#Gomens fic

[goodomensao3tagoftheday]

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Spent and Sated (Good Omens Drabble)

Aziraphale x GN!Reader 18+ ONLY / requests are open

Summary: Aziraphale knows you can take one more load.

Fic type: smut

GOMENS: @coffee-and-red-lipstick @quickslvxrr @clarina04 @motionlessindoubt @stevekempscocktails @go-bonkers-go-foolish @peytonpenguin37 @florduarte @complimentary-breadbasket @thekirbishow (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

From an outsider’s perspective, Aziraphale could come across as a very… unsexual person. You, however, knew the truth of how deeply depraved the Angel could be when he wanted to. 

Right now was no exception. 

Right now Aziraphale had you bent in half underneath him as he ploughed his thick cock into your hole. You were whining and writhing under him, but he didn’t let up for even a moment. This was round two, you were pretty sure- or was it round three? 

Either way, you’d been fucked completely dumb and were loving it, too. 

“Look at you,” Aziraphale panted, sweat dripping down the side of his face. “Fucked to completion under me like this-” 

You groaned, spasming around his cock as his words shot heat down your spine. 

“How many times, hmm? How many times have you climaxed for me, my dear? Three? Four? Oh, my sweet thing. Do you have any more for me?” 

You nodded dumbly, tears welling up in your eyes as he fucked into your harshly. You were coming undone once again, that pressure building as the desperation grew. Was it desperation for him to stop or was it desperation for him to continue? At this point, you couldn’t tell. The only things you knew were the throb of his cock and the feeling of fullness in your hole. 

“Fuck, Zira–” You whimpered, clenching weakly around him as he brought one hand to that spot between your legs that had you seeing stars.

“Now, now,” Aziraphale tutted. “There’s no need for blasphemy. You know I’m going to breed you, my darling. Wouldn’t you like to finish for me one more time?” 

You decided to ignore the fact that Aziraphale had sworn only about two minutes ago, figuring that it wasn’t worth the effort to argue the point right now. 

The wet slap of the spent seed already inside you as Zira fucked into you only managed to make you feel all that much more full, and you weren't entirely sure you were going to be able to handle another load. 

“You know you can, my darling,” Aziraphale panted, fingers tightening on your hips. “You know you can take more.”

Your face screwed up with pleasure as he fucked harder now, nearing his climax. 

“You want to be full of my seed, don’t you, my dear? Oh, yes, bred full and willing- you’re so wonderful-” 

You feebly attempted to squeeze around him to encourage him to finish. It seemed to work as he finally jerked forward once, twice more and spent himself inside you. 

Aziraphale groaned, head dropping down to rest on your shoulder as the last ropes of his seed found their way into your hole. 

“That’s it, my dear,” he panted, “always so good for me, aren’t you?” 

You nodded, exhausted and so very sated. 

“Always, my Angel. Always.”

[ishomieokay]

Sorry, guys. Will have to post-pone the Aziracrow Sex Work AU for Friday bc I'm in finals and absolutely not ready (teacher, not a child). It's complete and just needs editing, though, so good news.

[feralbutfluffy]

62. Convergence

Chapter 62 of Too Wise to Woo Peaceably

It was patient urgency. 

It was impatient restraint.

It was being in the eye of a hurricane; everything moving overwhelmingly fast and not at all.

Aziraphale had been stationed on Earth for thousands of years. He had existed for aeons. He had learned so much in that time, experienced so much in that time. He had lived, and felt, and enjoyed, and in the entirety of that duration, in all of those years, in everything he had felt, there had been nothing - nothing - like this.

And had he ever expected to be here?

No, of course not. An angel and a demon, hereditary enemies, digging a grave for their mandated conflict and burying it deep - six millennia under - beneath the comforting weight of friendship, and longing, and care, and love.

And had he ever dreamed of being here?

Yes. Oh, yes.

In private. In secret. Ever since the kiss in the bookshop he had dreamed of it, and he had folded and folded those dreams until they were hardened squares, folded them tiny and tight so he could tuck them away, wedge them between his memories, and pretend they were never there at all.

And now...

His focus was sharp with greed, his entire being overwhelmed by a hunger that yearned to taste the specifics of the moment, that longed to savour them, swallow them down, keep each one somewhere safe and secret and sacred, keep them guarded in his heart, in the back of his skull, in the marrow of his bones. 

The damp hair curling against Crowley’s temple.

His pupils, fully dilated, obsidian surrounded by molten gold.

The pulse visibly drumming against his skin.

The sound of rasping breaths being dragged in and out, rough with want.

Aziraphale was pinned beneath Crowley’s angular frame but he felt as if he might be floating, actually, and his heart was in his throat, and he was vaguely aware that it shouldn’t be there, shouldn’t be lodged in his airway making him feel like he might choke, like he might be smothered by the intensity of the love he was feeling, but he couldn’t do anything about it. It was stuck fast. 

He pulled his hands from Crowley’s to place them tentatively on his waist, and ran them up his sides and over his back. Crowley shook and closed his eyes, pressing his forehead into the curve where Aziraphale’s neck met his shoulder, and Aziraphale lightly dragged his fingernails down and back up the former demon’s back, reveling in every twitch and shudder. 

He wanted nothing more than to wrap Crowley in a tight embrace. He wanted to pull him in and hug him to his chest, cradle his head against his heartbeat, let him hear it repeated and repeated and repeated - I love you I love you I love you - until it sank into his skin, until the truth of it was a part of him, until it eased every harm he had ever done, soothed every hurt he had ever inflicted, as he stroked his hair and kissed his eyelids and drowned them both in the downpour of everything he had ever held back in his denial.

But he thought that would be too close to a feeling of restraint to be welcome, so he kept his arms loose and his hands soft and his touch gentle.

And he trembled with the effort of it.

A ferocious, rocketing need was burning through his body, his nerve endings sizzling and catching alight where Crowley’s fingers grazed his skin, and the small fragment of his mind that was still able to formulate thoughts was picturing the Rod of Asclepius. 

It was picturing the Rod of Asclepius and wondering if - in some other telling, in some other rendering - the staff might perhaps have been a flaming sword.

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

Crowley was… surprised.

He was surprised he wasn't smoking at the edges where his thighs pressed against Aziraphale's.

He was surprised at how easy it felt, this thing that had seemed impossible for so long.

He was surprised he hadn't discorporated from pure pleasure.

He was surprised to be here at all.

He was… surprised.

Aziraphale was touching him. Really, purposefully, intentionally touching him. He was touching his sides, running his nails lightly down his back, and Crowley felt the gentle rake of them like forked lightning down either side of his spine.

And had he ever expected to be here?

No, no. Fuck no, he hadn't expected it but-

And had he ever dreamt of being here?

Yes. No. Not here exactly. For a demon with a banked love that had spanned thousands and thousands of years, his dreams had been embarrassingly chaste. Usually, they were companionable silences; an angel and a demon enjoying a quiet evening together, one having a cup of tea, the other having a glass of wine, nothing to see here, only two peaceful beings and an appalling, enveloping love.

Sometimes they were alternate endings, rewrites of bitter memories or hurtful phrases, doors pried open by his imagination when in reality they'd been slammed shut. Dreams of-

"I don't even like you!"

"You dooooo!"

"....I do”

And dreams of-

“We could… I don't know. Go for a picnic. Dine at the Ritz.“

“I'll give you a lift. Anywhere you want to go.”

“... Alright. Take me to yours.”

And dreams of-

“I don't think my side would like that.”

“You don't have a side anymore. Neither of us do. We're on our own side.”

“... I like the sound of that, actually.”

And of course, dreams of- 

“We can make a difference!”

“...You can't leave this bookshop.”

“Oh, Crowley… Perhaps I could leave the bookshop, but not you. Never you.”

… And other romantic, frothy nonsense concocted by a tired mind sick to the teeth of pretending; it had used his moments of rest to jettison futile thoughts in order to keep him moving, like sandbags thrown overboard to keep a balloon in the air. They never went anywhere, but they were enough. Sometimes, in his wildest dreams, Aziraphale might make a tiny move towards him, might tilt his body, might do something Crowley would interpret as intent, something that would lead him to think of leaning in for a kiss... And he would wake up instantly to find himself on the ceiling, sweaty, flustered, and too agitated to see the angel again for at least a couple of months.

So being here, now, was not exactly a dream come true.

He’d never been insolent enough to dream of this. 

This was much, much more. Much more. He put both hands out for it, a prayer from a fervent believer. He was tongue-tied, words of devotion caught behind his teeth, and he had burned so many times - in sulfur, in hellfire, in the Bentley after speeding through a blazing M25 - but he had never burned like this.

This was a delicious, heavy smoulder. It made him want to melt into Aziraphale completely, made him want to wrap around him like a serpent basking on a rock, basking on his rock, and wasn’t that just the most romantic frothy nonsense? Only this was no dream, this was happening, wasn't it? This was real.

Aziraphale’s movements were careful, and gentle, and steady, and Crowley felt his touch and thought of reach out your hand and put it on my side. 

He felt his kiss and thought of stop doubting and believe.

And he did.

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

Aziraphale allowed Crowley to tug him to his feet.

“Feeling better then, are we?” He said, arching an eyebrow at Crowley’s improved stability.

“Much,” said Crowley, stealing a kiss.

“You could barely walk earlier-”

“Angelic kisses must have restorative properties,” said Crowley, grinning, and their feet tangled as they stumbled across the carpet, Crowley unbuttoning Aziraphale's shirt as they went, bending to press dutiful kisses at each point of skin revealed. Aziraphale sighed happily and allowed himself to be gently pushed back onto the bed, into a pile of blankets and pillows and cushions so deep he was almost buried in them. He laughed as he tossed some to the floor, the laugh dying in his throat as Crowley pulled off his top, the black one with the thin yellow stripes, and stood at the foot of the bed looking long and lean and angular. 

Of course Crowley had been bare-chested after the rescue from Heaven, but everything had been so awful then, and there had been so much pain, so much hurt, it hadn’t mattered, hadn’t even been a consideration. But now… 

He stood there, any lingering pain pushed aside, his torso marked with pale lines and raised carvings, his bruises splashes of indecent colour on an otherwise pale canvas. He looked brave. He looked alive. And, well, Aziraphale thought it was probably a good thing he’d been a demon really because he was spectacular, and it must be sinful to look quite so tempting.

Crowley dropped the black fabric on the floor and Aziraphale must have been doing something with his face because when Crowley looked up and caught his expression he froze, his pupils contracting slightly, his jaw tightening.

“What? Should I not have-?” There was uncertainty in his voice, fear that he had overstepped, a hollow echo of you go too fast for me hanging in the air between them, and his shoulders hunched inward, the hollows at his collarbones becoming more pronounced with the movement. He tilted his chin up in a gesture of defiance even as he looked down at Aziraphale with a chastened expression, an oxymoron made flesh.

Aziraphale propped himself up on his elbows and smiled at him, and he tried to pour everything into it - his admiration, his wonder, his desire, his fascination, his joy - and he hoped Crowley could see it, wondered if he could feel it radiating off him in helpless waves. 

He certainly must have seen something, because his jaw and shoulders relaxed, and one corner of his mouth kicked up into a fraction of a smile, and he came forward to kneel on the edge of the bed, falling forward over Aziraphale, bracketing his shoulders with his arms. He looked down at him, his hair falling forward on his forehead, his eyes wide and imploring. 

“Yeah?” Crowley said, and the word was almost-shy, packed dense with apprehension and hope.

Puppy dog eyes thought Aziraphale, and a hysterical giggle almost bubbled out around the heart in his throat. Not puppy dog eyes at all. Serpent eyes. Beautiful, adoring, hopeful serpent eyes.

He cupped Crowley’s face in his hands in such a gentle hold that he was barely touching him. “You are magnificent.”

Crowley didn’t flinch at the touch, but he flinched at the comment, a reflexive recoil, and his lips parted to form the shape of some denial, some interjection, but Aziraphale shook his head minutely and put two fingers to his mouth, staying the words.

Crowley stared at him, his breathing heavy, and Aziraphale was mesmerised by the rising and falling of his naked chest. Crowley flicked his tongue against Aziraphale's fingers and huffed with laughter when he pulled them away in shock. Aziraphale narrowed his eyes and retaliated by pushing up to trace Crowley’s collarbone with his lips. Crowley’s elbows almost gave out. He let out a long, shaky hiss, and then his pupils widened again, and Aziraphale felt positively wicked in the most wonderful way.

“Crowley, you are-”

“Lucky,” interrupted Crowley in a low, earnest voice. “So lucky.”

“Shhh don’t be silly,” he said, rubbing at a faint white mark that underlined how very unlucky he had been. “I’m blessed to know you,” Aziraphale said, and put his lips to a thin white scar that crossed Crowley’s chest. 

"Blessed," Crowley repeated, his eyes half-closed with pleasure. He gave him a lopsided smile. “Blessed either way,” he said, prodding his chest with a finger, “...Angel.”

Aziraphale’s smile was crooked as he wondered if this would be the thing that pushed him over the edge into a Fall, if this was what would tip him over into something he had been afraid of for so long that the fear felt like an intrinsic part of him. He wondered if this was what would cleave him from Heaven, and he closed his eyes, waiting for the familiar icy terror, the asphyxiating guilt, the feeling of celestial duty stomping on his wants and needs in steel-toed boots, grinding them to dust.

But it didn’t come. There was something - a whisper of censure, a muffled shriek of outrage - but it was so far away as to be almost inaudible, and then Crowley kissed him again and it vanished completely. 

There was no going back. He had tasted, for good or for ill, and it had awakened an appetite that couldn’t be ignored, and Aziraphale kissed Crowley back and thought, I’ll be damned.

And he remembered Crowley’s reply of it's not that bad when you get used to it and he thought that if it involved this, then he could get used to it.

Oh, he could definitely get used to this.

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

Aziraphale was smiling up at him. His jacket was... somewhere (now with three fewer buttons), and his waistcoat had been removed and carefully folded (by one sheepish demon feeling guilty about possibly having ripped the jacket). His shirt was fully unbuttoned, hanging loose against his sides, exposing his torso. Crowley had unwrapped him like one of those chocolates Aziraphale liked so much, and now he was lying beneath him panting happily, looking as rumpled as he'd ever seen him, and he loved him, so much, so much, and he thought that if he could, he would reach into his chest and rip out his heart, press it into his hands, close his fingers over it, and he wouldn't feel a thing because after all hadn't it always been there?

And he sat up on his knees, curling two fingers of one hand into one of Aziraphale's belt loops as he used his other hand to drag black-tipped nails down Aziraphale's stomach, eyes creasing in happy satisfaction at the little sounds it elicited. He ran a fingertip along the skin just above his waistband and watched, fascinated, as the angel's skin leaped at his touch.

Aziraphale swallowed, and whimpered, and then said his name, but - unfortunately - it wasn't a mindless utterance spoken in pleasure, it was a question.

Crowley tilted his head and met his gaze.

"Do you-," the angel licked his lips and tried again. "Do you... Do you have an awful lot of experience with this sort of thing?"

Crowley stared at him.

"What?"

"How many times have you...?"

Crowley blushed. Properly blushed. "Er...."

"I just want to know how similar this is to temptations you might have done in the past-"

"You think I do this with-"? Crowley is so indignant he almost chokes. "A kiss, maybe, at most, and that's only if absolutely necessary!"

Aziraphale was the one staring now. "So you've never...?"

"No!" A moment of silence passed while he turned the question over in his head and a thought occurred to him. "Have you?"

"No! No of course not!" Aziraphale says hurriedly, and the quick stab of jealousy that had pierced Crowley's chest immediately disappeared.

"Oh. Right. Good. I mean, okay."

Although Aziraphale is rather pink, and he has been known to lie...

"Are you sure?" Crowley can't help it, he just blurts it out, this needy question, this desperate request for reassurance, for yes I'm sure, and yes you're the only one.

"Quite sure," Aziraphale frowns at him, but his cheeks are magenta.

"You're blushing, angel," he points out.

"Well, I may not have done it before, but I've read things..."

"... Of course you have," said Crowley dryly.

"... So I'm certainly familiar with the theory."

Crowley's eyebrows rose. "Right. The theory."

He nodded at Aziraphale, enchanted as usual, besotted like always. Here he was lying beneath him, struggling to draw breath, flushed with pleasure, and the blessed angel was trying to talk to him about theory. 

"I can tell you about it," breathed Aziraphale, "I can tell you about- about- about erogenous zones."

Crowley groaned and buried his face in Aziraphale's neck. 

"I could tell you about- about-" Aziraphale stuttered as Crowley nipped at his shoulder with teeth that were slightly sharper than they ought to have been. "... th-th-the different-"

"If you say erogenous zones again, I swear..." growled Crowley, pinching one of his nipples, making Aziraphale arch off the bed with an embarrassingly loud cry. "What do you take me for?"

As charming as he found Aziraphale's love of learning, Crowley didn't think this was the time to discuss theory. All he wanted to do was trust his intuition and keep experimenting and exploring until he discovered how to make Aziraphale see stars.

He would figure it out as he went. He was sure he would.

He always did.

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

In the ensuing hours, Aziraphale and Crowley slowly explored an aspect of humanity they had long ignored.

They made an effort to indulge in human pleasures they had been denying themselves, and after that there were no more miracles.

There was no snapping of fingers, no shortcut taken, no instant gratification. They had waited for so long, wondered for so long. Reverent, trembling fingers explored creases and dips, curves and hollows, millimetre by millimetre.

There was an urgency that shook them both, powerful and electric, and it was the feeling of a door they’d been pushing against forever, shoulder to shoulder, suddenly opening so that they were tumbling through it and falling into each other.

They harnessed it. They channeled it into the gentle pressure of fingertips digging into sensitive skin, and unhurried, leisurely kisses, and deliberate, tender touch, and skin being revealed by degrees, and adoring hands, and worshipping mouths, and achingly slow strokes.

Words were exhaled by one to be inhaled by the other, and their names fell from their lips like prayers, and they were together, and they were inhabiting each others' hearts, and they were inhabiting each others' bodies. Angel, demon...

And neither of them exploded.

And both of them saw stars.

[onceuponapuffin]

Fanatic Intervention Part 23!!!

Okay, so yes this took me a while, but it's here :)

Let's do this.

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

With a click, the tripod locked into place. Jeremy went behind his recording phone to check the angle one more time. It looked perfect – he would be dead center of the screen as he started his latest masterpiece. He nodded in satisfaction and hit record. He needed to get as much footage as he could before Doug showed up to “bust” him. As much as his viewers loved watching him do this stuff and get away with it, the numbers always jumped whenever he “got caught” and had to get himself out of trouble. Lucky for him he had friends at the police station who were happy to play along for the right price. Doug, specifically, was his most reliable buddy cop. He had like, 3 kids, so he was always happy to have the extra cash. Jeremy was pretty sure he’d taken them to Disney World on it last year. Jeremy’s dad may not have been around all that much, but one thing he’d made sure Jeremy learned early was the power of holding others’ financial stability in the palm of your hand.

Jeremy stepped into the camera’s line of sight, made it look like he was adjusting the angle, then he winked and ran a hand through his hair. Gotta look cool for the camera. Then, he picked up a bottle of spray paint, shook it, and tossed into the air. He missed the catch, but that’s alright, his editor Luca would make it look good in post. Then he started painting. The comments had asked for him to paint something called Trollface. Honestly he’d had to Google it and he thought it was the weirdest thing he’d ever seen, but if it got him views and followers, then sure. He could see the faint chalk lines that his artist Matteo had drawn for him ahead of time. Luca would erase those in post. With another smile at the camera, Jeremy pressed the trigger, and began painting Trollface on the side of the federal office building.

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

Okay, you decide, the time has come. You need to say something.

“Um, hey everyone?” You start as Crowley steers deeper and deeper into the busy streets of LA, “I think the car is a Swiftie.”

Aziraphale sighs and looks at Crowley. “Is this one I want to ask about? I still rather regret asking last time”

“Listen, every song for the last three hours has been Taylor Swift,” You insist, “And the second someone mentions it, the song changes to a different artist, but then it just goes right back!”

Anathema raises an eyebrow at you.

“Don’t give me that look,” You say to her, “You are not someone who should be looking at me like I’m crazy.”

“Maybe it’s just an AI feature,” Sardis suggests, “You know, it sees that there are Taylor Swift songs on our playlist, and Taylor Swift is a pretty big deal right now, so it just gives us more of her songs.”

“No,” You say, “It’s the car, I’m sure of it--” You’re prevented from saying anything else because Crowley slams on the break and leans on the horn. Someone had the audacity to try and cut him off. You have no idea who would try something like that, but you are very sure that they will find themselves regretting it later. To your right, you see Sardis shaking his head. Anathema is swearing under her breath in at least two languages, and Aziraphale is holding on to anything he can get a grip on as though his life depends on it. You, for your part, are trying a bunch of breathing techniques to try and shake off the shock of what just happened. While inhaling and counting on your fingers, you happen to look out the window, and you get the breath knocked out of you for a second time.

“WAIT I THINK I SEE HIM!” You scream, pointing out the window. Crowley slams on the brakes again and swerves in the direction you’re pointing. A corner of your brain is once again comforted to realize that he does actually use his mirrors. Aziraphale shrieks and grabs the overhead handle with both hands. Anathema swears really loudly, but Sardis actually looks where you pointed and becomes rather excitable himself.

“THAT’S HIM! THAT’S HIM!” Sardis yells, confirming your suspicion.

What are the chances, right? Yeah, okay we’ve done this bit before, I’m not gonna harp on it. You get how this goes by now. Suspend your disbelief – we have things to do.

The kid in question – Jeremy – is busily vandalizing the side of an office building. He’s within view of the street, which honestly you find really annoying. Couldn’t he at least have the decency to go around back? No, you figure, probably not. That tik tok seemed to suggest that he wanted to get caught. How on earth were you going to convince him to help save the world?

The car comes to a screeching halt right behind the boy who, weirdly enough, doesn’t seem alarmed by the sound. He doesn’t jump or anything. At least, not until he turns around, then he almost leaps three feet in the air. There’s suddenly surprise and confusion on his face as Crowley cuts the engine and hops out. Aziraphale also scrambles out the door, but you figure that’s probably less about the mission and more about Crowley’s driving.

Jeremy drops his spray paint and runs.

Aziraphale groans. “Must it be running?” He asks no one in particular. There isn’t any time to reply before Sardis goes rushing past the lot of you.

“You coming slowpokes?” He calls over his shoulder.

“No!” Aziraphale answers, “You’re doing quite well on your own! We’ll catch up with you!”

“Speak for yourself!” Anathema huffs at the angel. Then she picks up her skirt and starts running after Sardis, heels and all. You look over your shoulder and see that Crowley and Aziraphale have hopped back in the car. Wait, wait, you’re gonna get left behind. After only a second of indecision, you book it back to the car behind the husbands and you only just manage to get your other foot in the door before the door slams behind you and Crowley takes off at full speed. How does he know where he’s going? You have no idea, but you’re not asking questions. Besides, you’re busy being thrown around the backseat because he took off too fast for you to put on your seatbelt.

“OI! OUTTA THE WAY!!” He yells, full volume, laying on the horn. The traffic bends to his will, as do the lights. There are miraculous spaces for Crowley to weave between cars, every light is green, and he drives through construction zones without any trouble. Once you finally manage to sit back up and click in a seatbelt (it immediately locks tight, which is uncomfortable, but you decide it’s the better of your options), you glance at Aziraphale, whose eyes are shut tight. You vaguely register that the car has started playing Taylor Swift again.

“You okay, Azi?” You call. The seatbelt is constricting you too much to get his full name out. Fortunately he seems MUCH too distracted to notice.

“As long as Crowley doesn’t discorporate us, I’ll be fine,” The angel mutters. The look on his face says otherwise.

“Yeah, Crowley please don’t kill us,” You call to the driver’s seat. From the rearview mirror you can see the smile on his face, and just how yellow his eyes are getting.

“We’ll be FINE,” He says through his devilish smile, as a maniacal laugh rises in his throat. Well, nice to see someone is enjoying themselves.

“Good lord,” Aziraphale mutters. Honestly, you can’t tell if he’s trying to be sassy or if he’s actually praying. Could easily be either.

You close your eyes, and do your best not to throw up.

After what feels like too long, the car finally drifts to a screeching halt. You’re thrown sideways, and find yourself feeling grateful for the hug of the seatbelt – it’s the only thing keeping you from being thrown against the door like a ragdoll. The doors and seatbelt unlock with a click, and your door is thrown open for you. It takes you a second to get your bearings, and as soon as you step out of the car, you see three figures running toward you at full speed. Jeremy, and right behind him, Sardis and Anathema.

Jeremy’s attention is behind him. Clearly he doesn’t expect anyone to have gone around. By the time he looks back, he’s going to fast to stop – and he bumps into Crowley.

“Well well well,” The demon says, towering over the teen, “It’s been a while, now, hasn’t it?”

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

As per usual, feel free to tell me your thoughts and ideas in the comments :)

I'll to my best to keep the updates on some kind of normal-ish schedule.

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[lvndr-alt]

Hey, didn't want to post this directly on my main just due to an overall darker tone, but here's a quicker fic I wrote + a sketch that actually shockingly helped me with some shitty feelings. Read and heed the tags, please! Mentions of suicide, suicidal thoughts, and close to a suicide attempt.

Summary:

Crowley isn't okay. It's been 46 days since Aziraphale left, and Crowley hasn't been doing any better. It's actually all gotten worse. Now, on one particularly destructive day at his apartment, all of his usual cycles of ringing his misery out to the world haven't relieved any of the feelings that he's drowning in, and a thermos 1/4ths still-full of holy water feels like the only way out. At least it'll make a point.

Words: 2.2k

[knifeforkspooncup]

Lord Knows it Would be the First Time

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Here's a tiny snippet of my current one shot wip. It's 1985 and Crowley is settling into what promises to be another afternoon of excessive drinking and banter at the bookshop. Both he and Aziraphale are getting back to a shaky semblance of normal after a century and a half of hurt feelings, renewed terror, and revelations about their relationship. But it's a fragile existence.

How ever will our heroes cope?

Ft. Wip of the cover art I'm making, because I'm feral for 80s Crowley in an oversized blazer and shoulder-length hair.

(No content warnings for the snippet below)

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A soft footstep falters close behind him, signaling he’s not alone. Aziraphale.

Crowley knows he should pull himself together, turn to the angel with an expectant smirk, wait for him to start their next round of banter on the merits of modern music.

Let himself be carried into the afternoon on a river of wine and good conversation, muffling the anger and longing under his friend’s gentle guidance. Follow Aziraphale’s cautious lead like he’d promised to 17 years ago, you go too fast for me, Crowley.

It was enough most days. It had to be.

But Crowley can smell the lavender and mint notes of his cologne, can picture his hands grasping the wine bottle at the neck, the soft way his waistcoat wrinkles when he sits. He’s not sure it’s enough today.

[roswellsmokingwoman]

(Aziraphale x Crowley) Headlights - Chapter 5

Read Here - NOW COMPLETE!!! Good Omens Human AU with a divorced Crowley and Aziraphale finding love again and getting back together.

Soho, Present Day

Crowley is a coward, plain and simple. And so what if he is? His cowardice brings out Aziraphale’s bravery. After all, it was Aziraphale who called first after three years. It wasn’t that Crowley had been too stubborn to make the first move, and it wasn’t anger that stopped him from dialing the number of the bookshop. Only now, it isn’t the fear of rejection that stops him from proposing. 

How does someone propose the second time around? There’s a shortage of articles on the subject of remarrying your once-spouse. He knows Aziraphale too well to doubt that Aziraphale’s expectations grow with each passing day. Because a ring would be too small and my physical heart too impossible, I gave him nothing and nothing was enough. Is that romantic or pitiful? Crowley wonders.

Now, with all of his grand plans, his ability to propose falls short. So, if he can’t take to one knee, he resorts to a course of action he knows Aziraphale will understand. He’s tried his pen at romance and never managed a convincing tale. The one he’s written now, to him is the essence of romance but to others, it must be a maddeningly ineffable tale of two idiots

The binder is thick and heavy between his hands, and he holds it awkwardly like a sandwich, presenting it to Aziraphale the way in which a child presents a drawing to a parent–clumsily, with both pride and embarrassment. Binders are new–he’s never put the pages of a book in a binder, but it’s helped him this time around to have the presentation. It’s a crude approximation of cloth-bound pages he’s used to, but it gives the image of a finished product. 

Aziraphale eyes Crowley suspiciously, his brows furrowed. “What’s this?” he asks, but his heart thumps in his chest. Best not to assume , Aziraphale reminds himself. The memory plays over in his mind, and if it is what he thinks it is, then Crowley must be telling him he’s ready. His hand hovers near the binder, too afraid to take it. 

Crowley thrusts it out to him. “I want you to read it,” he insists, handing off the binder with its hundreds of pages. 

“Is it your book?” Aziraphale whispers. 

Crowley nods. 

Aziraphale isn’t prepared for this. He desired this so desperately, but he still hadn’t brought himself to buy a ring. He’d looked at several, comparing each to the platinum band with a crimson stone that Crowley once wore. None ever came close to it. You don’t need a ring to ask , Aziraphale tries to tell himself. 

“Could we read it together?” Aziraphale asks instead. 

Crowley miscalculated. He hadn’t accounted for those moments when Aziraphale chose cowardice, too. And then he would pass off the helm to Crowley, eagerly awaiting his savior. He’s smiling so innocently, the bastard, Crowley stews. 

But Crowley agrees and sits down with Aziraphale on the couch, sharing a thin tartan blanket. It’s supposed to be Aziraphale’s reading hour, and the room is already set–a candle with wooden wick flickers, infusing the room with warmth. The lights are dimmed except for those nearest to the couch, for ambience. 

Crowley clears his throat, shifting as Aziraphale lays his head on Crowley’s shoulder. He begins reading, inflecting as he’d imagined the pages should be read. Aziraphale smiles, mesmerized by Crowley’s cadence and the gentle rasp of his voice. 

He had the patience of Job. The nameless man lives in the dark. It isn’t the kind of dark that eyes can adjust to, forming dim and blurry shapes. The darkness is perfect and impenetrable. The man walks through the void, measuring days on his watch that never stops running, the sole light that reveals nothing in the darkness. He knows time, just as he knows he’s spent one thousand one hundred and eighty-two days here. 

And while he doesn’t remember his name, he might as well be called Job because, against reason, he believes the darkness will abate. Job had been left here, all those many days ago, to wait. How and who had left him, he doesn’t know. But he remembers a flit of blond and the smell of a good bookshop. He remembers the pleasant voice of a man, reading from Chaucer at his desk. Job remembers love, vivid and bright, that carries him through the pitch blackness of this place. 

“Too bad it won’t be published,” Crowley states wistfully, interrupting the flow of the novel.

“It’s too beautiful not to publish,” Aziraphlae argues. He thumbs over the pages fondly, smiling at Crowley. It’s a smile that Crowley struggles to argue with, blinding and beautiful and sincere. 

“It’s you and me,” Crowley reminds him, nevertheless.

“I wasn’t reading Chaucer when we met,” Aziraphale notes. “So is it really?”

“Creative liberties, angel.”

[oatmealaddiction]

Chapter Three of my Fanfiction is out! Stay tuned for an epilogue which should hopefully be posted later tonight! :)

Also for my follow up sequel: Muriel and Crowley Get Fucked Up in Vegas.

Thanks so much for all the love and comments I got this week. I love this little fic and I'm so happy to see other people enjoying it.

[rogue-bard]

To celebrate the latest chapter of the Yelp Chronicles on ao3, I made a fake book cover.

We're in the endgame of that fic now!

[shades-o-grey]

GOOD OMENS FICLET- The Origin of the Apology Dance

My headcanon for how the apology dance originated

It didn't start out as an apology, the content of the dance and the song don't come across that way, so my idea is that it started out as something else and was later used as a way to apologize (or rather get the other to accept an apology).

And so my idea is...

It started out as a silly bet,

Honestly, Aziraphale should've known better than to enter a wager with a demon. But the temptation of proving Crowley wrong was just too well... tempting

Not that an Angel can actually be tempted, it was purely for a moral and angelic reason, a feather on his wing, chalk one up for the side of angels, thwarting the wiles of the wicked sort of thing. I mean it was practically his job!

(Pay no attention to the fact that it is indeed his job, one that he tends forget or just not do)

The only trouble was... what did Aziraphale want Crowley to do once he'd won?

"And what should the winner demand of the loser then?"

Crowley asked staring into his 8th cup that he held loosely in his grasp.

"Buying lunch?"

Aziraphale suggested the first thing to pop in his head.

"No no we always do that, besides, I believe I s'still owe you from, from... I don't know such n' such and you had the thing"

He dismissed the absent recollection of when they'd last dined together with a wild gesture of his hand.

"Mmm"

Aziraphale nodded his head in drunken agreement, also remembering that they had indeed lunched together at some place, at some point, and that he did have - the thing.

They both sat silently for a moment pondering. Trying to think what exactly the penalty of their bet should be.

Suddenly Aziraphale shot up with excitement

"I've got it! The loser must demonstrate a grand gesture of defeat!"

He said with the triumph of someone who had just come up with a brilliant idea. Even though his suggestion was missing and important part.

The part where it provides an actual suggestion.

"n-Yeah - Obviously, that's the point of a bet -Angel. Win so you can recieve something from the defeated. Money, property, y'knoe those sorts of things, humans do it all the time"

"No no, you missed the point. A Grand Gesture, you know a gesture that-thats -gratuitous"

Said drunk Aziraphale who had confused the words Gratuitous and Grandiose

"Wot? You mean like the whole "prostrate yourself, kneel at the feet and beg for for absolution" sort of thing?"

Crowley continued, missing what Aziraphale had tried to say while somehow still wandering in the general direction of what Aziraphale had been attempting to suggest.

Aziraphale wrinkled his pert nose in distaste at the idea of what Crowley thought he might be suggesting.

"No, I don't think either of us would enjoy seeing that very much"

"No, WE- would not." -

Crowley paused, recalling someone who would enjoy such a display. He refocused back on Aziraphale.

-"Then what is it you are trying to suggest? Stand on my head and talk in a silly voice? Run around with you on my back like a mule?"

That made Aziraphale giggle

"hehe AHEM m-no. Not quite that either, but I think we're on the right track"

Crowley's suggestion (which was clearly meant to be a joke) gave Aziraphale an idea.

"Oh! I know! how about... a silly dance?"

"A wot?"

Crowley responded, confused as to how dancing had come into the conversation.

"A dance! You do know what dancing is don't you?"

"Nghk*-n-yeah...but, I thought angels don't dance?"

"Oh! It wouldn't even count as dancing, really it's just a *he waves his hand in the air* silly little... dance of sorts."

"Right, and what would this *he imitates Aziraphale's hand movement* silly little dance look like exactly?"

Azirpahale frowned in concentration,

When he'd made the suggestion, he hadn't thought he'd have to know what the "dance" looked like.

"Well...maybe something... something..."

He paced, gestured, and mapped out movements in his mind.

"-something like this!"

*Aziraphale began to sing a song with some footwork in small dance steps*

"🎶You we're right, you were right-🎶"

Crowley interrupts

"you didn't say anything about singing being a part of it?"

"-its part of it!"

Azirphale quipped back, annoyed at having his concentration interrupted

"Now let me start over"

*He starts the dance over again*

🎶"You were right, you were right"

"I was wrong"

"You were right!"🎶

Aziraphale finishes the song and dance for Crowley

"See? I think this will work splendidly, don't you?"

He gives a proud little wiggle.

Meanwhile, Crowley gets an idea...

"Could you do it again? I don't think I get it"

He asks, clearly up to something.

"Look, you'd have to go like this-"

Aziraphale demonstrates the dance a second time.

-"Now, I hope you were watching closely because I expect a perfect rendition from you once I win this wager, no half-ing it!"

He wiggled his finger at the demon, feeling quite plum and pleased at his cleverness. Seeing Crowley do the dance promised to be quite satisfying.

"Maybe give it another go. I really~ wanna make sure I know what I'm getting."

Crowley was laying it on thick, exaggerating his eagerness to "learn" this new dance while a smirk was desperate to escape his face.

Aziraphale goodnaturedly starts to demonstrate for a 3rd time.

"It really quite simple its-

He stops abruptly

Crowley is shaking with the force required to contain his mirth.

Aziraphale has a realization of what Crowley has been doing-

"CROWLEY!"

Azriaphale exclaimed, abashed- A dash of reproach added in his voice for good measure towards the wily demon.

*Crowley burst into a loud cackle*

"AAh hAhA  *snort* haha ha!"

"You were having me on weren't you!"

"hehe -You *snort* caught on a lot faster than *hehe* then I expected"

"Really now? You were just going to make me repeat the dance over and over!? It's supposed to be for the wager!"

"Oh come on Angel-"

"Well you're not getting me to do it again."

Crowley smirked, remembering something Aziraphale seemed to have forgotten.

"Well, once I win, you'll have to do another show of it"

Aziraphale began to pale, turning a similar shade of white to his hair.

Crowley leaned over so his citrine serpentine eyes peered over his dark lenses. His eyes crinkled in amusement at the flummoxed angel before him.

"I'm looking forward to the encore Angel~"

(It would come to pass that Aziraphale would demonstrate the dance many more times throughout their history, much to his chagrin and to Crowley's great pleasure)

FULL FIC ON AO3 HERE!!!

"The Little Dance"- (Origin of The Apology Dance)

VillianousAce (TheSleepParalysisDemon)

[goodomensao3tagoftheday]

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Sinning With Lust (Good Omens One-Shot)

Aziraphale x GN!Reader 18+ ONLY / requests are open

Summary: Aziraphale catches you reading a spicy novel.

CW: Aziraphale has bde here

Good Omens Tag List: @coffee-and-red-lipstick @quickslvxrr @clarina04 @motionlessindoubt @stevekempscocktails @go-bonkers-go-foolish (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

“What have we here, then?” 

Those five words startled you so badly that it sent your Kindle flying out of your hands and onto the floor. 

“Jesus Christ!” You shouted, hand flying to your chest in fright. Your heart beat hard and fast for a few moments before you returned to yourself, hammering dying down. 

You’d been reading a rather spicy scene in your novel, and you hadn’t expected to be interrupted quite like that. Particularly so startlingly. 

“Oh, come now, that’s not very nice- blaspheming in an Angel’s abode.” Aziraphale tutted at you teasingly, those eyes glinting with mischief. He was good at that. “My house is God’s house, you know.” 

“Listen,” you breathed, heartbeat finally returning to normal. “You scared me. I didn’t hear you sneaking up on me.” 

“Sneaking?! Well, I resent the accusation, my dear. I assure you I was approaching at my usual pace, gait and noisiness.” 

You grunted and made to stand to grab your Kindle, though Aziraphale shushed you and encouraged you back into your spot, insisting that he should get it for you as he was the reason it had been dropped so unceremoniously. 

“What were we reading today, dear?” Aziraphale asks, leaning to pick up the tablet and pass it to you. 

You’d always thought those scenes in movies where the protagonist had something to hide and the main antagonist, side character or whoever went for it in slow motion was stupid. Turns out it’s pretty accurate. 

Your heart beat faster in your chest and you reached for the Kindle to snatch it out of his hands before he could read the page sitting there incriminatingly. You watched as his eyes skimmed a couple of lines and widened comically before settling again after the initial shock. You noted the telltale subtle darkening of his irises and blushed profusely. 

“Oh, I see,” he said, voice taking on a slightly lower pitch. You shied away, looking out the window and covering half your face with your palm. This was truly mortifying. 

“Been a bit naughty, have we?” Aziraphale asked, putting the Kindle on the side table and standing before you. He brought one hand down to move your own and softly cupped your chin, leading it so that you were now looking up at his heated gaze. You swallowed thickly. “Lust is a sin, you know, my dear.” 

You nodded, unable to form words. Your mouth was suddenly dry and you would have given anything for a big glass of water. 

“What’s wrong?” Aziraphale’s head cocked to the side. “You’re looking positively scared, little rabbit.” 

You breathed out a panicked laugh. Oh, this was- Aziraphale was ticking so many boxes for you right now. 

“Reading such filth in my home, dear- In God’s home. Do you think you need to be punished?” Aziraphale’s bottom lip poked out in a mild pout, mocking you. Your eyes flitted between his, and you shook your head no. 

“No? Hmm, I’m not sure I agree.” 

You lean your cheek into the palm of his hand and Aziraphale practically swoons. You know you’re putting on the charm. It usually has about a fifty per cent success rate, and you’re wondering which way Zira will go with it when he’s suddenly leaning down and pressing a feather-light kiss to your forehead. 

“Sweet thing,” he said softly, giving you one of the most loving smiles you’ve ever seen. “My office, ten minutes, hmm? Don’t be late.” 

Then he wandered off into the kitchen, leaving you breathless and blinking at the space that your Angel had just been occupying. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you replied to the wall.

[ishomieokay]

❝No Pretty Woman Here❞ (Ch.6)

*･༓˚✧*･༓˚✧*･༓˚✧*･༓˚✧*･༓˚✧*･༓˚✧*･༓

pairing: crowley x aziraphale

✰ +18 tags//warnings - prostitution, sex worker!crowley, rich!aziraphale, homophobic language, unhealthy relationships, drinking & smoking, mention of murder, ambigous/open ending, more detailed tags on ao3.

✰ summary: Anathema has always been Crowley’s closest confidant, but when the eccentric and impossibly wealthy Mr. Fell enters his life, everything starts to change. As Crowley edges closer to a world far removed from theirs, Anathema can’t help but wonder, is this the escape he’s been searching for—or just some rich asshole playing with her friend's heart?

Or, the Sex Work AU no one asked for. Read on AO3.

*･༓˚✧*･༓˚✧*･༓˚✧*･༓˚✧*･༓˚✧*･༓˚✧*･༓

[feralbutfluffy]

56: Crowley

Chapter 56 of Too Wise to Woo Peaceably

*******

Crowley had opened his mouth and then found himself completely incapable of closing it again. 

Spurred by the stifling silence, he’d unwittingly opened an artery and watched helplessly as every last wounded, heartsore, mortifying thought came pouring out of him. He had committed the sort of emotional seppuku he had been carefully avoiding for literally thousands of years, and he felt like he might be bleeding out right there on the sofa.

He had spent much of the previous five minutes wishing desperately that Muriel might conveniently appear at the door with an obscene amount of wine, or at the very least a couple of bottles of Talisker.

However, just as he’d been wondering if it was possible to discorporate from abject discomfort, Aziraphale had finally said something, and even though he’d had to go and be infuriatingly circumspect about it... Crowley was pretty sure the words he had strung together had meant I love you too.

Which seemed impossible, but he supposed he would just add it to the increasingly lengthy list of impossible things that had happened lately.

Aziraphale was turned towards him. A tear dropped from his jawline as he gave Crowley a wobbly smile that did things to his insides. He suddenly became aware of the fact that he was crushing Aziraphale’s little finger and, with considerable effort, forced himself to relax his hand.

Crowley wanted to look away, because this - whatever this was - was painfully intimate. It was galling, really. Barely touching and he felt as if the angel had zipped him open at the throat, exposing every part of him.

Except, well, he’d been the one to do that to himself, hadn’t he?

Here, he might as well have said. Ruin me.

He watched Aziraphale warily, and in response the angel shuffled closer, banging their knees together clumsily. 

Crowley didn’t so much as blink.

He’d said everything he had wanted to say. He had also said everything he hadn’t wanted to say. He was cracked wide open, head swimming, waiting. Waiting to know what happened next, waiting for Aziraphale to say more, and he was good at waiting, he’d waited for so long, a few more minutes shouldn’t feel so excruciating.

But they did.

Aziraphale looked away and the fingers of his free hand fluttered nervously against the suede of the sofa.

“I have some things to say too, I suppose,” he started, and his voice sounded higher than usual, tight with strain. He coughed lightly, managing to get it back down to its usual register. “I think I’ve rather been getting in my own way when it comes to…” he tilted his head towards Crowley, still avoiding his gaze. “... us .”

Crowley took a deep breath and held it, feeling a bit like he was preparing to be held underwater.

“I think- Well all of those things you said, they're as true for you as they are for me, but I- I think- Ah, I suspect maybe I chose not to think on it, because I wasn’t quite brave enough to face the truth of the matter. Which is…” he trailed off. “Well, you know.”

Crowley’s eyes narrowed. If he thought he was going to get away with-

“That I’m hopelessly in love. With you.” The words sounded torn from his chest, “...Too.”

Crowley bit down on his tongue; the urge to yell ‘No takebacks!’ was almost overwhelming.

“I thought if I could just get you to dance with me-”

Crowley’s eyebrows slammed together. “What?”

“I thought we might do some formal dancing, and then we would realize that we were actually in love...” Aziraphale looked guilty. "... Like in Jane Austen's novels."

Crowley narrowed his eyes.

“I know I’ve said this before, but you read” - grumbled Crowley in an exasperated tone - “entirely too many books. How was I meant to pick up on that? Why couldn’t we have managed it without the formal dancing?”

Aziraphale shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know! But we didn’t, did we? Manage it, I mean.”

“Didn’t even manage it with the formal dancing,” Crowley pointed out, and Aziraphale’s face crumpled a bit. He nudged the angel’s knee with his own and leaned in. “You never know, might have worked without the demons trying to storm the shop.”

Crowley seriously doubted it, but Aziraphale brightened at the thought so he let it go.

“You know,” said Aziraphale, and he lowered his gaze, “I did try to show you.”

“Show me what?”

The angel was tracing a line along the suede, watching the velvety nap alternate between dark and light as he rubbed it one way and then the other.

“That I felt for you. That you were important to me. That I loved you, before I consciously knew that I loved you.”

The way he said it, the way he let it roll almost casually out into the air between them, made Crowley’s ribcage feel like a vice, his heart and lungs squeezed in a punishing grip.

“Ngk?” he said. 

It was an embarrassingly inelegant sound.

“With the tartan,” Aziraphale said, as if it were perfectly obvious.

Crowley blinked and then pointed, bewildered, at the folded blanket on the armrest. 

“The blanket?”

“No, the tartan .” Aziraphale was frowning, as if Crowley was being intentionally dense.

“I don’t follow. You’ve lost me. Are you speaking in code? Are you saying ‘tartan’ and actually meaning something else entirely?”

“No,” said Aziraphale, looking flustered, “I’m saying ‘tartan,’ and meaning ‘tartan’.”

The -you idiot was silent, but Crowley heard it all the same.

“Don’t you know anything about tartan?”

Crowley stared at him for the longest moment. “No,” he said slowly, “No, I do not. Why would I? In over six thousand years, when have you ever known me to willingly wear tartan? And don’t even think of mentioning the tartan collar, that does not count thankyouverymuch, that was you. As me. But still you.”

Aziraphale huffed and sat back a bit, clearly put out. “Never mind then.”

“No, no. No. You’ve somehow - against stacked odds, let me tell you - managed to make tartan sound intriguing,” Crowley said. “So you may as well tell me. Consider me interested. What should I know about tartan other than the fact that you have a disproportionate fondness for it?”

A pink flush was spreading up Aziraphale’s neck. 

It was delightful.

It made Crowley want to kiss it.

“Forget I mentioned it,” the angel muttered, turning more pink by the second.

Crowley grinned. “Oh, I think the chances of my forgetting any part of this enchanting conversation are abysmally low. Go on, torture me with tartan facts.”

Aziraphale blanched at the word ‘torture’ and Crowley grimaced apologetically. “Too soon. Right.” 

He eyed the angel’s bow tie with an entirely new and unfeigned interest. 

“So. Tartan…?” he prompted.

Aziraphale straightened the bow tie unnecessarily, as if his hands needed something to do. 

“This is, ah- That is to say, I had this dress tartan made for me sometime around the mid-1800s. It’s mine. It’s unique.”

“Right.” 

The pink hue was back in Aziraphale’s cheeks.

“Different families - different clans - they each have their own unique tartan.”

“Different people, different tartan. Got it.” Crowley gave him a nod.

“Yes. Well, different clans or families, different tartan, but yes, basically. I couldn’t, for example, wear another clan’s tartan without their express permission, because wearing it is something of a claim; using their tartan would then, er, mark me as belonging to their clan, you see.”

Aziraphale gazed meaningfully at Crowley and waited.

Right. Clearly he was meant to have gleaned something important from that bit of information. 

His eyes moved from Aziraphale’s face to his bow tie, and from his bow tie to the blanket. 

He thought about the tartan collar Aziraphale had added to his jacket when they had swapped forms. He thought of the tartan thermos full of Holy water. He thought of the absolute eyesore of a tyre cover the angel had miracled onto the car after they’d been hit by that woman in Tadfield.

“Your tartan,” Crowley said carefully. “... You let me use it.”

Aziraphale said nothing, but the pink in his cheeks had spread to the tips of his ears.

“You were marking me as belonging to your… clan?” Crowley could feel his cheeks warming. 

A matching flush. How perfectly wretched.

Aziraphale gave him a lopsided smile. “Something like that, I suppose. Our… team. Our group of the two of us.”

“Ah, so you were listening,” Crowley said uncomfortably.

Aziraphale blushed pink all the way up to his hairline.

With considerable effort, Crowley sat up properly. He shifted over, twisting his torso so that their bodies were in alignment, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. 

“Well.”

“Well,” repeated Aziraphale weakly.

“Well I’m sorry to have missed your demonstrations of affection delivered through the medium of tartan,” said Crowley with a wry grin.

The angel looked at him, embarrassed. “Yes, yes. Very funny.”

Crowley bumped him with his shoulder. “Maybe try something a bit more straightforward next time. Or at least work with something I actually understand."

There was a brief pause and then Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, his lips curling up at the corners. "Oh?"

"What, 'oh'? What does that mean?"

"I think I know what you understand," said Aziraphale, and the embarrassment was gone from his face. Crowley pulled back slightly, watching the angel carefully.

"What?"

His heart stuttered and took up an absolutely frenzied pace as Aziraphale leaned forward to take his face in his hands.

He eyed him suspiciously. "Are you about to kiss me?"

Aziraphale laughed and his eyes dropped to Crowley's lips, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Not just yet."

Crowley couldn't take his eyes off him. He felt like his heart might burst. Aziraphale was stroking his thumb softly against his skin.

"Anthony Just-a-J-Really Crowley, I'm in love with you," he said, and kissed his temple so gently Crowley had to swallow down a cry.

"I've loved you for a very long time," Aziraphale whispered against his ear. He kissed his forehead, and turned his thoughts into incoherent nonsense.

"A very, very long time," Aziraphale murmured against his other ear and nipped his earlobe, sending a jolt of undiluted desire straight up his spine. 

"I'm sorry it took me such a long time to be honest with myself," he said, kissing the serpent by the hinge of his jaw. Crowley shuddered. He let out a harsh exhale as his eyes closed of their own volition.

"... And I'm sorry it took me such a long time to be honest with you," he said, kissing the corner of Crowley's mouth. He groaned and turned to kiss the angel, but Aziraphale pulled out of reach. 

Crowley opened his eyes, dazed, to find Aziraphale looking at him with adoring eyes, a coy half-smile on his lips. He struggled to swallow, his throat tight with longing.

"I know you said I go too fast for you, angel," he rasped, "but this is painfully slow. Are you trying to discorporate me?"

Aziraphale frowned slightly, but he was still smiling. "I'm almost certain that's not possible."

"Let's not find out."

Aziraphale's laugh was muffled by Crowley's lips against his.

[onceuponapuffin]

Fanatic Intervention Part 19!!!

Okay SO, that last poll was insane. Everytime I tried to break the tie by calling in a friend, you all tied it again! Even after the poll ended! You talented lot, you. In the end, the only way I could think to do it, was to split the difference. AND SO we get a half-and-half situation. Honestly, I legit love the way all of you keep me on my toes. It makes writing this so much fun.

Alrighty then. Let's do this.

Beginning || Previous || Next

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

The toilet seat art museum took more out of you than you thought. Anathema too, as it happens, because you find out very quickly that she snores. Not wanting to wake her up, you tuck your phone away so she can sleep in the quiet, and weirdly enough, her snoring becomes like white noise, and after a few minutes, you find yourself drifting off as well. It isn’t long before both humans are asleep, leaving the celestials to their own devices.

For a while, they continue on in silence. Well, “silence” is technically the wrong word, but the point is, they don’t talk. Crowley is driving, Aziraphale is in the passenger’s seat, and Sardis sits in the middle of the backseat. For a while, there is nothing except Anathema’s snoring. Honestly, they put up with the sound for a surprisingly long time.

Crowley’s patience runs out first. He needs to hear something that isn’t snoring, so he goes for the radio. Which, as it turns out, is a bit of a mistake. You see, the SUV has now had the benefit of Celestial Energy for a couple of days, and has started to wake up – slowly mind you. With you being in charge of the music with a playlist, it’s had some time to listen to a wide variety of music. It is now developing its own mind and its own taste. Remember that this is not the Bentley. The Bentley likes Queen. The SUV is a significantly younger model, and has decided it rather likes Taylor Swift. And when Crowley turns on the radio for the first time, it’s the equivalent of handing the car control of the playlist. So it decides to lead with Wildest Dreams, which, for those unfamiliar, goes like this:

He said “Let’s get out of this town,

Drive out of the city, away from the crowds.”

I thought “Heaven can’t help me now”

Nothing lasts forever

But this is gonna take me down

He’s so tall, and handsome as Hell

He’s so bad, but he does it so well.

I can see the end as it begins

My one condition is

Crowley slams the OFF button, intentionally with more force than necessary. Finally, after days of forcing them to listen to your songs, the brainrot is spreading.

“Are you alright there, Crowley?” Aziraphale asks gently.

“Fine, Angel,” Crowley mutters through gritted teeth, “Just remind me to throw that human’s blasted phone out the window next chance I get.”

“As long as they are also willing to play my symphonies, I will do no such thing.”

Crowley humphs, and settles back down. Sardis is smiling in the back seat. He waits a moment before speaking.

“So how long have the two of you been together?” he asks. Crowley swerves, but Aziraphale grabs the steering wheel to hold the car steady. Aziraphale gives Crowley a chastising look.

“Crowley, do get a hold of yourself dear, the humans are sleeping.”

“Why should I care?” he growls, definitely because he is a demon and definitely not because if the humans were to wake up there would be a buffer so they wouldn’t have this conversation. Definitely.

Aziraphale sighs. “We’re not, I’m afraid,” he says, “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Can’t fool me, sunshine. I’ve been around too.”

“Can I at least throw him out the window?” Crowley mutters. Aziraphale ignores him.

“It’s best not to discuss it,” he says instead to Sardis, “Rather a dangerous topic.”

Sardis hums to himself thoughtfully. “I mean, we’re staring the end of the world in the face,” he says, “But sure.” And he leaves it there. Silence returns. Actual silence, as Anathema has finally stopped snoring. Suddenly the air feels thick and uncomfortable. Aziraphale clears his throat.

“It’s very kind of you to be helping us,” Aziraphale tries.

“Yeah well,” Sardis says with a shrug, “Not exactly keen on the world ending. I’d rather not go to Heaven OR Hell if I can help it.”

“Oh come now, Heaven’s not all that bad.”

“You ever been?” Sardis asks with a chuckle. Crowley snorts a laugh despite himself. “There, you see,” Sardis says, pointing at the demon, “He gets it.” Aziraphale sits back with a harumph, and decides that staring out the window is the better option after all.

This time the silence lasts another hour at least. The sky is darkening, the stars appearing over the sparse Texas landscape. Out here in the middle of practically nowhere, the sky is hardly sleeping. There are millions of stars out here. Far from the light pollution they even have different colours, and there is a faint white swipe across the sky – the Milky Way Galaxy, visible to the naked eye from one of its own resident planets. Dear Reader, if ever you get a chance to get away away from the light pollution, do so. It is breathtaking.

At least, it is until Anathema snorts and grumbles awake.

“My neck hurts,” she complains, still half asleep. She blinks herself into a more-coherent state. “If we don’t pull over so I can get a good sleep, I will curse every single one of you.” She rolls her head to the other side and mutters “I will. I know how.”

The celestials look at each other.

“I think,” Aziraphale says, “That perhaps resting for the night would be a good thing.”

Crowley nods, if only because he doesn’t want to test Anathema’s threat. It doesn’t take long for them to find a convenient motel conveniently located just off the road they are currently on. Conveniently. Because I say so.

This is also when you wake up. You’re groggy and sore, but the lights of the motel bring you out from the lull of sleep, and as soon as your brain realizes you are at a motel, you wake up fast. Why? Because you are at a motel. While on a mission to save the world. Your fan-brain is already going at a hundred miles an hour by the time Crowley parks. You practically jump out of the car. Does this place have a weird gimmick or theme? Does it have a pool? A sketchy lobby? Local supernatural lore?? You have questions and you need to know. But, ah, not alone. At a random sketchy motel. In the middle of nowhere. At night. So you hesitate and wait for everyone else to get themselves together and exit the vehicle. Crowley pops the trunk so you can go get your bag, and by the time you get back, Sardis and Aziraphale are already gone – checking you all in, no doubt.

Under the questionable fluorescent lights, you can see a wooden gate. Well, I mean...curiosity such and such, right? You saunter over, and peek between the boards. It looks like...Yes! A pool! Will you be swimming in it? Absolutely not. Are you excited that this place has one anyway? Absolutely yes.

“Okay,” Sardis calls behind you. You turn around and see him waving a card key against a door. “I’m all set. Good night folks!” You wave to him as he disappears into his room and the door clicks shut behind him. Aziraphale walks to the next room and opens it with a similar card key. You follow. Honestly, you’re expecting him to have expanded the room into another Royal Suite or something, but when you follow him into the room you find...a normal motel room with two beds. Oh, this is excellent. You turn to face Crowley and Aziraphale with a huge smile on your face.

“I am not sharing a bed with either of you,” You declare, “Because you,” You point at Aziraphale, “Will definitely be awake all night reading with the light on. And you” You point at Crowley “Are exactly the type to take all the blankets. I will share with Anathema because we actually need to sleep. SO as far as YOU TWO are concerned – THERE’S ONLY ONE BED!!” You stand there with your hands on your hips. You are triumphant. You have won. There is only one bed. A fan’s dream! Fanfiction trope come to life! Everything seems possible and wonderful for a moment…

Until Aziraphale hands you another card key.

“You and Miss Device are in the room next door,” he says. Damn. Logic. You deflate really quickly and take the key with a huff. As you approach the door, you turn to look at them over your shoulder.

“I hope you share anyway,” You mutter, before you exit.

The room next door is identical. Anathema, apparently, is able to fall asleep pretty quickly, but you can’t settle your brain that easily. So you may or may not spend some time trying that trick where you put a glass up against the wall to try and hear what’s on the other side. Not that you want to snoop, but, well, yeah okay you want to snoop a little. Unfortunately it doesn’t work, so you give up and watch tik tok on your phone instead. Your battery hasn’t needed recharging since you started hanging out with supernatural entities. Funny, that. Between Tik Tok, Reddit, and Tumblr, you’re able to eventually wear out your brain enough to make closing your eyes a good call. And from there you fall back asleep with no issue.

And yes, Dear Reader, Crowley and Aziraphale did share a bed. Just so you know.

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

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