#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.”

[onceuponapuffin]

Fanatic Intervention Part 24!!!

Guess who finally had the time and spoons to write?? ME. I DID.

I promise I'll update as much as I can, but finding time to sit down and write for fun is hard in grad school, folks. It's also on my To Do List to put this whole thing on AO3. Most importantly, I wand you to know that I love this story too much to abandon it.

Okay, that being said, let's do this.

Beginning || Previous || Next

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

Metatron had drawn a number of conclusions while studying the developments in the Book of Life. First of all, he gathered that the book was a ways behind on the transpiring events – given that it had some catching up to do, it seemed. Second, the longer the human remained, the more permanent the new story in the book became. The white tape in the first few pages now being impossible to scratch away, while the alterations were still possible in the pages currently being written. The third, and most important development was the one that had brought him, once again, to Earth. This time, however, he found himself staring at the tall shelves of an institution known as Waterstones.

Although it was much less of a mess than Aziraphale’s bookshop, it was just as crowded. He held back a sigh. Something about this planet seemed to have every being desperate to collect as many blasted things as possible. Movement in his periphery drew his attention, and he saw that a shop employee had appeared to his left, looking confused. Of course the young man was confused, it wasn’t British behaviour to approach customers to ask if they needed help. But when you happen to be The Metatron, things (and people) seemed to anticipate your needs. Indeed, he reflected, The Lord Provides.

“Can I help you find something?” The employee asked. He shifted as he stood, clearly uncomfortable with the interaction.

“Ah, yes,” Metatron replied, “I am, as a matter of fact, looking for a book, and it would seem that I need some assistance in finding it. Might you be able to tell me where I may find a book called...Good Omens?”

“Oh, yeah,” the young man said, “It’s in the Fantasy section, right this way.”

“Fantasy?” Metatron mused, following the employee through the shop to the shelf in question, “How quaint.”

The employee raised an eyebrow as he handed Metatron a copy of the novel. Metatron took it, and flipped through the pages, an amused smile spreading across his face.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” The employee asked uncertainly. He was clearly hoping for the interaction to be over with as soon as possible. Metatron raised an eyebrow, quietly surprised the young man was still there.

“No, thank you,” He said, “I believe I have all that I need.”

He left the shop without paying. No alarms went off, and no one noticed.

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

You may be hyped up on adrenaline right now and a hair’s breadth from screaming just to release some of the pent-up energy running wild through your brain, but Jeremy – the entitled, rich, teenage son-of-God-re-incarnate – is cornered. Anathema and Sardis have cut off his retreat, you and Aziraphale have his front and side options covered, and Crowley stands towering above him.

“Well, well, well,” Crowley drawls with a devilish grin, “It’s been a while, now, hasn’t it?”

You see Jeremy stumble back, watch his eyes flick to the three of you in front of him, then to the side as he realizes there are more people behind him. Thank goodness you spent all that time starting at gifs of Micheal “Acting Choices” Sheen, because you’re able to see the calculating look that flickers behind his gaze. He’s assessing his options. It takes all of a second before he straightens up, folds his arms, and cocks his head to the side.

“How much?” he asks. Clearly, this is not the response that Crowley’s expecting, because you can see the demon’s face scrunch. He exhales loudly.

“Oh well, gotta be at least,” Crowley glances back to Aziraphale with a shrug “At least...what would you say...’bout...two thousand years, give or take...” Aziraphale shrugs back, and Crowley returns his attention to the teen. Anathema smacks her forehead with her hand.

“What??” Jeremy asks. He’s looking at Crowley and Aziraphale like they came from outer space. Well, he wouldn’t technically be wrong. “I meant money, dumbass.”

“Whoa,” You say, “Uncalled for, kid.”

Well, you all did just chase a child through alleyways and commit at least three traffic violations in the process so….okay, maybe the kid deserves one. But he doesn’t need to know that.

“You chased and cornered a child,” Jeremy replies, arms still crossed, “I could call the police and all of you would be arrested on the spot.”

Dammit, he’s smart.

“Look,” Crowley starts, “We just need you to come with us.”

“Yeah...” Jeremy drawls, “I don’t think so.”

“Listen here!” Crowley’s voice is getting louder. He’s not shouting just yet, but he’s on the verge of it. Jeremy sees an opening.

“What? Are you gonna make me?” The teen is almost laughing. He’s not trying too hard to hold back his giggles as Crowley’s face grows red with anger. Aziraphale takes a step forward, placing a hand on Crowley’s shoulder. It keeps him cool – barely.

“We need you to come with us because we need your help saving the world,” Aziraphale says calmly.

Oh no, he thinks he can be reasonable with a rich, entitled, teenager. Now the kid actually starts laughing.

“Wow,” You say, looking at Crowley and Aziraphale, “You two are really bad at this.”

“You are welcome to try if you like,” Aziraphale says through gritted teeth. Oh crap. Well, you walked right into that one. You clear your throat – may as well give it a shot.

“Listen, kid,” You say. Jeremy forces his laughing into submission and looks at you like he’s waiting for the punchline to a joke. “For real, these two here are magical beings okay?”

“Pffffff, right. So am I. It’s called Being Rich.”

“No, but they can do miracles. Like actual miracles!”

“Yeah, me too. It’s called Being Rich.”

Okay, so it turns out you're not any better at this than Crowley and Aziraphale are.

Not that you thought this was going to be easy, but you realize that this is still going to be a LOT harder than you thought. And you really don’t think time is on your side.

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

I'm gonna set the poll duration to 3 days this time. Give people a chance to see that I've updated (and remember I exist ^_^" )

Beginning || Previous || Next

[ishomieokay]

I might get fired tomorrow and I'm laying awake at night catastrophizing and legit thinking oh well, I'll still have my fanfic.

[trashlord-watson]

Chapters: 2/6 Fandom: Good Omens (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens) Additional Tags: There Was Only One Bed, Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Getting Together, First Time, Hurt Crowley Summary:

"I don’t need to sleep, you know that very well! And neither do you, by the way!" Aziraphale whispers furiously. "And you don’t need to eat and drink, and yet—"

..

5 times Aziraphale and Crowley shared a bed, and 1 time they did more than that.

___

Chapter 2 is out!

[evilasiangenius]

“Ah, I’m so very sorry, Lord Asmodeus, I’m- I’m having a hard time recognizing who you are. I don’t think I’ve ever met you nor have I ever heard of you-”

“...what?” Asmodeus looked genuinely shocked. “You mean to say that-”

“-Crowley has never mentioned you, and yes. I don’t think I have ever heard him say your name to me before, not once. Not ever.”

Asmodeus looked as if he were about to say something, but then he closed his mouth.

“I suppose he must have had his reasons,” Aziraphale said by way of excuse, wondering what this particular demon had to do with Crowley, if anything. “Erm, so. If you don’t mind, Lord Asmodeus, I have a bookshop that I had really ought to go back to; after all my customers would miss-”

“Sit,” Asmodeus said, pointing to the armchair and reflexively, Aziraphale found himself sitting down.

“Goodness,” Aziraphale blinked, hand clutching the knot of his bowtie as if it could protect him but then deciding to clutch the arms of the chair because at least that was sturdier and not twined about his neck.

“I’m both surprised and completely unsurprised that it would be for your sake that Crowley rebelled against Hell. But why? Why now? After so many millennia of loyalty. What’s changed?”

“The terms of the Great Plan, I imagine? Though I don’t think it would be for my sake, that seems a bit much,” Aziraphale managed a nervous smile. “After all, things happened.”

“Yes, and circumstances changed. Circumstances for which there are no explanations.” Asmodeus paced a slow, predatory circle about Aziraphale. And while he was accustomed to Crowley walking in this manner, there was something much more disconcerting when the same motion was done by Asmodeus and Aziraphale found his eyes following the Prince of Hell’s slow strides with a nervous gaze.

“If you must know, Lord Asmodeus, I don’t really know why circumstances changed either, just that they did. I suppose it was by accident; after all, it’s not as if I left Heaven for him nor did he leave Hell for me, it was just what happened afterwards. A coincidence. You see, there was a bit of a mixup and-” And Aziraphale shut his mouth, realizing that he could not tell this demon what had happened; that they had come together that night when they thought they had the entire world before them and in the process taken on each other’s forms and-

The memory of it sent a warmth through him that made Asmodeus stop midstep to stare at him.

“Something happened between you two.”

“I...I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lord Asmodeus-”

“Don’t think that I can’t tell. I can smell Crowley on you.” And as if to prove the point, a forked tongue flickered out from between parted lips, tasting the air. “I can tell that you want her. Not in an ordinary sense, perhaps, in that simple physical sense. That would be too coarse and banal wouldn’t it? An angel wouldn’t deign to allow themselves to experience lust, to experience physical desire. No, it’s not lust. But you yearn for Crowley, desire her just as much as that animal part of your body desires air, desires water and food. Certainly you could live without it being a celestial, but you would suffer all your days, for the rest of existence, if you could not have her again.”

more

[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.

[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.

[rogue-bard]

Rated T  ~ 👼💘🐍 ~  Aziraphale/Crowley  ~ 🍝📱🍆 ~  Romantic Comedy

Additional Tags: Fluff and Humor, Online Dating, Mutual Pining, Banter, Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing", Crowley to the Rescue, Canon Compliant

Chapter 5: When nothing goes right, swipe left!

“How hard can it be to get your face in a photo?”

Maggie leaned over towards Crowley to catch a glimpse of his phone. Her face immediately went the same colour as Newt’s. “Oh goodness!”

“Just how bad are these selfies?” Nina asked, slightly amused by her reaction.

“They’re not really selfies…” The blonde woman said vaguely and then turned back to Crowley. “You don’t have to look at that, you know? These people are pigs!”

Crowley squinted his eyes at the phone screen. “A pig? Really? Is that what this-”

“My dear, that is a penis,” Aziraphale’s voice said matter-of-factly from directly behind him.

Read the newest chapter here on ao3!

[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.”

[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!)

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“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.

[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.

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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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[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.

[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.