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cristinaecho · 2 years

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South Downs Cottage

"I'm leaving London" Said Crowley.

Aziraphale, about to eat a piece of angel cake, froze immediately. He looked at the demon, sitting in front of him, with puzzled expression.

"What?"

Crowley shrugged a bit.

"Yeah... I've been thinking about it for a while"

Aziraphale was in shock.

"But... but, you love London!"

"I do..."

"Then, why? Why do you want to leave?"

"I just think it’s time... I'd like to try something different."

Aziraphale suddenly felt a terrible sense of powerlessness. He kept looking at his friend with stunned expression.

"But... what about your flat?" What about me?

Crowley shrugged again.

"Well, I'll keep it. I might always want to come back for some reason and a flat in central London can come in handy."

Aziraphale slowly lowered his fork. He wasn't hungry anymore.

"And, uhm... where are you going to go?" He did his best not to sound betrayed, abandoned.

"I found a Cottage in South Downs. I just saw it and thought it was perfect. I bought it a couple of weeks ago..."

The angel felt his heart break in his chest.

"Oh..." he forced himself to smile, lowering his gaze a bit "it sounds lovely."

"It is..." said Crowley nonchalantly.

An uncomfortable silence descended upon them. Then, for the first time since he brought up the subject, Crowley looked nervous.

He cleared his throat.

"It's pretty big, you know... for one person. I'm sure there would be enough space even for your books."

Aziraphale immediately looked up at him again.

"Not all of them, of course... it's not that big. But the most valuable ones, maybe..."

The angel just stared at him, for the second time, in complete shock.

What was he trying to say?

Was he...?

No, he wasn't.

He couldn't...

Could he?

Crowley swallowed, stiffening under his gaze.

"I mean, I understand if you don't want to... It's not like we’ve ever had this conversation before. I just thought that maybe, uhm... it could be nice. Some peace and quiet. Just you and me..."

Aziraphale felt his heart begin to beat ridiculously fast in his chest.

Oh, Good Lord.

He was.

He was definitely asking him to move in with him!

Although...

Better to double check.

The angel cleared his throat a bit, doing his best to look calm.

"Do you mean like, I don't know... a holiday? Would you, uhm... like me to come for a weekend, or for a few days?"

The demon looked at him with the same bewildered expression of someone who thought he had been quite obvious.

"No, I mean you could come to live there. With me."

Aziraphale distinctly felt his self-control crumbling immediately and a wave of excitement and euphoria invade him.

He managed to keep it together by the skin of his teeth.

He cleared his throat again and did his best to maintain his composure.

"Crowley, you... you bought a Cottage in South Downs, and now you are asking me to move there with you?"

Crowley shrugged again, trying to look casual and failing miserably.

"Yeah!" He just said, in a too high-pitched voice to sound convincingly calm.

Aziraphale stared at him for a moment and then gave him his most ridiculously happy smile.

"Oh, Crowley! This is definitely one of the most romantic things you've ever done!"

Crowley froze.

"Shut up!"

"I can't believe how sweet you are!"

Crowley looked at him with all the annoyance he was capable of.

"That's it. Forget it, you are not coming."

Aziraphale's smile widened even more.

"Oh, Crowley! I've always said that-"

"I swear, shut up or I'm leaving right now!"

Aziraphale stared at him lovingly, beaming. He couldn’t stay silent for more than two seconds.

"Can I bring my gramophone too?"

"You can't, because you are not coming. Offer is over."

"Oh, come on!" Chuckled the angel. "You can't play this game with me anymore! At this point I'm surprised you don't already have a copy of the keys for me."

Crowley stiffened and blushed immediately.

Aziraphale looked at him in pure amazement and his jaw dropped.

"Oh my God!” The angel shouted “You do!"

"Shut up and eat your stupid cake!"

#goodomens #goodomens2 #good omens #good omens 2 #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #david tennant #michael sheen #south downs cottage

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lady-divine-writes · 5 years

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A Blessed Fall (Rated NC17)

Watching Aziraphale fall breaks Crowley’s heart. For Aziraphale, however, it’s a beautiful experience - birth and death, transformation, and a new beginning all wrapped up in one.

Because he’s not alone. (1819 words)

Crowley gazes lovingly at his angel’s naked body – a glorious sight he thought he might never see. He leans in to kiss the back of his neck, sending shivers down his spine. The smile he wears as he watches Aziraphale’s breathing slow, his breathing settle, is genuine, but bittersweet in nature. He’s proud of his angel. Proud of how he’s chosen to handle things. Proud to be with him.

He just wishes things could have turned out another way.

Aziraphale looks different now. So terribly different. His curly white locks have become silver-grey. A dashing silver-grey, Crowley feels. They lend color to his face, make him appear less pale, less ethereal.

Less untouchable.

That naïve blush of rose in his lips and cheeks has blossomed into a fiery stain, washing away any hint of innocence that once existed before. But the most obvious change has been his angel’s eyes. They’ve gone black from the whites straight through the blues. A shiny, silky black, like an oil slick.

It’s not unattractive. It’s just going to take some getting used to.

“How do you feel, angel?” Crowley whispers. His word usage may seem unusual, all things considered, but he refuses to stop calling Aziraphale angel. When he started, it wasn’t so much a nickname but an indicator of what Aziraphale was, the boundary that existed ever between them.

6000 years later, it means so much more.

“I feel … sleepy … sore,” Aziraphale teases, hugging his pillow beneath him and giggling like a fool.

At least he’s a happy fool, Crowley thinks, his smile trembling at the corners.

“I should imagine so. That happens the first time, or so I’ve been told.”

“You mean you don’t know?” Aziraphale asks, and Crowley’s smile trembles a little more. Aziraphale may not look as innocent as he did, but it’s still there, buried deep inside.

“I don’t. This was a first for both of us,” Crowley reassures him. He runs his nails lightly down Aziraphale’s back, skirting his shoulders, avoiding the shattered nubs of broken wings. He closes his eyes and pictures Aziraphale’s wings as they were – strong, graceful arches of pristine white feathers towering over his head, shielding him from the rain.

His wings will grow back, albeit a different color.

Unfortunately, them coming in will hurt twice as much as him losing them.

He told Aziraphale that. Warned him. He didn’t want to. He wanted to put it off, give Aziraphale time to adjust before he came at him with more bad news. But Aziraphale asked him, begged him not to lie to him even for his sake. So Crowley told him, explained it in detail the way he remembered it, Aziraphale looking at him the entire time with sadness creasing his brow. Crowley thought Aziraphale had been devastated by his description, maybe frightened by the thought of more pain. But Aziraphale put a hand to his demon’s cheek and said, “Oh, you poor dear.”

“Wha-what? What are you talking about?”

“So alone. So scared. So full of doubt. That wasn’t right. Wasn’t right at all.” Aziraphale smiled. “At least I’ll have you here beside me. I wish I could have been there for you.”

Then Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s hand and kissed it to keep from losing the last bit of strength he had left.

Crowley didn’t particularly want to be reminded of falling, but it wasn’t the kind of thing he could forget. He didn’t need Aziraphale falling to trigger it. It would be easy to distance himself from Aziraphale now. Maybe that was what the Almighty was counting on when She pulled this little trick.

Finally separating them for good.

That’s what started this anyhow.

The worst part is Aziraphale would understand.

He’d forgive him.

But Crowley couldn’t do that to Aziraphale. No matter what happened between them, he could never abandon Aziraphale. Not when his angel truly needed him. Crowley may be many things. He’s vain beyond belief. He may even be a coward on occasion. But he loved Aziraphale more than he loved himself.

He couldn’t leave him.

Crowley fell from Grace because he’d asked questions. Too many questions. He was a menace with questions.

Aziraphale didn’t fall because they’d made love to one another. That actually came after. A celebration of sorts.

Aziraphale fell because he said no to God.

He’d received an express post envelope that morning from Gabriel – one of the Archangel’s long-winded letters pretentiously printed in gold ink on white parchment. It read, “Principality Aziraphale: It has come to the Almighty’s attention that you have been conspiring with a demon of Hell (because, of course, there are demons of other places, Aziraphale had joked to himself, such as Waitrose and the laundromat) by the name of Crawly for the entirety of your assigned years on Earth. After lengthy consideration by a congregation of your superiors, this has been deemed fraternizing with the enemy, a crime that carries with it a substantial penalty. It is therefore required by the home office that you cease all communication with said demon immediately or suffer the consequences.

Sincerely;

Gabriel

Archangel”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes as he snapped his fingers and sent back a message of his own that read, “Dear Archangel Gabriel: I apologize but I find I must decline your recent request on the grounds that it is wholly unreasonable and unnecessary. Nothing with regard to my relationship with the demon Anthony J Crowley makes me unfit or incapable of doing my job on Earth as outlined in its description. Neither has it for the past six plus millennia, as evidenced by my list of accomplishments (see attached). Therefore I see no reason to terminate said relationship as a requirement for me to continue my duties. Thank you, however, for your concern. It is duly noted. If there is a fine that I must pay for my perceived insubordination, please let me know what it is so that I may appeal it expeditiously through the appropriate channels.

Sincerely;

Aziraphale

Principality”

Aziraphale felt no fear nor hesitation in sending that message off, even with the knowledge that it could be forwarded to God Herself. He’d done nothing wrong. He had no intention of shirking his angelic duties. He never had. But he also had no intention of giving up the one thing on Earth that was his and his alone - his lifelong friendship with Crowley. Being friends with a demon didn’t make him a lesser angel, and as such, he didn’t feel he should be forced to make a choice.

Aziraphale waited for a response, but when he received none, he put the matter out of his mind.

Later that evening, while drinking with Crowley in his bookshop, he felt an odd pain in his chest. It hit him hard like a hammer straight to the ribcage, radiating to his shoulders and down his torso, filling every limb with white hot pain. Were he mortal, he might have thought he were having a heart attack. He’d never experienced anything like it before. It felt like a fork digging through his insides, trying to tear him apart.

Crowley seemed to know it for what it was just by looking at him. He ran to the angel’s side and took his hand as Aziraphale slid off the sofa and fell to the floor, writhing in agony. Crowley caught his gaze and locked on to it, determined not to let go, even when the fire beneath Aziraphale’s flesh began to burn him as well.

“Stay with me,” Crowley whispered. “It’s going to be all right. I promise. But whatever you do, don’t give in to it. Don’t let it destroy you.”

“I … I won’t …” Aziraphale said, anchoring his gaze to the serpent eyes in front of him, using them to keep him grounded.

Then the world went black and all he could feel was pain.

Pain and Crowley’s hand holding his.

But now, lying beside Crowley on his enormous mattress, Aziraphale doesn’t feel any different - apart from the throbbing in his back where his wings have been singed off. Which is to say he doesn’t feel Evil. Ironically, he feels that his capacity for love, for compassion, may have even grown somewhat. If that’s a side-effect, if it’s temporary, only time will tell. But he should find a way to use that for as long as it lasts.

Crowley had said that a demon could get in real trouble for doing the right thing, but he’s been performing blessings for thousands of years. Aziraphale needs to find out how Crowley has been able to manage it without getting caught. He definitely sees the opportunity to exploit a few loopholes.

He finds himself getting excited just thinking about it.

The act of falling, the physical manifestation of it, is what he’d always imagined birth and dying feeling like, only in reverse. There are things he’ll miss about being an angel. Absolutely there are things he’ll miss. But he’s choosing not to think of those right now. He’s gone through a transformation, a new stage in his existence. He’s metamorphosed, become a dark butterfly. And at the other end of his fall was Crowley, kissing his forehead, murmuring words of encouragement …

… even praying for his safe return.

Before he’d opened his eyes, he heard Crowley say that he’d love him forever. He’d take care of him, stand beside him no matter what he turned into, and Aziraphale couldn’t help grinning.

It sounded like a wedding vow.

But the oddest thing of all is the thing he’d feared the most – he doesn’t feel God’s love any less than he had before. He thought for sure it had been torn from him in the process of falling and that there’d be a void, but it was still there. He may be mistaken, but it feels that way.

Maybe because he has Crowley with him, loving him enough for both God and himself.

All in all, along with making love to his demon, falling has actually been a beautiful experience.

Fancy.

“Are you … are you scared?” Crowley asks.

“No,” Aziraphale says without pausing to think, wiping at the worry on Crowley’s face with a kiss on the lips. “Not a whit.”

“How …?” Crowley shakes his head, his voice dissolving with every word “… how can you say that? Everything you had, the life you knew … it’s all over.”

“It’s not all over. Stop being such an alarmist.” Aziraphale rests his forehead against Crowley’s and scrunches his nose, trying to lure a smile from his demon. “Listen - are you willing to stay with me, dear boy?”

“Every minute.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.” Crowley sniffs. “I … I swear.”

“Then I choose not to see this as an ending” - Aziraphale pulls Crowley down beside him and wraps his arms around him - “but the beginning of a great adventure.”

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #frankie writes

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sesquipedalian-aficionado · 5 years

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Good Omens

Warnings: none

My first actual posted fanfic? I think? Based on this lovely post. Anyways there’s some angst but it resolves well and lovingly, I promise!

It didn’t happen all at once.

Crowley would be hard-pressed to say when the issue had actually started, mostly because - being an absolute moron - he had misinterpreted it at first. Because what didn’t he misinterpret, when it came to Aziraphale? He always thought he knew what the angel was about, and then something like this happened. After 6000 years, Crowley was always blindsided by his own stupidity.

The expected End of Days had in fact turned out to instead be the beginning of rather a lot of things. One of said things was a...well, a...well, something between himself and Aziraphale. He’d be damned (well, likely not, but he’d always been fond of the turn of phrase) if he tried to define this whatever-it-was and scared his angel off. Having been some degree of mortal enemies for several centuries, he felt qualified to decide that anything at all was better than no Aziraphale.

Nevertheless, what they’d had was something. Had been something. Or…something.

He groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. He was flopped dramatically over his sofa, one leg on the floor, one over the back. He groaned loudly again into the empty room, just for effect. It was, he noted peevishly, much less enjoyable to sulk in his own flat, with no angel to bother into fussing over him.

He shifted restlessly and considered the facts again.

When things had...well, ‘begun’ seemed the wrong word, since for him they had ‘begun’ over six thousand years ago; perhaps ‘sped up’ was better, loathe as he was to use that terminology - anyway, when things had started to move in this direction, Crowley had begun to notice something. He wasn’t sure what was happening at first, but eventually he realized that Aziraphale’s bookshop (a stretch of the term, since Crowley had only heard rumors of his angel ever actually selling a book) was changing.

This was entirely unprecedented, and at first Crowley had been thrilled - a reaction he was now deeply ashamed of. To think he’d thought it was for him!

It had been a couple of weeks or so after the kingdom didn’t come, and he’d been slouched on Aziraphale’s sofa, glass of wine in hand. He’d tried to put the glass down, only to have his angel snatch it while scolding about how he was about to ‘ruin the cover on that book’ and ‘coasters are a phenomenal invention, Crowley, so stop glaring at me’.

Crowley had groaned and made a face.

“Honestly, angel, do you like not having any flat surfaces free? Or floor space?”

He hadn’t thought anything of the comment. He’d said similar before, affectionately of course, and Aziraphale well knew how different their apartments were, which Crowley did notice but did not mind in the slightest.

So he had therefore been touched - more than touched, honestly every time he thought he was as deep as he could go into love with this bloody angel it just got worse - when the next time he’d come over to find an end table entirely free of books, and with one plain brown square coaster on it.

He hadn’t commented, showing his gratitude by using said coaster and trying to keep his feet away from the books more than usual.

And then that second had, worryingly, become much less of a problem when those books, too, began to disappear. It wasn’t all at once, but after a couple of weeks Crowley sauntered in and found he suddenly had room to saunter. Because half of the books were gone.

Oh, it still looked like a bookstore, with the shelves all still full and in place, but the odd tables covered in first editions? The strange lamps? The knick knacks falling over each other? Gone. Or, if not gone, then organized and straightened and much more orderly than Crowley had ever seen them. And it was all very slightly wrong. At least, it had been very slightly wrong at first. Now, it was bordering on the beginning-of-a-horror-movie, nothing-was-as-it-should-be wrong. And the worst part was, Crowley didn’t know how to bloody mention it to his bloody angel! He’d thought it was sweet - had thought it was adorable, how his angel was making space for him.

He gritted his teeth in his flat and growled in frustration. His plants all shuddered.

This was what he got, thinking Aziraphale was making space for him. Honestly. Aziraphale had never needed to do that, and he certainly wasn’t starting now. This was something else, then. But what? Crowley was, underneath the frustration and self-loathing, utterly mystified.

And worst of all, Aziraphale wasn’t talking about it! When Crowley had gone very still one day, surveying the suspiciously spacious shop, he caught a glimpse of the most peculiar expression crossing his angel’s face. Something like desperation mixed with forced indifference. Clearly he was hoping Crowley wouldn’t notice it, or at least would have the decency not to mention it.

If he hadn’t known Aziraphale for so long, he’d have let it go. And that really was the problem. He did know Aziraphale. Had known him for 6000 years, as confusing as those years had been. And he knew, he knew how his angel felt about his books. He often wished Aziraphale felt about him the way he felt about books. The look Crowley’d gotten when he’d saved those prophecy tomes for his angel during the Second World War...well, that was a look he wouldn’t forget. Ever.

And now his infuriatingly confusing angel was just getting rid of books left and right? It made no sense. Well. It wasn’t like he could do anything about it. Aziraphale wanted him to ignore it, and his angel always got what he wanted.

Aziraphale had wanted Crowley to notice. He was trying to nest, for goodness’ sake! What was the point of it all if Crowley didn’t even notice? He’d been trying so hard! He’d spent nearly two and a half centuries on this nest! Admittedly most of that time was spent trying to convince himself that he was not nesting, and even if he was it certainly wasn’t for the charming demon he wasn’t even supposed to like, but all the same!

He was wandering around his shop, waving his hands in a flustered sort of way. He’d been faced with a rather overwhelming realization during the Apocalypse That Wasn’t, finally accepting that he’d been nesting for his demon ever since he purchased a nice little bookstore during the French Revolution. This realization had felt right, like something finally settled into place in his life. He could finally relax, finally let Crowley into this nest that was absolutely for him. Why had he even tried to lie to himself?

And then everything had gone wrong. They’d switched places, and Aziraphale had been dragged down into Hell to face Crowley’s trial. And Hell had been awful.

That seemed naive, and an understatement to boot, but it was true all the same. He’d never realized...he’d thought it was bad, of course it was bad, it was Hell, but it was...he was shuddering even at the memory. The trial was, comparatively, not even that terrible compared to being dragged through the crowd of demons, filthy and horrifically angry darkness crushing in on every side. It was everything Heaven wasn’t, dark and crowded and angry and loud and filthy, everything coming at one from all sides.

When he’d gotten out, he’d been relieved to roll his shoulders and stretch out his arms in the park, in the open sunlight, with space all around.

Even then, the other shoe hadn’t yet dropped. Everything was fine - he and Crowley had their own side at last. Aziraphale was almost giddy off the euphoric rush he got every time he was able to dismiss the reflexive obligation to distance himself from the demon. He didn’t have to do that any more!

And then Crowley had made a comment about the clutter in his shop.

It was a comment he made lightly, and a comment he’d made many times before. Which was actually quite a bit worse, because oh, no. And Aziraphale was abruptly thrust into memories of Hell, of the crushing and the claustrophobia and the feeling of having absolutely no escape from the dark.

Aziraphale was an angel. He knew that everything within his physical form was exactly where it was supposed to be, because he’d know if it wasn’t. But at that moment, Aziraphale perfectly understood the human phrase of having your heart ‘sink’.

What had he done? He’d tried to make something nice for Crowley, and look what had happened! His nest reminded Crowley of Hell, of course! Of course he hated it! Aziraphale had always assumed that Crowley’s barren flat was some sort of side effect of the demon’s apparently lack of materialism as well as the fact that the demon didn’t really spend much time on himself or his things (besides the Bentley, of course). But of course. He was trying, in his own way, to distance himself from that awful, awful place he had to report to. And Aziraphale was just dragging him back to it every time he came into the shop!

Aziraphale had immediately tried to clear off a surface or two around the sofa Crowley liked to throw himself over. And the demon had reacted. Okay, he hadn’t said anything, but Crowley never really did say anything in situations like this. And the little smile flickering over the corners of his mouth, like he was trying to repress it but couldn’t quite manage, made Aziraphale’s heart stutter in a wonderfully pleasant way.

So, the books had to go somewhere. The lamps, the tables, the odds and ends...he loved his bookstore dearly, but between books and his dear Crowley, he knew easily which he cared about more - and now that he was allowed to care in the way he did, nothing would stop him from giving Crowley anything he wanted. Goodness knew Crowley had been doing that sort of thing for him for ages.

And Crowley seemed to respond. Aziraphale had guessed correctly. Crowley was spending more time than ever at his bookstore.

Crowley was at the bookstore almost all the time now, increasingly worried about his angel. What was happening? This should have been excellent! Aziraphale was able to let him stay, and Crowley felt keenly that now, he was able to find a place in Aziraphale’s life without getting him into trouble.

He still shuddered at how flippant he’d been with Aziraphale’s life before. Well, not flippant, he’d never be that careless with the most precious thing in his life, but...They hadn’t even given Aziraphale a trial. That still made his every muscle seize with fury, still gave him screaming nightmares -

But that wasn’t the problem right now, he reminded himself. He had years unto infinity to kill Gabriel, slowly, for what that piece of muck had tried to do to his angel.

The problem right now was that Aziraphale was not acting like himself, and Crowley had six thousand years of experience to back that analysis up.

Aziraphale and Crowley were sitting in one of the shop’s back rooms, drinking. It was late, and Aziraphale was enjoying the feeling he got when he instinctively opened his mouth to suggest Crowley leave and then remembered he didn’t have to do that any more.

In fact, he decided to go and fetch another bottle, feeling rebellious and warm and excited. Probably that was partially the alcohol.

When he got back…

Crowley was holding a book, open, and frowning at it. He looked up when Aziraphale reentered the room, and, to Aziraphale’s mortification, held up a soft, downy white feather.

“Are you bookmarking your novels with your feathers?” Crowley demanded in amused bafflement.

Aziraphale blushed.

They were his feathers. They kept coming out, ready for him to line his nest with - some sort of physical-emotional response to the process, he supposed - so he’d been tucking them into his books as a sort of compromise. And now Crowley was holding one up.

For a moment, Aziraphale panicked - this meant Crowley would know, would guess, that this was for him, he’d just be leading the demon on, they wouldn’t ever be able to -

And then he remembered that they were able to, and the flush of joy gave him the confidence to admit the truth.

“I’ve been...or, rather, I am, nesting.”

“...nesting?” Crowley repeated faintly.

Aziraphale winced. Had he truly been so very bad at it that Crowley had noticed nothing at all?

“Yes, dear. I’m nesting. I’m...I’m really so very sorry,” he added suddenly, deciding to blame the alcohol for swaying him towards honesty, “that it took me so long. I’m sorry it was so awful at first. I didn’t mean to remind you of Hell, really I didn’t, I meant it to be nice and I was so awful, and I’m so sorry, my dear, really -“

Something in Crowley’s face stopped him. Or rather, a lack of something in Crowley’s face. Crowley had frozen, hand still holding the feather aloft.

Crowley himself was desperately trying to land a mental foothold in this information, but could find none. He was utterly confused and now slightly panicking.

Aziraphale was nesting? For him? And what on Earth did he mean, ‘remind you of Hell’?! And Aziraphale was calling himself awful!

That, more than anything else, popped Crowley’s mouth open again, but he only barely managed to croak, “Hell?” through his reeling thoughts.

Aziraphale flushed, sitting down on the sofa but not looking at Crowley. “I...I didn’t realize,” he began haltingly, “that it was like that. So...crowded, everything so dirty and dark and pushing in on you all the time, and...no wonder you didn’t like it here.”

Crowley thought he had found a handle on the conversation, but his handle made no sense. Was Aziraphale comparing his bookshop...to Hell? No. No, he couldn’t be. But then something else clunked into place.

“Is that why you’ve been getting rid of your books?”

Aziraphale hesitated, and then, in a very small voice, he admitted, “They’re not gone. They’re in boxes, in a closet in the back, I couldn’t bear to - but of course, of course I could,” he immediately back-tracked, “of course, if that’s what you wanted, they’re just things, and you’re…” he paused for a long moment before huffing frustratedly at the lack of an appropriate word.

“An idiot?” Crowley supplied without thinking, still trying to catch up in the conversation.

Aziraphale turned to him in shock. “No! Crowley, you’re...you’re…” his earnest expression spoke volumes, even before he finally picked a word: “everything.”

Crowley’s struggling thoughts screeched to a halt in astonishment.

Aziraphale continued undeterred. “You’re everything, Crowley! Everything! You’re here, and we’re us, and that’s everything!”

Crowley started to cry.

Not his best moment, not his smoothest, and certainly not his most charming. But he couldn’t help it, and before he knew it tears were streaming down his cheeks as he stared at his angel in awe.

Aziraphale, for his part, looked mildly panicked, but understanding. “I’m so sorry...for so long…”

“You...you chose...me? Over...over your books?”

Aziraphale smiled, a bit confused. “Yes, of course I did, dear. And it’s okay, I know better now-“

“It’s not okay!”

Aziraphale stopped talking, mouth snapping shut, red flooding his cheeks.

“Put them back!”

The expression on Aziraphale’s face was all that stopped him from his panicked and confusing shouts, as he realized that without some major rephrasing he was seconds from making his angel flinch into the sofa to get away from him.

“Angel.” This was softer in volume, but no less emphatic in tone. “I’m never...I wouldn’t…this is nothing like Hell!” He finally exclaimed, leaping from the sofa in an abrupt, adrenaline-fueled motion to wave one long arm wildly around at the shop.

Then his words caught up to him, and he winced. “I mean...for Satan’s - God’s - someone’s sake! Angel.” He sank back down onto the sofa, needing to explain, needing to make that pained and ashamed look on his beautiful angel’s face go away forever and never come back.

“Angel, this is nothing like Hell. This has never been anything like Hell.”

Suddenly, in a fit of helpfulness, his mind processed a lot of things all at once, and graciously provided him a reminder of what Heaven was like. A reminder of how Aziraphale must have felt, all up there and alone, treated as lesser in that frigid, empty place. No touch, no interaction. Nothing but cold white light and and colder orders.

Oh, hell. No wonder Aziraphale surrounded himself with small odds and ends, with light and words and fiction. There had been none of that in Heaven.

Crowley suddenly breathed out quickly, feeling like he’d been punched.

Aziraphale was watching him in complete, agonized confusion. “But...you said...crowded.”

Crowley paled. “Angel, angel, no! I never meant...no!” In a sudden fit of recklessness, he grabbed one of Aziraphale’s hands. Aziraphale didn’t pull away and oh I’m holding his hand oh no what do I - FOCUS!

“Aziraphale. I didn’t mean it. I mean, sure, I wanted to put my glass down, but I didn’t…” He trailed off. He could reassure Aziraphale of his real reasoning, but...that was definitely too fast. Much, much too fast for his angel.

Aziraphale was looking at him desperately. “Crowley, please. Please explain it to me. I don't understand!” That look - like he would just melt if only Crowley would say yes.

Crowley had never been able to say no to his angel. ‘Wait’ at times. ‘Not right now’ at times. But never ‘no’. And...Aziraphale had chosen him over his books. That one was still working its way through his head, but he’d heard the angel say it.

Crowley sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. “Angel, this has never reminded me of Hell. Not even a little.”

He felt Aziraphale shift and continued, afraid he would lose courage to do so if he waited.

“Hell is...tight. You’re right. Crowded - everything pressing in on you, all the time. It’s loud and hot and dirty and angry, and it’s determined to force all of that through your skin and right down to your bones.”

He shook his head, eyes still closed. “Your bookshop isn’t like that.” He inhaled quickly. “Your bookshop is crowded. I do feel surrounded. But-“ he added quickly, opening his eyes despite himself to stare at his angel, “I feel surrounded with you.”

Aziraphale didn’t appear to understand, though he didn’t interrupt.

“You’re in every corner of this store, angel. In every book, every floorboard, every shelf, every ray of sun and mite of dust. I feel surrounded by you when I’m here. That’s why I love it. Why I’ve always loved it. It might not be my style, no, but it’s yours and that’s the best part about it.”

Aziraphale was quiet for a long moment, before he reached out and crushed Crowley into his waistcoat.

The angel chuckled. It sounded a little thick.

“I’ve been rather an idiot, it appears.”

Crowley huffed a quick chuckle, relieved but disbelieving that Aziraphale hadn’t pushed him away at his declaration, had instead pulled him closer. “Possibly, angel.”

“So...I can put the books back?”

At this, Crowley really did laugh, as he sat back up. “Yes, angel! You can put the books back.”

Aziraphale looked delighted, clapping his hands. “Lovely!” Then he got a strange look on his face, a sort of hesitant smile. He reached out for Crowley. “Come back?”

Crowley very nearly tackled him, but resisted and instead leaned down reasonably into his angel’s shoulder once more, pressing his grin into Aziraphale’s collar.

They stayed that way for a long moment.

Then Crowley sat bolt upright.

“Hold on! If this is your nest, this bookshop…”

Aziraphale suddenly started to look edgy. Crowley’s eyes widened.

“Hold on! You said I was going too fast! How long have you been nesting for me?!”

The angel went bright red from the tips of his ears all the way down to his collarbone, and Crowley grinned. Oh, Aziraphale was never going to live this down.

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #aziraphale/crowley #a/c #ineffable husbands #nesting #good omens fanfiction #fanfiction #enjoy y’all this is over 3.3k words #that just kinda happened

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eveningstarcatcher · 4 years

Text

Ineffable Valentines Day 11: Love Token

“What’s wrong, dove?” Crowley came up behind Aziraphale, wrapping his arms around his waist and setting his chin on the angel’s shoulder.

They were standing at the counter in the shop. Aziraphale was staring at the floor, hands hanging limply at his sides, his face contorted in pain.

“Are you okay?” Crowley took Aziraphale’s hands in his and examined them for cuts, but there were none.

“I knocked it off,” Aziraphale sounded close to tears. He deflated against Crowley’s chest, bringing his hands to his face. “I don’t know what happened. It was on the counter one moment and the next it was shattering!

“It’s okay. I’ll clean it up.” There were shards of glass all over the hardwood floor, covering a great distance and sparkling in the sun that was streaming into the shop. Crowley moved to slide around Aziraphale, but the angel grabbed him, stopping him.

“No, please don’t.” Aziraphle was distressed, which in turn distressed Crowley. Why was the angel so upset about a broken glass? It was an easy fix with a miracle, or could be replaced the human way simply enough.

“Shhhh,” Crowley soothed, turning Aziraphale to face him and letting the angel’s head bury itself in his chest. “It was an accident. I can fix it if you want, angel, s’no problem.”

Crowley raised his hand to snap the glass from the floor to reassemble on the counter.

“No! I don’t want you to fix it!” Aziraphale began to sob into Crowley’s chest.

“Okay, I won’t fix it, just breathe, dove.” His hand froze, then wrapped around the angel.

“Why can’t I do anything right? What’s wrong with me?” Aziraphale wailed, muffled by Crowley’s chest.

“Angel, nothing’s wrong with you. You’re perfect.” Crowley scooped Aziraphale up into his arms and into the back room. He settled them on the couch, Azirpahale curled up in Crowley’s lap, clutching at his shirt.

“Talk to me.” Crowley drew his fingers through Aziraphale’s downy hair and the angel melted into each touch.

“I always make such a mess. No matter how hard I try, everything always goes wrong. Always making such stupid mistakes,” Aziraphale sniffled. “What’s this really about, dove?” Crowley soothed and pressed sweet, soft kisses to the angel’s cheek, hair, and forehead.

“I, I, I've failed. In so many ways over the years. I’ve let so many people down, I've never been good enough!” Aziraphale balled Crowley’s shirt in his fists, tears burning down his cheeks.

“Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s true!” He exclaimed, slamming a fist against Crowley’s chest. “Oh, my darling, I’m so sorry!” He gently kissed the spot and rubbed along it with his fingers. “It is true. I’ve been a failure ever since the beginning. I was never a good soldier, I gave away my sword and failed at protecting Eden, I’ve been lying to heaven for 6,000 years, I interfered in the plan! All because I’m gluttonous and selfish! Too blinded by my own desires to do the job that I was created for!”

“Aziraphale, I won’t believe for a second that you were ever created to be a soldier. Whatever the plan is, She knew what she was doing when she created you.”

“But why? Why am I like this?” Aziraphale begged. “Why am I selfish and lazy and soft?”

“Oh, dove. My darling Aziraphale, what brought this on? You are perfect, angel. The best thing that She ever created. Beautiful and kind and soft, yes, but that’s one of the best things about you. I wish you wouldn’t be ashamed of that. I love you and I love that you’re soft.” Crowley’s hands caressed any part of the angel he could reach.

“But I’m not supposed to be. None of the other angels are soft, no other angels eat, no other angels love!” Azirpahale broke out in a new round of sobs. “Our love can't be wrong, it can’t be!”

“It’s not, dove, it’s not. It’s the best thing on earth, I promise you. And you’re right, no other angel is like you. That doesn’t mean you’re wrong. They’re cold assholes who don’t deserve to be angels. Just as bad as demons, the lot of ‘em. You’re the only true angel, the only one who took care of earth, who cared for the humans, who enjoyed everything She created. They stayed up there in that sterile dickworld in the clouds and stayed hands-off until we stopped the apocalypse. They’re the ones that failed, love, not you!” He pressed a kiss to one wet cheek and rubbed his angel’s back. “Besides, you’ve never failed me!”

“How can you say that?” Aziraphale’s expression twisted into pain, his face red and blotchy, eyes pink and watery, his bottom lip raw from chewing on it. “I’ve failed you most of all! All the times I pushed you away, lied to you, I deserted you just before the end of the world because I thought I could do it on my own, but I made it all worse! Got myself discorporated, burned down the bookshop, and left you to pick up all the pieces!”

“Angel, don’t…” Crowley tried to calm him, but he was inconsolable.

“You lost hope. I know you always liked to pretend you didn’t have any, but I knew it was there. It was always there. But then it wasn’t, you lost it all when you thought I was gone. You gave up. Didn’t even run away like you said you were going to. And what did I do? Told you to go save the world on your own!” “You told me you’d be there. I knew you would be. I knew you wouldn’t leave me. You always come back, always.” Crowley held Aziraphale tightly with one hand, the other cupped his face, rubbing his thumb along his cheek, wiping away tears as they fell. “But there was no guarantee! I would have tried and tried, of course, but there was a high chance that I wouldn’t make it back in time, or even at all! What would have happened if I hadn’t…” he lost his voice then, breaking into sobs and wrapping his arms around Crowley.

“Shh, dove, it’s alright. You’re here, you’re fine, everything’s fine.”

“I hate to think about what would have happened to you if I hadn’t come back. Left to face everything on your own. Hell would have destroyed you!” Aziraphale squeezed Crowley tightly, his whole body heaving with sobs. “Oh Crowley! Oh, my love, what if they had destroyed you? It would have been all my fault!”

“Aziraphale, no, no, dove. We don’t have to worry about that anymore. We’re safe, we’re together. You came back, you outsmarted Heaven and you came back to save the world, to save me. You’ve saved me so many times. Every time you smiled at me, believed in me, lied to Heaven for me, every time you spent time with me, every time you show me love. Aziraphale, you’ve been saving me for 6,000 years!”

Crowley hooked a gentle finger under Aziraphale’s chin and brought his face towards his. He moved slowly, leaning in to kiss each of Aziraphale’s cheeks, his forehead, his nose. Aziraphale’s eyes closed and Crowley lightly brushed his lips against the angel’s eyelids.

“Come, dove, let me see you.” Crowley whispered. Blue eyes fluttered open and gazed adoringly into Crowley’s golden eyes. “I’m going to kiss you now. Is that okay?”

“Oh, yes, love.” Aziraphale breathed and let his eyes flutter closed again and Crowley pulled his chin closer, letting his lips claim Aziraphale’s in a gentle kiss. The angel sighed into it, fisting his hands in Crowley’s hair and pulling him closer, tears still streaming down his cheeks.

“Oh, Crowley,” he sighed as Crowley peppered kisses along his cheek, ear, and jawline.

“Do you feel how much I love you?” Crowley asked, continuing his assault of affection.

“Yes, my love.” Aziraphale giggled as Crowley eyelashes brushed against his ear, tickling him. “Oh, darling,” he pulled Crowley’s face up to meet his gaze. “Thank you. I’m so sorry I fell apart, thank you for once again, picking up all the pieces.”

“I’ll always be here when you need me, my dove.” Crowley rubbed his fingers along the soft apples of Aziraphale’s cheeks. “And just in case you need a reminder, I have something for you.” “You do?” Aziraphale smiled weakly.

“Need to get up to get it, though.” Crowley scooped Aziraphale up and placed him gently on the couch beside him. He pecked the angel on the nose and stood, crossing to the desk. Tucked underneath a drawer was a wrapped package, which Crowley withdrew and presented it to Aziraphale, settling in beside him on the couch.

“Darling, you didn’t have to do this,” Aziraphale sniffled and ran his hand lovingly over the shiny gold paper.

“I was waiting for the right time to give it to you, and this seems like the right time. Open it, angel. I think you’re gonna like it.” Crowley nudged him with a smirk.

Aziraphale carefully broke the tap, pulled back the paper and gasped.

“Is this…?” he asked, admiring the sleek black frame.

“Yeah, had ‘em for a while.” Crowley was staring at Aziraphale, drinking in his expression.

Inside the frame was a silver background covered with swirls. Atop that were set two feathers, one pure white, the other iridescent black, curved into each other to form a heart. Below the heart was written in gold script “Our Side.”

“Our feathers, but how?” Aziraphale looked up at Crowley as if love were about to spill out of him.

“I found yours on the wall in Eden. After you left. Picked it up.” he shrugged.

“You’ve had it since Eden?” A grin broke over Aziraphale’s features.

“Don’t know why I kept it, but I finally found a use for it.” Crowley ruffled angelic curls.

“It’s incredible, my love. I will treasure it always,” Aziraphale pressed it to his heart, “as I treasure you.”

“You’re such a romantic,” Crowley laughed, taking the frame and setting it up on Aziraphale’s desk.

“That I am. Desperately, hopelessly so.”

For @mielpetite‘s @ineffable-valentines Also on A03

#ineffablevalentines #ineffable valentines #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #my writing

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bringthekaos · 5 years

Text

Voice of an Angel

Aziraphale had never given much credence to the phrase ‘voice of an angel.’ He had a voice, yes, and technically it was an angel’s voice, but he didn’t like the implication that because it belonged to an angel, that it was intrinsically good—better than others. It was simply a voice, no better or worse than anyone else’s.

He supposed he liked the sentiment behind it, though—a compliment meant to describe something so beautiful it was otherworldly. But certainly there were better euphemisms than ‘voice of an angel.’ Some angels had voices that were positively grating.

He couldn’t recall what had put him on this train of thought, as he perused aisle after aisle in his SoHo bookshop, shelving newly acquired first and second editions. Perhaps it was the new (well, new to Aziraphale) copy of Paradiso he was lovingly sliding onto the shelf to the right of Inferno and Purgatorio. He already had several copies of Paradiso, not to mention several folios of the full Commedia, but up until this point, he’d only had stand-alone copies of the first two cantica printed in dual French-Italian books, limited of course, because the French Revolution had broken out and disrupted printing. He’d had to attend an obnoxiously bourgeois antiquities auction in Cambridge (that had got his heart all aflutter) just to acquire the thing, and even more distressing had had to part with a little over 2000 pounds. He’d fretted at the time over all of the sales he would need to make in order to offset the large purchase, but seeing as the book was in fairly decent shape, he’d simply begun listing off the ones he was willing to part with in his head; which ones were sufficient enough collateral to warrant it.

But the purchase was worth it in the end, he thought, as the overwhelming satisfaction of sliding the book onto the shelf next to its siblings, their matching red and gold bindings lining up like so many ripples, hit him like a punch to the gut.

Or perhaps it was the way this satisfaction had manifested in a light humming of Ave Maria that Aziraphale was powerless to stop. There was just something about finishing a lacking collection that made him glow with joy. It was one of the few pleasures he allowed himself (he could practically hear the derisive snort from Crowley. “Few?!”).

He would concede, he did indulge in the odd cream cake, the odd bottle or three. But nothing quite made him beam like a collection of books that had been long separated, joined at last under his loving hand. It felt paternal, in a way... perhaps more so than he ever had or ever would feel. And he could be allowed that, surely?

He semicircled around the end of an aisle, peeking to where Crowley was sat at the high table nestled into the bay window. He was casually leaning in his chair, his sport coat removed and hanging over the back of the high chair, and his dress shirt sleeves unbuttoned and rolled to the elbow. It wasn’t often Crowley allowed himself to relax, especially while sober, but the old serpent couldn’t pass up the opportunity to bask in the rare warmth of a sunny London day that permeated the bay window. Aziraphale had found that that particular window became a bit too warm on hot summer days, but... not to Crowley.

“How’s the tea, my dear?” Aziraphale asked offhandedly, interrupting his own humming for the query and seeing that the demon’s long, slender fingers were hooked through the handle of his cup but didn’t appear to have lifted it once. In fact, they were quite slack, as if he’d forgotten he’d rested them there.

Crowley didn’t answer with words; instead grunting a contented little “hmm” that may not have even been voluntary. Aziraphale’s heart stirred again with contentment at the rather perfect circumstance he’d found himself in, quite by accident: a beautiful, warm day out that warranted opening the windows in the back, a completed collection of Dante’s Commedia that he’d been tracking down for years, and his close friend, so comfortable at the front of the angel’s shop that he appeared to be dozing like a brumating snake in the sunlight. Aziraphale couldn’t think of anything he’d rather be doing.

He resumed his humming happily as he wandered to and from the back room, bringing handfuls upon handfuls and shelving them neatly and carefully. Occasionally, when the mood struck him, actual words would come out, but it would meander back to humming as his mind was intermittently preoccupied with other tasks—Dewey, dusting, or just remembering where he put something down.

This went on for several minutes, until Aziraphale found himself arrived at the climax of the song, and couldn’t resist a perfectly (if he did say so himself) toned rendition, be it a bit breathy and muted.

“Nunc et in hora mortis In hora mortis, mortis nostrae In hora mortis nostrae...”

It was no Pavarotti or Bocelli, but he was rather proud of the notes. He smiled, letting the second to last line taper off as he wandered back to the front of the shop, patting at his pockets for his glasses.

“My dear, I seem to have mispla—“

He stopped abruptly, both speaking and walking, as he found Crowley in a delicate state.

He was momentarily suspended in that precarious location between sleep and awake; one where he was blissfully absent from the world, but yet had the presence of mind to continue holding his head upright (if a bit bowed). His hands, which rested so peacefully upon the table, twitched occasionally—his fingers curling slowly like the involuntary swishing of a cat’s tail.

Aziraphale chanced the last few steps to the table, watching the demon with hapless fascination; he’d never understood Crowley’s taste for sleeping. It seemed a great waste of time. But as he watched, finding a little lip twitch here, and fluttering eyelids there... he appreciated it. It filled him with wonder... an almost desperate curiosity as to what a demon could so peacefully be dreaming about. To some degree, it was an indulgence that Crowley never allowed himself when awake; vulnerability.

Aziraphale lithely (as much as a moderately hefty man-shaped being of the angelic variety can be said to be lithe) crawled into the opposing chair and let the faintest of a hum form in his throat, finishing out the final, long, melodic notes of Ave Maria.

He smiled, his eyes wandering down and finding goose flesh covering Crowley’s forearms where they lay exposed on the table, the tiny little hairs raised as if he’d had a fright. With a sudden and somewhat protective (where did that come from?) dither, he realized Crowley must have been cold. He wasn’t sure how, it was roughly 500° in the window, but leave it to the serpent.

He spoke gently to wake the demon slowly, reaching down to rest a hand on his forearm in the hopes of warming him.

“Are you cold?” he asked, but bit his tongue when Crowley jolted awake, yanking both hands back and, as Aziraphale realized with a degree of pity, clutching them defensively against his chest. His eyes had snapped open, and for the briefest of moments, Aziraphale saw such extreme dilation that they appeared wholly black. They leapt to attention within a heartbeat, however, their long slits focusing hard on the angel.

“Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. You just... you looked cold,” he said, pointing to Crowley’s arms.

“How could I be cold, s’bloody hot up here,” drawled Crowley as he let his arms fall away from his chest somewhat bashfully.

Aziraphale frowned. “Well... you, er... you had—“ he pointed once more, this time reaching over nearly half the table to make it more obvious.

Crowley held out his arms to analyze them, his glasses shifting in his hair and threatening to fall onto his face. He puzzled at the receding goosebumps, leaning in to look at them closer.

“Oh, I... I s’pose I do. Look at that. Wonder what could have—“ he paused with the gusto of a coon hound who has spotted his prey, his features looking positively stricken.

“Dear boy, what ever is the matter?” Aziraphale tutted, slightly peeved that Crowley had come to some realization that he himself hadn’t yet.

Crowley straightened in his chair, reaching up and tipping his glasses back onto his eyes. Oh, how Aziraphale hated when he did that mid conversation; it was clearly a diversion tactic to avoid his expression being read, but to what end would always remain unclear because he’d covered his ruddy eyes.

“Ssss’nothin, angel. Don’t worry yourself,” Crowley mumbled. Hissing. Another clue.

“I will, thank you, as you appear to have reached some sort of conclusion and left me at the starting line,” Aziraphale replied, watching with piqued interest as Crowley hugged himself in his arms, a bit more blatantly defensive now, his long fingers wrapped tightly around each elbow. He peered out the bay window, watching passers by with inflated interest.

“Well?” prodded Aziraphale, trying not to be amused but failing. What could possibly put Crowley into a fuss like this?

Crowley sighed, rolling his head back with just a dash of drama to look at Aziraphale.

“It’s... I... well, you were,” he paused, removing a hand to wave vaguely at all of Aziraphale. I what? the angel felt like demanding. I existed?

Crowley tried again, slapping his hand down a bit dejectedly on the table and making his tea set jump. “I could... I think I could... was...”

He gave up, letting out the frustrated, crescendoing sigh of a man who has spent far too long fumbling for a wet bar of soap and has decided to let it hit the floor.

He clearly averted his gaze into the wood grain of the table, setting his jaw and grinding his teeth.

“You were singing, angel,” he grumbled in the tone of a child who has been told to apologize but really doesn’t want to.

Aziraphale felt himself warm, most of it localized to his cheeks.

“Oh. Oh. I... hadn’t... realized.” Now it was Aziraphale’s turn to look bashfully away, but found that he was simply watching Crowley’s short fingernails as they frantically picked at every little defect in the wooden tabletop. A sudden realization hit the angel then, and he looked up to Crowley in horror.

“It didn’t... hurt you?! Did it?”

Holy words could hurt demons, it was why they were so central to exorcisms.

“No! N—no,” Crowley said, first a bit too boisterously, then corrected to a suitably detached tone, complete with lopsided shrug. “No, er... it was actually... really... quite... er...”

Aziraphale smiled, wondering if it would physically pain Crowley to finish that sentence. Nice? Beautiful? What was the word he was prancing around so fancifully?

Aziraphale settled with a grin, letting his own hand fall atop Crowley’s, first startling him, then stilling him.

“Shall I continue, then?” he asked, jerking his head toward the shop.

Crowley stared at him, and Aziraphale could feel the intensity through the sunglasses. He would feel it if he were standing on the other side of a reinforced steel wall.

“Er... yeah. Yeah, you could. If you like,” Crowley said, adding the last bit in an attempt to come off blasé. It failed.

If you like, Aziraphale thought triumphantly, patting Crowley’s hand once in understanding before pushing to his feet.

He returned and went about his task, flitting from room to room, aisle to aisle, shelving books and starting up his humming again, this time a song of a slightly more modern variety.

He might have let a few words slip out.

“So don't stop me now, don't stop me

'Cause I'm having a good time, having a good time.”

#oh g od #my first fic post #hyperventilating #it's so SOFT #and sweet #might give you diabetes #good omens #Aziraphale #Crowley #angels #it may not be the voice of an angel but it's the voice of HIS angel #dying

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mandysimo13 · 5 years

Note

Hey! For the ship ask, how about either Johnlock or Aziraphale/Crowley? Your choice! Thanks.😊

Hi there @novemberhush! Thanks for the ask! Since I’m feeling generous, I’ll do both!

Aziracrow - Aziraphale/Crowley

Gives nose/forehead kisses: They both do, soft and tender things that they are

Gets jealous the most: Before they get together, Aziraphale because he has no other real friends. Afterwards, Crowley because THAT’S MY ANGEL! I WAITED 6000 YEARS FOR HIM YOU GET YOUR OWN!

Takes care of on sick days: both, they both want to care for each other. Aziraphale is the kind to make the soup and bring the tea and fluff the pillows and fuss. Crowley is teh kind to sit and watch over Azi while he sleeps and makes sure he takes his meds on time because “the quicker you stop sniffling, the quicker we can exit quarantine and have some fun!”

Drags the other person out into the water on beach day: Aziraphale, cheerfully. If it weren’t for the fact that he was a celestial being he would be bright red because he forgot a little thing called “sunblock” exists

Brings the other lunch at work: Crowley, even though he doesn’t eat much or as often as Aziraphale, he does like to surprise his husband with food because he loves Azi’s delighted face whenever he does something nice

Tries to start role-playing in bed: Crowley, kinky devil that he is. Aziraphale enjoys playing along and gets into it once the scene is started

Embarrassingly drunk dancer: BOTH! They are both ridiculously embarrassing to each other when drunk but neither cares all that much and so they don’t comment on it while sober.

Firmly believes in couples costumes: Aziraphale, because “oh come now, my dear! You look positively ravishing! Have a little fun” “Okay fine but I am going to complain THE WHOLE TIME!”

Breaks the expensive gift rule during Christmas: Both and they both scold each other fondly for it but without any real sharpness

Makes the other eat breakfast: Aziraphale, he has a fondness for scones and loves that Crowley will eat them without prompting or complaint whenever he makes them.

Remembers anniversaries: Both, Aziraphale remembers the things like “when we first had oysters” or “the first time we went to the opera together” and Crowley remembers the things you’re supposed to remember like yearly “getting together” anniversaries and their “first kiss”, never mind that when they first appeared on earth and can’t celebrate “when we first met”, time didn’t exist, but he tries to be the model husband by remembering them anyway.

Brings up having kids first: Technically, Crowley does with the whole “godfathers” bit.

Kills the bugs: Neither, Crowley uses them to threaten his plants and Aziraphale tuts at him and releases them back outside saying “farewell, sister spider”

First to define them as a couple: Crowley, always. Every time. Since the very beginning.

Who hides their guilty pleasures longer: Crowley, his is aggressive cuddling. Never mind that it’s nice and sweet he likes it okay???!!!

Snorts while laughing: Aziraphale, and he’s quite embarrassed about it thankyouverymuch!

Johnlock - John Watson and Sherlock Holmes

Gives nose/forehead kisses: John, he just can’t resist Sherlock’s little pout when he’s sleeping or thinking or doing anything

Gets jealous the most: Sherlock, for sure. He wants all of John’s time and attention and hates it when John tries to be personable because “we don’t need new friends, hmph!”

Takes care of on sick days: John the resident doctor and coddler, of course. Flu, stitches, bad mental health days, he’s able to make anything feel even just a little bit better

Drags the other person out into the water on beach day: John, after making sure Sherlock’s delicate skin is slathered in sunscreen and he has a wide-brimmed hat on his head first.

Brings the other lunch at work: Both, when John’s working at the clinic, sometimes Sherlock will show up with something from Prêt and when Sherlock’s on a case John makes sure that he doesn’t collapse by making him drink fluids and eating protein bars

Tries to start role-playing in bed: Sherlock, his wild imagination comes up with some very interesting scenarios

Embarrassingly drunk dancer: John, he’s the world’s dad-est dancer. Full on finger guns and wiggling hips but Sherlock thinks it’s adorable

Firmly believes in couples costumes: Given the amount of costumes in his repertoire, Sherlock for sure.

Breaks the expensive gift rule during Christmas: Sherlock definitely breaks the budget rule but John makes up for it in ridiculously sentimental gifts that get Sherlock all misty-eyed

Makes the other eat breakfast: John’s famous for his fry-ups and Sherlock deigns to eat it as long as there is some kind of pastry involved as well.

Remembers anniversaries: They both do, once they finally get together. Because while every day for them is a celebration, neither wants the other to feel like they’re anything less than special and cherished and they want to make sure they know it, after all they’ve been through.

Brings up having kids first: Rosie canon: John, she’s kind of hard to avoid. Non-rosie canon: Sherlock, because he knows John was raised more traditionally and wants to know if it’s something that John wants in his life

Kills the bugs: John is the house spider catcher after they found a False Widow spider and Sherlock wanted to play with it and “dammit, Sherlock, I am not taking you to the A&E because you decided to harass a spider! Now gimme that thing and go find something less dangerous to play with, thank you!”

First to define them as a couple: Sherlock, proud as a peacock. John wasn’t far behind though

Who hides their guilty pleasures longer: John, having always suppressed his urges and desires where Sherlock was concerned and he didn’t want to ever seen weird or needy or too much, especially in the beginning. Sherlock calls him an idiot lovingly any time John thinks he could ever scare/turn him off with his indulgences.

Snorts while laughing: Sherlock, to his utter surprise and dismay. John thinks it’s cute and kisses his nose whenever he gets pouty about it.

Thanks for the ask! I loved doing this!

#novemberhush

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