#aroace fanfiction

[hretoprvdthepltnx]

Hihi !! Before i request I just love your writing so much and I couldn’t resist to request this!!

Could I request a teen! Reader (angel) who’s sees crowley & aziraphale as their parental figures who is trying to make something nice for them?

The reader is super silly and innocent so like the stuff they make look like something else 💀

Handmade

Ineffable Husbands x teen!angel!reader

Summary: Y/n wants to do something special for their favorite angel/demon duo. So, they try their ethereal hand at the human art of crafting.

Content: y/n uses they/them pronouns, improper use of miracles,

Note: Anon, you're such an absolute sweetheart. I appreciate you so much. Unfortunately, I didn't realize what you meant by 'something else' until after but hopefully you still enjoy the fic.

Rating: 14+ || 500+ w.

Gifts were important. Gifts were a way of expressing profound love for an individual, at least that is what Aziraphale had taught you. Gifts meant a lot; they were a language all their own. Gifts meant I love you.

Gifts were hard.

You stared at the heaping pile of crafting utensils Maggie from the record shop had leant you. There were a lot of options and she had even been kind enough to make you a list of ideas, the only problem was that none of it seemed quite right for Aziraphale and Crowley.

You stared at the felt and the streamers and silently willed yourself to come up with an idea, but nothing happened. Sighing, you sat back with your shoulders pressing against the side of Aziraphale's desk. It was lucky that they were out, the sight of you sitting on the floor surrounded by confetti might raise an alarm. Or perhaps not, you were prone to floor sitting.

You tossed your head back against the leg of the table and the telephone jingled with the bang. Perhaps you should call her and ask for her help, but no, this was your idea, and it would make it even more special if you did it yourself. There had to be something you could make.

Your eyes drifted to a stray bottle of silver glitter and stayed there, staring with such mindless intensity it was a miracle the tension didn't cause the bottle to bust. Miracles. You could use a little miracle of your own right about now.

"Wait," you sat up too quickly, dizzying yourself, and snatched up the little plastic bottle of glitter. "If it's only a small miracle, and one for good, then I can't possibly get in trouble for it. And it's still like I'm making it myself, because I am." A smile stretched wide across your face, and you turned to the plant in the corner, "This is going to be perfect."

Hours later, when Crowley and Aziraphale arrived back at the bookshop, there was a notable difference to the building. That being because the entire inside of the bookshop had turned into a Victorian style ballroom. "Right, well...what's all this?" You beamed at the demon from where you stood in the center of the large room. "Suprise! It's a gift!"

Aziraphale's face went from something sad - which you had luckily missed - to something proud and beaming. "A gift, yes! And, oh, how wonderful!" Crowley didn't look quite as convinced. However, he perked up quite notably when the record player you had been fiddling with started to play Queen's Somebody to Love. You offered a hand to both fellow angel and the demon in front of you, "Care to dance?"

"Why certainly!" Aziraphale answered for the both of them, whatever complaint Crowley had been about to give died in his throat as he was yanked along. As you danced, you made a mental note to thank Maggie for the record next time you saw her. Perhaps you might even thank her with a gift.

|| masterlist || navigation ||

story by hretoprvdthepltnx©

Ineffable Husbands/Good Omens copyrighted by Neil Gaiman©

[fictionfromthevoid]

Stop trying to find me a wife! -

Aroace! ACD Sherlock Holmes oneshot

Summary: Holmes angrily makes it clear to Watson that he is Aroace and that Watson should stop trying to find a partner for him. (The word aroace isn't used since it didn't exist back then)

Based on the Prompt:

"So you're just going to trample over their feelings like this?" Doctor Watson asked his friend Sherlock Holmes angrily.

"Their feelings? Why is it always other people's feelings? What about my feelings instead?" the detective answered, visibly exasperated.

This took the doctor aback. He wasn't used to such emotional outbursts from his friend. Did Sherlock Holmes of all people just talk about his feelings? He stayed silent since he suspected his friend of having more to say. He was right.

"I am sick and tired of people pushing romance onto me when I have voiced countless times that I have no interest in such matters" Holmes ranted. "Especially you should know by now. Still, you keep nagging me every chance you get. I've tolerated your countless matchmaking attempts. I've told you over and over, very politely if I may point out, to refrain from any further attempts to find a romantic partner for me but you never listened."

Watson felt ashamed and guilty at the words of his best friend. It was true that he had fun teasing the detective about the women swooning over him and that has gone out of his way once or twice to arrange a date for his friend. He was looking for a wife, so to him, it was the most natural thing that Holmes should also marry one day. Watson had assumed that Holmes had just been too consumed by his work to waste a thought about romance and that the detective just didn't know what was good for him so the doctor had taken matters into his own hands.

Just now, they had come back from a dinner the doctor had arranged with a very nice lady. After seeing through the plan Holmes had turned the woman down, rather rudely for the doctor's taste, and promptly left the restaurant. The Woman was rather hurt and so now back at Baker Street Watson thought it to be his duty to scold his friend for his unacceptable behaviour.

"Yes, I was rude to Miss Bell. Yes, I may have hurt her feelings but she will get over it." Holmes interrupted the thoughts of his best friend. "But I am done with being polite. I am done with being polite to women who will practically throw themselves onto me, not even caring when I tell them I am not interested."

It was true that his fame, earned through Dr Watson's stories, had brought the detective quite a large number of admirers of any gender who sometimes were ... very persistent with their affection.

"And you Watson, instead of having my back, you encourage them. You tell them I just need to be convinced to go out with them. You tell them to keep trying and not lose hope. And when I adopt a harsher tone to turn down the people you gave false hope, or that you even brought to me in the first place, you get mad at me for hurting their feelings." Holmes was getting more and more frustrated

"What about my feelings? Don't you realise that you hurt MY feelings when you ignore my wishes in such a severe manner? I have trusted you when I told you that I have no interest in romance or the intercourse that often comes with it whatsoever. Information that is quite personal and rather frowned upon in our society. And you disregarded this completely and keep trying to push these things onto me nonetheless"

He let himself fall into his armchair defeated. His head in his hands, so that his face was covered, waiting for an answer from the doctor. Although he didn't expect his friend to understand this time.

Dr Watson was still processing what he had just heard. In retrospect, he had been a bad friend in this matter. He now realised that. To him, it was unimaginable that someone could not be interested in romance. But Sherlock Holmes wasn't, he understood that now.

He went over to his friend and put a comforting hand on Holmes's shoulder.

"I am truly sorry, my dear friend, for I have been a very bad friend to you. I should have listened to you. I should have believed you when you told me how you felt about these things. But it was just something so obscure and unimaginable to me that I couldn't accept it to be true. I now feel ashamed of my behaviour. I apologize and I hope you can forgive me. I promise to never try to find you a wife again."

The detective looked up at him with tired eyes

"I also promise to take it seriously in the future when you communicate your feelings on any matter to me. I sometimes forget that you have such things as feelings since you are usually rather private with these." The lips of Holmes curled into a barely visible smile. Still, his eyes looked as tired and defeated as before.

"I am very grateful that you now told me with such severity how you felt about this, although I should have picked up on this before. My dear Holmes, I am very sorry and I hope you can forgive me."

Dr Watson ended his apology speech. Holmes stood up from his armchair and embraced his best friend in a hearty hug.

Since then the life of Mister Sherlock Holmes was free of any kind of unwanted romantic attention. His best friend fiercely shielded him from annoying admirers and kept true to his promise to never nag him about romance again.

[allzelemonz]

The Prince: Armitage Hux X Male Reader

Prompt: Tropesgiving Day 4: Arranged Marriage Pronouns: He/Him, reader called ‘prince’ and ‘man’ Physical Sex: None Mentioned Rating: T/Moderate Themes Warnings: Foundation of a queer platonic relationship, marriage for politics, aroace Hux and Reader, asexual bonding, sex/romance repulsion Summary: The First Order needs a strong alliance to beat the Resistance out of your system. Your government agrees, so long as there is a strong tie between the two governments. Armitage Hux receives an order from Supreme Leader Snoke himself.

Armitage considers himself married to his job in every respect. The First Order would be nothing without him, nothing without his sharp wit and flawless leadership. He is a military officer through and through.

But the Supreme Leader’s order was clear.

The tactical need outweighs his personal feelings.

The planet they need to use as a base is a strong military force, capable of making things very difficult for either the First Order or the Resistance. In order to have a strong alliance there needs to be a real, tangible tie. A marriage, there needs to be a marriage. And as one of the few amongst the high ranks of the First Order that is not already married, Armitage Hux is the prime option.

Today is the day he meets the regime's prince, his future husband. He has seen pictures and read data, but meeting the man himself is an entirely different beast. In every picture he wears the same military uniform, each one adds more awards and a higher rank as time goes on. Like Armitage, this prince is an accomplished military officer.

A neutral meeting location, the moon of their planet, is surrounded by First Order ships as Armitage is deposited on the surface. The agreement is that no one will be permitted on the moon aside from the general and the Prince. So when Armitage steps out of his shuttle, all he finds is the prince sitting at a small table.

Armitage approaches carefully, the blaster at his side becoming more tempting as notices the prince’s weapon at his side. The prince gestures for Armitage to sit and he does, still cautious of the man in front of him.

“I will skip pleasantries, General. I do like the idea of marriage and I intend this to be nothing but a political alliance. Does that work for you?”

Armitage feels a wave of relief. “I couldn't agree more.”

“Good.” You feel the wave as well. “I would like for this to be a strong alliance. Romance may be out of the question, but I think we could be friends.”

The words feels foriegn to Armitage. Romance and friendship are far from how he would describe any relationship he’s ever held. Phasma may consider herself his friend, but he’s never quite known what it means. It all blurs together in the end.

“Is there much of a difference?”

You chuckle. “Not really one I can see beyond the physical commitment.”

There is a blanket of comfort around the table, one that makes Armitage feel as though he can ask stupid questions.

“How do you feel about the physical commitment?”

“It’s disgusting.” You pause for a moment and realize the need to clarify. “Not to say with you specifically, but it’s just gross in general.”

Armitage nods. “I understand, it’s the same for me.”

“Really?” You scrunch your eyebrows. “I’ve never met someone that’s felt the same about these things.”

“Neither have I.”

There’s a smile on Armitage’s face before he can stop it. This man understands him, no, not just and understanding - he feels the same. The same repulsion for these things that everyone finds so normal. This alliance could become something great. This relationship could work very well in all aspects.

[theroseredreaper]

I prefer to read ship fics when it comes my fanfiction consumption and I’ve noticed time and again that the best masterpieces I’ve ever read in romantic pairing fics have almost always been by aroace authors writing disclaimers in the author’s notes about how they’re aro and don’t understand romance. Don’t apologize Your Majesty, keep up that royalty type shit, I’ve got your crown for you king 👑

[fictionfromthevoid]

"So you're just going to trample over their feelings like this?" Doctor Watson asked his friend Sherlock Holmes angryly.

"Their feelings? Why is it always other people's feelings? What about my feelings instead?" the detective answered, visibly exasperated.

This took the doctor aback. He wasn't used to such emotional outbursts from his friend. Did Sherlock Holmes of all people just talk about his feelings? He stayed since he suspected his friend of having more to say. He was right.

"I am sick and tired of people pushing romance onto me when I have voiced countless times that I have no interest in such matters" Holmes ranted. "Especially you should know by now. Still, you keep nagging me every chance you get. I've tolerated your countless matchmaking attempts. I've told you over and over, very politely if I may point out, to refrain from any further attempts to find a romantic partner for me but you never listened."

Watson felt ashamed and guilty at the words of his best friend. It was true that he had fun teasing the detective about the women swooning over him and that has gone out of his way once or twice to arrange a date for his friend. He was looking for a wife, so to him, it was the most natural thing that Holmes should also marry one day. Watson had assumed that Holmes had just been too consumed by his work to waste a thought about romance and that the detective just didn't know what was good for him so the doctor had taken matters into his own hands.

Just now, they had come back from a dinner the doctor had arranged with a very nice lady. After seeing through the plan Holmes had turned the woman down, rather rudely for the doctor's taste, and promptly left the restaurant. The Woman was rather hurt and so now back at Baker Street Watson thought it to be his duty to scold his friend for his unacceptable behaviour.

"Yes, I was rude to Miss Bell. Yes, I may have hurt her feelings but she will get over it." Holmes interrupted the thoughts of his best friend. "But I am done with being polite. I am done with being polite to women who will practically throw themselves onto me, not even caring when I tell them I am not interested."

It was true that his fame, earned through Dr Watson's stories, had brought the detective quite a large number of admirers of any gender who sometimes were ... very persistent with their affection.

"And you Watson, instead of having my back, you encourage them. You tell them I just need to be convinced to go out with them. You tell them to keep trying and not lose hope. And when I adopt a harsher tone to turn down the people you gave false hope, or that you even brought to me in the first place, you get mad at me for hurting their feelings." Holmes was getting more and more frustrated

"What about my feelings? Don't you realise that you hurt MY feelings when you ignore my wishes in such a severe manner? I have trusted you when I told you that I have no interest in romance or the intercourse that often comes with it whatsoever. Information that is quite personal and rather frowned upon in our society. And you disregarded this completely and keep trying to push these things onto me nonetheless"

He let himself fall into his armchair defeated. His head in his hands, so that his face was covered, waiting for an answer from the doctor. Although he didn't expect his friend to understand this time.

Dr Watson was still processing what he had just heard. In retrospect, he had been a bad friend in this matter. He now realised that. To him, it was unimaginable that someone could not be interested in romance. But Sherlock Holmes wasn't, he understood that now.

He went over to his friend and put a comforting hand on Holmes's shoulder.

"I am truly sorry, my dear friend, for I have been a very bad friend to you. I should have listened to you. I should have believed you when you told me how you felt about these things. But it was just something so obscure and unimaginable to me that I couldn't accept it to be true. I now feel ashamed of my behaviour. I apologize and I hope you can forgive me. I promise to never try to find you a wife again."

The detective looked up at him with tired eyes

"I also promise to take it seriously in the future when you communicate your feelings on any matter to me. I sometimes forget that you have such things as feelings since you are usually rather private with these." The lips of Holmes curled into a barely visible smile. Still, his eyes looked as tired and defeated as before.

"I am very grateful that you now told me with such severity how you felt about this, although I should have picked up on this before. My dear Holmes, I am very sorry and I hope you can forgive me."

Dr Watson ended his apology speech. Holmes stood up from his armchair and embraced his best friend in a hearty hug.

Since then the life of Mister Sherlock Holmes was free of any kind of unwanted romantic attention. His best friend fiercely shielded him from annoying admirers and kept true to his promise to never nag him about romance again.

“So you’re just going to trample over their feelings like this?”

“Their feelings? Why is it always other people’s feelings? What about my feelings instead?”

[ablackswansweet]

Had to share this gem from my twitter tl

[non-binary-star-system]

Please remember that there are aro/aces who enjoy concept of romance only in fiction and like shipping characters or writing smut fanfics but still they wouldn't do that things in real life 🤍🖤💜

[ao3-shenanigans]

Hi, reminder to not infantilize autistic, asexual, or aromantic people and characters.

Thanks!

[ihhfhonao3]

You know that smut you like? Y’know, the really, REALLY good one? You know that one? Yeah?

An asexual wrote that.

And that really good romantic fluff you like? The really cute one, the domestic fluff? Y’know that one?

An aromantic wrote that.

So before you go to sleep reading fanfiction tonight, be sure to thank all the asexuals and aromantics that are writing your favorite fics!

Because no, we are not the pure little children you think we are.

Everybody say thank you a-specs!

Thank you a-specs!

Alright, I’ll let you go now :3

[alastorss]

Hello! I'm not sure if you'll be interested in writing something like this, but if your requests are open (and if you're interested), would you be willing to write some fluffy stuff? An Alastor x Shy/anxious reader, perhaps?

a/n: hello!! i'd love to write some alastor comfort fics based off shy/anxious readers but for now here's some good ol' fluff for the soul ♡ (with a mentioned quieter/shy reader)

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

You can always tell when Alastor's smiles are forced.

It's the subtle twitch of his eye, the annoyed little glare he'll stare into empty space with, the way his jaw gets so taut you're afraid it'll snap.

Quiet and observant, you've made it your personal duty to learn Alastor inside and out without stepping on his toes—watching how he grows increasingly annoyed with every brazen sex joke beat into his head from a distance but never actually having the nerves to talk to him.

You think you can read all his little tells by now. How his antlers get a little bigger with every huff of indignation. How his mind is never in the room (he's got a lot of souls screaming in his ears, after all. You learned that, too).

You thought you knew him just by watching, but you were wrong. Dead wrong. Alastor is an enigma, truly one of the great mysteries of Hell. You were foolish to think you could understand even half of him.

He's all bared fangs and glowing eyes right now, a hand squeezing your hip and the other tracing down your face. Waltz music faintly fills the lobby of the hotel where you both stand, but it feels like a million miles away when the static from the Radio Demon is sizzling in your ears.

His smile is impossibly relaxed, not an ounce of irritation in his expression that you've gotten so used to seeing all over his face. You can't comprehend this, can't understand why he's looking at you so softly and cradling your face with so much care.

It's bad enough that he had asked you to dance with him in the first place, and that you'd squeaked out a "yes" before considering the implications of that. He knew you were shyer than the rest of your friends here—perhaps he had been suspicious of you and wanted to get a closer look.

A dreadful chill runs up your spine and you shudder pathetically, eyes screwing shut as you await whatever fate will befall you in the hands of an Overlord.

But your judgement never comes.

Instead, his thumbs gently pull at your cheeks in opposite directions. When your eyes fly back open, you're face-to-face with nothing but warmth.

"You should smile more," he tells you without his usual facade of excitement. "It's wonderful."

You just stare at each other for a long moment, both frozen in place with his hands all over your face and you limply staying in his hold.

Oh no. Oh no no no. You're certain your cheeks are hot as magma right now because of some simple flattery. Then again, you've been watching him from afar for long enough to know that he doesn't flatter just anyone.

You jerk away from him with a nervous cough, but he catches your wrist and pulls you back into his chest. As if nothing had even happened, he guides and strings you along in a waltz once more.

Annoyance, anger, sadistic joy—these are all things that come as easy as breathing to Alastor. But this is a new emotion you're witnessing, with his ears pulled back flat against his head and his eyes avoiding yours even as he dances with you.

It makes you sputter in laughter, head tilting back as you giggle at how embarrassed he seems.

"Thank you."

He softens at this, smile genuine. You'll come to know this side of him, too. You're sure of it.

You don't know why you were ever so afraid of this monster. Not when he's automatically reaching out to trace your smile with his thumb as if it's something he's always wanted to do.

(It is.)

[mrsfrecklesmarauders]

No, love. Not every single character has to have a romantic partner to be interesting. It is okay for characters to end up alone. Or not have romantic experiences at all. No matter their sexuality. Aromantic and Asexual characters can exist and be a good representation of the queer community. Not only gay couples represent queer struggle.

That's all. Thanks.

[hretoprvdthepltnx]

would you please write an ineffable husbands fic where they cook together (at Azeriphale's request of course)? It can regard or disregard season 2. Just please make it fluffy and cute

3 O'clock Breakfast

Ineffable Husbands x daughter-son!reader

Summary: Y/n stayed up late to finish the novel they were reading, and it ended sadder than they expected. Seeking out comfort in their Mother-Father, Aziraphale - a fellow book enthusiast, they didn't except him to insist upon a family Smile, Love breakfast at 3am. Their other parent isn't entirely pleased.

Content: hurt/comfort, reader is written as a teenager (can be older or younger but a teen nonetheless), tears over fiction are valid tears, Aziraphale is a sweetheart, Crowley is sour about having to get out of bed, the reader is Crowley and Aziraphale's biological child - don't ask me how that works, just sweet things with an ethereal family,

Rating: 14+ || 1.5k+ words

Their eyes burned with exhaustion and the salt of tears. Five minutes ago, they could barely stay awake - but it was only a couple more pages and they couldn't stop there, not with what was happening in the story. Now the book sat, upside down and offending, on the nightstand by their bed. The tears wouldn't stop, it was a numb sort of cry. They should have seen this coming. Everything was leading up to it they had just hoped...but no. They wanted their parents - someone they could rant to who would share in their grieving. They wanted Aziraphale. He was the one who recommended the stupid book to begin with. But they weren't mad, not really, just grieving and tired.

Sliding out of bed, they made the trek from their room to their parents' down the hall. They paused at the door to wipe their eyes and clear their airway with a sniffle, then gently pushed it open. "Are you guys awake?" They asked, feeling fresh tears block up in their throat at being so close to their parents. Why did it have to work that way? One second you think you've got yourself under control and then your parent speaks or shows up and suddenly you're crying again. The bedside lamp switched on and Aziraphale sat up, Crowley grumbling unintelligibly and rubbing at his slitted yellow eyes. "Darling? Is everything alright?"

They made their way to his side of the bed and Aziraphale opened his arms to welcome them into his freely offered comfort. Their tears were now back in full, and they wrapped themself around the softness of their Mother-Father with the need to be held. Crowley sat up and exchanged a look with his husband. "Love, are you alright?" he asked, his voice thick with sleep. "I-I fin-finished it." They sobbed into the collar of Aziraphale's shirt, and he made a sound of understanding, nodding. "The novel I lent you? Did you enjoy it? I do believe the ending was quite sad, I was rather dewy eyed over it as well."

"Wait, all this is about a book?" Aziraphale shot Crowley a look of warning. "I do believe it is. A rather emotional story, wasn't it love?" Their child mumbled something in to Aziraphale's shirt that might have been 'yes' or perhaps 'fuck you'. Crowley couldn't believe he'd been pulled out of what might have been a dream, or perhaps a memory, either way it involved Freddie Mercury, just for this. Why would anyone ever want to read if this was the result? "Do you want to sleep with us tonight, darling?" Crowley asked, flopping back down with his head on his pillow. He looked at the clock, the red lettering projected an offensive 3:07AM.

Y/n sat up and wiped their eyes, then laid their head back down on Aziraphale's shoulder, looking out. He rubbed their back soothingly, always so empathetic. "I don't think I can sleep right now." Aziraphale hummed, an upturned chipper to roll the sound from his throat. "Well," he said, a breathless excitement and loving smile that cast one identically on to the tear puffed face of his child. His little world right there, teary eyed and oh-so lovable, in his warm and inviting lap. "Why don't we go downstairs, and I make us a pot of tea? Perhaps some breakfast?" Crowley groaned and threw his arms up over his face in exhausted exasperation - both husband and his child ignored him. "Can we make pancakes? With toppings?"

Aziraphale smiled. "Why, of course! Anything you'd like! And we can all make it together!" Crowley sat up, glaring. "Woah, hold on. All of us? I never said anything about breakfast, I don't even like breakfast." Aziraphale guided y/n to stand up and then he followed suit, standing at the base of his side of the bed and glaring back at his husband while their child waited in the doorway, amused. "Well, Crowley, not everything is about you. Our child wants pancakes, now get up and come help us make them." Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged a long look, each silently daring the other to act against them. Finally, Aziraphale grabbed the bottom of the duvet and yanked it off the bed, sending pillows and sheets flying to the floor. Crowley yelled out in protest; y/n stood laughing in the doorway. He glared at them; they glared back playfully.

Aziraphale wacked Crowley gently on the foot. "Up." He demanded with an accusatory pointing of fingers. Crowley groaned in the most dramatic fashion and threw his legs over the side of the bed to stand up, cursing Aziraphale under his breath all the while. His husband and child didn't wait for him as they headed down the stairs to the kitchen. "So, what will it be? Chai? Chamomile? Earl Grey?" Y/n took a seat at the bar while Aziraphale hunted for the kettle. "Which ones do we still have?"

"Umm, let's see," Aziraphale set the kettle down on stove and searched the pantry for tea bags. "I can only find Chamomile. Will that be alright, my love? Would you prefer I made us some hot cocoa?" He waved the box of chocolate powder in the air, and y/n found themself fantasizing about tiny marshmallows. "Let's do hot cocoa." Aziraphale beamed and practically skipped his way back to the kettle. "I was hoping you'd pick that one." It was then that Crowley decided to make an appearance, now fully dressed. "Dad," they said, and he stopped in the middle of the walkway, looking at them with a raised brow. "We are planning to go to bed after this, you do know that, right?"

Crowley walked over to his kid, swaying in the way that Aziraphale and y/n often teased him for, and placed a kiss to the top of their head. "You might be, but I'm not." They looked at him with furrowed brows and confusion so obvious he could practically hear their question in his head. It was like looking into a mirror sometimes, looking at his kid - only they were every bit the angel their Mother-Father was. It was a shame, a damn shame. "Awe, it's too late for that now, sugar. I'm already awake." The clinking of mugs brought their attention back to Aziraphale, and Crowley took the seat next to y/n. "Ah, here we are!" the angel announced, setting two steaming mugs down in front of his little family. Y/n beamed at the little marshmallows sloshing against the walls of the cup, yellow eyes gleaming with delight.

Aziraphale retrieved his mug and lifted it for a toast, Crowley and y/n followed suit. "To the fascination that is human literature." Y/n echoed his toast and Crowley mumbled something about ridiculousness, they all took a sip of their cocoa, hissing as it burnt each of their tongues. "Perhaps we should have waited." Aziraphale commented, making a face at y/n who laughed and agreed. "Perhaps we should have all stayed in bed while we still had the chance."

"Yes, maybe we should have left you there," y/n teased, exchanging slitted glares with their parent. "But then you would have missed the pancakes." Crowley leaned back in his seat and rolled his eyes. "I don't even like pancakes." Aziraphale had started grabbing ingredients out of the pantry, y/n and Crowley got up to help. "How could you possibly know that? You've never even tried them." While Crowley grumbled pointless excuses, Aziraphale handed him the flour and the salt. Y/n grabbed the wet ingredients from the fridge. "Yes, yes, you don't care for human food," Aziraphale waved him off, setting an armful of ingredients on to the cabinet and nearly knocking over his hot cocoa. As soon as his arms were free, he picked up the mug and took a sip, y/n following suit. "However, these pancakes are special pancakes."

"Oh, really?" Aziraphale hummed, exchanging glances with his kid. He sent them a playful wink. "Yes, very special. Because we'll be making them as a family, Crowley. Isn't that nice?" The expectant look on his child's and husband's faces were one in the same. Crowley hated the way he never stood a chance against them. "Ugh, fine," He fought back a smile at the hugs that engulfed him immediately after he caved. "But only if the two of you will stop pestering me." Y/n and Aziraphale exchanged a grin and a nod, "Deal." they said in unison. Crowley leaned against the counter as y/n got out mixing bowls and Aziraphale began measuring ingredients, and he sipped his cocoa. It's going to be a long night, he thought and then, despite himself, he smiled. If this is what love does to a demon, it was pathetic. Yet he couldn't help but to allow it to warm him from the inside out. He was going soft.

"Hey, dad?" y/n asked, looking up at him bashfully. "I can't reach the mixer." Crowley sighed, putting emphasis in to an exasperation he didn't feel, and set down his mug. "I got it." Aziraphale looked up from his carton of eggs and smiled at the pair, his little family. Crowley pretended not to notice, and he purposefully ignored the smiles his loved ones sent each other - not so sneakily - behind his back. It would be a long night, indeed, having to keep up pretending he wasn't enjoying it. He wasn't, not really. Well...perhaps just a little.

|| masterlist ||

story by hretoprvdthepltnx©

Ineffable Husbands/Good Omens copyrighted by Neil Gaiman©

[fictionfromthevoid]

Being in a QPR with ACD!Sherlock Holmes would include

Headcanons for the original book Sherlock Holmes and reader being in a QPR (so the setting is the 19th century)

You are a teacher at a girls' boarding school when one day another teacher is murdered and Sherlock is hired to solve the case

You try to help as best you can and he quickly realises how smart you are

(Watson also thinks you are attractive but you shut him down very quickly, expressing that you have no interest in romance of any kind)

this earns you respect from Sherlock

Since his knowledge of the world is sometimes rather specific (he doesn’t know the earth moves around the sun?!), whenever a case requires knowledge he and Watson don't have he sends you a letter to consult you

You basically become pen pals

As a woman in the 19th century you are very limited but also very dedicated to give your girls a good education

so whenever you need to do a science experiment, want to test out a theory or need lab equipment and your school won’t help you you write to Sherlock

So in your free time, you can often be found working on some experiment at 221B Baker Street

Sometimes you also assist Sherlock with his experiments when you are free and Watson is annoyed

Accompanying them on cases every now and then

You are smart but also good with people which makes questioning suspects a lot easier

Soon you are a regular guest in 221B

Mrs Hutson loves you

Comforting Sherlock when he couldn’t solve a case, or someone he should protect dies

This is also when you first hug

Watson sent you a letter that they had a bad case, Sherlock couldn’t solve it and the client died. Since then he has been inconsolable. He plays sad music on his violin all the time and takes drugs and Watson is getting scared for him.

When you arrive he is standing at the window playing the violin

You march over to him, take the violin out of his hand and pull him into a hug

He is ABSOLUTELY SHOCKED. Completely freezes, every muscle tensing up

You don’t care and keep hugging him, so he slowly settles into the hug

He buries his face into your shoulder and lets out a heavy sigh

You stand like this for a long time

When you finally let go you make tea and talk about the case

Since then hugs have become a regular thing for the two of you

much to the surprise of Dr. Watson

The doctor doesn’t understand your relationship at the beginning

he keeps nagging Sherlock and sometimes even you about a potential romantic relationship, and asks all the time if and when you are gonna marry

After you and Sherlock have explained to him a thousand times that you don’t have romantic feelings of any kind towards each other and that your relationship is not like that he finally accepts it

even tho you are not sure he fully understands he sees that your relationship is rather like his friendship with Sherlock

When Dr. Watson marries, Sherlock asks you to move in after a while

This is seen as quite scandalous -an unmarried man and woman living together- and nearly costs you your job but you manage

Now that Watson is occupied more often you are a more frequent companion on cases

You also have more time to work on scientific projects together since living together

sometimes when one of you is feeling especially down long hugs turn into cuddling

You sit on the sofa together and just hold each other in your arms

You always make sure that Sherlock takes care of himself

You bring him food when he is absorbed into a case and refuses to eat. When he refuses to take even a small bite you will go on a rant on how his body and mind will break down if he continues to starve himself

This usually has no effect so you just start shoving food in his face until he eats it

Reading Horror and murder mysteries together and laughing about the stupid murderers

When you both retire you move to Sussex together

He tends to his bees and you take up gardening

[iwillfightgodandwin]

Me, an aroace "can there please be more platonic fanfic?"

Fanfic writers *punching me in the face* "no, how dare you they're gay"

[leighsartworks216]

"I really love how slow this slow burn is!"

My aroace ass with no idea how to write a developing relationship, only relationships that already exist at the start of a story:

[zonatcannibalism]

A lot of the time i really wish that the "aspecs can still have relationships ;D" crowd actually gave a shit about representing us, aspecs who want/ have relationships, instead of just allo-washing us. Because i would love to read some fanfiction about the ships i like that i actually relate to. The ones about romance are good, but ones realistically portraying qprs that isnt about the ship being a qpr, just them living as one, would be GREAT