thoughts and somehow still stumbling trying to tell you how he feels. He gestures wildly, and you watch fondly as he puts words to the ineffable. Relief is some things never changing.

Relief is the Angel who hurt you saying, “All I ever wanted was for you to be safe.” Saying, “Please, please tell me I didn’t make you think I don’t care for you. Because if I did, I am so, so very sorry.”

Relief is not taking his hands in yours, his beautiful, beautiful hands, and brushing a thumb over the marks he’s subconsciously scratched into them, calluses and raw skin that tell the tale of a life without your love. But it is in how he squeezes back.

You tell him that you hurt him, too. That you’re sorry.

You tell him that you love him and you see his eyes widen, then brim with tears.

Relief is a second chance. A second kiss, and it’s nothing like your first. It’s full of life, and hope, and none of the anger that laced the way your lips last met. It’s the hands of a Demon cupping the cheeks of an Angel, gentle and tender and shaking slightly, and that only makes it all the more real.

Relief is a Demon’s tears, freely falling. They mix with yours, staining your lips with salt, and yet nothing you’ve done has ever tasted this sweet. You have known love as a dagger, twisting in your gut. This is not that. This is the love of someone who has known its absence and oh, has his pain only ever made him kind.

Relief is your Angel still clinging to you, after all that you’ve done. His hands come up to grip your forearms, as if you’d ever leave again, not after this. As if you could bring yourself to, when he kisses so softly you have to choke down a sob. He is a being of love, and yet he craves yours like a dying man. Relief is knowing he will never let go.

When you both pull back, it is only to wipe away the tears. You cried the last time you kissed, but not like this. You’ve never cried tears of joy like these before. They are bittersweet, and they taste like everything you’ve never said.

There are no words spoken through gritted teeth, there is forgiveness in both your eyes but it is the tender kind, and you have never known a moment to be so full of care.

“I missed you,” chokes the Angel who had once been so terrified. There is no resentment in his voice, not like last time.

“Missed you too,” comes the watery reply of a Demon completely and enormously in love, and he does not turn and walk away.

You sob, and he sobs, and you fall into each other, smiling despite the tears that spill down your cheeks and trace familiar lines that were born of heartbreak and pain, now carved deeper by the spoils of such a release. You laugh together, and you hold on tight, and everything feels okay. Because for the first time in so long, your tears are happy, and you are where you belong.

This is relief in its purest form: forgiveness, and a second chance.

You will live, forever, in this moment, this moment that is entirely yours and yours alone. Even far away, after years go by and you find yourselves in a cottage in the South Downs, you will never leave this moment. You will never leave his arms.

Relief will stop being tears and broken apologies. It will be waking up next to him, and watching the rise and fall of his chest as the sun rises and the nightingales sing in the apple tree you planted outside together. It will be wrapping your arms around his waist as he cooks and tasting spoonfuls of batter as he scolds you.

It will be an Angel and a Demon, and a world in which those titles do not matter.

END.

Update: ao3 link here :)

#sorry again guys so sorry #SORRY #i might put this on ao3 who knows #i played with perspective a bit so it feels a little funky but oh well #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #ineffable breakup #fic

[feralbutfluffy]

55: Aziraphale

Chapter 55 of Too Wise to Woo Peaceably

*******

That had been extremely unambiguous.

Crowley really hadn’t left much room for misinterpretation. Or any room, actually. 

Crowley had said he was in love.

With him.

Crowley had quite unambiguously said he was in love with him, and Aziraphale knew he was supposed to say something, but he couldn't. Even if he had managed to form an intelligible thought, his throat felt so tight he doubted a single word would have made it to his mouth.

And that mouth was dry as parchment. His teeth were clenched so tight his jaw ached, and his tongue was stuck fast to the roof of his mouth. 

He was struck dumb. 

He tried to swallow, and it was almost impossible.

He tried to think, but that was equally difficult.

Aziraphale pressed the fingers of his right hand to his chest in a vain attempt to calm his heart’s frenetic pounding. His breath was still catching in hiccuping stutters, but the shock had dried his tears.

In love. The way humans- 

His thoughts snagged on the next word-

…Fell.

There was no question around him loving Crowley. Of course he did! He was an angel, a being of love and light! It was practically a job requirement to love all, and wasn't there a particular emphasis placed on loving thine enemy? It was only right, therefore, that he would care for the demon, that he would, in some way, love him.

Falling in love with anyone, let alone Crowley, was an entirely different matter.

The state of being in love was human. Wasn’t it?

He had a sudden memory of Beelzebub and Gabriel, holding hands, humming to each other.

... Perhaps not solely human.

He imagined holding Crowley’s hands in the same way and the ensuing wave of guilt threatened to drag him out into a bottomless sea of shame.

What would it be like, to be in love? He had read about it, of course, the adoring glances, the admiration, the acts of kindness, the hearts skipping beats. He had read about it and thought of Crowley casually handing him a bag full of books, thought of the way his body had flooded with a sudden and unfamiliar warmth, how his heart had most definitely skipped a beat, and he had worried over it for months. Worried and worried and worried before enough time had passed that he had been able to tell himself it was a false memory, that he had mixed up the emotions of what had come later with the emotions of what had come before.

That the wine had seeped through the memory, coating it all in a burgundy haze, and that lust was simply an appetite that had tainted his recollection of the day.

Lust. Not love. Easily dismissed.

He thought of Gabriel sitting in his bookshop, wrapped in a blanket.

You know what it’s like when you don’t know anything at all, and yet you're totally certain that everything would be better if you were just near one particular person?

He had denied it of course, but before he had denied it his thoughts had flashed to Crowley with such intensity that he had been somewhat surprised Gabriel hadn't been able to sense it.

Since cutting ties with their respective sides, their time together had been interrupted by lockdowns and then abruptly shattered when he had received the very first hug of his extremely long life from - in a slightly awkward turn of events - his boss, who had appeared on his doorstep as - and this had made it substantially more awkward - a naked amnesiac.

Those years before Gabriel's arrival though, they had been different.

Crowley had developed a habit of taking his sunglasses off the moment he entered the shop and placing them on a statuette of a horse Aziraphale had by the door. It was an unconscious acknowledgment of trust, a willingness to be open and vulnerable, and Aziraphale remembered the day he'd realised it had become routine. He had stopped and stared at Crowley, his skin prickling with latent awareness, and Crowley had noticed his sudden lapse into immobility and stopped mid-sentence to ask what the blazes was wrong with him.

Aziraphale hadn’t known how to explain the collapsing feeling that was happening in his chest, so he had shaken his head and brushed it off, claiming he had just remembered something that needed doing. 

Then he had gone upstairs and stepped behind the bookshelves, the leather and paper and mahogany feeling like a shield, and he had tried to ground himself, wondering why he suddenly felt so disjointed and unstable.

Crowley had mellowed during those years, his hyperactive energy softening into something more content and relaxed. He had laughed more, and his presence in the shop had slowly become the rule rather than the exception. Aziraphale had found himself drawing closer. He'd taken any remotely plausible excuse to come into contact with him. He held the door open so he would feel him brush past. He took hold of his arm to emphasise a point. He touched his back to get his attention. 

Each time he did so, he felt a ribbon of guilt unwinding itself in his stomach. A small arc of electricity passed between them each time, and he ached for it, and surely that was wrong?

He would spend nights sketching at his desk worrying over the circular problem. 

Was he good? If he was good, then touching Crowley shouldn’t feel so pleasurable. 

Was he bad, then? If he was bad, surely Aziraphale didn’t deserve to feel such pleasure?

Yes, of course he loved Crowley. He had wanted Crowley to know it, wanted him to understand how fond he was of him, had looked forward to dancing with him from the moment he had first conceived of throwing a Street Traders Association Ball, for all that it had been rudely disrupted by the powers of Hell. When he had left for Heaven he had missed him with a ferocity that defied any other possible explanation.

He had killed The Metatron fueled by twin motivators of vengeful fury and a desperation to protect Crowley from further harm. 

He had done the absurd apology dance in front of Muriel - and, rather more unwittingly, Saraqael - as a statement: I was wrong. This is how much he means to me. This is how sorry I am.

Now Crowley was safe, and had been safe for hours, and Aziraphale had spent the majority of those hours trying to fight the urge to wrap himself around him, while simultaneously dealing with a maelstrom of guilt, relief, want, shame, love, and fear that bound him as securely as any chain. 

He had been honest, more honest than he was comfortable being, but honesty was the least he could give Crowley after everything. It was all he could offer. 

And then Crowley had said that he was in love...

And now Aziraphale was paralysed, hand still pressed to his chest, as if that could possibly do anything to alter the frantic beating of his heart.

Was it possible?

He looked at Crowley. The former demon had his eyes closed, his face grim. The pained expression crushed the air from Aziraphale’s lungs. Crowley’s suffering was supposed to be over!  

He couldn’t bear it.

Aziraphale unclenched his teeth with great effort, his tongue peeling loose from the roof of his mouth. His lips parted just as Crowley spoke.

“I told Muriel love was for masochists,” his voice was rough and low, and Aziraphale felt it in the pit of his stomach. Desperation had him fumbling for the first word that came to mind, and even as he spoke it, he knew it was a mistake.

“Sorry, I-”

“No need.” Crowley cut him off, shrinking away from him. “I’m a demon. I know.”

Oh, no.

“Crowley that’s not-”

“It’s fine. Didn’t expect- Look, just thought... I mean, you might as well know. Apparently everyone else does. So.”

Aziraphale blinked at this and set it aside to be discussed at a later time.

“Crowley, you know that-”

“Don’t,” Crowley’s mouth twisted. “I don’t need you to-”

Honestly!

“Now who’s the one not listening?” Aziraphale interrupted, annoyance loosening his tongue.

Crowley shut his mouth with a click.

“I do love you Crowley. I’m an angel, it’s our function to love. The will of angels is, by nature, loving.”

“Of course,” said Crowley dryly.

“I’m not sure... Crowley, I’m not sure you can be ‘ in love ’ with me.”

Crowley’s humourless laugh made Aziraphale wince.

“Oh believe me, I can. I am .”

“Why…” the question died in his throat and he forced himself to try again. “Why do you think so?”

Crowley let out an exasperated exhale and hissed his response through gritted teeth. “What kind of a question is that?”

“Well, how do you know? How does it feel different to..." Aziraphale made a vague gesture with one hand, "...natural love?”

Crowley ran a hand through his hair.

“Natural love is… Ngk. It’s gentle, and kind, and soft. You, basically. It’s enjoying things, and caring about them, and worrying about them. You can love anything! Wine. Ducks. People. Cake.”

Aziraphale nodded. He understood all that quite well, and he did love cake.

“Being in love is nothing like that. It’s- It’s- ” Crowley looked up at the ceiling. “It’s bloody awful.”

“Awful?” Aziraphale wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but it certainly hadn’t been ‘awful.’

“I’ve risked destruction for you, angel. I would again.”

His voice was soft and resigned, as if what he had said was unfortunate, but eminently reasonable.

And Aziraphale supposed it was, because he’d done the same, and would again. Unquestionably.

“Being in love is like- it's like faith… it’s trusting in someone.”

Aziraphale thought of a room engulfed in flame...

Are you sure, angel?  Yes, quite sure.

He’d never been so certain of anything. 

He thought of Crowley’s doubtful face, eyes trained on the gun...

Not… as such. Trust me.

He’d stood in front of the gun anyway.

He thought of Crowley stumbling to his knees on shaking tarmac...

We are fucked! Come up with something or… I’ll never talk to you again!

He'd believed Crowley was clever enough to figure something out.

... And of course, being Crowley, he had.

He turned his attention back to Crowley, who had leaned forward and was staring down at his hands, his expression bleak.

“Being in love is wanting to be around you all the time, enjoying your company but still always hoping, the same way a stray dog might follow you around if you fed them scraps.”

And Aziraphale understood that too, because if something good happened his first thought was to call Crowley, and if something bad happened, his first thought was to call Crowley, and if nothing at all had happened, he wanted to call Crowley. He couldn’t help himself. He always left room for a sliver of plausible deniability to protect Crowley, but it was rather a thin veneer. He would spend every day with him if he could. And Aziraphale wasn't even sure that would feel like enough.

Crowley continued.

“Being in love is..." he sighed, a frustrated, rasping sound, "... it's trying to keep you safe, even when I should probably have left you to suffer the consequences of your actions because frankly, your actions were stupid. Braving the guillotine for crêpes?” Crowley made an incredulous noise. 

He still wasn’t over that, then.

And Aziraphale understood, because hadn’t he handed over a thermos full of Holy water to prevent him from carrying out an honest-to-God heist to steal it from an open font? The very idea of it splashing Crowley by accident made his blood run cold.

“Being in love with you is wanting you to feel comfortable with me, even though I’m a demon. Even though you’re an angel.” His voice was hoarse, and he ran two fingers idly down his jawline as he thought about what he was trying to say. “It’s asking you a question and hoping you’ll smile and say yes, even though I know it’s far more likely you’ll balk and say no. It’s banging my head against the same wall over and over even though it hurts like blazes and by the time I so much as make a dent I’ll probably be unconscious.” 

He gave a rueful half-smile.

And Aziraphale thought of Alpha Centauri. 

And he thought of Crowley offering him a place to stay when they'd thought the bookshop was a burnt-out husk.

And he thought of asking Crowley to dance, and how that whole day he had felt positively effervescent with expectation.

And he thought of the bookshop, and how he had wanted Crowley to feel like it was home; that it was theirs, not his. 

Crowley swallowed and flexed his right hand nervously.

“I suppose being in love is wanting to be together - together-together - in every possible way. It’s wanting to be on our side, to be us. Properly us.” 

He let out a breath and spread his hands, palms up, in a gesture of supplication. “I don’t know. It’s all that. It’s this- this gnawing restlessness that only quietens down when I’m around you. It’s violent and desperate and it wants- it wants-" he broke off and Aziraphale watched a muscle in his jaw twitch before he managed to continue. "It wants... more than you can give. It’s frustrated desire. It’s not saying what I want to say so you don’t take off running. It's... saying all of this and being surprised you're still sitting next to me. It's saying all of this and feeling like I'm choking because my own heart is caught in my throat."

There was a strangled laugh, and it was a cold, hopeless sound. When he spoke again his voice was so low Aziraphale had to strain to hear it.

"It’s sitting at a table laden with food, and resigning myself to surviving on meagre rations. It’s having willed myself to be content with that, when what I really want - what I’ve always wanted - is the whole blessed feast.”

And Aziraphale thought of lying on the floor of the bookshop with Crowley. He thought of the feel of his hair between his fingers, and the new, strange hunger that had roared awake with a ferocity that had petrified him. 

He looked at Crowley’s hand, now laying flat against the suede between them, and thought about the urge to take it in his own, and wondered if Crowley’s admission was permission, and wondered if his thoughts were blasphemy.

He was afraid, because he understood everything. He had felt all of those things, and what did that mean?

Was it possible? Was it possible for an angel to be in love with a demon?

Was it possible for Aziraphale to be in love with Crowley?

“Being without you was… I felt hollowed out. Muriel- Damn them, they tried, but everything felt so hard. Getting out of bed was hard. Going outside was hard. I looked for you around every bloody corner.”

Aziraphale thought of how he had felt visiting the bookshop. The quick darting looks he had always cast at the space where Crowley would usually have been.

“Anyway. Like I said. Awful.”

Crowley looked so distressed. Aziraphale placed his left hand down next to his, hooking his little finger over Crowley's. He felt him startle, and when he looked up Aziraphale met his questioning gaze without flinching.

"That makes sense," he said, his heart beating triple time. "Although I'm not sure 'awful' is the word I would use."

"No?" The word was a cracked syllable, the tension behind it thickening the air between them.

"Not necessarily. Not unless it's-" he had to clear his throat to get the words out, "Not unless it's unrequited."

Crowley stared at him without blinking. 

"Not unless it's... unrequited," he repeated.

"Yes."

"Which it is," he said hesitantly, but there was a slight upward inflection at the end and the hope in it made Aziraphale flush.

"No. No, I don't think so," he said shyly.

Crowley's eyes were wide and pleading, and his expression was so reminiscent of their argument in the bookshop that it made Aziraphale's chest tight.

"Aziraphale, don't... You can't just-" Crowley was taking shaky, shallow breaths, completely oblivious to the fact that his little finger was suddenly clenched around Aziraphale's so tightly that it was cutting off the circulation.

Aziraphale didn't mind.

He turned his body towards Crowley's, and he felt almost feverish; his body flushed hot with longing, cold pinpricks of fear amplifying it by contrast.

"It's not unrequited, Crowley."

Aziraphale felt the knot in his throat loosen and fall away. 

Such a human thing, for two people to fall in love. Such a human thing. 

Aziraphale loved human things. 

He bought things, as humans did, and consumed things, as humans did, and had made himself a home, as humans did. 

There was something about the way humans had to work at change and learn things over time despite their short lifespans that captivated him. Aziraphale had made the effort to learn many things this way; driving, shooting, French, magic, dancing… He had learned them slowly, over time.

Perhaps being in love was yet another thing he had learned slowly. Falling in love had been much less obvious than he might have expected it to be, had he given it any thought. Truthfully, he hadn’t realised he was learning anything at all until it was too late.

Aziraphale felt a tear run down his cheek.

He had spent his entire existence trying so hard not to Fall, only to find out he had fallen anyway.

#good omens #ineffable idiots #crowley and aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #ineffable divorce #good omens fanfic #good omens fanfiction #crowley #aziracrow #ineffable #go2 fanfic #good omens longfic #good omens fic #good omens fic request #gomens fic #ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses #ineffable husbands fic #ineffable partners #azcrow #azicrow #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale

[feiandart]

There is a part of Anthony that never left, in truth: it just became silent, hiding from the rest to remain untouched, pure, sensitive. It is hope that moves his legs, resurfacing timidly in his chest and giving his body the impetus it needs to get out of bed and quickly cover the distance to the door, then the corridor, until he stops in front of the Lord's chamber. He knocks on the door as if he had been doing it for months, feels his knuckles ache even though it is the first time he has made the action real and not just a figment of his imagination. He hits the wood insistently even when he hears small noises coming from inside the room. When Aziraphale opens the door, the artist has not yet stopped, but remains with his hand in midair, interrupted in the middle of the action. Inside the room it is dark, as black as moonless nights. "Your hands will bleed if you keep knocking, you know?" Anthony looks at him as if seeing him for the first time. There is something in the words used by Aziraphale that sounds so familiar to him that his heart flutters, although he cannot explain why. "Let them bleed," he replies without thinking. "Won't they hurt afterwards?" "Not if you help me fix them." Aziraphale holds his breath, stretching out his hands towards the artist with wide eyes. Anthony's heart does a somersault, letting calmness find its way onto his lips in a spontaneous smile. His gaze softens on his tired eyes, two pools of honey that turn to the Lord with the air of someone who has just returned from a long journey. The blond's face opens to a joy that has not fuelled it for days. I am back, the artist does not tell him. This time, however, if he does not do so, it is not for lack of strength or courage, or because he is hidden in some recondite corner of his mind: if he doesn't tell him, it is only because there is no need to do so. Aziraphale sees this for himself. He has already realised it. And indeed he takes a step forward, surrounds Anthony's waist with his strong arms and pulls him close with a whole new momentum, sinking his face into the artist's chest. He breathes heavily, as if he had not done so for months. "Welcome back, Anthony," whispers Aziraphale. The readhead wraps his arms around the Lord's shoulders, sinking his nose into soft curls. He indulges in that scent of vanilla and old pages that smells of everyday life, of long comfortable afternoons spent on the sofa reading or drinking wine. Aziraphale's scent, today, almost tastes like home. Almost, though. Only almost.

#good omens #good omens art #ineffable husbands #good omens au #gomens #crowley #good omens crowley #anthony j crowley #long hair crowley #good omens fanart #aziracrow #aziraphale #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #good omens fic #good omens human au #sugar

[vavoomed-for-crowley]

Vavoom!

Probably not what you're expecting but here it is anyway.

Aziraphale watches them closely as a smile is on the corner of his lips but sadness in his eyes. The latter is surely not be noticed by anyone else because no one can read him so well as Crowley had always been able to.

Actually, Aziraphale should feel lonely, having no one to talk to or to see how he really feels. But for some reason, he finds comfort in knowing that there is only one living being who was ever able to truly understand him and now to be able to hide his true feelings.

That doesn't mean he isn't hurting or that the other angels wouldn't notice it. For heaven's sake, Aziraphale would not even deny it when being asked about it. But he knows that the true depth of his emotions would never really be noticed again.

Suddenly, Aziraphale feels a hand on his shoulder. As if they could read his mind but who knows, maybe they could do even that, Metatron stands behind the Archangel. "You did a good job" they said. "This surely was no easy choice." A short pause, a little breath. "I'm sorry". They mean it.

"It's okay" Aziraphale answers without lifting the gaze from the view in front of him. He doesn't want anyone to see the tear that has formed in his eyes. And it really is okay, even though it hurts.

"You're going to be okay without him?" Metatron asks.

"Have been so far, at least more or less. So I will be."

Metatron keeps their hand on Aziraphale's shoulder and watches the demon with him for just a moment longer. "He looks happy"

"He does, doesn't he?!" Aziraphale says happily and turns with a smile to look at Metatron. His eyes shining like stars. Seeing Crowley happy would always be his highlight.

Crowley would not know the sacrifice Aziraphale did out of his love for him. But when Aziraphale had seen that for the first time in months, Crowley let someone else get closer to him again, he just knew it was the right thing to do.

Aziraphale knew that there was no way of seeing Crowley happy again for as long as he could remember him. Aziraphale watched Crowley stopping by the bookshop every day and watching the night sky when being drunk, remembering how he used to create the stars. Aziraphale had shared his pain, not finding a proper way to do his duty as an Archangel and go back to the demon he loves so much. He had thought about different ways but he couldn't do good to humanity and earth if he went back to Crowley.

So Crowley would not know that one day, Aziraphale had erased all of their memories together. Now, Aziraphale is no more than a faded memory of someone Crowley used to know. Crowley now remembers Aziraphale just as someone who's been in his life, who's been meaning much to him but has also been hurting him, without ever truly getting the hang of the depth behind it. Like the feeling of a bad dream at night, somehow so real, yet not tangible.

"A wonder so strong can only work due the ultimate sacrifice, out of love. How did you know this would work?"

"I didn't" Aziraphale answers. "Well, for erasing his memories, I knew, of course. But for them, I mean for him to fall in love... I just hoped for the vavoom."

"Vavoom?" Metatron asked.

"Oh, it's nothing" Aziraphale says and shakes his head slightly. He turns back to the view of Crowley and his partner. Crowley looks happy and relaxed, comfortable in his surroundings. Done are his days partying through the night and getting drunk to forget the pain he had gone through. Somehow Crowley had managed to find someone who understood him, without knowing too much.

Metatron puts down their hand and leaves the angel alone. It is his time to say goodbye for good and they have interrupted the angel for long enough.

"Vavoom!" Aziraphale smiles at the memory of Crowley talking about his plan to make Nina and Maggie fall in love. For heaven's sake, they've both been so blind back then.

Vavoom. The moment that makes them fall in love.

Who would have known that one day, it was a rainy day that would bring Crowley his own vavoom, finding someone he could fall for again after being splashed wet by the Bentley.

Vavoom. Now that Aziraphale thinks about it, even the car seemed to make that noise that day.

"Goodbye Crowley, you deserve all the happiness in life, my dear" Aziraphale said and closed the view on Earth.

Actually, there was more but I decided this is perfect fanfiction material. I'm also gonna keep the name. So, see this as a teaser for the actual story if you like.

#aziracrow #aziraphale #crowley #crowley x aziraphale #good omens #good omens aziracrow #good omens aziraphale #good omens crowley #good omens fandom #ineffable husbands #good omens fanfiction #good omens story #good omens fan #anthony j crowley #good omens season 2 #draft #writing

[thedemonastrophel]

Aaa quick one shot that doesen't fit into a story but I wanted to post it somewhere other than ao3

-----

“Well Mr. Crowley, it’s time to make a decision, one will be destroyed. Your beloved humans, or your beloved.”

Crowley glared at the hooded figures, practically snarling at them, bearing his pointed teeth.

They knew nothing of what he had with Aziraphale.

They knew nothing of what it was like to be human.

They knew… nothing.

“What are you talking about. ‘Course I choose Aziraphale!”

“Tut tut, not so quickly sir demon. We will give you five minutes to discuss.”

They vanished, and Crowley sat there dumbfounded.

“Wha- what the heaven just happened?!”

Aziraphale looked at him sadly.

“I think.. You and I have some things to discuss.”

He stared at his Angel momentarily, Aziraphale looked at him, and sighed.

“Do you remember the first day you came into my bookshop? The first day when you put your glasses down, and you spotted a book on my desk.”

“Aziraphale-”

“No. No, let me finish.

It wasn’t the first time you had gone to my bookshop, but it was the first day. The first day of the rest of our lives, after armageddon. Do you remember Crowley?”

“I- Aziraphale this is hardly the time for this.” He spat, trying to conceal the bite in his voice.

He was so frustrated but he couldn’t deal with this. Not right now.

“You asked what the book said; you couldn’t read it.”

Aziraphale looked at him, expecting a response.

“This isn’t relevant! Aziraphale now is not the time for this.”

“And… you asked me if I knew what it meant, what it said. I told you I didn’t, that was a lie.

As angelic beings- and don’t try to deny it because you are even if you have fallen -we can understand every language in creation. But not this one.

Did you ever stop? And think? And wonder, why that was?”

Crowley was on the verge of tears now. Aziraphale was surely being stupid. They were moments away from either the destruction of the Angel, or the destruction of the world. This was not the time to be speaking about things like this. Reminiscing.

Aziraphale eyed him.

“When I told you I couldn’t read it, that wasn’t true. I can read it. And I believe it has something to do with the fact that the book was intended for me.

It’s akin to the likes of Agnes Nutter, but far older. Made by something significantly more powerful.

It was written in a language that no one should understand. Not you, not I, nor angel nor demon from Heaven or Hell. No one should be able to comprehend or read that language. Save, for the highest authority.

God Herself wrote that book, at least that’s what I believe. But I could read it. I think that book was intended for me, Crowley.

Why it was I’m not sure, your heart is more pure than mine at this point. There’s no denying it.”

Crowley had given up trying to interrupt him as it clearly would have no impact, opting to let him speak. He was at least a little curious where this was going.

“In that book, on the very last page there was a date, that date was today. Do you want to know what was written underneath the date?”

Crowley shook his head slowly.

“I-”

“It said; ‘On this day, Angel, will be the day that you shalt die.’

I am not meant to survive this. I.. will not make it out of here alive. I can’t- It-”

He stopped, shaking.

Crowley knew what he was going to say, but he continued anyways.

“It’s not me or the world, Crowley. It’s saving the world, or saving no one.

I’m going to die either way, it doesn't matter what you choose.” His voice was cracking.

“Please. Save the Humans. Try- try to move on if you can I- I know it will be difficult.

I believe in you, I love you- I'm sorry.”

Crowley’s breath was shaking, barely able to keep it together himself. He just stared at him, tears, at this point were spilling onto his cheeks. Unable to form words, he instead just leaned forward. Gently, cupping Aziraphale’s cheek in his hand, and he kissed him.

It wasn’t like the first time, it wasn’t like any of the times after.

It was sad.

It had thousands of ‘goodbyes’ and ‘I love yous’ burned into its very existence. It had thousands of years of words behind it, all unspoken.

The loudest message, the loudest of all, the one that screamed, desperate to be heard, was the longing, the regret.

They knew they would never see each other again. They knew this was it.

This was the end.

The robed figures reappeared, they looked at him.

“Well demon, what is your answer?”

Crowley stared at them, he stood up straight wiping his eyes, his glasses long discarded at this point. He squared his shoulders and stared at them.

Into the shadowy depths of their hoods. He shuddered, took a breath, and spoke.

Slowly, ever so slowly, letting every word hang heavily in the air.

“I choose-” He swallowed. “I choose neither. I’m not going to sacrifice Aziraphale. But I am going to save the earth. So, out of the options you have given me, neither.

Aziraphale started to panic behind him.

“Crowley you can’t-”

He stopped, whipping around and whispered in a dry voice;

“Aziraphale trust me this one time, I swear to anyone who may be listening. If there was any time for you to trust me now is it, just let me do this.” He turned back around.

The hooded figures regarded him curiously.

“You know the stakes, surely. If you do not choose either, everything will be destroyed. You know this of course, so why. Why are you being foolish Crowley?”

A sharp cold shot through him. He reached his hand out to Aziraphale, holding him, lifting him to his feet.

He held his hand tightly.

“Because” He hissed. “I. Am still. A supreme Archangel. Whether or not I have access to my abilities, I was one once, I still am. You are not above me.

I can save both.”

He turned, Aziraphale’s wings bursting out to join them in this plane of existence, and Crowley’s doing the same.

The white against the black, the dark against the light. The light, the dimming light- his wings were darkening- why were they darkening?! Aziraphale didn’t know.

But Crowley did.

Crowley turned and he kissed him again.

This time it was not longing and regret, it was determination. He knew what he was doing, this was not a kiss of love, this was a kiss of magic.

A miracle in its own rights, not a demonic one, not an angelic one, simply a miracle. Bigger than any he had performed, but he stood there. And he kissed him.

Aziraphale’s wings began to darken. The feathers gradually turned black, black like soot, black like the inky darkness of the night.

And it spread.

It spread from the tops of his wings, down. Down, melting like an inkwell, a pen, a pen that was leaking, dripping, dying.

It spread across his wings, his feathers, his white pristine feathers. He was falling.

He hadn’t done anything necessarily, no, this was intentional. This was Crowley’s doing.

But why?

The hooded figures looked at each other, then they looked at him, questions brimming.

“What exactly do you think that is going to do?”

Crowley stopped. Aziraphale’s wings were dark, as dark as his. He stared at them defiantly, his amber-gold eyes practically glowing. He stared at them.

“I don’t need your help. I’ll save this world on my own, and Aziraphale with it. I will save every single bloody human on this planet- on this damned damned world. I don’t need your help.”

The beings looked at each other from behind their shadows of secrets. They seemed to be considering his words.

“Very well, do as you wish. You do not have much time, but if you think you can save them. Be our guest.”

With that they vanished.

Aziraphale and Crowley were back in the bookshop, both too stunned to speak as they collapsed onto the floor and tried to process what had just happened.

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #fanfic #fanfiction #good omens fanfiction #writers on tumblr #writing #i love them so much #one shot #He does the thing cause #It says angel #Maybe he can prevent Azi from being an angel #And save him

[ineffabildaddy]

favourite fic lines tag game

thank u @crowleyslvt for sharing this lovely idea and inviting me to do it!!! i’ve started doing it at work cause i’m bored lol. & i greatly enjoyed reading urs @captainblou and @ironriots so tysm for sharing!!!

For as many as you want of your published works, pick your favourite line/paragraph and post it up here. Let yourself feel proud of your creations.

as usual, explicit content incoming!!!

I Know

I know you want to interrupt me in the middle of a stammering sentence and lift your palm to my glowing cheek. I know you want to kiss me, gentle and fond as a fifteen year-old girl who silently watches the moon shimmer on the surface of a lake, shoulder to shoulder with the greatest friend she's ever known.

Flecks of Stardust

When I unmuzzle you

Moist, fertile earth spills out of your mouth

Preserved from the Eden days all these years

Nourished inside you like a measured promise

And when I unleash you

You remain beside the apple tree you were bound to

Beckoning me to bite once again

Strawberry Scripture

They came, in long rolling waves, at once, breaths squeezed out between yeses and fucks and darlings and angels, sweat trickling off skin and heat emanating off scales and fire casting two souls in iron, never again to be melted into separation. Aziraphale's spend leaked from Crowley's cunt and gushed down the plated finish of her thighs when he pulled out, and it was pure, it was good, it was right, it was just.

you’re so golden

For the first time, Crawley entered Aziraphale that night, chest fluttering and palms slick and dick flaring with ardent rhapsodies while Aziraphale rolled his hips again and again, seizing the flesh protecting Crawley's throat into his mouth each time Crawley's head fell back against the bark of the tree. By the time Crawley's dick twitched and streamed inside Aziraphale, every one of the freckles on his tanned shoulders was obscured by obscene purplish marks, which were not in view of either party, but were nevertheless making their presence known by way of pushing aching bursts all the way through to Crawley's bones. Drooling and hazy, Crawley allowed his eyes to buzz back into focus on the sheen of Aziraphale's stretch marks while he caressed Aziraphale's straining shaft, and oh, fuck, Aziraphale's spend was flecked with gold just as his skin was. In that moment, with Aziraphale squirming on Crawley's softening cock and showering his own belly with starlight, the words I love you sprung to Crawley's mind, although Crawley had very little concept of what those words meant.

Despite Knowing Better…

He paused a breathy, open-mouthed pause, and then: "I wish you could see yourself like this. My dirty, gorgeous slut."

Crowley's hips fidgeted. She pushed her ass further upwards and outwards, grinding against the air, against nothing.

"The sight of you, it's... it's nothing short of obscene."

The demon's eyes flew open. They were flooded, inundated, overrun with amber; not a sliver of white could be seen framing her irises. Her lids drooped slightly as she stared up at him. She was drooling so heavily now that streaks of her spit oozed from her mouth even as Aziraphale fucked it. Aziraphale beheld these developments with a laboured, guttural exhalation.

"Come here."

I’m Beginning to See The Light

"'Course, angel. Just need you nice and open for me first." Crowley's lashes lowered and he ran his tongue across his bottom lip as Aziraphale squirmed on Crowley's fingers, grinding his dick against Crowley's thumb. "That's it. Good boy, fuck my fingers, just like that." Aziraphale smashed his face into the pillow as his hips stuttered and he felt his dick throbbing. "Yes, yes, come for me, sweetheart, you were so so hard for me, you must have been that way for hours, bet that must feel good." The sweeping motions of Crowley's hips came to a halt, but resumed when Aziraphale lifted his face again and begged Crowley not to stop, pleaded with him to carry on. Crowley swallowed thickly, meeting Aziraphale's sleep-bleared eyes with his glassy ones as he fulfilled Aziraphale's request. "Fuck, you like it when I do this? Gorgeous boy, darling boy, you're killing me."

-

no pressure tags: @raining-stars-somewhere-else @createserenity @robinwithay @foolishlovers

#good omens #fanfic #ineffabildaddy #tag game #<3 <3 <3

[kimgalaxyway]

"Oh, dear!" Said Aziraphale, his voice astonished and soft at the same time, for seeing Crowley at the door of his bookshop at this time, looking different.

Before him was Crowley, his 666 code red hair long and wavy, pouring down his shoulders onto his chest. His pale face was just as pale as ever, and also as pale as the character he was pretending to be; a vampire.

Aziraphale watched him with an empathic smile. "Do you like Halloween, too? Why didn't you ever tell me?"

He had been interested in the event ever since it was invented, but he had never asked Crowley how the demon felt. He had guessed Crowley would imagine it as a way of copying Hellish creatures in a stupid way or something.

"I… well, I thought you wouldn't care about such a ceremony. You know, with your love for books and Heaven and all."

Aziraphale smiled. Before answering, he touched Crowley's shoulder and guided him inside the bookshop. "I love it, because people, whom I love, act as fictional and imaginary characters and collect candy and all."

He looked so happy that Crowley didn't want to cut his speaking line, but he had to say something.

"Can I stay here for a while?" His tone was kind of pathetic, which made Aziraphale slip to anxious mode.

"Wh-what's happened? Is there anything wrong? Is it because of hell_"

"Aziraphale!" Crowley almost shouted. He was breathing deep and fast, clearly unstable in emotions.

The angel stopped dead, his eyes wide at the shock. They were now standing inside, somewhere in front of the book cases.

"Should something happen to me to make me want to come here?!" Crowley's voice was shaking slightly, his fingers trembling in his fists.

Aziraphale opened his mouth a bit, but he couldn't think of anything to say. He sighed with his eyes still wide and looked away. The sight of Crowley's angry white face with those vampire fangs was scary in the dim bookshop on Halloween night.

He was making up his mind about what to say, but Crowley interrupted. "I-I'm sorry, Angel, s-sorry."

That scared voice made Aziraphale look up again quickly and glare at Crowley with his soft eyes. The demon's expression could be described in one phrase; screwed up.

Aziraphale couldn't stop himself when he held his hand forward and slid his finger gently upon the strands of hair waving against Crowley's clavicle and chest. His skin took in the beautiful sensation of soft hair. He didn't want his best friend to be so upset and scared, and he had already done an awful job. Of course Crowley shouldn't need a reason to come over.

Aziraphale swallowed before saying, "No, I'm sorry. Come sit with me."

He didn't wait to see how Crowley would react. The demon who was still shocked after the touch, followed. They reached the couches Aziraphale had in the back, and Aziraphale sat down, looking up at the overwhelmed demon patiently.

Crowley obeyed the unsaid order and sat down, his hair spreading against the back of the couch, his limbs wide as always. Aziraphale turned toward him. "So, I'm sorry again, dear. What can I do for you?"

Crowley didn't take the time before saying, "Touch my hair again."

Aziraphale's eyes widened, but he smiled. "Fine, why not?"

He then stretched his arm and put his hand softly on the back of Crowley's head. When the demon looked at him with an eyebrow raised, Aziraphale nodded. "Put your head in my lap, would you?"

Crowley lay down reluctantly, placing his head on Aziraphale's thighs. His red curls spread all over the angel's lap, which made him think of how beautiful an individual could be.

He slowly pushed his fingers between the curls, from Crowley's forehead to the middle. His skin would slide against the forehead for just half a second, and then go back through the full hair. The softness was running Aziraphale crazy, and he was sure he liked this craziness.

He did the job for a few more minutes, but suddenly, Crowley whispered, "I was so alone."

Aziraphale stopped. "What?"

"I felt so damn alone. That's why I came here. Are you upset? Did I intrude?"

Aziraphale looked startled. "Wh-what, no! Of course not. I'm sorry about what I said. It's great that you're here."

Crowley's face didn't change. "Also, do you know why I miracled myself into a vampire?"

Aziraphale shook his head with a tiny smile.

"I don't know, either. Just felt it was sexy."

Aziraphale laughed through his breath. He slid his hand against Crowley's forehead and caressed it for a while. "You look beautiful, really."

Crowley half smiled, but soon, it disappeared from his face. "I'm scared, Aziraphale."

"I'm next to you. I'm with you."

"Yes, but I'll have to leave."

"You can stay until forever. This is my bookshop."

"What if you leave?"

Aziraphale's hand stopped again. "Why should I?"

"Dunno. Just something happening in Heaven, something that changes our lives."

"Heaven isn't my side anymore. I betrayed them." The strokes continued.

"Yeah, apparently."

"They won't come back to us, never, ever."

Crowley didn't answer.

#good omens #good omens 2 #go 2 spoilers #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #ineffable divorce #neil gaiman

[ineffable-kelpie]

Emergency Hug

Rating: G

Wordcount: 1,374

Prompt: A reunion hug

Characters: Crowley, Aziraphale

A sort-of sequel to Privacy, but also works as a standalone.

-

Aziraphale was by the duck pond when Crowley stepped out of the Bentley. Of course he was. Crowley had arrived five minutes late, just to prove he didn’t care about wasting the Supreme Archangel’s time. And maybe, a bit, out of spite for the way Aziraphale had only broken his four-year silence to ask for Crowley’s help, and the emphatic silence in his letter on the subject of any previous friendship between them. Crowley wouldn’t have shown up at all, except for the fact that he had a stake in Earth’s survival, too.

Crowley stepped up beside Aziraphale. Aziraphale turned just enough to see Crowley out of the corner of his eye before his eyes flitted back to the duck pond. “Oh, hello,” he said, his tone unbearably polite. “I trust you’ve been well.”

He trusted Crowley had been well. His best friend had abandoned him and fucked off for four years, of course Crowley hadn’t been well. That should be obvious from the shadows under his eyes. Or it would be, if Aziraphale would actually look at him. “Just as well as yourself, I’m sure,” Crowley said sarcastically, and added, “Supreme Archangel,” in a mocking tone.

“That’s lovely,” said Aziraphale, as if he hadn’t been listening. “As I said in my letter, I would appreciate your assistance with…”

Crowley grimaced as Aziraphale repeated the letter that Crowley had already read. It was like someone had replaced Aziraphale with an automaton. Crowley had hoped for at least some hint of an emotional reaction when Aziraphale saw him again. But he still wouldn’t look at Crowley, so Crowley supposed he still didn’t know what Aziraphale’s reaction to seeing him would be.

“…So that’s the current plan, at a high level,” Aziraphale was saying. “I’m sure you can see the most obvious points of failure: . Unfortunately, so did Michael, so she added a few failsafes…”

Crowley wanted to interrupt, to say, look at me, Aziraphale, look me in the eyes right now like you did before you stepped on that elevator and left me here alone. Except he didn’t think Aziraphale would do it. Not when he was standing there, rigid as a lightpost, staring fixedly at the slate-gray pond, his hands locked in a white-knuckled grip in front of him, his face placid as if he’d had his emotions surgically removed—

Oh. Well, of course he wasn’t acting like himself. He’d spent the last four years in Heaven.

Now that Crowley recognized the signs, he wondered how he could have interpreted them as coldness. He knew what meetings in Heaven did to Aziraphale. He’d seen the state the angel was in afterwards. And he knew that, the more dire the situation, the more tightly Aziraphale locked his feelings up.

He wasn’t looking at Crowley because he couldn’t look at Crowley. Because he knew that would make him fall apart.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley interrupted.

Aziraphale paused in his monologue about schedules and failure points and distractions. “Ye-es?” he asked, stumbling over the word. It probably hadn’t occurred in any of his rehearsals.

Crowley didn’t know how to ask. “Are you okay” was a pointless question, when Aziraphale so clearly wasn’t. He wouldn’t admit to anything being amiss, anyway. But Crowley couldn’t just stand there and watch Aziraphale suffer, not when he knew what always helped Aziraphale after a visit to Heaven. What could ground him. He reached up and touched Aziraphale’s arm with two fingers.

Aziraphale stopped breathing. His eyes widened, and then he squeezed them shut. He didn’t speak.

“Oh, Aziraphale.” Crowley placed his hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder, then carefully slid it around his back to pull him in for—

“Stop,” Aziraphale gasped, jumping away from him. He tripped backwards a few steps, both hands held in front of him like a ward. “Stopstopstop, I can’t—” His voice cracked. He shut his eyes again and drew several deep breaths in what was clearly a desperate attempt to compose himself. “That is—This—This is a purely professional meeting,” he said, in a far less convincing attempt at his dry, polite tone from earlier. “Perhaps I wasn’t clear.”

Crowley let his arms fall. He didn’t move from where he was standing, or reach for Aziraphale. Did Aziraphale think he couldn’t show weakness in front of Crowley? That Crowley would think less of him? Crowley had a lot of reasons to think less of Aziraphale after he left, but not his need for touch. Never that. “So, you’re not dying for someone to touch you?” Crowley meant it to sound offhand, teasing. It didn’t.

“I…” Aziraphale wrapped his arms around himself and pressed trembling lips together. He stared at the ground, still unable to look at Crowley. “I-I…” Squeezing his eyes shut, he swallowed hard, and nodded.

Crowley snapped his fingers to put up a veil of privacy around them, took two steps forward, and wrapped his arms around Aziraphale. Aziraphale drew a sharp breath, but didn’t pull away again. He was shaking worse than Crowley had ever seen him. He leaned into Crowley, like Crowley was the only thing keeping him upright. “Crowley,” he said in a broken voice. He hadn’t actually said Crowley’s name until now.

Crowley held Aziraphale tight. He hadn’t thought they’d ever touch again like this. It probably didn’t mean anything, like a kiss given while administering CPR didn’t mean anything, but it still made his heart ache in his chest to hold Aziraphale close to him. “This doesn’t mean we’re good,” he said, in case Aziraphale interpreted this as some kind of forgiveness or acceptance, when he hadn’t even apologized yet. “I’m still pissed at you.”

Aziraphale nodded into his shirt and clung to him, so tightly that, had Crowley been human, he would have suffocated. How could Aziraphale have gone back, when he knew the effect Heaven had on him? How could he subject himself to that, so far away from anyone who cared about him? Why hadn’t he come to Crowley sooner?

“You’re an idiot,” was how these thoughts chose to articulate themselves.

Aziraphale shuddered under a wave of what sounded like sobs. “I rather am,” he choked.

It must be even worse than Crowley thought, if Aziraphale agreed with that. Crowley squeezed him tighter, in case that would help, and rubbed one hand up and down Aziraphale’s back. Everything he did only seemed to make Aziraphale cry harder. Although maybe that was a good thing, if all that emotion had been pent-up for as long as he’d been in Heaven.

“I’ve—m-missed you,” Aziraphale said, in between huge heaving sobs. “So terribly.”

“Nghh.” Crowley couldn’t think of anything to say. Obviously, he’d missed Aziraphale too. Obviously. He was dangerously close to tears himself. But this wasn’t the time or the place for this conversation, for the same reason that they shouldn’t have serious conversations while drunk. Maybe once Aziraphale was a little more stable, and neither of their heads was clouded by the hug, they could talk. “Let’s, er, not talk about this now. Later.”

Aziraphale nodded, sniffling. Neither of them spoke for a long, long time. Aziraphale didn’t seem to be getting any better, which was worrying. He was shaking even more now than at the start of the hug. How long would Crowley have to hold him, for it to be long enough? Months? Years? How long could they risk before someone came looking for their Supreme Archangel?

“We don’t have time,” Aziraphale said suddenly, his body tensing in Crowley’s arms. “Our meeting—we were supposed to plan—”

“We’ll reschedule,” said Crowley. “There was an emergency, it couldn’t be helped.”

“I-I only blocked my calendar to the end of the hour.”

Crowley held up his arm to look at his watch over Aziraphale’s shoulder. He was more relieved than he cared to admit to see that they still had time. It wouldn’t be nearly enough to bring Aziraphale back to his old self, but it was at least something to get Aziraphale from now until their next meeting. “We’ve got till the end of the hour, then,” he said, settling his hand on the back of Aziraphale’s neck. Aziraphale’s grip tightened. Softly, so softly that Crowley almost didn’t hear it, he whispered, “Thank you.”

#good omens fanfic #good omens ficlets #ineffable divorce #ineffable reunion #(is that a tag?) #touch-starved Aziraphale #hurt/comfort #hugs #hugfest 2024 #cyankelpie's fic

[aziraphales-library]

Hey there! I hope y’all are doing well :)

I tried to use the archive and the search bar, because im willing to bet someone’s already asked for this at some point— but alas, I was thwarted 😔

It’s the wall scene. The “I’m not nice, I’m a demon” scene. It’s stuck in my head and won’t leave. I would like to find some fic where the scene plays out a little differently than canon. It doesn’t have to be gratuitous, but like,,, a small kiss? Maybe Azi let’s something slip, that catches Crowley off guard?

Have a good one!

Hello! We have recommended some wall slam fics recently here. Here are some more for you:

Precipitating Factors by Brynncognito [E]

The first thought which crosses Aziraphale’s mind when Crowley shoves him against the wall, snarling that he isn’t nice, is (absurdly, inappropriately) that Crowley smells nice. There’s a deep, musky undertone to his scent that’s either cologne or something demonic, and Aziraphale really shouldn’t find it as attractive, as appetizing as he does no matter what the source.

The second thought which crosses his mind is that he’d really like to kiss Crowley.

Oops I Kissed It Again by DemonicGeek [G]

What would have happen if Aziraphale and Crowley had been interrupted just a few minutes later during that wall push scene?

your lips, my lips (apocalypse) by MovesLikeBucky [E]

“I want you, Crowley.” His voice is but a breath against Crowley’s ear, a soft wind carrying a warmth on it like Crowley has never known. “I’ve wanted you for so long. I want to give you anything you’ve ever wanted; I want everything that you are and everything that you could be, because, my darling, if we can’t figure this out… if we can’t stop it…”

Crowley turns and captures Aziraphale’s lips with his own, not wanting to hear how he knows that sentence ends.

OR

What if Mary didn't show up quite so fast?

MirroR or The Wall Slam Scene, Uninterrupted by Nadzieja [T]

Their breaths are mingling in the limited space between the words unspoken and Crowley wonders if this is something a demon like him is allowed. | Aziraphale can't allow himself to enjoy it through the guilt he's feeling, can't allow himself to enjoy it the way he always dreamed of.

Short re-imagining of the wall scene + a kiss, from both angsty pov's.

Hold Me Tight by cheerios_and_wine (E)

Aziraphale stared at his lips as if in a trance, like he had in that moment several weeks prior, mesmerised by Crowley. His eyes flicked up to meet Crowley’s again. “I wanted you closer.”

Crowley pressed in, his bony body pushing into Aziraphale’s soft one. He tilted his head, lips hovering above Aziraphale’s, their breath mingling.

An Ineffable Kinktober ficlet for Roleplay, in which Aziraphale wants to recreate a certain charged moment with Crowley.

Hold It Right There! by Ineffable_Geek (M)

The search for the missing Antichrist is not going well. When Aziraphale decides to have a little fun with Crowley before he can't ever again, it goes so much better than expected.

If only they weren't in the middle of Tadfield Manor.

Between a Wall and a Hard Place by Mossyrock (E)

Aziraphale hadn’t expected to be roughly pinned against the wall. But he's not complaining. It sends his thoughts down a very unangelic path.

My take on the wall push scene. Because everybody needs to do one.

~ Mods N & D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #adult omens #wall slam #mod n #mod d

[demonic-mnemonic]

@sex-dogs-and-sausage-rolls hey I'm sorry this took so long. The angsty version I started writing has uhhhh gotten away from me and might take awhile lol. In the meantime, here's this happy ending instead. Enjoy :)

“When heaven ends all life on earth it’ll be just as dead as if hell ended it!”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to protest and then stopped short. For the first time a sliver of doubt found its way through the haze of excitement he’d been floating in.

“But they…we wouldn’t. We’re the good guys.” He sounded much less certain this time.

“What do you mean they wouldn’t? They already tried! Pretty damn hard, if you’ll recall. Or were you and I at different Armageddons?”

“I…”

Aziraphale fell silent. They’d been at the same Armageddon alright. He recalled how angry Gabriel had been when it had stopped. And then he found himself thinking of every time he’d tried to reason with heaven before that. Gabriel’s cheerful anticipation of the war each time they had spoken of it, Uriel’s rage, the Metatron’s cold dismissal.

“But with…with Gabriel gone,” he paused and drew an uncertain breath. “If I’m overseeing…”

“Overseeing what exactly?”

Aziraphale blinked. He wasn’t actually sure. He’d been so caught up in the idea of saving Crowley from his damnation, of putting them both firmly on the same side once and for all, that he hadn’t really thought beyond that.

“Overseeing what?” Crowley pressed.

“I’m not…entirely certain.”

The sound of the bell above the door interrupted them and they turned in unison to see Metatron entering.

“How did he take it?” His cheerful smile slipped almost imperceptibly as his gaze fell on Crowley.

“Oh, terrific. Can’t wait to get started,” Crowley said, grinning almost a little too widely. He turned to Aziraphale, who was looking at him rather strangely. “Unless you have any questions first, Angel?”

“Ah. Yes.” Aziraphale turned back to Metatron. “When we return to heaven, what um…well, what is it we’ll be working on exactly?”

Metatron didn’t answer for a long moment. He was very carefully not looking at Crowley.

“Well, you’ll be working to further the Great Plan, of course! What else? It is heaven, after all.”

“Of course. But…further it how, exactly?”

“Yes, further it how exactly?” Crowley interjected cheerfully.

Metatron shot him a brief look that could only really be called a smile in the sense that his teeth were showing.

“Well, we can discuss the details when we get there,” he hedged, his voice still jovial.

“I rather think we should discuss them now, actually,” Aziraphale replied stiffly.

“Well, you’ll be working to oversee the next step.”

“Which is?” Aziraphale pressed.

“Which is…the second coming,” Metatron replied.

“I see,” Aziraphale said, glancing at Crowley.

“Right! Second coming, sounds terrific,” said Crowley, rubbing his hands together. He crossed the room and held the door open. “Right behind you, just give us a moment.”

“Of course,” Metatron ground out as he exited the bookshop.

When he had gone, Crowley turned back to Aziraphale, the fake smile he’d put on for the Metatron now gone. He stood in silence, waiting tensely for what Aziraphale would say next. The seconds stretched out like years between them.

“Oh. Oh dear,” Aziraphale finally said. “This is…I can’t…”

“Can’t do it?” Crowley ventured.

Aziraphale nodded and Crowley let go a shuddering breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“What now?” he asked.

“I don’t know. He’s waiting for us,” Aziraphale said, nodding toward the window. Crowley followed his gaze to where Metatron stood, watching the bookshop from across the street.

“Let him wait,” Crowley said, as he began pulling the shades down one by one. “He’ll get bored of it eventually.”

“I suppose so,” Aziraphale said doubtfully. He helped Crowley close the rest of the shades.

“In the meantime,” Crowley said, “I think I could really use a drink.”

“Quite right,” Aziraphale agreed. “Shall I get us a bottle?”

Crowley nodded. Aziraphale went to the back and returned a moment later with a bottle of wine. Neither of them said anything as he poured two glasses and handed one to Crowley, and they sat in silence together as they drank. It was Aziraphale who spoke first.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he said.

“Hmm?”

“I’m afraid I was rather rude earlier. You wanted to tell me something?”

“Yeah,” Crowley said. He tilted back his glass and finished it off. “Yeah. Yes. Thing is…”

Aziraphale waited patiently. Crowley drew a deep breath.

“We’ve been together a long time. I mean, not together together. What I mean is…”

Aziraphale leaned forward as Crowley rushed on before he could rethink what he was saying.

“We’ve been there for each other. We’ve been…I could always trust you. But I think…I think maybe I haven’t trusted you enough. I should have told you this a long time ago. I’m just…”

Aziraphale hesitated before slowly reaching up and gently removed Crowley’s glasses. He had tears in his eyes.

“I’m tired of pretending,” he finished softly.

“What are you saying?” Aziraphale was pretty sure he already knew exactly what he was saying. But he needed to hear it. He held his breath as he waited for Crowley’s response.

“I’m tired of pretending that I don’t want more.”

“No…” said Aziraphale.

Crowley’s face fell. Well. He’d given it his best shot, hadn’t he? He looked down at the floor and squeezed his eyes shut, the tears he’d been holding back falling softly to the floor. Aziraphale reached out and gently lifted Crowley’s face.

“No more pretending,” he breathed.

When Aziraphale’s lips met his, Crowley’s eyes flew open in surprise. But surprise quickly gave way. First to disbelief, then to wild elation, and then to complete abandon. And as they went to the floor together, 6,000 years of dancing around the truth they’d both always known went up in smoke. For a very long time they were lost in each other and knew nothing else. And then they slept.

Crowley woke first. The first rays of a new dawn shown faintly around the edges of the shades, and he watched as Aziraphale slept, his face bathed in the golden light. Aziraphale opened his eyes and Crowley brushed his fingers gently across his face. Aziraphale reached up and laced his fingers through Crowley’s. He closed his eyes and a pained expression crossed his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“For what?” Crowley asked softly.

“When the Metatron…I almost…”

“Doesn’t matter now,” Crowley said.

“I suppose not,” Aziraphale said. “Still. I just…I just…I wanted us to finally be on the same side.”

“We’re already on the same side. We’re on our side, remember?”

They were silent for a moment.

“Shall I…shall I do the dance?”

Crowley almost laughed.

“No,” he said. “No need. Breakfast?”

Aziraphale had to admit that breakfast sounded like an excellent idea. When they stepped out of the bookshop they both ventured a glance across the street. Metatron had gone. They got into the Bentley and as Crowley started the engine music came softly from the speakers. Aziraphale looked thoughtful for a moment.

“Do you suppose it did?” he asked.

“What?”

“The nightingale,” he clarified. “Do you suppose it’s singing?”

Crowley allowed himself a soft smile as he reached for Aziraphale’s hand.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I think it is.”

#good omens 2 alternate ending #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #good omens 2 fic #good omens fic #good omens 2 #good omens 2 fix it fic

[mimisempai]

My precious treasure

Summary

Realizing the state of her lover's nails, Aziraphale decides to take matters into his own hands and give the florist's precious hands the care they need.

Notes

50 Types of Kisses - Writing Prompts

Kiss #34: Kisses that start on their fingers and run up their arm, eventually ending on their lips.

On Ao3

Rating G -  481 words

"Crowley, stop fidgeting or I'll put nail polish all over your hands except on your fingernails."

Crowley shrugged and replied, "It won't matter because it's a transparent polish. Besides, why are you putting nail polish on me?"

Aziraphale sighed before replying, "Because it will strengthen your nails, which are in such a sorry state."

The florist replied, "Yes, well, I'm sorry for the state of my nails, but, as  you know, I have my hands in the dirt and flowers all day, so you can't expect me to..."

The bookseller interrupted, "I know very well what you do, it doesn't mean your hands have to stay that way, and if you won't take care of it, I will, so let me do it."

Crowley replied in an amused tone, "Okay, okay, I promise I won't move anymore."

Aziraphale had discovered the condition of his lover's hands as they walked hand in hand, and since that moment, he had not rested until he could take care of it when they got home.

He had taken care of Crowley's hands with the same meticulous attention he gave to everything he did, especially his beloved book, and after carefully nurturing the skin and filing the nails, he added the finishing touch by polishing his lover's nails.

As Crowley laid his hands flat on his lap, waiting for the polish to dry, Aziraphale put away the materials he'd used and said softly, "You make such beautiful things with your hands. They're precious, you know."

Turning to his lover, he took one of his hands, checked that the polish was dry, then brought it to his face and reverently repeated, "So precious," before placing light kisses on the florist's fingertips.

"Aziraphale..."

Crowley's throat tightened with emotion at the sight of Aziraphale's adoring gaze, and he couldn't help but gasp as his lover continued to gaze at him, lips trailing from his hand to his shoulder, spreading a path of soft, gentle kisses.

The bookseller's lips moved in this way from his lover's shoulder to his neck, continuing down to the square jawline, finally reaching the corner of his lips where he planted a light kiss before hovering over Crowley's lips.

His gaze became steady, as if waiting for Crowley's permission to continue, so without a word, Crowley simply parted his lips, and that was all it took for Aziraphale to go on. He pressed his lips to his lover's, their lips melting together perfectly in a kiss that lasted until they parted to catch their breath.

When Aziraphale pulled away, he cupped Crowley's cheeks with his hands and said softly, "I need to correct something I said earlier, though. It's not just your hands, it's your whole being, all of you are precious. You are precious to me."

Then he pressed his lips to his lover's in another kiss, and under Aziraphale's care, Crowley felt like the most precious treasure in the world.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable kisses series : here

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here

The florist and the booksellers series : here

#good omens #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #ineffable boyfriends #aziraphale #crowley #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #50 kisses #human au #alternate universe #flower shop

[theriverspath]

Good Omens November 2023 Writing Challenge. Day 4

This one turned out to be over 2,600 words! So, here's a snippet. If you like what you see, hop on over to my AO3 @theriverspath for the entire story.

-----------

Celestial Teas

[Crowley] didn’t know what he had been expecting on his first visit [to Celestial Teas], but Aziraphale had caught him completely by surprise. When he and Anathema had first walked in, the shop was bustling. People milled around the product displays or lounged in the chairs. Crowley had let his eyes wander, taking in the atmosphere. He thought the dark blue ceiling with the stylized gold stars was a nice touch.

“Anathema, dear!” Crowley’s attention snapped to the source of the rich, smooth voice. He felt his breath leave his body in a rush when he spotted the man making his way over to them. A welcoming smile and twinkling eyes sat beneath a halo of blonde curls. A light blue shirt was rolled up at the sleeves to reveal sturdy forearms. And, was that an actual bowtie?

He approached with short, confident steps, both hands held out to greet Anathema. She clasped them with her own and leaned in. To Crowley’s amazement, the two exchanged quick air kisses beside each cheek. The man leaned back, but didn’t release Anathema’s hands.

“I’m so glad you stopped by! I just got in some of that peach and white you’re so fond of. I was thinking of dropping you a text about it.” Anathema smiled at the declaration.

“Well, I must have picked up on it. I knew I had to bring Crowley in to see you today.” Anathema let go of Aziraphale’s hands and placed one on Crowley’s arm. “He's suffering from a little coffee addiction, poor thing. I was thinking that you might be able to help him?” Aziraphale shifted his gaze over, and Crowley felt both his stomach drop and his heart leap. The man’s expression was curious, open. Suddenly terrified that Aziraphale would try the continental greeting on him, too, he stuck out a hand between them.

“Er, nice to meet you. Anathema says that you’re a tea genius.” Oh, hell. What did I just say? Aziraphale chuckled, and took Crowley’s extended hand. It was warm and dry, and sent a jolt of electricity right down to Crowley’s toes.

“Well, that's high praise, indeed. Let’s see if I can live up to it.” Crowley noticed little lines crinkle around Aziraphale’s eyes as he smiled. “Coffee addiction, huh? I’ve got a lovely English Breakfast with enough caffeine to help transition you away from the ol’ bean juice. Would you like to try some? I can make up a cup at the counter.”

“Sorry to interrupt.” A young woman tapped Aziraphale on the shoulder. “But, we’re out of oat milk and I can’t find any in the back fridge.” Aziraphale excused himself to sort out the milk emergency with a promise to meet them at the counter later. Crowley watched him walk away. Respectfully. I am respectfully watching the way he fills out those khakis. Re-spect-ful-ly. He tried to convince himself.

The rest of the day was a bit of a blur in Crowley’s memory. The taste of the hot tea Aziraphale had made him, the sound of Aziraphale’s voice as he explained its properties, the disappointment he felt when Aziraphale was called away to help other customers, the way he held the small tin of looseleaf that Aziraphale had handed him at the register.

“Now, when you’re done with that. I’ve got plenty of other things for you to try.” Crowley felt a flush under his collar at the words. Tea, idiot. Get your mind out of the gutter. He’s talking about tea.

“I will. Thanks for your help today.” Crowley extended his hand for another shake. Aziraphale looked surprised, but pleasantly so. He took Crowley’s hand more carefully this time. Crowley felt the way the man’s soft spot at the base of his thumb fitted against the crook between Crowley’s own thumb and index finger. And, was that a little squeeze?

“It’s been a delight to meet you, Crowley.” Thankfully, Aziraphale released his hand and turned to Anathema. Crowley imagined that he’d only be able to manage a squeaky croak of a reply if Aziraphale had been expecting one.

“Anathema, always a pleasure. Do let me know what you think of the new chamomile blend. You have such a sensitive palate. I always value your feedback.” Aziraphale and Anathema repeated the air kisses, and before he knew it, Crowley was back outside. As they walked to where Crowley had parked the Bentley, Anathema looked over at him. She raised her eyebrows and leaned over just enough to bump her shoulder against his.

“I didn’t intend to play matchmaker today, just so you know. But, I think you may have charmed a particular ‘tea genius’.” Crowley groaned and rolled his eyes.

“Menace.” He muttered fondly before fishing a pair of sunglasses out of his coat pocket.

Following these prompts

Cross posted on Sendarya's Patreon discord

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens human au #good omens fanfic #good omens fluff #aziraphale/crowley #writing challenge #good omens ao3

[sparkly-key]

Quite the Imagination

After circumventing a suicide and being dragged to hell in 1827, Crowley draws on a hallucination of Aziraphale for sanity and strength. Written for Whumptober 2023, Day 2 - "I'll call out your name but you won't call back." Heavy content warning for blood, torture, imprisonment and all sorts of nasty business.

AO3

Hell, 1827

“So this is Hell?” Aziraphale mused, his white, blond hair brilliant against the dank monotone filter of the pits of damnation. He eyed the slimy gray walls with distaste, his pristine robe and enormous ox rib even more out of place in Hell than the angel himself.  “No, I don’t think I like it. You were right.”

(“I’m not taking you to Hell, Angel,” Crowley assured the principality as he arranged his robes and eased down on to the boulder.

Crowley watched the way the angel’s shoulders slumped, tension evaporating from them, and thought of how quickly Hell would shatter Aziraphale. Its vile nature wouldn’t even corrupt him, just leave him broken and shriveling in the sulfur pits.

If Crowley hadn’t deserved damnation, Aziraphale surely didn’t.

“Why not?” Aziraphale asked, his bright blue gaze heavy with confusion and relief.

“Well, I don’t think you’d like it,” the demon explained languidly, as if he hadn’t just decided he’d risk total annihilation to protect the angel who’d go along with Heaven as far as he could.)

“’Course ‘m right,” Crowley mumbled under his breath, so quiet the demon behind him didn’t even register the noise as he wound the whip back. “’M always right. Even got a dance about it.”

If the angel was really here, Crowley doubts he’d so docile about it. He imagines he’d thrash violently until the chain between the heavy manacles on his wrists and winding around the iron post crumbled from his fury. He imagines he’d do something clever to outwit the masses.

No, he knew the angel was a delirious respite from his torture, a mental balm for the pain that tore his physical form.

Valefar cracked the whip again and Crowley grunted, his fingers digging into his palms hard enough to leave marks, as Aziraphale bit into the succulent meat, juice dripping his chin. The angel ignored him, filling his mouth rather too full with food. His small noise of pleasure was muffled but no less delicious to Crowley.

He used it as an anchor, latching on to it desperately as the lash stung his back, tearing through the skin and muscle along his shoulders. He couldn’t stop the grunt of pain that tore through his lips, but it was better than the scream that threatened to escape.

Somebody interrupted Valefar behind him, earning Crowley a temporary reprieve. His muscles screamed at him, urging him to slump against the pillar, to conserve strength, but the redhead refused to even give a modicum of submission – his head unbent, glaring straight ahead defiantly.

“Rather good luck, isn’t it?” Aziraphale queried brightly when he finished chewing.

Crowley didn’t answer, his eyes squeezed shut as the whip dragged across the back of his naked calves, finding flesh unmarred by hours of torture.

“Imagine[1] how much worse this would be if they had found out about our arrangement?” the celestial being continued.

“Ngk.” The pleased noise came unbidden from his mouth, the sense of superiority that accompanied the knowledge that even as he was being punished, Crowley was cleverer than his tormenters, regularly defying the will of Satan and Her.

He wasn’t naïve enough to think Valefar’s punishment would be his last, but he didn’t dare risk letting something about his angel slip to a more … effective demon.

He grit his teeth as Valefar’s lion paw twisted in his hair, jerking his head back and pulling Crowley’s body away from the post.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were enjoying this, Crawley,” the Duke purred, a flash of annoyance on the human head that topped his lion body.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale and the demon corrected, the name echoing in his own head as the red head spat it out.

The Duke dragged his claws lazily across the original tempter’s body. He started at the juncture of Crowley’s jaw and neck, increasing the strength of his touch when the paw descended across his chest and dipped to his ribs.

Aziraphale winced as Crowley choked from the pain. The blood gurgled in Crowley’s throat, liquid as dark as obsidian seeping through the marks that widened lower down his body. The world seemed to blaze with searing white light as the paw tore across his back, ripping through the hundreds of wounds that covered the flesh.

Valefar withdrew his touch for moment, before trailing the outside of a single bloody claw along the curve of Crowley’s cheek to his temple. Closing his entirely yellow eyes before the blood ran into his vision, the serpent couldn’t stop the scream as the claw dug in, burying into his skull.

“That’s better,” his tormentor drawled pleasantly as the noise died in Crowley’s throat. He released the demon’s hair, the whip unfurling in his grasp as he stepped away.

Crowley pitched forward, his forehead resting against the post as his vision blurred. Aziraphale’s white robe filled his vision and his angel lifted his hand to the demon’s face, as if to brush the blood from his sight. But it did nothing.

Because Crowley was alone in Hell.

“I’m here, dear boy,” Aziraphale assured him weakly. “I’m with you.”

“Should go,” the prisoner gasped, the words barely audible even to his own ears. “Not … here, really …”

His angel frowned, his mouth quivering, and Crowley prayed to somebody that he never would never have to see the hallucination’s tears on his actual friend’s face.

“Crowley – “ the delusion started.

Whatever he was going to say was lost as Crowley screamed when the whip struck his back, his body stiffening in agony.

He cried, crumpling as far as his chains would let him.

For a second, he could have sworn he felt Aziraphale’s comforting hand on his shoulder, offering him support and strength to get through this. He opened his tear-filled eyes to meet his angel’s heavenly blue gaze.

“’M f…fine,” he lied. Biting back a small sob, he forced himself to his feet, demanding his body stop the tremors that overtook him. Aziraphale was no longer in front of him. “Ssssee you ssssssoon[2].”

[1] Crowley would not. As Aziraphale’s hallucinated presence proved, Crowley had far too powerful of an imagination to even chance ushering such a possibility into a reality.

[2] Crowley clung to his imaginary angel several times in his imprisonment, sustaining him through the eternity that seemed to pass until he asked his angel for a favor in person in St. James Park.

#whumptober 2023 #good omens #Aziraphale #Crowley #cw: gore #cw: blood #cw: torture #cw: imprisonment #trigger warning