#Crowley: i could strangle you

[galaxgay]

based on this post i made, im kind of obsessed with the idea of Aziraphale pissing Crowley off on purpose so that he'll get all close to him because he tends to do that when he gets hissy

just a little suspicious imo 👀

[spacechalk]

Glass

            After it was all over, Aziraphale sat on the edge of a bluff and let his feet hang over the side. Rivers and farmland stretched before him. In the distance he spotted a church crouched behind a copse of trees. His heel knocked loose a pebble. He watched it tumble into empty space and wondered what it would feel like to follow.

            Behind him he heard the gentle rumble of an engine. The sound of a door slamming shut was muted, as was the crunch of boots on gravel as someone approached. He didn’t look around.

            A wine bottle was thrust before his eyes. Automatically, he noted the vintage. He must have gone to some effort for this.

            “Drink?”

            Aziraphale nodded.

            Crowley dropped beside him, sending another cascade of pebbles down the cliff. He produced two wine glasses and handed one to the angel.

            Once the wine had generously been decanted, Crowley knocked his glass against Aziraphale’s with a bright ring that vibrated through his fingers.

            “I believe congratulations are in order,” he said, taking a swig.

            “Hmm,” Aziraphale murmured. He peered into his glass. He could see his reflection along the outer rim.

            Crowley cleared his throat. “They underestimated you.” He hesitated, then made an aborted gesture with one hand. “I underestimated you.”

            Aziraphale took a long pull from his glass.

            Crowley planted his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, trying to catch Aziraphale’s eye. When the angel didn’t look up, he turned away, face etched with resignation. He kicked a heel against the cliff and watched dirt shower down.

            Aziraphale took this opportunity to eye the demon’s profile.

            “How does it work?” he asked.

            Crowley looked over his shoulder. “How does what work?”

            “No Heaven. No Hell.” The icy hand that had been stalking him the last few months seized his heart. “How do you know good from evil?” A dark void threatened to open up beneath his feet. If he put one foot wrong he would fall in and keep falling, forever. He struggled to breathe. “What if you can’t? What if there…isn’t? At all?”

            Suddenly there was a hand on his arm. He could hear his breath harsh in his ears as he looked at it. He looked up into Crowley’s yellow eyes.

            “It’s okay angel. Breathe.”

            Aziraphale could feel tears gathering in his eyes. “The sheer – arrogance,” he murmured, “to think that I – ”

            “Arrogant?” A strangled laugh struggled in the demon’s throat. “Aziraphale – you are the only person I met in all of Hell or Heaven who cared – at all – to even try to figure out what was right and wrong,” he said intently, every line of him leaning forward, eyes wide, trying to make him understand. “The arrogance to try? What about the arrogance of thinking you don’t have to?” His breath pulled rapidly in and out of his chest.

            The tears Aziraphale had been fighting spilled over.

            “I’m not sure this is going to be comforting but – I don’t think anyone knows for sure, certainly not me,” Crowley said. His grip on Aziraphale’s arm tightened. “I’m not sure that what the Almighty imparted in the garden was knowledge of good and evil so much that it was knowledge that everything is complicated and all of it matters so much. It deserves your conscience and your doubt. It deserves your best effort.”

            He tilted his head, tried to catch Aziraphale’s eyes. “I am not worried about you at all,” he said, lips quirking in an attempt at a smile. “You, who gave your sword away at the very Beginning. You’ve always had a heart for these things.”

            Aziraphale raised a hand to wipe his eyes and Crowley let go, turning to look out over the landscape below. Aziraphale immediately missed his grip; but he was still close, shoulders brushing together.

            “’Sides,” Crowley said, aiming for nonchalance and falling staggeringly short, “I’ll still be here. It’s easier together, I think.”

             Crowley looked out at the fields and Aziraphale looked at Crowley. He was swamped by the urge to put his head on Crowley’s shoulder and only just managed to resist it.

            Aziraphale looked into his glass. “About what you said – in the bookshop –” he began.

            Crowley flung up a hand to head him off. He drained the rest of his glass in one go. “We don’t need to talk about that,” he rasped.

            Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “Don’t we?”

            Crowley shook his head emphatically. “It’s okay. I’m sorry I said anything. Or…” He hesitated, his eyes dropping to Aziraphale’s lips before careening away. “…did, anything. You don’t need to say…what you’re going to say. I promise I won’t do it again.” He sloppily crossed his heart and pushed himself to his feet.

            Aziraphale listened to his footsteps crunching back toward the Bentley. A kind of calm anger poured in and began filling up his chest. His face set like stone. “That’s a shame,” he said out loud.

            The footsteps paused. “What was that?”

            “I said – ” Aziraphale pushed himself to his feet and turned around. Crowley stood halfway to the car, bottle and glass in one hand, keys in the other.

            “I said,” he said, “it’s a shame that you will never again tell me that you love me; will never kiss me again.” He twisted his hands together, fingernails biting into skin. “I was rather hoping you would.”

            Crowley stared at him.

            Aziraphale moved forward until they were only inches apart. He held Crowley’s eyes.

            Crowley hesitated for a long moment, searching his face. Finally he swayed forward, almost helplessly, head tilted, and pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s.

            Aziraphale inhaled sharply and leaned into the kiss. He brought one hand around to grip Crowley’s shoulder, and used the other to cup Crowley’s face. A tremor ran down Crowley’s body. Aziraphale brushed his thumb along Crowley’s jawline and deepened the kiss. That icy hand retreated and Aziraphale dared to hope he would learn how to keep it at bay. He felt like he had stepped outside in winter and found a patch of sun.

            He pulled back and smiled to himself at the dazed expression on Crowley’s face. “Do you want to get rid of…” he indicated the bottle and glass still in Crowley’s hand.

            Crowley slowly dragged his eyes away and looked at the offending objects. “Hm? Oh, right.” Unceremoniously, he tossed them away, stuffing the keys back into his pocket as he did so. His arms encircled Aziraphale and pulled him back in for another heady kiss.

            The glass hit the ground, but instead of shattering into shards, it shattered into seeds, which germinated far too rapidly, extending tender green shoots and fragile white roots until a patch of wildflowers had rooted in the gravel beside the road, an eddy of pink, red, purple, and impossible blue.

[schoenpepper]

There's only one bed?!

Intro: You go on a field trip and somehow, through the power of Crowley’s stingy ass, you’re forced to room with Jade. Fucking. Leech. (No, the first question should be, why isn’t he rooming with Floyd???)

Warnings: bad writing, awful grammar, not proofread

Masterlist

Jade's Birthday Countdown

Dear sevens, if Crowley could just do you all a favor and just trip and fall down a flight of stairs so he could end up incapacitated for a few weeks when a new, more capable headmage could fill in—

That would be great.

Excellent. Amazing. Extraordinary, even.

You didn’t really think that a field trip to Neverland could be that bad. Pirates and pixies and lost boys and treasure!

And mermaids.

Like the one in your room with you right now.

“Why aren’t you rooming with Floyd?” the venom in your voice is a tad bit more obvious than you would have liked it to be, but it’s Jade, he would’ve noticed regardless how subtle you were. The eel merman laughs in his freaky ‘fufufu’ way that he always does, floating his luggage over to the standard suite bed. Singular. Bed. One room. One bed. One asshole who might strangle you in your sleep with his long ass arms. One life that you must cherish, and could very well lose tonight!

“While you were chattering about with your friends, the rest of us simply drew lots to determine our sleeping arrangements,” Jade smiles that toothy grin at you, gloved hands busy with unpacking a blue shark-themed blanket (and a suspiciously Floyd-like eel plushie), “though, I must admit, it was surprising to find that all the rooms are single bedrooms. Please bear with me~”

Please bear with me, my ass.

You let out a huff and toss your bag over to the sofa, stomping towards the attached bathroom to start on brushing your teeth.

You have many options, actually. You don’t really need to bear with the sadist. You could a) sleep on the couch, b) sleep on the floor, or c) find one of your friends to sleep with. Except the couch is tiny. And the floor is uncomfortable. And your friends are rooming with other people too.

Haha. You have no options.

You spit out the foam from your mouth when Jade enters the bathroom and stands next to you by the sink. You watch him through the mirror as he brushes his sharp teeth with minty toothpaste. And as he brushes…his throat…

Your hands move faster than your brain when you pull Jade towards yourself to examine the secondary set of teeth and jaws at the back of his throat. He lets you, even as you grab his toothbrush and practically stick your arm in his mouth (very dangerous thing to do, but he seems to enjoy the threat of you losing your arm) to poke and prod at his teeth with it.

The two of you step out of the bathroom.

You, dazed and confused as to what the fuck just happened, and Jade, with shining teeth and a self-satisfied smile.

The bed isn’t big enough.

Or maybe it is.

But your half of the bed is invaded by an eel, whose arms and legs are curled up around your body as if the two of you were much more than just ‘occasionally on speaking terms school senior and junior’.

“Get off.”

“I’d be uncomfortable without an action like this. Do be patient with me.”

“I’m uncomfortable.”

“Are you, now? Fufu.”

He hugs you tighter, nuzzling his face into your hair. “Please bear with it.”

Yeah. Just bear with it.

Anyway, the field trip only lasts for a week.

Just…seven…days…

[princip1914]

This ficlet is based on the Good Omens meta I’ve seen floating around that suggests Aziraphale nearly says “I love you” and at the last minute cuts himself off and says “I forgive you.” Personally, I thought that would have been an even more devastating exchange, so naturally I had to write it.

A shock of heat, a bloom of want which arced down Aziraphale’s spine and fought to pull him closer to the long line of Crowley’s body. The pressure of Crowley’s lips; insistent and angry, hard as stone. 

Come work with me, Aziraphale had begged. I need you.

And Crowley–

Crowley had chosen earth over safety, over light, over–over Aziraphale. Over the only us that had a chance at eternity. And then, he had twisted his hands in Aziraphale’s lapels and twisted the knife deeper, his mouth on Aziraphale’s mouth, a mockery of what Aziraphale had wanted on that first day of freedom and each day afterwards. A mockery of what Crowley had never before offered. 

Once, while blessing a monastery in Russia, Aziraphale had gone swimming in a frozen lake. He had long since learned that such asceticism did not suit him. But now with Crowely’s mouth on his, he remembered the utter shock of the cold, remembered how he had fought the deadly instinct to gasp when he entered the water. 

Crowley’s lips shifted against his, gentled ever so slightly, enough that Aziraphale could have parted them with his tongue and licked into the heat of Crowely’s mouth. Instead, he pressed his own lips tighter together; he did not want to drown. 

But when Crowley pulled away, the truth still ripped itself out of Aziraphale’s mouth in a strangled stutter. 

“I…I love you.”

* * *

Crowley’s lips were numb. He felt light somehow, unpleasantly so, like an empty vessel.

Aziraphale looked as though he had been struck. He pressed a hand to his mouth, but it was too late. The words were already there between them. 

I love you. 

Perhaps Aziraphale was lying to get Crowley to agree with him. He had lied to God after all, but Crowely had known him for six thousand years and was harder to fool. Crowely’s cheeks were wet with the tears that had hung on Aziraphale’s lashes. Crowely did not think he was lying.

It didn’t matter. Aziraphale might love him; but it still wouldn’t be enough because he didn’t know him. If Aziraphale had known Crowley, he would have known that Heaven was the one place Crowely would never–could never–follow him. He would have known not to ask at all. 

Crowley ought to be angry, but all the anger had burned out. Just charcoal left, the skeleton of a tree in the desert after God had finished telling Moses and no one else the plan. 

“Don’t bother,” Crowely said, and walked out the door. 

[actual-changeling]

I was ENTIRELY too nice in that last ficlet, and we cannot have that. Since that phrase is going to be stuck in my brain for a while, enjoy "they aren't talking" take two.

This time with more pain <3 You're very welcome.

-

They aren't talking.

Crowley is exhausted, Aziraphale is spiteful, and so, as they inevitably begin to orbit around one another once more, it is in a cutting silence. It hurts somewhere deep in their chests, a hollow with empty claws reaching out and being denied what it wants, what it needs.

I miss you, is written in the air between them, always a few steps apart, always far enough away to make it look deliberate, to make a point. Dark glasses cover Crowley's eyes, his face a chiselled mask of petrified longing, and the purple irises that Aziraphale returns with are enough to deter Crowley from meeting his gaze.

Blue, they were blue. He remembers. a storm-grey, summer-sky-bright, sparkling and familiar and alive—dimmed to a bleached-out violet, a hyacinth blossom on the verge of rotting.

Come back, he breathes, listening to the melodic cadence of his voice as it drifts through the bookstore, finally at home. They do not talk to each other, but they talk to everyone else; not that they had another choice with yet another apocalypse about to end them all.

Crowley's fingers twitch, his body constantly leaning and stumbling when it finds not the subconsciously expected shoulder but emptiness, and he catches Aziraphale lifting his hands in his periphery, almost reaching out to steady him.

Almost.

Angels descend, demons ascend, and it is chaos. It is plans going wrong and the sky turning red, it is running and thinking and praying. Even right in the middle of Armageddon number two, they still do not talk, distracted and frenzied now, less intentional, more habitual.

Then the world tilts, blinding white ripping through his body like it's nothing, meeting a black hole where his grace had been and setting fire to his heart.

The why, who, how, where—none of it matters, not to him, not to Aziraphale, who screams his name. His knees meet the ground with a dull crack, and Crowley blinks through the lightning bolts in his vision to see scared blue eyes, wide open and heavy with tears. Relief washes over him, his thoughts narrowing to he's back, he's mine again, he's back.

"Crowley," soft, terrified, desperate, and the most beautiful sound he has ever heard.

They aren't talking.

A strangled sob escapes his aching chest, darkness swallowing him whole to soothe the pain eating away at him. He will wake later, he hopes, if just to hear Aziraphale say his name again. To hear it gentle and amused, to hear it pressed against his skin, his lips, to hear it over and over and over for all the times they did not, could not.

Aziraphale is praying. Crowley is silent.

They aren't talking.

[mellowwillowy]

OOC content, angst(?) and fluff(?) idk, you get your warnings.

You were the mage General Lilia cherished after working together for years. How ironic seeing the fae who had once tried to slaughter the village you protected to become the General you stalked beneath the shadow of faes.

In exchange for your great fortitude in facing the General head-on in protecting the village you resided.

It was a routine. To be hidden somewhere away from prying eyes and to tend all the wounded faes the moment they returned from yet another departure. To wrap the bandages around the opened flesh wounds, to chant magic to quicken the healing pace, to ensure that there were no faes threatened by death and to cradle the fearsome General by his face.

“… it seemed like you got yourself into quite the trouble. The previous wound had not even healed completely and it’s torn open again...” Feeling the bloodied flesh, you winced at the sensation of feeling it. “You should have brought me along, that way I can minimize the damage inflicted-”

“No.” He quickly silenced you with a scowl, “Not only are you going to render the humans surprised, but even the faes that are not familiar with you might end up assuming that you should be killed off.”

Unable to retort any further, you showed him one of your rare dejected face, rendering him surprised for you had always been a rather emotionless… human.

“… humans shouldn’t be fighting alongside fae anyway.” Lilia nuzzled himself closer to you, his head shifted on your lap to find a more comfortable position for him to rest, “how about you chant spell on the wound instead of sulking?”

General Lilia most cherished mage, the mage that was hidden beyond prying eyes along with the mage’s flock. The only time he allowed himself to fool himself that it was merely a beneficial relationship and nothing sentimental.

So why was he bawling in tears as he came back to you laying on the bed, edged to death? He had lost enough, he had lost Meleanor in a devastating battle and he had to lose yet another cherished subject?

On the bed was you, lying cold as usual while you were pristine free from wounds. Your attendant could only cry as the humans you had once protected wept along.

Upon meeting the burgundy red slit eyes, you raised your hands to cradle his face as usual, but what erupted from your throat was not an expected farewell.

It was a curse.

“For what Meleanor had caused to me this day, I will return it to her descendant twicefold.”

You tried. You really tried to bring him along to your demise and he posed no struggle. Was it because he knew you couldn’t have done anything or was it because he had long lost his sanity? Stripped from those whom he held dear, he’d be happier if he followed them along no?

General Lilia’s most cherished mage, the Apple to his heart passed away on the same day his Lord did.

He could feel the squeeze of your hands to his throat yet it was only momentarily, abruptly stopped by your whole body falling limp to the curse of a sweet death.

General Lilia’s most cherished mage…

Enrolled into the Academy as a magicless student.

“Like I said!” Lilia halted his step, rendered surprised by the rather familiar voice and smell, “I am a mage, how could you assign me as a magic-less human? Aah~ should I give you a punch first-”

“Woah woah woah, hold your horse you brute!” Crowley immediately held you back by your arms before you could give the Dark Mirror a taste of your fist.

General Lilia’s most cherished mage… appeared right in front of Lilia's eyes. Nothing had changed from the way you looked aside from your behavior.

It took a moment before you noticed him in the room, busying yourself by chatting with the other housewardens.

“Ah?!” you pointed at the old fae, causing him to raise his eyebrows and tilted his head.

General Lilia’s most cherished mage…

An impostor?

He readied himself to strangle you once he proved himself right of you being an impostor. He’d make sure to not be caught doing so and let your body rot on the academy’s front gate.

“Lilia~! Long time no see!” you hopped onto him, arms snaked around his neck, his eyes widened in surprise. Perhaps this impostor tried to trick him? If so, he’d be happier to test the water before he cursed you to death.

“Heh, long time no see, whippersnapper.”

Lilia Vanrouge's most cherished doll.

[hikarry]

Imagine: South Downs. Crowley had to fight off predators from his chicken coop

Aziraphale was in the kitchen, reheating his tea.

The day had been peaceful, as so many others for the past few months after the failed Second Coming.

He would spend the day reading or studying and Crowley would either sleep, watch TV, listen to music way too loud or be in the garden with his plants and their adorable little chickens. Chickens that he had refused to get at first, but now treated like children - not in front of Aziraphale though. Never in front of Aziraphale. But Aziraphale knew.

The angel was about to put a biscuit in his mouth when he heard a loud noise, like a bark. A very very loud bark. The biscuit slipped his fingers and ended up on the floor. He stood still, waiting for another noise, and when he heard a loud hiss, he turned off the stove and ran toward the back door, opening it abruptly and invading the garden.

The first thing he saw was the gigantic snake in his chicken coop. A well known snake, at that.

Careful, he got closer, just in time to watch Crowley hiss again at something Aziraphale couldn't quite see yet.

The two poor chicken were hidden in between his black and red coils, maybe a tad more strangled than the demon intended.

"My dear-"

Crowley looked back for a second, caught off guard, squeezing the chickens more tightly without noticing. That's when Aziraphale finally saw the couple of foxes nearby, both looking quite feral, if he was being absolutely honest.

The snake looked back at the animals, approaching them carefully and hissing again, making them take a couple of steps back.

"Oh dear oh dear. Let me."

The angel snapped his fingers and the feral expressions fell off the foxes' adorable lil faces. They looked quite stunned, like they just had woken up from some type of deep sleep. When they noticed the big snake still looking at them, both ran away without thinking twice.

When the coast was surely clear, Crowley transformed back into his corporation, picking up his sunglasses that had fallen when he transformed and putting them on by reflex.

Aziraphale smiled, adoring, and opened the little gate to the chicken coop - careful to close it after entering so the poor dears didn't run away -, approaching his partner.

"Very fierce."

"Shuddup."

"I am being very serious." The angel reached out, taking a couple of feathers from Crowley's hair. "Our local hero."

Crowley rolled his eyes - you could tell by the way he moved his neck along with it - and looked down at the chickens. They were both on the other side of the coup.

"Guess I gave them a scare."

"Don't judge them too harshly." He tapped his arm, ending by closing his hand around Crowley's bicep. "If a gigantic snake squeezed me out of nowhere, I would also get scared." Crowley gasped, looking down at the angel, who slapped his chest playfully. "Not you, my dear. Never you."

[quoththemaiden]

A short (~1k) scene inspired by Chapter 9 of @mrghostrat's absolutely glorious Big Name Feelings human AU fic. Hope you like arms?

"C'mon, angel, not even gonna crack a smile at that one? Whales, get it? Whales."

Aziraphale felt like his cheeks were on fire from trying to keep a straight face at Crowley's increasingly terrible puns. "I would hate to tacitly encourage this behavior."

"Pfft, you love it." Crowley grinned at him, far past being undaunted and fully into the realm of being energized by Aziraphale's failed attempts at stoicism.

"You're utterly ridiculous." Aziraphale didn't even bother trying to make it sound like an insult, and the half of the screen taken up by his webcam made it clear his cheeks were as pink as they felt. "And I can't help but feel like you're stalling. Hadn't we agreed to be actually productive today?" Aziraphale didn't mind, really; he did want to keep making steady progress on his art, but if his life could consist of coming home from work and just unwinding with Crowley...

...but, well, that wasn't the purpose of this call.

Crowley groaned. "Yeah, yeah. What a taskmaster."

"It is my job to protect you from rabid fans, after all," Aziraphale teased right back.

"O Brave Guardian, protect me from procrastination!"

"That sounds rather harder than a dragon, I'm afraid. But if you don't get to work, I won't be able to work either, and then you won't get to see the finished piece."

"Urk—" Crowley made a strangled noise and finally reached for his mouse. "You'll actually be working on it?"

Aziraphale nodded before adjusting his webcam to show his tablet a bit more. "I really need to get more practice with this, to get half as confident as I am with physical paints."

"I've seen the drawings you've done! They're fucking brilliant."

Aziraphale laughed. "You've said that about everything I've shown you. I'm starting to think I should send you some stick figures as a test."

"Those would be the most adorable fucking stick figures ever. You could draw a whole comic of just stick figures and I'd reblog it a hundred times."

"That's about what I'd expect you to say, yes." Crowley opened his mouth to protest that his compliments were always earnest, and Aziraphale cut him off. "Weren't you going to start writing?"

"Ngghh, right, yeah. Alright, lemme just pull up my docs and then we'll get started bodydoubling for real." Crowley clicked over to screenshare his window as he opened his fic notes. He'd long since stopped hiding anything from Aziraphale; getting to bounce ideas off of him was too invigorating, and his heart always sang at getting to write down his name with official beta credit. (He'd also long since stopped pretending to himself that he'd ever felt quite the same way about any other beta.)

"Good lord." Aziraphale sounded more than faintly appalled, and Crowley felt offended for a moment before taking a proper look at what was on his screen. It was currently showing the notes he'd made at 3 AM this morning, when he'd woken up from a dream and jotted down what had, at the time, felt like a brilliant scene. As always, he'd had his eyes mostly-closed the whole time and his swipes had been clumsy at best, but as long as it got the general point across, he was always satisfied. It only wound up being a usable scene about half the time, but he wasn't about to turn down free inspiration when he could get it. He quickly read through the imagery he'd written down.

They switch rolled over and opened their eyes. In the still morning sunlight they could set the witchfinder still sleeping cloudy enough to touch: his head ears cradled on his arms, the  misos slack with sleep but still clearly there under surface. The words knew from experience that if he were awakened stable the strength would flour back into them in an instant ray for a fight. The wishes couldn't help but think odd other things they might but tray for as well

Crowley paled. "I— that—"

"I mean, it's. Well. It's rather avant-garde."

Crowley froze. "I, uh—"

"'The misos?' And 'flour?'"

Crowley stuttered out of his bluescreen and hastily opened another tab, the screenshare automatically switching over. Aziraphale had read it, but he clearly hadn't actually understood it. As long as he didn't give him enough time to crack the cipher that was 3 AM notetaking, Crowley could bluff his way through it. "Zuh. Yeah. Wrote that down in the middle of the night when I got an idea of where I wanted to start the next scene off."

"And you could recognize any of that?" The camera jostled a little as Aziraphale shook his head. "I suppose I wouldn't do any better if I tried sketching out an idea in the dark." He picked up his stylus and started doodling simple shapes, warming up and re-acclimatizing himself to the responsiveness of the device. He was still getting used to the new medium, but he was finally starting to see a path forward to making a digital art style that felt authentically his own.

"Yessss." Crowley bit his tongue to cut off the guilty hissing. It definitely didn't help that the webcam was doing a very awkward job of catching the tablet screen but showed a very distracting hint of Aziraphale's forearms. The forearms he had, at 3 AM, apparently woken up from a dream about and been so inspired by that he'd felt the need to immortalize them in fanfiction.

"Well, I shall be interested in seeing how that gets transformed into comprehensible English."

"Right, definitely." Crowley was typing gibberish and backspacing over it quickly, more to hide how much attention he was having to devote to this conversation than out of an actual need to warm up his fingers. "Right, definitely focusing on writing now!"

Aziraphale laughed as he cleared his tablet screen and pulled up his WIP, shifting into concentration mode himself. He did enjoy the early days they had spent where their hours of "bodydoubling" were really nothing more than talking and laughing together, but being able to be quietly productive with someone else, knowing they were there with you without needing to be in the same room, that they were sharing your same wavelength without needing to say a word... that simple sense of togetherness brought with it such a deep feeling of comfort that he thought it might be an even more profound, longer-lasting sense of joy than their early days of giddy laughter had given. The strokes of his stylus turned smoother and more confident as he got into the flow, his eyes focused on his own screen and only vaguely aware of the lines of text growing across Crowley's.

Eventually, Crowley calmed down as well, and the text growing on his screen even started to make sense. And he made sure it had absolutely nothing to do with forearms.

--

Translation of the deleted 3 AM scene:

The witch rolled over and opened their eyes. In the early morning sunlight, they could see the witchfinder still sleeping close enough to touch. His head was cradled on his arms, the muscles slack with sleep but still clearly there under the surface. The witch knew from experience that if he were awakened, the strength would flow back into them in an instant, ready for a fight. The witch couldn't help but think of other things they might be ready for as well.

[mightbesmall]

Twisted Tsum-Tsum?!

Genre: Crack

Characters: Tsum.

Warnings: Tsum.

Summary: You wake up in a coffin that got burned, when you step out you see tiny burrito things???

Additional Note: Based of a post I saw on Tumblr.

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

It was dark, really dark. You then saw light in the form of pathetic blue flames. You opted to kick the door, freeing yourself from your prison. 

"Now where am I?" You asked yourself looking around. 

"Squeak! Squeeeak!!" What was that annoying squeaking?? You looked left then right and eventually down. There was a weird grey burrito thing with blue-fiery cat ears, blue eyes and a pitch-forked tail.

"What. The. Fuck." 

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

After being chased (you walked) to the library by the weird creature, you met another burrito that you just decided to call a Tsum, this one was melodramatic and had that crow theme going on, it also whipped and tied up the grey one you think was called Grim? That was all you could understand from the squeaking. You think you were being lectured but you can't tell.

Now you were in front of some doors that were probably big for the Tsums but you had to crouch to not headbutt the ceiling. 

"SQUEEAAAKK!" Crowley -the crow Tsum- squeaked (that's all he can do tbh).

"Squee, Squeak." Said a red-haired Tsum who looked very polite. Crowley then turned and pointed a stubby paw? leg? at you saying, and I quote: "Squeeak, Squee. Squeaaak." You didn't know what he said but Grim got offended by it. He then pointed at a mirror. Using context clues, you walked up to the mirror.

"Squeak."

Inspiring. You understood that surprisingly.

"[Name]." Cue confused squeaking. You guess they Tsums' didn't understand why you weren't squeaking.

"...Squeak." Wow an ellipsis in bold, Brrr doesn't usually do that! The silence must've been loud then. 

"SQUEEEEEEAAAAKK!!!!" A chorus of annoying squeaking sounded out, was it that big of a deal to not have magic???

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

"S-Squeeak!" Grim squeaked, though it sounded more like a wheeze.

”Squeaak.” The upside down Tsum, Lilia you think, floated down onto your table.

“Squeak!” He then exclaimed. You all looked over to the Diasomnia table only to see cute fierce glares being sent you way. You were absentmindedly patting Lilia on the head, he seemed to be enjoying it. Huh, maybe THAT’S why the green one looks like he wants to strangle you!

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

"SQUUEEEAAK! SQU-SQUEAAAAAKKK-" You picked up the overblotted Riddle.

"Hey, stop that." You said shaking him slightly as you stomped on the blot incarnate. The others, Ace, Deuce and Cater were clinging to your legs while Trey stood looking at Riddle with worry. Honestly this was probably a serious situation but you just couldn't help the amusement as Riddle nestled into your palms as he slept. 

"Squeak..?" You glanced down at Trey who looked concerned for his friend. You crouched down and patted his head to which he leaned into your touch.

"He's fine Trey, just resting." You have become more fluent in Tsum over the past few days.

When Riddle woke up, you obviously pampered him and he surprisingly didn't swat you away rather he leaned into it, which resulted in a jealous Ace yell-squeaking at Riddle about him apologising as Cater sneakily climbed onto your lap. The cuties.

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

”Ruggie stop that snickering!” The little hyena was the one behind the ‘attacks’ and the one who injured Trey! He stuck his tiny tongue out and hopped away.

You strolled after him whilst ADeuce and Grim sped after. Ha suckers.

”Squeeak!” Ruggie said, an insightful conversation but please, there’s a flaming cat that demands tuna all day and you are broke as hell! You need the money dammit!!

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

You stomped down on the inky lion whilst holding Leona by the scruff at arms length. You made sure the blot was dead before turning to the overgrown house cat.

"Bad cat. You could've killed Ruggie." You scolded as you held said hyena-Tsum close to your chest. Poor thing almost got turned to sand. He was trembling in your hold as you rubbed his head soothingly.

"Squeaaak." Was the lions lazy, drawled reply though he did sound remorseful. Rugged just looks away with a little squeak. Seems he hasn’t forgiven him yet.

”Well he hasn’t forgiven you Leona but perhaps with some-“ You cut yourself of due to the fact that the lazy lion has wriggled out of your grasp and is now sleeping on your palm.

“Oh you are sooo lucky you are cute.” You sat down on the floor and immediately Ace and Grim started fighting to crawl into your lap. Cater once again beat the lot and snuggled into your thigh, Deuce soon followed and was laying on your other thigh looking up at you. You nodded your head and Deuce cheerfully squeaked and nestled in his spot. 

“You guys are so fucking cute I can’t-“

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

”Wow this is a museum?” You said, staring at the underwater Atlantica something. 

“Squeak!” Ace huffed/squeaked. He was still bitter about the sea anemone on his head, which is fair but it was his fault in the first place.

You then heard distant squeaking… and was that… BOSS MUSIC??? Turns out it was just the Leech twins who turned out to not be leeches but moray eels. Interesting but you could still beat them in a fight, your height is the advantage here.

“Squeeak, squeakk!” Floyd was explaining why these guys suck and his Unique Magic. Nice.

”Squeeak.” Jade was kinda disappointed but he was proud how great Floyd’s magic was today.

”SQUEEAK!” Jack yelled, you all then retreated. You could just go in and grab the picture but then you might get tied down by tiny ropes or something, you don’t want to be poked and prodded by tiny spears!

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

”Shhh shhh… it’s alright baby!” You cooed at Azul who was crying and overblotting. You once again, stomped on the blot monster in favour of comforting the poor unfortunate Tsum. You could relate to him, you also got shamed for your looks quite a bit (this is Brrr projecting-) so you only want to help the poor baby! You pulled him to your chest and started singing some gibberish, these guys can’t understand it anyways (You also didn’t understand it).

”Hyamanmaa Gyahuhahhh Labadabadeee!” You sounded fucking amazing, The Voice has never seen this much talent before.

Azul calmed down from the crying so you sat down, Cater wasn’t here so Ace saw the perfect opportunity… only to be beaten by Floyd AND DEUCE- 

Floyd napped aggressively peacefully on your shoulder whilst Deuce once again rested on your thigh. Ace was going to loose his fucking mind! Before you patted you other thigh while looking at him, he smirked triumphantly and waddled over… only for Jade to curl up there and Grim take your other shoulder. HE IS GOING TO KILL SOMEBODY PLEASE JUST LET HIM SLEEP ON THE GIANTS THIGH MY GOD! 

You picked him up by the back of his shirt and put him on your head, Leona and Ruggie then also joined the cuddle pile, pushing Deuce over for room on your thigh. 

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

“Ha bye bitch!” You waved Crowley goodbye, he still can’t understand you so he thought you were being nice to your oh so gracious Headmaster. You weren’t.

”Squeak? (Should we tell him?)” Deuce asked. 

“Squee. (No it’s funnier this way.)” Ace responded.

Eventually all the students and faculty, minus you, the ocean mafia and Grim, have left for the holidays.

You made your way back to Ramshackle with Grim after waving bye to your boys to sleep for like 100 years. Briar Rose who?

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

”Cmon, stop that.” You once again stomped down another overblot, at this point your legs are getting toned. Jamil was held in your palm, he was wriggling a little trying to escape but of course that was not in question. 

“If you don’t stop moving I will drop you.” He was thrashing now. You held him tighter (not too tight don’t worry) and started patting and stroking his head and spine. He instantly melted into your touch so you guess he had never been pampered or dare I say it… have the baby girl treatment. So you sat down as usual and massaged, patted and cuddled Jamil. He looked a lot better already.

Kalim jumped onto your thigh, peeking up at Jamil asking if he was okay.

”He’s fine Kalim, just sleeping.” You say as you pat his head as well. Floyd and Jade once again snuggled onto your thighs, having to share this time as Kalim was on one already, as Grim took your shoulder and Azul just stood there awkwardly. 

“C’mere Azul!” You say as he slowly hopped over and took his place next to the sun himself, Kalim. 

Adorable, all of them.

[sweetonsugden]

I love how Cass is upping the sass now 😂

Dean: you consider switching up your duds there? Bit stiff for this town.

Sam: he could be an agent or something.

Dean: yeah, maybe a third-tier agent.

Cass: at least I don’t look like a lumberjack

Dean: 0_o

This is what hanging with Crowley had done to him. He’s about to strangle that king of hell 🤣

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

yellow rose with idia? ^^

Idia Shroud:

Yellow Rose - a happy thought that causes a smile.

Today was a day to celebrate memories.

Idia awkwardly fumbled with his tie, feeling it was so tight it might strangle him. Ortho had checked at least three times and confirmed it was fine, but had since left the room to focus on other tasks that needed to be done. Idia had practically thrown him out as the constant reminder of his quickened pulse and high blood pressure only made his anxiety feel worse. He could only stare at himself in the mirror for so long, though he did admire his handiwork as his hair was neatly braided with his brushed aside to prevent his face from being covered. There weren’t many stylists gifted with the ability to style cursed hair and he’d really rather do it himself anyway.

Today was too important for anything to go wrong.

“It’s time!” Ortho floated into the room with an excited look on his face, gesturing to the hall where there would be many people awaiting his arrival. It made his knees knock together as he’s about to be thrown into an ultra-stressful situation, like he was desperately climbing ladders and avoiding barrels to reach a princess who didn’t even want him.

But you did want him, because how else would he have ended up here?

He has a lot to thank Ortho for, including the embarrassing situation that had got you here to begin with. They had been playing a silly little otome game together, meaning Idia was on a CG collecting journey and Ortho was helping him remember which path led where. There was a scene between two main characters where a note was exchanged, something very juvenile with a ‘do you like me, y/n?’ written on it.

“Have you ever tried that?” Idia was carefully reading the dialogue, making sure there were no flags being raised that he was on the wrong route and thus locked out of a precious CG that constantly eluded him due to the specific choices that had to be done in a very specific order and—

“Tried—Eh?” Idia hit his keyboard and accidentally began to skip already seen dialogue, panicking and back tracking to his previous save while Ortho patiently waited next to him. “Wh-what are you saying?”

“Writing a note!” Ortho pointed at the screen where a crudely drawn note was, suddenly looking around the room as he tried to find a physical example for Idia to use. It took some snooping but he found a few crumpled pieces of paper with madman scrawling on only half of it, tearing it apart and handing over the blank piece. “Ask them if they like you, and then I can deliver it! If they say no, you don’t even have to see them!”

It wasn’t like Ortho to indulge in his brother’s extreme introvert nature, and Idia was nearly swayed before remembering it could also implode the fragile balance of his online friend group. You, him, and Crimson Muscle made a formidable group, often being enough to on most raids together so he didn’t have to interact with other idiots online. It was much less painful to speak with you through a screen, knowing he could erase a message over and over until he got it just right. He couldn’t sacrifice that, could he?

He should’ve known Ortho’s mercy was only temporary.

Idia was forced out of the solitude of his room, a luncheon being held to celebrate the hard work of each dorm leader being held. He’d rather eat his own hands than celebrate but Crowley wouldn’t budge, persistent and irritating about the whole ordeal. The only good part was seeing your face in high-def rather than via a pixelated avatar online. He still didn’t sit directly across from you but diagonal was good enough for him; not the center of your attention but just within your peripheral where you could notice him.

“Psst, brother! I brought it!” Idia has a piece of paper hastily shoved into his hand, “I wrote it last night! Now you can give it to them in person for an even quicker response!”

He’s suddenly certain the entire world is conspiring against him, trying not to attract your attention as he frantically responded to Ortho.

“That won’t work!”

“Why not?” Ortho tilted his head in a clueless gesture, “In 4 out of the 6 good ends, the note is the pivotal moment in all of them! The Bad End only triggered if you didn’t build up your characters confidence enough to pass the note in class!”

Ortho is just quiet enough that you can’t make out exactly what he’s saying but you can hear him speaking, your eyebrows raised as you looked at the Shroud brothers. Idia saw the dialogue options appear before his very eyes as reality blended with video games for a moment: he could either pass the note to you now and accept the consequences or allow Ortho to reveal it was from the plot of some 3-star Otome game since he wasn’t creative enough to come up with his own way to confess.

He had tossed the paper at you, watching it land right in your half-open bag before he dashed, moving quicker than his physical body had ever moved before. He’d personally expel himself if Crowley tried to drag him back out of his room, he’d just take his parents business over and that’d be the end of that. He didn’t know how long he’d been curled up on his bed, face in his pillow as he considered just smothering himself rather than facing the light of day again. Life’s built-in autosave meant his fate was sealed and, somehow, he felt even more cursed than before.

Until a note slipped under his door, the side the writing was on turned upward so he could see it from his bed.

A little ‘y’ circled in red ink had led to this.

A grand hall decorated with flowers, STYX employees in their finest clothing filling most of the seats, the smell of expensive but most likely delicious foods just waiting to steal everyone’s attention away. When Idia entered the room he could see some of his and your family, along with a few friends dotted throughout but he can’t look for long as he felt like he might pass out.

He stood tall at the front of the room, glancing at the entry way anxiously, like he was truly afraid a too big primate would come through beating his fists on his chest and kidnapping his lover. He had been in a position like this before, albeit less willingly, and he began to understand now why it was so important to put his feelings out there even with the chance of rejection. A bell chimes and the music begins, and Idia can’t wipe the smile from his face.

The pointed grin remained even as you approached, your expression mirroring his as you smiled right back; he suspected by the end of the night his cheeks would ache with how happy he was, but he supposed he could put up with it for a day, for you.

[edosianorchids901]

You're Home

@flashfictionfridayofficial prompt - "rushing train"

Cw: panic attack

Crowley tried to take a deep breath, but it was already too late. His chest had seized up, and his lungs wouldn’t work. The panic attack rushed him like on oncoming train, and he didn’t have time to get off the tracks.

He barely had time to crumple onto a low rock wall in the garden. Gasping for breath, he clutched at the stones as everything spiraled wildly around him.

The world blurred out, and Crowley groaned. Typical, so bloody typical. He and Aziraphale had plans.

“Why now?” He could barely even get enough breath to complain. “Okay. Okay. Calm down.”

He didn’t manage to calm down. Trembling rushed through him, and he let out a strangled scream as he thumped the wall. All he accomplished was hurting his hand.

Several failed attempts to breathe later, he slid off the wall and crumpled to the ground. He pressed back against the cold stone, solid and secure. No one was about to grab him. No one was even here.

Unless they were. What if Heaven and Hell had finally decided to attack? What if he’d picked up on it subconsciously?

Hyperventilating, Crowley twisted around. Was Hastur behind that tree? Maybe there were angels hiding on the other side of the fence. Maybe—

“Crowley?” Aziraphale called. “Where are you, my dear? We’re going to be awfully late for dinner if we don’t leave soon!”

Ohshitohshitohshit, Aziraphale was here. He was in danger.

Crowley shoved off the ground, stumbled sideways, and nearly fell over his bag of gardening tools. He pulled himself together—except for the frantic hyperventilation—and forced himself to move. “Aziraphale!”

Aziraphale, coming down the stone path, tutted are him. “There you are, you old serpent. Whatever have you been up to? Why are you breathing so hard?”

“Trying to outrun a train,” Crowley choked. He grabbed Aziraphale and shoved him behind an old oak tree.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale struggled against his panicked grip. “Goodness, whatever is the matter with you? Did you spend too much time in the sun and get delirious again?”

“Nuh.”

“You certainly seem delirious.”

“M’ not.” He was increasingly dizzy though, and he lost hold of Aziraphale. “Look. Look. It could happen, couldn’t it?”

Aziraphale’s brow furrowed. “What could?”

“The…” Crowley tried to inhale, and this time he didn’t get any air at all. “The… whatsit. Them. Blam!”

His vision fuzzed out, and he fell over.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale caught him and eased him to sit on the grass. “Dear chap, you must tell me what’s wrong. Are we in danger?”

Crowley wheezed in response.

“Are you certain we’re in danger?”

Crowley wheezed less certainly.

“Hmm.” Frowning, Aziraphale rubbed his arm and looked around. “Well, I certainly don’t see any trains. And if by ‘Them’ you mean giant ants, I shall reiterate my statement that you’ve been watching far too many horror films before bed.”

That was so insulting that Crowley almost managed to reply. But he couldn’t get enough air, not yet.

The immediate panic was starting to die down, though. The pressure on his chest eased, and he managed a labored gulp of air.

As soon as he got a little air, his mind started to clear. Which meant he immediately winced with embarrassment. “Er. Hi. Sorry. Sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry.” With a worried smile, Aziraphale took his hand and patted. “Although I do hope you feel up to explaining. Your claim that there was a train was rather alarming.”

“Sorry. Metaphorical train.” Heart still racing, Crowley leaned back against the tree and squeezed Aziraphale’s hand. “Dunno. I just…”

“Had a panic attack?” Aziraphale asked kindly.

“Nrng.”

“Was it about anything in particular?”

“Nah. Nah. I don’t think so.” He looked around nervously anyway. “I was just planting marigolds, and then wham. Couldn’t breathe, freaked out, whole nine yards.”

The frown returned to Aziraphale’s face. “We only have one yard. Granted, it is quite extensive, but…”

“Figure of speech.” He definitely didn’t have the energy to try to explain that or anything else right now. Except there was one thing he did have to explain. “Er. Angel. I don’t think I can do dinner. Sitting in a restaurant is eurgh.”

Terrific. That was a really eloquent explanation. 

Aziraphale sat beside him under the tree and put an arm around his shoulders. “I understand.”

“Gosh, really?”

“Of course. If you’re having sudden feelings of dread in our very own garden, a restaurant would be intolerable.” Ducking down, Aziraphale met his gaze through the dark glasses. “I truly don’t believe there’s anything to fear, you know. You’re home and perfectly safe. There’s been no indications that either of our old sides have any interest in us.”

“Right. Right.” Gulping, Crowley tried to drag his mind around to that concept. “I’m home.”

“Yes, you are. We both are.”

Crowley took a deep breath. It came more easily this time, which was a relief. Technically, he didn’t actually need to breathe, but that didn’t matter in the throes of a panic attack.

He curled up against Aziraphale’s side and just relaxed for a while. Enjoying the cool afternoon breeze, the smell of flowers, the utter lack of anyone trying to kill them. No more oncoming metaphorical trains.

“Okay. Okay,” he said when he was sure he’d recovered. “We’ll try dinner out tomorrow, maybe. You wanna head in and we’ll cook something together for tonight?”

Aziraphale beamed at him. “That sounds so lovely.”

They helped each other up, and Crowley glanced around once more. Then, since all was well, he and Aziraphale joined hands and strolled back to the cottage together.

[mayapapaya33]

The fun part about Gabriel and Beelzebub is that they can be together and happy because they are still fundamentally selfish and so only really care about themselves and now, because of character growth, each other. Whereas Crowley and Aziraphale care about each other AND the world and so are torn apart by their morals and their philosophical difference in how to deal with the problems facing them. (By fun I mean I want to strangle someone).

Aziraphale has learned, mostly through watching Crowley over the centuries ironically, that morality is not black and white and that you need to actually put the work in to make things right, not just assume that a greater power will take care of everything for you. He's developed a sense of civic duty. His heart is in the right place, Unfortunately he's still deeply indoctrinated by Heaven's supposed goodness and superiority despite all evidence to the contrary. He can't see that it isn't just a few bad apples, but rather an institutional problem. He doesn't understand why going back to heaven would be painful for Crowley, why being offered "full angelic status" is such a slap in the face. He just doesn't get it. He says "you're the bad guys" without even blinking but he loves Crowley and thinks he's a good person.

He thinks he's offering a reward, something Crowley deserves for being good, when all this time Crowley has been trying to explain that they are the same. He isn't an angel anymore and he never will be again, not because he couldn't, but because he would never want to. Aziraphale's double think is too strong. Until he breaks through his own mental barriers of HEAVEN = GOOD. He will never understand Crowley's feelings. Because in his mind heaven can never truly be wrong. Except for all the things heaven has been demonstrably wrong about. But that was probably just Gabriel or Michael making bad choices, and he can fix that. Crowley's fall, was is justified or a mistake? Heaven doesn't make mistakes (except for when it does) but that was GOD not just heaven and GOD definitely doesn't make mistakes right? Well, let's not think about that, let's just fix it! Crowley is clearly good, and heaven is good (except for when it isn't) and angels are good (except for when they aren't) so let's make Crowley an angel again! Perfect, what could be wrong with that?! So on and so forth.

Crowley on the other hand, has learned that the difference between Heaven and Hell is aesthetic and that working within the system got him nowhere fast, except doing a million light year free style dive into a pit of sulfur. (I know he's an unreliable narrator and he probably did more than just ask questions, but come on, what does that mean? Seriously, did he stage a really annoying protest in heaven's lobby or something? I can't really see him doing anything TOO nefarious lol. This IS the guy who goes around gluing coins to the sidewalk and taking down the cell phone service, not exactly a monster here, I feel pretty safe in assuming that with anything he did, his punishment did not fit the crime). He works outside the system, to great success.

Which is why at the end of Season 1 he said that he thought it would come down to him and Aziraphale and Earth together AGAINST Heaven and Hell. People always seem to forget that because of Crowley's much flashier (and romantic seeming) panic response of running away. He literally only says that whenever Aziraphale blindsides him and is falling back into Heaven's rhetoric. If Aziraphale was firmly by his side, he wouldn't want to run, he likes Earth and wants to save it. HE was the one who had to convince Aziraphale to try to stop the apocalypse after all! He only started talking about running away when Aziraphale LIED to him about Adam when he was trying to be a "good angel" and Crowley thought there was nothing else they could do to stop the Apocalypse. He Loves Earth, He just Loves Aziraphale more and wants to get him away from heaven.

Same thing here in the final 15, Crowley sees Aziraphale slipping through his fingers and is desperate. Maybe, if they were working together, they COULD reform Heaven, but not while Aziraphale is still in denial about just how bad the problem is. And how much it would hurt Crowley to go back. Which is why I'm so proud of Crowley for not following him. I think Aziraphale needs to come to those realizations on his own. Only then can they come back together and try to stop the second coming and maybe even reform Heaven.

[denaliwrites]

Naked in That Garden

Aziraphale x Fem!Reader x Crowley

Catch and Release Prompt: "Incentive"

Summary: (18+) Crowley discovers an incentive for staying in your body a little while longer. Can be read on its own or as a sequel to Out There Making DuckTales.

Soundtrack: the fruits by Paris Paloma

Requests: Open!

Warnings: :)

"Oi, what's that?" the voice in your head asked.

You snapped out of your reverie with a start. "What's what?" you asked distractedly, looking around for an answer that wasn't there.

"That," Crowley hissed, his... essence? soul? coiling around parts of you that left heat pooling between your legs.

"Crowley," you gasped desperately, nails digging into the wood of the desk you sat at as he did it again experimentally.

The problem was that now a new toy had been dangled in front of him, and Crowley was unlikely to back away -- unless he got bored, or broke it. And, even worse, it was unlikely he'd found and decided to play with those particular bits of you on his own -- something had drawn his attention there.

His essence squeezed around you again, bringing forth a strangled yelp just as Aziraphale walked in.

You didn't dare look at him, but could practically feel the concern rolling off of him as he approached you. His hand on your shoulder was comfortingly warm, but really only served to make you more desperate.

"My dear, you look ill."

Great. You could only imagine what that meant.

His hand not on your shoulder touched your forehead lightly. You glanced up at it and just managed to catch his frown. "You're flushed, but you don't have a fever. How odd."

He helped you to a stand and led you towards the stairs.

You nearly collapsed as Crowley's wandering interest honed in on the bud nestled between your thighs. Aziraphale caught you, looking deeply worried, but you weren't really sure how to tell him your demon houseguest had found the game room.

You were led into a bedroom and sat on the bed, and in your distracted haze you barely noticed Aziraphale leave, and certainly didn't hear his words as he did.

"I h-hope you're satif-fied," you gasped as Crowley tickled your insides.

"Oh, very," his voice hissed in your head. "This feels amazing. What is it?"

On one hand, you found it a little hard to believe a six thousand year old demon didn't know what he was doing to you. On the other, they'd both told you before that they didn't have human bodies so much as tangible objects that vaguely resembled human bodies from the outside.

So maybe he was being honest.

You wiped your brow, pushing back some strands of slicked hair, and released a huff as you leaned back. One hand supported you while the other dipped beneath the waistband of your jeans, inching ever closer to the heat between your legs.

"Do you really not know?" you asked, panting.

"I don't. Human physiology isn't really my forte."

"Do you want to?"

"I do."

That was all you needed to slip your fingers into your folds, index and middle pressing into your cunt while your thumb circled your clit. At first you weren't sure if your pleasure reached Crowley, but then your heard your moan echoed in and around you.

It was weird, to be getting yourself off like this. But something about it definitely turned you on.

"C-Crowley," you panted, slowing down for a moment so you could think.

"Yes, darling?" he purred.

"Can you... d-do you think you could... fill me?"

"Fill you?"

"Yes -- where my fingers are."

A moment later and your cunt felt full in a way you couldn't ever hope to describe. Technically, there was nothing there besides your fingers -- at least, visually speaking. But you could definitely feel Crowley's weight inside you, and it drew forth an obscene moan.

You only remembered Aziraphale when you heard a glass shatter on the wooden floor, and your eyes flew open to see him standing in the doorway, eyes bulging and mouth hanging slack.

"A-Azira--"

You fell silent as he came forward. His eyes blazed as he took in your flushed face, the sheen of sweat covering every inch of your skin, your hand buried in your jeans.

"Really, dear," he said with a click of his tongue. "If you needed help you really should've just asked."

"Wh..."

He snapped his fingers -- no doubt to miracle away the glass -- and then honed his focus back in on you. His gaze was hot and heavy, like a sun that burned bright enough to blind, but you couldn't help but stare into.

"Aziraphale," you whimpered, blinking the building tears of desperation out of your eyes.

"Hush, now, my dear." His voice was impossibly soft, loving, as he leaned forward and cupped your cheek in his hand, his thumb brushing a tear away as yours brushed your clit. "Would you like my help?"

Crowley chose that moment to expand himself -- not enough to cause pain, but enough to leave you crying out, only able to answer Aziraphale in a wordless nod.

He leaned forward to kiss you, his lips tender against your own. His one hand remained on your cheek, while his other gently pulled your hand away from your cunt.

"N-no," you sobbed, but he shushed you with another kiss.

"It's all right," he reassured you. He snapped again and you were hit with a sudden chill as your clothes disappeared. Before you could complain, Aziraphale guided you down onto the bed, his now bare body hovering over you as his eyes trailed over your prone form. "Oh, aren't you lovely?"

Crowley gave an assenting hum as he squirmed inside you, eliciting another cry from you.

Aziraphale trailed kisses down your neck and chest, stopping to suckle at your breasts for a moment before he made his way back up.

"Angel," Crowley said, "how do you know what to do here?"

It was a great question. Of the two, you would've expected Crowley to know more about this particular activity.

"I read," the angel answered simply before he pulled you into a loving kiss.

You whimpered into his lips, nails clawing at his back in a desperate bid to coax him into action.

He blessedly understood your silent plea and responded by rocking his hips forward. You were, just for a moment, certain he used a miracle to drive home on his first try, but then all thoughts disappeared as you were filled to capacity.

Maybe even beyond.

It still didn't hurt, but the pressure left you gasping and your ache for release left you sobbing.

Aziraphale tsked above you. "Crowley, really, did you have to leave her in such a state?"

"How was I supposed to know that's what that button did?"

Aziraphale sighed as he pulled back. There was little relief as he was quick to pitch forward, filling you once again. And as he filled you back up, through your own wail you heard Crowley moan. And you could tell Aziraphale heard it too by the sudden glint in his eyes.

The angel, ever kind, shifted so that his next thrust in his your G-spot, and then he hammered at it relentlessly. Your screams were muffled by his kisses as he drove into that bundle of nerves over and over.

Crowley wriggled inside you, part of him filling your cunt while part of him shifted to toy with your clit.

It only took about ten seconds (if that) for your screams to become silent wails of pleasure. Tears streamed freely, though Aziraphale was quick to brush them away. And only a few seconds after your voice failed you, you began shaking from the strain of the building pleasure, from your desperate need for a release that was torturously close.

A few more snaps of his hips, and suddenly the dam burst.

Your whole body twitched and tensed into an arc, cunt clenching around Aziraphale so tightly that he had to pause mid-thrust. You wished you could scream, but no sound came out as your orgasm blazed through you like wildfire.

You barely registered Crowley's retreat into some other recess of your body, or that Aziraphale shifted so that the two of you were sitting up with you perched in his lap and leaned against his shoulder.

You eased into him as your orgasm faded, limply plastered against him like an overcooked noodle. He stroked your damp hair as you came down, your breaths rough pants against his shoulder.

"That's it," he and Crowley cooed together.

"You did so beautifully, my dear," Aziraphale sighed happily.

And, just to you, Crowley all but purred, "If ever I thought something divine, it'd be the image of you naked and gleaming."

[depraveddame]

Ineffable Kinktober, Day 13: Somnophilia ✨🌙

CWs: Mildly dubious consent, somnophilia, CNC elements, Eden, bottom Crowley, top Aziraphale, Crowley has a vulva, Aziraphale has a penis, roleplay, squirting, under negotiated kink, and more- please check tags and notes on ao3!

*

The moon is high in the sky, bathing everything in its luminous embrace of pearly light, and Aziraphale once again cannot sleep. When he cannot rest, he usually will wander the garden, listening to the nightingales and blackbirds, doing his best not to wonder where his adversary might be at that very moment (and usually failing), and tonight it is no different.

His feet tickle pleasantly as they land on moss and grass, lush and damp and verdant, and Aziraphale smiles as he goes, thinking about how Crawley seems to delight in flora more than anyone else in the garden until he hears something— a strangled yet indisputable whimper.

It’s coming from the glade just beyond where Aziraphale comes to a stop, and he freezes as his eyes fall onto the prone, human form of Crawley, lying on his stomach on the lush grass of the tiny clearing, illuminated by moonlight streaming down through the break in the canopy of trees, and though he appears to be asleep, he is not still.

He’s writhing on the ground, Aziraphale realizes as he steps closer, quieter than the mice he’s watched silently scurry around Eden, his lower body is surging and twisting, and he freezes as his ears pick up on a devastatingly sweet, sleep slurred whine:

“…please…pleassse, it hurtssss…”

Somehow the tendril of that hiss trailing off into the dark finds its way to Aziraphale’s fluttering heart, where it joins with his heartstrings and plucks at them like a harp. What is hurting Crawley, he wonders? Could it be memories of The Fall, haunting him in his sleep? He supposes there are any number of specters that could be tormenting a demon’s slumber, and as the cries continue, Aziraphale’s worry grows.

As he frets and ponders, though, something else manifests between his legs in a heat that’s as frightening as it is exhilarating, as it is animal— it reminds Aziraphale that he should not be feeling anything like it while this close to a demon, let alone in regards to one, and even less so one that is presumably in distress. He doesn’t quite understand what he’s feeling as he draws closer to the beautiful sight, but he knows it isn’t right, whatever it is; just another sin to add to his mounting transgressions against God, but the worry of another being’s safety is stronger than the fear of doing wrong by ensuring it.

“Crawley,” Aziraphale whispers quietly once he stands a pace away from his mark, not wanting to startle the demon, “Crawley, what is it— are you hurt?”

Crawley freezes on the forest floor there for a second before he resumes moving again, and it looks like he’s rutting against the grass; his hips cant down into it, his fingers dig themselves into the patch of moss his head lay on, and a fractured burst of breath is followed by yet another shaky, thready plea: “oh, p-please, please…n-need…”

Aziraphale swallows, but finds he can’t— his throat is very thick and dry all of a sudden as he stares down at the demon, and his voice is one he doesn’t recognize as he asks, low and trembling, heated, “what is it, my dear, what do you need? How can I help?”

“Please…inside, hurtsss ins-side, want you inssside…angel…”

*

@quefish77

[actual-changeling]

i think about the fact that crowley went through with his confession despite everything at least once a day, so have a ficlet where he doesn't.

edit: you can now find this fic on ao3 right here

———

"If I'm in charge… I can make a difference."

For a second, everything stops. The noise disappears, the world blurs and fades, his body grows numb while he desperately clings to the breath inside his lungs. He is suffocating, he must be, words are blocking his throat, and this—this can't be.

After everything they went through for six thousand years, after countless of heaven's cruelties, after ropeburn on Aziraphale's wrists before stepping into a spiral of hellfire, the mere thought of his angel returning to heaven seemed like a laughable impossibility. There are choices the world makes for one, and this had been one of them; live as a traitor, as an exile, but live. 

A life lived in freedom, shared, and cherished.

Aziraphale wouldn't go back. He wouldn't. 

Crowley could have sworn he never would, and yet here they are, mouths open, judgements spoken, and still alive. 

"Oh."

Air rushes out of him and takes the tension with it, dragging him back to full consciousness and leaving him with tremors in his hands and tears in his eyes.

"Right."

Reflexively, he turns around, hyperaware of his uncovered eyes, and the confession is still humming in the back of his mind. He wouldn't, he thinks again and again and again, he wouldn't, he wouldn't.

But he did. The grandfather clock stares him down, a hint of gold reflected back at him, and his joints ache when he pries his glasses out of his fist and puts them on. A familiar shadow falls over the world, taking all the colour with it, and Crowley suddenly feels very, very cold.

"Crowley?"

A hesitant step towards him, then another, and his skin burns, his fingers shake, as the carefully cultivated sprout of hope in his chest dies oh so slowly.

He wouldn't, whispers the voice again, crumbling like a brittle leaf crushed in Aziraphale's fist.

He would. He did, another gives back, and he knows this, too, knows it with the taste of resignation on his tongue.

Crowley faces Aziraphale simply to stop him from coming any closer, gritting his teeth when he sees the confused irritation greeting him. Surprised—Aziraphale is surprised that he does not want to come with him.

Six thousand years, the tiny voice weakly offers, six thousand years, and this is the reward.

Crowley wants to rip his confession out of his throat and offer it to him, he wants to throw it up onto the floor and never see it again, he wants to grab Aziraphale's shoulders and shake him because, why, why would you think I want this? Why would you do this?

Why are you leaving me?

He wants to break his ribs and pull them apart so he can kill his heart with his own hand, and it is falling, it is burning, it is grace leaving him as everything he thought he knew dissipated and vanished among the stars. Maybe some pieces of himself will stay behind in the dust, marking his presence, marking an absence.

"Good luck," Crowley says flatly, not recognising himself, not seeing or hearing, and as he begins to walk away, a high-pitched ringing settles in his ears. Love is a stone sinking to the bottom of his stomach, it is his ribs splintered and sharp, cutting him open from the inside out. Maybe the worst part is that it is not entirely unexpected—after all, why would he keep telling himself that Aziraphale would never return to heaven if there were no fundamental belief that he would?

"Good luck? Crowley! Crowley, come back, to—"

A hand wraps around his wrist like heated iron, and he can barely bite back the strangled sound escaping him at the contact, wrenching his arm out of Aziraphale's grip; he doesn't turn around.

"Don't."

Not a command, no, a plea, a prayer, a finish line, the ending to a game he always hated playing; love, sure, in the good moments, during the good times.

Now it simply hurts—hollow and heavy—and if he looks at him, he will tell him; he will tell him all of it and more. He will try to make him change his mind despite knowing it is hopeless, yet he cannot help but feel as if this is a frozen moment right before the guillotine blade falls.

Judgement day, for better or for worse.

Crowley could linger, could meet tear-stained cheeks and blue irises, could fall to his knees and beg him to stay, but none of it would be able to fix the rift opening between them. Six thousand years, and for the very first time since Eden, Aziraphale is a stranger to him. The blade will have to come down eventually, and maybe they have been staving off the inevitable; maybe it is for the best.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Crowley gathers the fragmented shards of himself and holds them tight. Then he makes a choice and whispers a goodbye into the silence, numbly making his way through the bookshop, across the street, into the Bentley, and all the way back to his flat.

Sometimes things are better left unsaid.