#crowley putting his glasses back on felt like the next step

[yamisnuffles]

Wanted to try my hand at one of many of the most devastating expressions MSheen delivered to us in the final fifteen.

[avocado-writing]

notes: I did a lot of research for this and yes, the manuscript I reference is a real thing. I didn’t put its name in though because that felt a step too far 😂 set in the light, the dark, and the spaces in between after ch3 so hope that’s ok! requests like this give me life.

relationship: aziraphale x immortal!reader x crowley

rated: G, pure fluff

word count: 1.4K

if you like my work you can buy me a kofi!

You’re the one who makes the tea. 

That’s because you’re the only one who changes how you have it: sometimes you fancy a chai, or a green tea, or a lapsang souchong. Sometimes with sugar or a little bit of milk, sometimes with neither, sometimes with an oat alternative. It changes. You’re human, you go through phases. 

But Aziraphale and Crowley? Nah, they’re creatures of habit. Despite the angel’s wide and experimental palate he’s oddly rigorous when it comes to his cuppa. For him, it’s loads of milk and four sugars, drowned to the point where it could hardly be called tea any more. Crowley likes his black and strong and nowhere near anything that could affect the taste. You wring the teabag tortuously into his mug with a teaspoon before grabbing all three servings and heading into the shop. 

You put yours down first, on the side next to the book you’re currently reading, then hand your husbands theirs. They both take them from you in the same way, the way they have done for centuries now, a domestic ritual: accepting the mug you offer and then your hand, pressing a little kiss of thanks and affection to the back of it. 

A heartfelt  intimacy just between the three of you. 

☕️ 

“Hurry Crowley, it’s starting!”

“Yes, yes, alright angel, hang on.”

“We won’t hang on and we’re not pausing it. Not a threat, just a fact,” you call into the kitchen. A couple of seconds later, Crowley emerges from the kitchen with three wine glasses and a bottle of Pinot Grigio. 

“I’ll be mother, then,” he mutters as the other two of you barely take your eyes off of the telly. You’ve got your legs slung over Aziraphale’s lap and he only takes a break from stroking your knee in absentminded, loving circles to take the proffered glasses from his husband, one for himself and one for you. Crowley plonks down the other side of Aziraphale and throws his own legs over him too, the two of you playing footsie for space across his plush thighs. Eventually the three of you find a comfortable pile and settle in. 

“Another ten weeks of torture begins,” Crowley says as the Bake-off theme ends and the show starts. You nudge him with your toe. 

“You don’t have to watch it with us,” you tell him. He harrumphs but doesn’t argue because, really, of course he’ll watch it with the two of you. It makes you both happy. 

🍞 

Your work is as a consultant for museums around the country, which is a fun way of saying you get paid a lot because you know a lot. But mostly, you only know a lot because you’ve been around for a very long time. So whenever a shard of pottery or a scrap of clothing needs dating they call you to come and put its history into context. 

Also, for the bigger museums, it’s a chance for you to smuggle out the stolen artefacts and return them to their country of origin. You consider it a hobby, a bonus perk of the job. 

You’ve set up this exhibition. It’s for pottery around the end of the Roman rule in Britain, stuff you’ve found and identified around the country on archaeological digs. You lead Crowley and Aziraphale through, discussing your findings in detail, before you come to a small, surprisingly intact, terra sigillata oil lamp. It sits on its own, spot lit. You asked for it that way. 

“See this? I made this. Over a thousand years ago,” you tell them, quietly, gently putting your hand to the glass of the display case. Aziraphale and Crowley take a careful look at the engraving on the object. It bears the profile of a man, and with the sharp cheekbones and little glasses there’s only one person it could be. 

“Oh, Nightingale. It’s lovely,” Crowley says, surprisingly touched. He wraps an arm around you and buries his face into your hair. 

“You could say I’ve held a flame for you for a long time,” you say, and grin. Crowley groans. 

“Did you put my face on a lamp just to keep that pun up your sleeve?”

“Maybe.”

🔥 

You next return to the museum when you pick up that Aziraphale is jealous. He isn’t jealous often but he’s pants at hiding it, and it’s not hard to guess why: he’s just seen that Crowley stuck with you for such a long time you put his face on a piece of bloody pottery. You’d probably be a bit put out too. 

So for a couple of weeks you throw yourself into your work to find the thing that will make it even. And you do, even though it takes a lot of overseas bargaining and promises to do some pro-bono work. 

You finally get the museum in America to agree to send it over for a showing. You arrange a special exhibition specifically for this, where it’s held behind a huge glass case in a dark room with only a small light on it. 

But you get special access because, well, you’re you. So you sneak Aziraphale and Crowley in one night and walk into the display room, wearing a face mask and a pair of protective gloves. 

There it sits: the Canterbury Tales. One of the oldest versions in the world. 

“Oh, this is wonderful!” Aziraphale gasps, peeping over your shoulder to inspect. “I can feel the adoration coming off of it in waves. This was a labour of love, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. I’d let you have it for the shop if I had the power. But I think they’d notice if I shoved this one down my top,” you sigh, scanning the pages for what you’re after, then stop dead when you find it. 

“Here. Look.”

You point to one of the illustrations, a mounted rider on a beautiful white horse. Aziraphale takes in a quiet breath and draws closer. Because just as plainly as you put Crowley on your oil lamp, you drew your angel in the Canterbury Tales. Curly hair, pink face, beaming smile. 

“Oh my,” he whispers. You stroke the little picture and remember toiling away over painting it, repeatedly wiping your brow to make sure your sweat didn’t smudge your work. 

“I put you in all the copies I could get my hands on. And you,” you turn to Crowley, “your face is probably buried on my pottery in a dozen dig sites across the UK. I’m just saying I’ve loved the two of you since the day we met; always have, always will.”

Your husbands look at each other and then at you, before as one they step forward to embrace you. 

“And we’re lucky to have you,” Crowley whispers in your ear, as Aziraphale kisses your cheek. Their hands meet at your back and they interlace their fingers with each other, you wrap your arms around them and stay like that for a moment; three working parts of a whole. 

They kiss, and then they kiss you. You feel warm and rosy. Then you spend the evening reading through the book from beginning to end. 

📖 

You keep your wedding ring on a chain around your neck at work. Not because you’re embarrassed that you're married; far from it - it’s far too precious to risk losing while constantly taking protective gloves on and off all day. So you don’t blame your colleague for asking you on a date. He’s young, fresh out of uni, and of course has no idea you’re old enough to be his grandparent forty times over. 

“That’s very kind,” you tell him, and his face falls because he knows where this is going, “but I’m already happily married.”

He sighs in embarrassment but manages to recover quickly, instead telling you: “they must be someone special to have you.”

He’s doing the polite thing by not assuming the gender of your spouse but it turns out “they” is right on the money. On cue, Aziraphale and Crowley walk through the door to pick you up at the end of your shift. You wish your colleague goodbye and go to meet them. 

“Evening, darling,” Crowley calls. 

“How was work, my love?” Aziraphale follows up. 

“Oh, fine. I’m tired now. And hungry. Can we go and get dinner?”

You link an arm through either of theirs, heading out into the London afternoon. 

“Ooh yes, that is a good idea. I quite fancy fish and chips!”

“Let’s go to that spot round the corner. They make their own tartar sauce. Crowley, are you getting your own chips or nicking mine when I’m not looking?”

“The best tasting chips are the ones you steal.”

“Oh, he doesn’t even deny it—!”

Your colleague watches you leave the building, a little dazed, and supposes it takes all sorts to make a world. 

Taglist: @angiestopit @dazed-soul @idontmeanto @smile-eywa @staygoldsquatchling02 @underratedboogeyman @specter-soltare @candlewitch-cryptic @cool-ontherun-world @emilynissangtr @willbedecided @cool-iguana @bdffkierenwalker

[girl-next-door-writes]

A Demon's Devotion

Characters: Crowley x reader

Summary: Caught between holiday cheer and lurking danger, you find solace—and sparks—in the unexpected devotion of the King of Hell.

Word Count: 1579 words

Prompts: Crowded party. First kiss. Protecting.

A/N: This one is for the amazing @scolfer77. Merry Christmas!

The Christmas lights strung around the room twinkled like stars, casting a festive glow over the bustling party. The air buzzed with chatter, laughter, and the occasional clink of glasses, but none of it mattered to you as much as the man—well, demon—standing in the corner.

Crowley was his usual brooding self, impeccably dressed in his signature black suit, sipping something dark from a crystal tumbler. The crowd parted around him like he carried an invisible force field, and maybe he did. After all, even on Christmas Eve, he was still the King of Hell.

You weren’t sure why you’d invited him, and even less of a clue why he’d actually shown up. Maybe it was the way his dry wit made even the most desperate situations bearable. Maybe it was the fact that, against all odds, he always seemed to have your back. Or maybe—though you’d never admit it—it was because the thought of celebrating without him felt... wrong.

“Enjoying yourself, darling?” Crowley’s smooth voice broke through your thoughts as you approached.

You shrugged, offering him a smile. “I’d enjoy myself more if you looked like you were having fun.”

He smirked. “Christmas parties aren’t exactly my scene. Too much... cheer, not enough deals.” His tone dripped with disdain, but there was a twinkle in his eye that suggested he wasn’t entirely miserable.

“Well, if you’re going to stand there looking like the Grinch, at least hold a plate of cookies to complete the aesthetic.”

Crowley chuckled, a low, rich sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “You’re adorable when you try to boss me around, you know that?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the warmth creeping up your neck. “Whatever, Crowley. Just try to mingle, okay? This party is for everyone, including you.”

He gave a mock bow. “As you wish, my lady.”

Hours passed, and the party grew even more crowded. You moved through the throng, making small talk and ensuring everyone was having a good time. Every so often, you caught sight of Crowley, always at the edges of the room, his sharp eyes tracking your movements. It was comforting and unnerving all at once.

At one point, you found yourself at the makeshift bar, pouring yourself another drink. A man you didn’t recognize sidled up next to you, his smile a little too wide, his gaze lingering a little too long.

“Hey there,” he said, leaning closer than necessary. “Having a good time?”

“Yeah,” you replied, taking a step back. “It’s been great.”

“I bet it has. A pretty thing like you must get a lot of attention.”

You forced a polite smile and turned back to the bar, hoping he’d take the hint. He didn’t. Instead, he placed his hand on the small of your back.

Before you could respond, a familiar voice cut through the noise. “I believe the lady’s made it clear she’s not interested.”

You turned to see Crowley standing behind you, his expression dark. The man faltered under his gaze, mumbling something incoherent before retreating into the crowd.

“Was that really necessary?” you asked, though you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of gratitude.

Crowley shrugged, his lips twitching into a smirk. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for a damsel in distress.”

“I wasn’t in distress.”

“Of course not. You’re perfectly capable of handling yourself. But sometimes, it’s nice to have a little backup, isn’t it?”

You hated how easily he could get under your skin, how effortlessly he could make your heart race. “Well, thanks. I guess.”

“Anytime, darling.”

The night wore on, and the party showed no signs of slowing down. But something about the atmosphere had shifted. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but there was a tension in the air that hadn’t been there before.

You found Crowley again, this time leaning against a wall near the fireplace. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes flicked toward you the moment you entered the room.

“Something’s wrong,” you said quietly as you approached him.

“I know,” he replied, his voice low. “There’s someone here who doesn’t belong.”

“What do you mean?”

Crowley’s gaze swept over the crowd. “Call it a hunch. Stay close to me.”

Your stomach twisted with unease, but you nodded. The festive atmosphere suddenly felt oppressive, the cheerful decorations like a cruel mockery of the danger lurking beneath the surface.

It didn’t take long for Crowley’s instincts to be proven correct. A loud crash shattered the hum of conversation, and the room erupted into chaos. Guests screamed and scattered as a figure stepped forward, brandishing a gun.

“Where is she?” the intruder demanded, his wild eyes scanning the room. “Where’s the girl?”

You froze, your heart pounding in your chest. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who he was looking for. He was the husband of someone you’d failed to save, not through lack of trying.

Crowley stepped in front of you, his posture radiating calm authority despite the weapon pointed in your direction. “I suggest you think very carefully about your next move, mate.”

“Stay out of this,” the man snarled. “She knows what she did.”

“I don’t think she does,” Crowley said smoothly. “But you’re welcome to enlighten us. Preferably without the theatrics.”

The man’s hand shook as he tightened his grip on the gun. “She ruined everything! My whole life—gone! And now she’s going to pay.”

Before you could process his words, the man pulled the trigger. You barely had time to register the sound of the gunshot before Crowley moved.

The world seemed to slow as Crowley stepped in front of you, his body taking the full impact of the bullet. He staggered but remained standing, his eyes locking onto yours.

“Crowley!” you cried, reaching for him as he swayed.

“I’m fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “Takes more than that to take me down.”

But his pale complexion told a different story. You felt a surge of anger and fear as you turned to face the intruder. Before you could act, Crowley raised a hand, and with a flick of his wrist, the man crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

“Problem solved,” he said, his voice strained. “Now, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll sit down.”

You helped him to a nearby couch, your hands trembling as you pressed against the wound. “You idiot,” you muttered, tears stinging your eyes. “Why did you do that?”

He gave you a faint smile. “Couldn’t let anything happen to you, could I?”

“Crowley—”

“I’m fine, darling. Demons don’t die so easily.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re invincible,” you snapped. “You scared me.”

His hand covered yours, his touch surprisingly gentle. “I’m sorry. Truly.”

The room had cleared out by now, the remaining guests either too scared or too tactful to stick around. It was just the two of you, the flickering firelight casting shadows across Crowley’s face.

“You’re an idiot,” you said again, though your voice had softened.

“And you’re annoyingly stubborn,” he countered. “But I suppose that’s part of why I love you.”

“You… what?” Your brow furrowed slightly with confusion, not entirely sure you’d heard him correctly.

“Did I just say that out loud?” he asked softly, not breaking eye contact.

You let out a shaky laugh, the tension in your chest easing slightly. “You really scared me, Crowley. I thought—” You broke off, unable to finish the sentence.

He cupped your face in his hand, his thumb brushing away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. “I’m not going anywhere, love. Not as long as you need me.”

His gaze searched yours, and for a moment, the weight of everything unsaid hung between you. Then, before you could overthink it, you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, but it quickly deepened, the weight of your emotions pouring into the moment. Crowley’s hand moved to the back of your neck, holding you close as if afraid you’d disappear.

When you finally pulled away, you were both breathless. His forehead rested against yours, a rare vulnerability in his eyes.

“Well,” he said after a moment. “That was unexpected.” Crowley chuckled, his voice warm and full of affection.

You laughed despite yourself, the sound breaking the tension. For the first time all night, you felt safe.

The party was long forgotten as you sat together by the fire, Crowley’s arm wrapped around your shoulders. The wound on his side had already begun to heal, his demonic nature working its magic.

“So,” you said, breaking the comfortable silence. “Does this mean you’re sticking around?”

He smirked, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Someone’s got to keep you out of trouble.”

“You’re the one who attracts trouble,” you teased.

“Perhaps,” he conceded. “But I’m also the one who keeps you safe.”

You couldn’t argue with that. For all his flaws—and there were plenty—Crowley had proven time and again that he’d do anything for you. And tonight, he’d proven it once more.

“Thank you,” you said softly. “For everything.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his voice low and sincere. “Anything for you, darling. Always.”

As the fire crackled and the snow fell softly outside, you realized that this Christmas, you’d received the greatest gift of all: the unwavering devotion of a demon who, against all odds, had found his heart in you.

[mimisempai]

You're the only light in my blurry world 4/10

Chapter summary

Back from the weekend, Aziraphale and Crowley set up a coffee date, but an incident forces Aziraphale to reveal the truth about his condition.

On Ao3

Masterpost for this fic : here

"Come on, everybody get on the bus! You can pick the seats you want for the ride back!"

As they boarded the bus, Aziraphale turned to Crowley and asked, "Should we sit together?"

Crowley didn't have time to answer as Eric stepped between them and said, "Nope, guys, all five of us are going in the back row."

Aziraphale, though a little disappointed not to be traveling with just Crowley, was looking forward to spending some time with his new friends.

Muriel had boarded the bus by now, and as Aziraphale, followed by Crowley, arrived at the back, she said, "Azi, at the end by the window, Crowley next to Azi, then Maggie at the other end, Eric and me. I want to be in the middle."

Amused, Aziraphale and Crowley took the seats Muriel had indicated.

Moments later, the bus pulled away and the five friends were happily chatting and reminiscing about the good times of the weekend.

Gradually, the chatter died down, Maggie fell asleep, and the two lovebirds spoke in hushed tones.

Turning to Aziraphale, Crowley asked, "So you're going straight home when we get there?"

Aziraphale nodded and said, "Yes, I'll take Maggie with me since we're neighbors. Do you have to work in the morning?"

Crowley replied, "Not before eleven."

"Our shops don't open on Monday mornings."

Crowley seemed to hesitate for a few moments before asking, "Would you like to have coffee with me tomorrow morning?"

Aziraphale asked, "With Maggie?"

Crowley chuckled and then, turning serious again, replied, "No, just you and me.

Aziraphale, delighted, immediately replied, "Yes, I would love to!"

Crowley grinned and said, "Then it's a date."

Then, without waiting for Aziraphale's reply, he leaned back against the back of his seat and, after dropping his head on Aziraphale's shoulder, closed his eyes.

"Wake me when we get there."

"O-okay."

Aziraphale took out his mp3 player, stuck the headphones in his ears, and settled into his seat. He allowed himself to be lulled by the music, but that didn't stop him from being aware of the warmth of Crowley's head against his shoulder throughout the ride.

*********

The next morning, Aziraphale was a little late as he walked through the door of the coffee shop across the street from his bookshop.

He looked for Crowley and saw him from behind, sitting at a back table, recognizable by his flaming hair. His heart beating a little faster, the bookseller took a quick step toward the table, then placed his hand on Crowley's shoulder and said softly, "Good morning, Crowley.

But what a shock when he turned his head to face Aziraphale.

Aziraphale didn't recognize his features and felt a cold shiver run down his spine. 

That was it. The miracle was over.

He tried to put on a show as he sat down and spoke without pausing, "I'm sorry I'm a little late. So you've recovered from our weekend? Not too tired? I'm knackered, thank God I'm not working this morning."

Getting no response from his friend, he began to panic when someone suddenly called his name, causing him to turn his head. There he saw Crowley approaching.

Feeling embarrassed, Aziraphale turned to the person sitting across from him, and as he stood up, he apologized, "I'm so sorry, I mistook you for someone else."

"Yeah, well, you better get some glasses, you idiot!"

Crowley stepped forward and leaned toward the red-haired man, "Hey, no need to get nasty."

Then he grabbed Aziraphale's wrist and pulled him all the way outside.

"Crowley, wait."

Aziraphale held him back, causing Crowley to turn to him and say, "He didn't have to talk to you like that. You didn't do anything wrong."

"Yes, but I got the wrong person, that can upset people you know?"

"He could have been understanding. What's his problem?"

They hadn't seen the guy following them and only noticed him when he snapped at them, "My problem? This guy's got one."

"Watch your mouth," Crowley replied in a cold voice, stepping between Aziraphale and the angry man.

"Are you a friend of this guy?"

"Can't you tell?"

The guy walked over to Crowley and, taking off his cap, continued, giving Aziraphale spiteful looks, "He started saying all kinds of stuff to me. I thought he was nuts, so I ignored him, but the idiot kept going.

Then he showed his face with his hand and added, "Tell me, do you think we look that much alike?"

"You!"

Crowley felt Aziraphale take his arm before he said softly, "Come on Crowley, let's go."

The bookseller didn't wait for an answer and pulled him along.

"Hey!"

Despite Crowley's interjection, Aziraphale started to pull him toward the bookshop, but Crowley stopped him and exclaimed, "Aziraphale! Tell me, is he the one with the problem, or are you?"

Aziraphale looked down and muttered, "Sorry... sorry I haven't told you yet, but... I really thought I was going on a bit without having to, and..."

He took a deep breath before continuing, "I actually have a condition that causes me to not recognize faces. It's commonly referred to as face blindness, and that's why..."

Crowley interrupted, "What? That's why you're acting so weird?"

Aziraphale, his throat tightening, nodded.

"Are we really friends?"

Aziraphale raised his head sharply, clearly seeing Crowley's angry expression.

He replied immediately, "Of course we are!"

"Then why didn't you tell me? Such an important thing?"

Aziraphale murmured, "Sorry..."

Crowley shook his head and replied, "I don't want you to apologize. This condition is not your fault!"

Aziraphale didn't know how to respond and remained silent.

Crowley shook his head and started to walk away, saying, "I'm not in the mood. I'm going home."

"Crowley... I..."

"No. I'm too angry. I don't want to talk about it right now. Don't follow me, okay?"

Aziraphale watched him walk away with a heavy heart.

He remembered a similar scene.

Another figure he'd let walk away just like that.

Without a fight.

He shook his head.

He was not the same Aziraphale anymore.

He'd changed.

He ran after Crowley and grabbed his sleeve, saying urgently, "Crowley, please don't go like this. Come with me to my bookshop, let me explain. Let me explain. Please. Let me explain why I didn't tell you, and then you can do whatever you want. But I can't let you go like this. You have to know. I don't want to go through this again. Please!"

Crowley remained silent, then let out a long sigh before saying, "All right."

Aziraphale let go of him and murmured, "Thank you," before walking back to the bookshop, followed by Crowley. 

A few moments later, they entered the Aziraphale's bookshop.

He motioned Crowley to the sofa and sat down in the armchair across from him.

Once Crowley was seated, Aziraphale, not daring to meet his friend's gaze, looked at his hands and said again, "I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing, damn it! There's nothing to forgive. I'm just angry that you didn't tell me, and I wonder if you would have told me if the incident at the coffee shop hadn't happened."

Crowley ran a hand through his hair and continued, "I'm the one who should apologize for getting carried away. I know I'm too emotional."

Aziraphale shook his head and protested, "No! No! You were right. I'm so grateful that you're willing to listen to me. Before... before I met you, before this weekend... I was... I was so lonely. I don't want to feel that again. I don't want to lose you and what I..."

He couldn't continue, his throat too tight with emotion.

Crowley waited a little and then said in a softer tone, "Aziraphale, this isn't going to work like this, come here and sit beside me, you're too far away."

"Oh... uh, okay."

Aziraphale stood and came to sit at the other end of the sofa.

Crowley chuckled softly and shook his head.

"Closer, idiot. That way you're as far away as if you were sitting in your armchair."

Aziraphale slid closer to Crowley, trying to regain his composure. He didn't notice his hands tapping nervously on his knees until Crowley calmed him by putting his hand on them.

He said quietly, "Hey, it's gonna be okay."

Then he took Aziraphale's hand and asked gently, "Is that okay?"

Aziraphale nodded and Crowley added, "You can start whenever you want."

Aziraphale swallowed several times before saying softly, "Four years ago, I was with a man named James. He was my first love and my first lover. He was a little older than me, confident, handsome, or so I think when I try to remember. I was head over heels, so I accepted everything. He wasn't out then, we only saw each other on weekends. He'd pick me up on his motorcycle and we'd go to a little motel on the beach. It was on one of those weekends that we had a serious accident. The motorcycle was hit by a truck. James had only minor injuries, but I had a severe cranial trauma that put me in the hospital for several weeks with the consequences that you know. My face blindness. The last I saw James' face was right before I lost consciousness. And now I can't even remember him. Or only vaguely."

"Oh, Aziraphale..."

Aziraphale shook his head and said with a self-deprecating smile, "I've gotten used to it, it's no big deal."

Crowley stroked the back of his hand with his thumb and said softly, "You're not too used to people caring about you, are you?"

"What?"

"No, nothing. Go on."

Crowley hadn't let go of his hand and Aziraphale continued, "After the accident, James came to see me a lot, I realize now it was probably out of guilt, but at the time I was just glad he stayed with me. When I got out of the hospital, we were together for another six months. But one day..."

"Zira, I want to break up."

Aziraphale, not expecting this, gasped before turning to James, who continued without looking at him, "I've tried, I swear, I've tried to be happy with you, but I can't accept the fact that you don't recognize my face. You can't even tell the difference between my face and someone else's. And I can't accept that from my lover."

Aziraphale, in shock, saw his lover hold his head in his hands and then add, "Actually, it makes me sick."

"But I..."

James shook his head and, standing up, said, "I can't take it anymore."

"Then he left, and I did nothing to hold him. I erased all my memories of him. I tore up the photos where I no longer recognized us. I really thought I'd never get over it. He was the first to disappear. Even my mother found it harder and harder to spend time with me and still doesn't accept it. After her, my other friends gradually drifted away, leaving only Maggie to keep me from completely shutting myself off in my own world. That's why we seem so close."

Aziraphale sighed and said quietly, "There, you know everything. This weekend was the happiest I'd been in a long time, even before my accident. I didn't want to spoil it by talking about my illness when I could almost forget about it for a while. So I didn't say anything. I know it's selfish, but..."

Crowley shook his head and said gently, "No, no, I understand. I totally understand wanting a break from your life and wanting to enjoy it. Believe me, I do. Thank you for telling me all this, even if it was a bit forced."

Aziraphale replied, "I was going to tell you, just not necessarily today, on our first date."

Crowley smiled slightly and asked, "Did you say first?"

"You noticed."

Suddenly, Crowley exclaimed, "But you recognized me! You recognized me at the coffee shop!"

Aziraphale swallowed and replied, "Yes. I don't know why, but you're the only one whose face I recognize. I made a quick call to my neurologist this morning, that's why I was late. He doesn't know where it comes from, but he advised me to try to recognize more faces. Right now, you're the only one. You have no idea how shocked and then pleased I was to be able to see your face so clearly."

Crowley asked, "Is that why you stood up so abruptly and dropped your easel when I arrived at the class?"

"You remember that?"

Crowley chuckled before replying, "You're hard to forget, you know?"

Aziraphale replied with an embarrassed chuckle, then looked up at Crowley, whose kind eyes and gentle smile gave him the courage he needed.

He cleared his throat and, looking into Crowley's eyes, said in a firm voice, "Crowley, would you like to go out with me?"

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here 

[theshippirate22]

btw after about two weeks of Muriel stopping into the record shop or coffee shop to ask some real unhinged questions about how to cheer someone up or convince someone to get out of bed or snake-mode, Nina marches over to the bookshop and forces Crowley’s ass out of bed and into a shower because cosmic entity or not he smells like a pity party and it’s cruel working conditions for Muriel and “your relationship ended, that doesn’t mean your life has”

and he puts up quite a fit about it but somehow? he’s gotten significantly worse than he should’ve in like 15 days and there’s something so weird about grieving the only person who ever cared about you while simultaneously getting your soaking wet- somehow shoulder length now? his miracles must be fucked up- hair brushed out with an aggressive softness you’ve never felt in your life by someone you’ve only spoken to four or five times but here he is

and she makes him a coffee- something more tolerable than six shots of espresso in a cup- and he sulks around the coffee shop for a few hours while Nina finishes up the breakfast rush but he does eat the danish Nina sets in front of him and he’s not even half as bitchy as he’d like to be when Maggie comes and pulls his hair half up in a black thing she calls a “scrunchie” that Crowley is 98% he’s only ever seen on adolescent girls but she’s so gentle with him in a way he really doesn’t deserve and he’s so tired that he just puts up with it

eventually, Nina flips the sign on the door to Closed, and she sits on the counter right across from him and says, “Congratulations.”

He glares.

“No, no really,” she continues, “You’ve just entered the most human phase of life you’ll ever be in.”

He rolls his eyes. She can’t see it behind his glasses, but she knows he’s done it. She can feel it.

“I mean it. There’s nothing more human than being madly, desperately in love with someone, which means there’s nothing more human than letting them go, even if tears you apart. Happens to the best of us.”

”You don’t understand-“ He cries indignantly- the way everyone does after their first heartbreak. Before they put on an old Taylor Swift song and realize that nope, actually she does.

“You’re not special.” Nina tells him levelly. “Loads of people know exactly how you feel right now. You do know Lindsay and I were almost at three years?”

“This was 6000.”

“Yeah, but angels tell time all funny. It wasn’t really 6000 years. It probably was only about six human years.” She brushes it off. “Regardless, if there’s any chance you were really going to understand being human, this is it. So far, you’ve done a splendid job. The first step after any rejection or breakup is to wallow and if that one-“ she motions vaguely toward the bookshop where Muriel is- “is to be trusted, you’ve done just fine at that. But I can’t have them in here every few hours asking for sad love song recommendations. So you’ve got to do the next human part.”

“I don’t want to.”

“‘Course you don’t. But you do it anyway.”

He set his jaw. Wouldn’t look at her.

“I’ll show you what we do here. I’m overdo for my recovery anyway.”

And so, a woman took a demon to cut his hair and get a new tattoo and drink mimosas and buy shoes and his determined self-pity became tentative indifference became casual enjoyment.

And when he finally did make it back to the bookshop, it was with the kind of bittersweet weightlessness that comes with remembering yourself after your first love.

Before he went back to bed- not with the heavy weight of grief, but instead the exhaustion of activity, he left a hot cocoa out for Muriel.

They were very excited.

[gcthvile]

Human! Priest! Aziraphale x Demon! Crowley AU because I have no life. (based off of a fanart)

p.s I was forced to post this.

summary: Aziraphale meets a demon who's making him feel things he shouldn't be feeling.

fandom: Good Omens

couple: Aziraphale x Crowley

warnings: none

"I'll be damned..." Was the first thing Aziraphale said when he saw the demon in front of him, holding onto the Bible on his hands tightly as if it would protect him from the creature of the damned.

"It's not that bad when you get used to it." The demon said, putting his hands inside the pockets of his jeans. Then he decided to take a step closer to Aziraphale, who took a step back immediately, putting out his one hand as if it would prevent the demon from stepping closer, "Stop right there! Do not come any closer to me, demon!" Aziraphale said, still holding the Bible tightly to which Crowley chuckled, "You really think that little thing's gonna protect you?"

Crowley liked the way Aziraphale was holding onto the Bible like his life depended on it, he found it adorable how the human tried to look tough and show him that he's not scared. He tilted his head, observing him from head to toe. He was short, well, at least shorter than him, with short, white-blonde hair and the bluest of eyes, if it wasn't for the priest clothes, Crowley would think that he has encountered with an angel on Earth. This human somehow intrigued Crowley, there was something about him that just made Crowley want to talk to him more.

With a swing of his finger, the Bible went flying to other side, out of Aziraphale's hold. Aziraphale gasped in surprise and looked at the demon with wide, frightened eyes, for a moment he froze, not being able to think of what to do next.

Crowley took that as his chance to walk closer to the priest and lean forward. The demon took off his glasses, which revealed his golden, snake eyes that now stared deep into Aziraphale's soul, "Now that's better..." He said with a smirk.

Aziraphale felt like he was under some spell, some sort of evil magic, because the demon's eyes were....fascinating, it was the most beautiful thing he's ever seen in his life. He couldn't help but stare at them, memorize them, cherish them, they were so beautiful, so mesmerising.

No. Aziraphale thought, it was not his thoughts, the demon has put him under some spell that made him think like that, to feel like that. Aziraphale would never find a demon fascinating, they were evil, creatures who know nothing but chaos and blood, Aziraphale was sure that this one wasn't any different.

Shaking his head, Aziraphale finally snapped back to reality and backed away, his back hitting the wall. His hands search through his pockets to find something, anything, to make the demon stay in his place. His hands touched something metallic, he sighed in relief when he pulled out a cross and then pointed it towards the red haired demon. "Step back you evil creature and go back to where you came from or else I'm going to send you back to Hell myself!"

Crowley did actually take a few steps back at the sight of the cross, sneering. "And here I thought we were getting along..." The demon hissed, like, actually hissed.

"Getting along? You're a demon! I would never....get along with you!" Aziraphale exclaimed, holding the cross closer, even though he sounded unsure of his own words.

Crowley pouted mockingly, tilting his head slightly, "Oh, you're hurting my feelings, angel..." He said, also mocking a hurt tone, dramatically putting a hand on his chest.

Aziraphale stopped, narrowing his eyes, "Excuse me? Angel?" The man asked, confused about the sudden nickname, he had to be honest, it did make him feel something other than confusion, but he wasn't going to admit it, of course.

Crowley chuckled, "Oh, sorry, my bad...slipped outta my mouth..." The demon shrugged, "But can you blame me? Your face is....angelic!" Crowley exclaimed, wincing when he couldn't find a fitting word to describe the human's face.

"Flattery will not change your fate, demon!"

"Crowley."

"What?"

"Crowley. That's my name, so you'd stop calling me demon." Crowley said, smiling.

"I don't....I....Well, Crowley, I suggest you leave immediately before I'll....Well, before I'll think of something to make you disappear." Aziraphale said, holding onto the cross with his life.

The demon rolled his eyes and sighed, "Fine, fine, but dontcha think it's the last time you've seen of me, I liked talking to you." He winked and suddenly disappeared in a blink of an eye.

Aziraphale sighed in relief and looked around, in case the demon didn't actually leave. The demon was nowhere to be seen and this fact had to reassure Aziraphale, make him happy....so why does he feel the need to see that demon again?

[vampiremarz]

Split The Heavens

"We're closed" The Demon said flatly, pushing his glasses up so they would stay propped up on his forehead(that corner of the bookshop was way too dark to wear sunglasses, And read something) "I thought Muriel was running the Bookshop?" the customer said, their oh so familiar voice rang in Crowley's ears. His skin crawled, as he looked over his shoulder. "Aziraphale." he monotoned. "

or

Something wet and warm ran down the demon's cheek, it burned like holy water, but worse. it didn't kill him, but the burn wouldn't go away. He didn't know demon's could cry.

cross posted on ao3

The Demon had watched The Angel step into the elevator with a smile on his face. It broke his heart. He felt it slowly crack and shatter into a million pieces. his dark glasses covered his eyes welling up with tears. As music began to play on the radio as he turned the key in the Bentley, instantly he turned it off, not wanting to wallow in his emotions.  He slammed his foot down onto the gas pedal, going as fast as the Bentley would let him. oddly slow compared to their usual 90 in Central London. "oh for fucks sake" He groaned. His glasses had slipped down his nose so he pushed them up with his middle finger.

His plants seemed to wilt behind him like he could hear them crying for help. "stop your whining, I watered you last night" He said through his teeth. He shuffled through the stack of CDs and tapes stashed in the glove compartment, frustrated he slammed it shut, turning the radio on and switching a few channels.

His original plan was to go back to his flat, but now that Shax had returned to hell his "home" was his once again, instead of slowing down and parking the Bentley in his parking spot, the brakes seemed to falter, the steering wheel turned on its own and Crowley was on the road once again. "FOR FUCKS SAKE" He slams his fist down on the dashboard, and the radio sputters.

"Love of my life, can't you see?

(Please bring it back)

Bring it back, bring it back, don't

take it away from me

Because you don't know what it

means to me (means to me)"

Love of my life by Queen had started playing on the radio, or the Bentley's mind of its own had decided to force Crowley to face his own emotions, the emotions he had felt for the first time ever

"You will remember when this is blown over

And everything's all by the way

(ooh, yeah)"

The radio continues. Crowley took his hands off of the steering wheel, looking ahead of him at the road as the Bentley seemed to drive itself.

"When I grow older, I will be there at your side" He sang along to the song. "To remind you how I still love you- Dammit Angel" He cursed under his breath before removing his glasses. In 1974 they had seen Queen play that song live, together. Aziraphale had apparently traded one of his books to get them "VIP" tickets, whatever that meant. ( And coincidentally, Crowley got to meet the band) He saw them 8 more times before Queen's last album was released.

He vividly remembered how during the bridge of the song Aziraphale's hand had brushed up against his, of course, they were sitting next to each other, they had gone together. Not like it was a date or anything(it was)

Lost in his thoughts the next thing he knew he was back in front of the bookshop. A.Z. Fell and Co. the oh so familiar sign read.

the bells above the door rang as he stepped inside "Welcome!" Muriel shouted from behind a pile of books almost twice their size, poor thing had just discovered what books were and now they were practically swimming in the mess the demons had made the night before. "oh! it's you, the demon" They said, straightening their posture "The Metatron put you in charge of the shop?" He said through his teeth again, straightening his glasses. "yes! I'm very excited" They replied "If Aziraphale finds out you're actually selling them or you damaged them in any way, the new Supreme Archangel will have you punished I'm sure" His fingers brushed against the dust of a book, despite Aziraphale only leaving about a half an hour ago it seemed to take a toll on the bookshop. "oh… are you just trying to scare me? it won't work on me Mr. Crowley, I'm an angel and you're a demon"

"blah blah blah doesn't matter, I know the bookshop better than you"

Muriel sighed "I suppose you're right"

Crowley sighed. The bookshop felt so empty now. "I'll help you get situated, He liked things a certain way" He stepped towards the angel, and Muriel stepped back. "Relax, I'm not gonna hurt you or anything, despite demonic appearances"

Muriel picked up one of the books from the large stack, an older and relatively smaller one. One Aziraphale had carried around with him when he had first gotten his hands on it, back in 1957. "Now, are you gonna read that or put it back?"

"put it back"

"Angel always organized them by author first name and genre, I have no idea how he didn't blow a fuse when Gabriel-" he corrects himself "Jim started organizing them by the first letter of the first sentence" He scoffed "Are all of these "authors" humans?" Muriel asked, using air quotes. "uh, I suppose so? never really thought about that" Crowley shrugged his shoulders, picking up a book and reading the author's name to reshelve it "Mr. Crowley?" They asked again. "hu?" he looked up from the book. "Once you're done teaching me about books, can you teach me about humans?"

He raised an eyebrow "You what now?"

"teach me about humans!" They said with a smile "You and Mr. Aziraphale had been here for 6,000 years, right? surely you know more than I could learn from observing"

"well… you're right I do know more. I'll consider it. You start organizing the best you can. I'm gonna go get a pick me up, hopefully, something alcoholic and a chat with someone" he pushed his hair back and walked out of the bookshop. The truth was he didn't mind Muriel, they were too clueless for their own good but also curious. The questions they asked reminded him of himself before the fall. He wanted to be nice to them, but they reminded him too much of himself, and too much of Aziraphale at the same time. Halfway to Nina's he realized he didn't really want to talk about what happened, just needed to get away from the bookshop, it was an instinct to meet Aziraphale there. Crowley groaned. His next option was to go back to his flat, pick up the mail shax had left at his door. He sauntered over to the Bentley and turned the car on, of course a sappy love song that reminded him of Aziraphale was playing, he decided to drive in silence instead.

splash! suddenly the demon was soaked, He shot up, his head throbbing and the room spinning "Crowley, where's Aziraphale?" Maggie said, her hands on her hips. Nina was next to her, holding an empty coffee cup, she must've been the one to wake him up "It's been weeks since we've seen either of you, very very unusual "

"fuck both of you" The demon groaned, rolling to the other side of the couch he was comfortably lounged on "I assume it didn't go well?" Nina asked, picking up a few empty wine bottles "Jesus Crowley how much can you drink? Are you planning on drinking your life away?"

"I'm not drinking my life away, just drinking the next decade away, till Aziraphale comes back or , till it doesn't hurt anymore" he muttered, reaching for the half-drunk bottle of wine next to him. Nina quickly grabbed it before he could, causing Crowley to fall off of the comfortable couch. "I'll go find the other one" Maggie said, giving Nina a kind pat on the shoulder. Nina gave her a nod as she headed up the spiral staircase. "What happened?" Nina sat on the couch, the demon still on the floor. "He left," Crowley said, his face squished into the floor. "oh! I wasn't expecting that, you two were absolutely made for eachother"

"I doubt that" He rolled over onto his back, staring at the ceiling. "He went back to heaven, wanted me to join him again, but we went through this ages ago, we're not on heaven or hell's side. we're on our own, but he picked heaven over me" His voice faltered slightly. "Oh Crowley, that's horrible" He simply just shrugged in response.

"I'm glad you came back. Aziraphale wasn't just the bookshop owner he was the landlord too, someone has to run it who knows the ropes already" Crowley sighed, looked like he couldn't abandon the bookshop even if he wanted to.

Crowley sat up. He blindly fumbled for some sort of drink, and begrudgingly, Nina handed him the bottle of wine she had snatched up. "the Metatron, that old fuckin idiot placed Muriel in charge, I have nothing against them but they don't have a clue what's going on at all" Crowley talked with his hands, almost knocking the bottle against the coffee table and breaking it.

"the Metatron? what type of a stupid name is that?"

"He's an old guy, balding, and smells like moldy cheese, but I'm probably exaggerating. He was in here earlier and gave Angel a coffee. I think it was a latte thing with almond syrup"

"I remember him! he was the first customer in that morning and asked a weird question, he asked if anyone ever asked for death"

"do they?"

"no," She said plainly, almost side-eyeing him.

"Muriel said they saw you drunkenly praying last night. You're a demon, who were you praying to? Satan?" Maggie said, heading down the stairs.

"I was asking God to take care of Aziraphale" he muttered under his breath, Looking down and away so he could remove his glasses and wipe off the lenses, covered in lukewarm tea. Maggie sighed "Crowley…"

"Yes, stupid human I know. I know"

The empty coffee cup is tossed at his head "You've been camping out here for weeks, you gave your flat to Beelzebub and Jim and haven't even unpacked the boxes of your shit!" Maggie pointed towards the stack of boxes by the door labeled "Krowly" the handwriting absolute chicken scratch, obviously written by Beelzebub. "You got all this from Muriel?" Crowley raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, and your plants died," Maggie added. With a wave of his hands, the plants were luscious and green again "No they're not"

"you can't miracle everything to be better" Nina pulls over a chair and one for Maggie, sitting down in front of Crowley. "Muriel wants me to teach them about humans. Guess I'll be staying around longer than I wanted to, I'll run the bookshop I guess"

“Don't be a horrible influence on that poor kid”

“I won't, Aziraphale will probably come back in the next few days, he’ll realize how boring it is in heaven”

“What are you going to tell people if they ask where he is?”

“Probably in America or somewhere stupid” Crowley shrugged. "He'll come back"

"you're very nice for a demon, I know I don't have much of a reference to base it on but you're a really nice guy" Maggie said. "Look uh, I told Miss sandwich already, I'm not either. I'm not nice" he said through his teeth. "Have fun lying to yourself then" Nina said before Maggie could, like she could read her mind. "we should go, we have to open our shops, we'll be back after closing to make sure you're not drunk again"

The demon was nice, As much as he hated to admit it he wasn't evil, he was far from it. The last mean thing he ment and actually remembered saying was telling Jim- Gabriel to step out of the window and face plant onto the sidewalk of Soho London. As much as he hated Gabriel, he still regretted it.

The demon who lived in his car after he lost his flat, never thought to ask his angel for a place to stay, he thought it would make Aziraphale uncomfortable. The same demon who felt comfortable enough with said angel to show his eyes around him, the eyes he could have miracled into normal human eyes at any moment. The demon who would do anything to kiss Aziraphale again, despite how horrible the situation was or how painful of a memory it was, how much it hurt seeing the look on Aziraphale's face. He would still do it all over again.

His Bentley turned a familiar shade of yellow, shortly before malfunctioning and becoming undriveable. Crowley could've easily miracled it, fixed. After everything the car had been through with him, after 90 years of Aziraphale sitting in the passenger seat. He couldn't dare look at it again, his most prized possession was left in an empty lot, yellow instead of black. The Demon knew the Bentley reflected his own emotions.

Life without Aziraphale moved ever so slowly. Crowley was used to life moving slowly, he had been on slow-moving earth with slow-moving humans for six thousand years, but this was painfully slow. Time should've been flying by, but it wasn't. But from Inspector Constable turned bookseller's perspective, he seemed to be doing better than he was the day Aziraphale left.

Crowley sat lounged over the fancy chair pushed up against Aziraphale's old desk, shuffling through a box of records, the cardboard around the packaging edges fraying slightly "Muriel? What should we listen to together? Queen or?...." He held up an autographed version of A Day At The Races and started shuffling through the box again, looking for a second option. "the queen of what? Why are we listening to a queen?"

"What did you just say?" He gritted his teeth, spinning around in the chair and dropping the box onto the floor "I don't understand who's the queen?" They asked. Crowley simply strutted towards the record player "Muriel Muriel Muriel you are about to have your mind blown- sorry human expression" He corrected himself, avoiding a question. The record slid out of its sleeve and into his hand, very very cautiously placing the pristine record (despite being 47 years old and still in mint condition) onto the turntable.

As the first song started playing and he slumped back into his chair "Take a seat and enjoy the music little angel" He said, lifting the to-go coffee cup to his lips, "was six shots right? Nina knows your usual but I wanted to try and remember it"

He nodded, closing his eyes to enjoy the music "Do you-" They continued, being interrupted by Crowley's finger behind, held up to shush them "Listen to the music" Crowley said, side-eyeing them. "this one's called Tie Your Mother Down" Muriel sat down in their chair, a simple blue metal chair opposite next to Crowey's fancy deep red and gold throne-like chair. Crowley couldn't bring himself to sit in the chair that had been next to the desk before. It was Aziraphale's chair, not Crowley's. He had brought his chair from his flat, and stolen Muriel's from Nina's. Aziraphale's worn-down chair sat nicely in the corner as if he was sitting there with them. His gaze shifted towards the record player, then towards the chair as the songs switched.  "I can dim the li-" the record sings, quickly Crowley jumps to his feet, the needle quickly skipping "Why'd you do that?" They tilt their head to the side "I uh…. I just don't like the song" He responded. His demeanor had changed drastically. "Mr. Crowley, are you ok?" They asked. "I'm fine! just that's enough of this album for today, pick one from the box. I'm gonna organize the books' ' He stormed off to the other side of the bookshop. a nice old lady had come by to sell a box full of her husband's old books, he had to inventory them and shelve them, a boring task he had no idea how Aziraphale dealt with it. "I think I'll get a new one!" They stood up. Crowley shuffled through his pockets, he sauntered back over to them and placed about 15 pounds into their hand "Maggie will probably let you just take a record because she doesn't have to pay us- Aziraphale, rent anymore but pay her anyway"

"That's very nice of you for a demon" They respond, putting the pounds in their pocket. "Eh, not really, I just don't hate Humans. Gray zone, remember?"

"Mr. Crowley?"  Muriel asked, standing by the door. "Yeah little angel?" he responded

"I'm going to miss you when you go back to hell"

"You've got a day, just gotta tie up some more loose ends" Crowley shrugged his shoulders "you'll be fine without me, I've waited for Aziraphale long enough" Crowley fixed his glasses as a customer came through the door. "I'm still going to miss you" Muriel said with a smile "be careful, saying stuff like that is gonna get you pushed outta heaven" He whispered to them, patting them on the shoulder. "Go pick out a record kid," he sauntered back over to the books that needed to be shelved.

Muriel skipped their way over towards Maggie's record shop, the bells above the door rang and she turned her attention towards the door "Muriel! It's nice to see you" she smiled. "Mr. Crowley said I could get a new record" They smiled, walking over towards one of the shelves, sorting through the newer records, still in the plastic. Then towards the older ones till they found a pretty blue one. "Can you play this one for me? I wanna know what it sounds like" They handed her the record "Ohhhhh this is a nice one" Maggie smiled "Voulez - Vous by Abba, Aziraphale used to like this one he would always listen to it here while looking for other records but never bought it" She slipped the record onto the turntable and let it run. The first few songs grew a smile on Muriel's face. "I'll take it!" They said, taking the record from Maggie the second it was back in the casing. They drop the money given to them on the counter and skip back to the bookshop "Wait! Muriel the record was only 3£ not 15!" She shouted but they were already too far gone to hear her, she simply sighed and placed it in the cash register.

Crowley, now swimming in books, refused to turn around and greet the customer as the doors opened "We're closed"  He said flatly, pushing his glasses up so they would stay propped up on his forehead(that corner of the bookshop was way too dark to wear sunglasses, And read something)  "I thought Muriel was running the Bookshop?" the customer said, their oh so familiar voice rang in Crowley's ears. His skin crawled, as he looked over his shoulder. "Aziraphale." he monotoned. "I came to check on Muriel but I guess you ended up taking over"

" teachin' them, I'll be out of here soon enough" He stood up, dusting his clothes off. "Crowley… I-"  He took a step towards him,  his attention being stolen from Crowley to the wilting plants under the window. "Don't. you told me how you felt and made your priorities clear"

"Oh Crowley, don't be like that. I brought you coffee?" His brows furrowed, but he held the coffee cup full of espresso in front of him. "Muriel brought me one already, and of fucking course in going to be that way you chose your side" He put his glasses back on. "You look good, Are those new glasses?"  Aziraphale asked, most likely trying to make conversation "No" Crowley responded, Flatley. "same old glasses, same old me, different you" He picks up the box of books once more and moves to a different section of the bookshop. Aziraphale cautiously stepped towards his old desk, placing the cup of coffee next to the other cup Muriel had brought Crowley earlier.

Aziraphale wished the world would just stop, he could stop it but he doubted that it would get Crowley to talk to him. He wanted those damn glasses off and Crowley, he wanted Crowley.

"Crowley." Aziraphale reached forward to grab his wrist, but Crowley pulled away quickly.

too distracted to pay attention to the door Crowley missed Muriel coming back in, attempting to sneak past the two. He caught them in the corner of his eye, and despite being blocked by the edge of his glasses, he'd gotten used to it obviously. "what record did you get?" He turned his attention towards them "I'll show you after" they said, heading up the staircase.

"You seem to like them now" The angel fidgeted with his hands. "Well, it's been a year, Aziraphale. I know the time in heaven works differently but I hope you're doing well"

"I missed the bookshop" the Angel stepped towards the desk, eyeing the new chairs and his that had been moved "I missed the books, my records, I missed the weather. Heaven is awfully boring compared to Earth"

"take your records with you then" The demon muttered.

"you seem closer with them than you were with me" Aziraphale looked down "For Satan's fucking sake they're like my kid now it gets annoying sometimes. you- you were. Oh fuck off"

"Please, I want to apologize"

"Are you gonna do the dance again?" He laughed slightly, humoring himself. "Do you want me to?" he responded, tilting his head to the side. Crowley dropped the box, his hands were shoved in his front pockets and he turned to face his old friend "listen. I understand you coming to check on Muriel, you're both angels. But I'm a demon. I'm the enemy now" He pulled his glasses off, like an instinct to do in front of Aziraphale. realizing what he had done he quickly puts his hand over his eyes. "Crowley look at me…" He asked, so gently. Slowly Crowley moved his hand, revealing his eyes. The angel's face sank, instead of his favorite shade of yellow staring back at him, Crowley's eyes were a normal shade of brown, with normal human irises. "Crowley what? you?"

"don't like my eyes anymore" He put his glasses back on, sniffling he continued speaking "and I know I fucked up by kissing you-"

"Oh, Heaven Crowley I thought you were trying to tempt me!" Aziraphale interrupted. Crowey's posture stiffened "You think I would tempt you? I never have!? don't be an idiot Ang- Aziraphale '' He corrected himself "I would've never done anything to hurt you. and you assumed?"

"you're a demon! And I'm an angel, an Archangel! you could've been trying to tempt me into staying"

"I USED TO BE A FUCKING ARCHANGEL!" The demon snapped, practically shaking.

Aziraphale stepped back, not expecting Crowley to raise his voice at him, it had never happened before. "what?" he questioned. "Archangel Raphael, He asked too many questions and hung around the wrong crowd. then God punished him"

Aziraphale put his hand up to his mouth, his eyes widening "I asked too many questions" Crowley said, trying to compose himself "Crowley I'm so sorry I never knew-"

"I never wanted you to know"

Aziraphale stayed silent, the look of pity on his face made Crowley want to burst into flames.

"They wiped my memory, Everyone in heaven forgot Raphael eventually, of their own doing or I was wiped from their memory too. I only remember a handful of things. I know exactly how Gabriel was feeling. I can't have that same thing happening to you"

"It won't, I can change heaven. you can-"

"I should've been enough for you to want to stay, what happened to us? shades of gray remember? they tried to burn you alive Aziraphale!" He knocked a few books off the shelf, causing Aziraphale to back up. Quickly he bent back down to put them back on the shelf. "Crowley, I'm so so sorry. I really am" he reached down to place his hand on his shoulder "Did you really want me to be an angel with you?" Crowley had moved before Aziraphale could've touched him.

"Yes of course I did! I know you must've been happier as an angel, and we can be together in heaven. The last thing I want is to be away from you. You can still take my offer"

" You weren't there when we switched. You didn't see how your stupid angels treated you"

"I'm in charge now Crowley. they won't-"

Crowley interrupted him "They wiped Gabriel's mind because he didn't want another Armageddon. Threatened to wipe him from the Book of Life because he fell in love with Beelzebub. You- mmmhhh" he stopped himself "Do you understand what they'll do to you?"

"They won't do anything to me, because I'm in charge" the archangel stated. "Join me, please. Nina told me you accepted hell's offer, take mine instead."

"Fuck Heaven, fuck Michael, fuck Uriel, and all the other angels. fuck god and fuck you. As you said, Like it's always been Aziraphale,  I'm a demon, nothing ever gonna change that."

"It wasn't always that way, you were Raphael, you can be him again. It can change! Let me help you"

"YOU STUPID FUCKING ANGEL!" Despite it being almost a perfect day a strike of lightning came crashing down just outside the bookshop, singeing the concrete ground. "You can't help me! I am a demon. I enjoy being a demon." He said through gritted teeth, a deep growl coming from his throat. "I'm like a walking bomb of death and destruction. Just leave, please. I could kill anyone with a snap of my fingers, I could kill you"

Aziraphale stood back, those last words stung "Anthony J Crowley! I'm not leaving you, not again"

"For Satan's sake! why won't you understand?! I don't want to be a damn angel! I wasn't happy as one, all I did was get in trouble for asking honest questions! I- All I wanted was you. I was happy with you" He said, furrowing his brows "Angel I loved you" he wanted to kick himself for letting the term of endearment slip. Aziraphale's eyes softened "You what?"

"Forget it, I'm going upstairs. If you want to you can take some of your shit back to heaven" Crowley fixed his glasses, turning around to head upstairs the spiral staircase. Aziraphale quickly responded. "Loved?"

"Love doesn't matter, you chose to be enemies again" He looked down at Aziraphale's hands, dangerously close to his own "Do you still love me?"

Crowley sighed "It doesn't matter" he rolled his eyes, "humor me" Aziraphale sighed "Oh you think this is funny?"

"It's a human expression, you know this!" His voice got all high-pitched and whining, one of the mannerisms Crowley had thought was cute. Crowley's gaze traveled back toward Aziraphale's eyes.

Something wet and warm ran down the demon's cheek, it burned like holy water, but worse. it didn't kill him, but the burn wouldn't go away. He didn't know demon's could cry.

"Crowley-'' Aziraphale reached forward to wipe the tear off his cheek. "No. I don't love you anymore" his voice shook.

The angel’s hand drifted down to grab his wrist. The demon watched as his fingers trail down further, intertwining their fingers. He realized Aziraphale was also looking down at their hands, his fingers tightly gripping Crowley's limp hand.

The Demon exhaled, his breath faltering "Aziraphale…" The Angel looked back up at him, and suddenly his eyes widened. Crowley had been using a miracle this whole time to make him seem… alright. His comment about Crowley "looking good" now felt out of place and almost like an insult had spilled from his lips. His hair was longer and messy, he could smell the alcohol on his breath, and could practically sense the tired eyes behind his glasses. stubble shaped his face, making him look more disheveled. A single freckle sat above his lips, an angel kiss as some would call them.

Tired eyes was an understatement, Crowley couldn't sleep anymore. Some night were by choice, he didn't want to relive the horrors that were the nightmares that followed the day Aziraphale left, some nights he would lay awake contemplating different ways that morning could've gone.

Aziraphale understood why his plants were wilted now. "Crowley… you look…" he brushed his hand up his arm, against the soft fabric of his sweater. "yeah I know. Maggie and Nina tried to get me to put myself together again. Too hard when I feel so damn empty. so I miracled myself" The angel's hands came up to gently take the glasses off of the demon's face, and quickly Crowley squeezed his eyes shut, deep eye bags under his eyes confirmed the tired gaze Aziraphale suspected. "Don't do that again" He quickly grabbed his glasses back from the angel.

"But Crowley, I… we… Oh" He struggled to find the words "Was this why I couldn't find you? I checked on you through heaven but you had gone missing. You miracled yourself to seem human. Crowley, I'm so sorry."

"you can take your apology and shove it up your feathered ass"

"Crowley, my dear…"

"don't" He turned away from Aziraphale. "Fuck you, Angel, if you wanna talk to Muriel I'll tell them to come back down but I don't want to see you again. and don't look up my file, leave me alone" He pulled his hand from his grasp and continued up the spiral staircase. Aziraphale could hear the heartbreak in his voice.

Crowley stormed past the open door to Muriel's room, the record spinning on their turntable

"Look into his angel eyes, One look and You're hypnotized" the new record they had just bought sang. With a wave of his hand the record started spinning backwards "Listen to another one Muriel, I can't stand this song anymore" He said with a deep growl in his voice. "Mr. Crowley, are you okay? I wasn't expecting to see Aziraphale- Or the traitor" Muriel stood up, following him to his room. "it's fine, he's just coming to get some of his books to take back to heaven" He responded, opening the door to his bedroom, the room across the hall from the dusty and locked door that was Aziraphale's room. "Mr. Crowley" Muriel stood up straight, speaking louder than usual "I have a confession to make"

The demon raised an eyebrow before uncorking a bottle of wine in his room and leaning against the doorway. "As you probably know angels can sense Love" they stated "and last year before Mr. Aziraphale left, I might have sensed it between you two, very heavily. and I also might've accidentally been watching through the window when I felt that love was the strongest" They watched as an almost disappointed look grew on Crowley's face "I saw you kiss him and I could sense the heartbreak"

"Muriel…" Crowley sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"And I still sense that love and heartbreak in you, but it's even stronger in him I think he meant the apology"

"Even if he meant it… Aziraphale is too holier than thou to leave heaven again. And I'm going back to hell, there isn't time for an us anymore"

"You two were happy when you were still with heaven and hell before you left, right?"

"This is different now, he's an Archangel, and I'm going to be the new prince of hell, just like Gabriel and Beelzebub. We cant- shit" He looked down at the ground, adjusting his footing and bringing the bottle of wine up to his lips "fuck… I'm gonna regret this again" He shuffled past them, and back down the staircase. He was met with an empty bookshop, not an angel in sight. "FUCK!" He shouted, tossing the bottle to the ground, the glass shattering. Quickly he threw the doors open and scanned his surroundings, searching for that familiar face he longed for. "Aziraphale!?" He shouted, hoping it would get his attention if he hadn't already returned to heaven.

"Aziraphale! Where are you!" He stepped out from the awning over the doorway, the cold rain drenching him instantly. He turned left, towards Maggie's shop and raced through the sidewalk. "FOR SATAN'S SAKE WHERE ARE YOU!?" He sputtered, his voice being overpowered by the loud rain hitting the concrete sidewalk and the cars zooming by. Suddenly his attention was grasped by a man in a tan trench coat with a pristine white umbrella, across the street by Nina's. Dodging cars he sprinted over "Aziraphale!" He shouted, finally getting the Angel's attention. He turned around to face the demon "Crowley?" Very out of breath, he came to a screeching halt in front of him "Aziraphale…" He swallowed harshly "Oh you're soaked" He responded with a slight laugh "I love you" Crowley responded, his voice filled with emotion, not his typical rage, almost filled with urgency and affection. "I know I said I didn't, I'm a demon we lie"

"for a demon" Aziraphale breathed out "You've always been a terrible liar"

"I never wanted to lie to you, angel"

"I know, my dear I know"

"Don't go back to heaven, they can appoint Michael as supreme Archangel or some other idiot with a stick up their ass. please. I'm choosing you over hell. choose me over heaven this time"

A slight smile formed on his face. "I told you I wouldn't leave again" he hesitated when stepping towards him "I don't know why I told you I forgave you, I- I guess it's because I was scared and I thought you were tempting me, I knew you would never, Crowley you're the kindest demon ever. I wanted, I wanted to tell you I love you" He said quickly, all in one breath. Crowley let him catch his breath before he placed his hands on his cheeks, so gently, like he could make a mistake at any moment. Aziraphale reached forward, pinching the earpieces of his glasses and pulling them off his face "There you are, so pretty. I thought you had changed them for good" he said with a smile, placing Crowley's glasses in the pocket of his waistcoat. "Angel I-" The umbrella clattered to the ground as the angel leaned forward and his hand swept through the demon's hair. Crowley backed up, his hands on Aziraphale's shoulders, pulling him along with him under the awning. They looked into each other's eyes, longing for each other. slowly they pulled closer till their lips brushed against each other. A wave of relief washed over Crowley. His hands-on Aziraphale's shoulders glided down to his waist to pull him closer.

their lips parted slightly, just enough for Crowley to tell Aziraphale was smiling, probably the largest he had ever seen him smile. "This kiss was better than the last one," the Angel said, backing up more, reaching to grab the umbrella, now upside down and filled with water. "This kiss was reciprocated," Crowley muttered, his arms still around the angel's waist. "Oh don't be like that, dear" Aziraphale playfully punched his shoulder "We're both soaked now, back to your bookshop to dry off then dinner at the Ritz, Angel? it can be our first official date" Crowley asked. "our bookshop you mean? They can kick me out of heaven a second time. I'm staying" He leaned forward once again, their foreheads touching. Crowley placed a soft kiss onto his lips before stepping back and holding out his hand for his angel to take, and gladly he did. "I'm sorry, I really am," The angel said once more "I know angel, I'm expecting the dance sooner than later" The demon responded "Once I'm in dry clothes, my dear.  you're growing out your hair again, I love it" with his free hand he brushes a strand of hair soaked and stuck to his face behind his ear.  "ah oh I almost forgot" he took Crowley's glasses out of his pocket and placed them back onto his demon's face "thank you, Angel" He responded, absolutely smitten.

"Did I ever tell you who this song was based on?" Crowley said, swirling the wine left in his glass around, the two comfortably lounged on the floor in front of the fireplace, the record player going.

"Dining at the Ritz, we'll meet at nine

(One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine o'clock)

precisely. I will pay the bill, you taste the wine

Driving back in style, in my saloon,

will do quite nicely

Just take me back to yours, that will be fine"

Aziraphale shook his head, Busy sitting behind Crowley, braiding his longer hair.

"Come on and get it

Ooh, love (there he goes again)

Ooh, lover boy (he's my good

old-fashioned lover boy, ooh)"

"It's about you, Good- Old fashioned Lover Boy," Crowley said with a wink. Aziraphale leaned forward, his face pink with blushing "I'm trying to focus my dear I'm a bit out of practice" The elastic tying the braid together snapped as Aziraphale let go of Crowley's hair and smiled at his work, "done!" He smiled, leaning forward to set his head on Crowley's shoulder. "Angel I don't mean to kill the mood, but I need to know, why did you come back now? why not sooner?" Crowley turned around to face his angel.

Aziraphale was at a loss for words, not really, just didn't know how to explain "It's a long story, it can wait for another day"

"Angel, I'm not going to be mad at you I just need to know"

the angel sighed "They… the other angels, they weren't you. I couldn't see you from heaven and it honestly scared me, I was worried about you. I felt so alone there, a week in heaven and I was already ready to come back to the bookshop- to you, I came down to earth once, I saw you here, with Muriel, and Maggie and Nina"

"And you didn't say anything?"

"You looked happy. I didn't want to ruin anything for you"

"you know I used a miracle to disguise myself, angel"

"I know I know my dear but I didn't know that then. but, I returned to heaven and was sternly reprimanded for coming to earth, the other Archangels noticed I was acting differently, so when I returned to my office you were there"

"what? I've been here this entire time" Crowley questioned "I know I know, but I was- and you were an angel! you seemed just as happy as you were before the fall. You said that Metatron offered you the same position, but you wouldn't show me what it was it was very out of character of you "

"Angel, I love you but I'm not following anymore"

"They made a deal with hell and made a puppet of you!" Aziraphale whined, his voice all pitched. He covered his face with his hands, almost like he was embarrassed "I was so happy to see you- or the puppet that I kissed you. Heaven wasn't expecting that, they weren't expecting me to have feelings for a demon, because angels don't express emotions that way usually, and-and affection is a human thing. You looked like you, but I should've known something was off. You didn't call me angel anymore, your eyes weren't that beautiful, beautiful yellow anymore" The angel's thumb brushes against the demon's cheek. His eyes seemed to glow in the darkness of the bookshop.

Crowley rubbed his hand up and down Aziraphale's back, reassuringly "I didn't figure out it wasn't you till it was too late. I should've known"

"Too late for what?"

"We were in my office, I was doing paperwork, I was practically swimming in paperwork up there. I don't know how Gabriel dealt with it. I leaned in to kiss you and the puppet stopped me, and-" Aziraphale leaned forward, hiding his face from Crowley. "I can't even repeat what it said to me! it was horrible Crowley I ran away from heaven and came right back to the bookshop, when I saw you here I knew the you in heaven was just the other angels tormenting me"

"That's why you were so adamant about asking if I wanted to be an angel"

"I thought you were! but I don't even know if, if-"

"Angel, Angel calm down, it's ok. I'm me, I'm me" Crowley pushed Aziraphale's hands off his own face, replacing them with his own "Are you sure?" he responded, finding comfort in Crowley's touch "Yes angel, I'm sure, I've always known I'm me," he said with a chuckle "you wanna hear something that only I would know or something?"

"yes please"

Crowley sat up straight "The only thing I remember from before the fall, when I was still Raphael. God appointed me to design a section of the stars and set up the whole damn universe. I was almost done. All I had to do was crank up the engine and you showed up. You held the scroll for me while I turned the thingy. You introduced yourself, and I was too focused on my creation to tell you mine"

"oh my dear that was you?"

"didn't expect something that highly of me hu angel?" he said, almost teasingly "Believe me now? I'm me"

"Yes my dear, you're you" Aziraphale leaned forward to plant a kiss on his lips. Crowley brushed his hand up Aziraphale's back, leaning closer towards him. "Crowley?" Aziraphale said with a hum, leaning away from his demon. "mhh?" he responded, leaning in once more, craving more of Aziraphale. "Let's watch the stars together?"

Crowley's gaze softened, he smiled as the mention of stars left Aziraphale's lips "we'd have to miracle away the London smog?"

"Easy task, to the roof?" Aziraphale stood, holding his hand out for Crowley. "Angel, I'd like an apology first" he said with a mischievous smile.

Aziraphale took a breath and held up his right hand and swayed his right hip forward and in a sing-song voice said, “You were right.” A hop in place. “You were right.” A slow twirl followed. “I was wrong.” then a gracious bow. “You were right.”

"I was right about what" Crowley grinned, pulling his angel close by his hips "mhhh not sure " Aziraphale teasingly looked away "Angel" The demon said through gritted teeth "you were right about being us, I love you Crowley"

"to the roof, I want to see how my work has aged. I never had the heart to look on my own" Crowley planted a soft kiss on Aziraphale's cheek before taking his hand and guiding him up the stairs towards the roof. 

[nik-knight]

He wouldn’t have been able to stop his hands from trembling, even if he tried to miracle them still. His knee was starting to ache from where it was pressed into the hard ground, but it only felt like sweet penance. He would kneel here for eons if he had to.

The box wasn’t perfect, though he did the best he could with the time he could hide away in his heavenly office, slowly carving, smoothing, and sanding away the harsh edges of the chestnut tree wood. He was no carpenter, but perhaps if he could show the amount of time, effort, and love he put into it… maybe it would be enough.

“I… I made you a suggestion box…” He said softly, unable to put any more volume behind his words. He was afraid that if he spoke too harshly, as he had the last time they spoke, he would ruin everything.

Again.

With his hands still shaking, he lifted the box up a bit higher in offering.

“I know… I know that it isn’t anything, really… It isn’t anything that will fix what happened… what I’ve done, but…” He took a deep breath in, ignoring the water leaking from his eyes and instead keeping his gaze fixed on the demon. “But it’s for you.”

Crowley stood there, staring down at Aziraphale with an unreadable expression on his face. Aziraphale prayed that one day he may be lucky enough to be able to see those golden eyes of his once more.

“Do you really think,” Crowley began in a voice that was just as neutral as his face. “That Heaven will give a damn about anything I’d put in that box?”

Aziraphale shook his head, but kept his eyes locked on the black glass separating their gazes. “No, but this isn’t for Heaven. It’s— It’s yours. No one else but I would be able to open it, and no entry but yours would be accepted by it.” He lifted the box up a little higher, hoping against hope. “In case you ever… Ever deigned to speak to me again.”

Crowley clenched his hands into fists at his sides before stepping forward and approaching him. Aziraphale vaguely wondered if Crowley would take it, only to throw it to the ground and smash it. He certainly knew he deserved worse.

The demon stopped short in front of him, leaned down, and took one of the little paper slips from the side of the box, along with one of those short little pencils stowed next to them. He hastily scribbled something onto the slip of paper, folded it sloppily in half, and forcefully shoved it into the slot on the top of the box.  

“How’s that for a suggestion!” He huffed angrily, now breathing heavily as if it took all the strength within him to do that.

Aziraphale felt his heart fall (still wondering when the rest of him would follow), but lowered the box to open the hatch in the back. Whatever damning thing Crowley wrote deserved to be read, to be heard, even if it destroyed Aziraphale. He owed him that much, at least.

With a heavy heart, Aziraphale removed the note from the box, unfolded it, and read the messily scrawled message.

“Suggestion:

Hold your damn demon!

(I forgive you.)”

A sharp gasp came from the angel, and his hand came up to his mouth (as it was wont to do ever since Crowley kissed him). He struggled to put the box down without dropping it, and looked back up at the demon, wondering if this was all just some cruel joke.

But Crowley would never. Not about this. He could tell by the look in those beautiful golden eyes (with those blasted glasses now tossed to the side next to the box), and the tears falling down the demon’s face did not lie.

Aziraphale sprang up from where he was kneeling, and Crowley leant forward, arms outstretched to meet the angel halfway. They crashed into each other like meteors, arms wrapping around each other and holding on for dear life.

In his arms, here, pressed up against him, Aziraphale held everything in his hands. Here, he had everything.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” he could hardly get out with his face pressed into Crowley’s shoulder and tears staining his demon’s jacket, but he had to. No words could hold what he needed Crowley to know, but maybe, at least right now, he didn’t need words.

“I forgive you, I have you, I love you, I forgive you,” Crowley promised into his hair where his demonic tears were landing.

Later, there would be many more words to be had, feelings to express, plans to make, and promises to keep, but for now, right now, in this one moment,

They had everything.  

Look, I made a suggestion box for you

[undecidedscorpio]

So Much For Stardust

A Short Good Omens Fic

Warning: Lots of Angst! Listen to So Much for Stardust if you want to feel extra angst.

Crowley parks the Bentley. Raindrops pelted down on the windshield. Not quite sure when the rain had started or why it was coming down so hard, he couldn’t care less. Stepping out, Crowley hadn’t bothered with a miracle. He might as well feel like he did on the outside as he did on the inside.

Drowning. 

Walking up to his old apartment in Mayfair, he was dripping in the stuff. Leaving pools of water everywhere he stepped as he walked to the door of the apartment. Mail was stacked on the edge of the door with his name on it. Electing to ignore it, he opened and closed the door with the pile of mail, now soaked, lying there.

The apartment looked the same. Shax hadn’t bothered changing anything aside from a single cup on the countertop. Holding it in his hands he turns it over, reading the word “bitch.”

His grip tightened at the thought of Shax. Had she stayed in her lane, and not interfered, likely things would have been fine. It was easier to blame another demon for his own demise rather than remembering the angel he loved choosing to leave him. 

Without a thought, he threw the mug against the wall, the sound of it shuddering bringing momentary relief. 

Right, he thought. Why not?

Walking down the halls of heaven felt hollow. The Metatron was walking next to him, showing him around heaven as if it had changed in any way that would matter to the new Supreme Archangel. The words that came out of his mouth seemed drowned out by the angel's own thoughts. 

He kissed me. He really kissed me, he thought. There had been no time for the angel to really put the pieces together. Now that he was in heaven, reality washed over him. Gasping for air at the final realization of what he had done; leaving his best friend behind. No. That's no longer acceptable, let alone accurate. His Love. He left his love. He left him for what? A job that he doesn’t even want? Aziraphale tried to remember why he even said yes in the first place. He had been so sure it was the right thing, and now? Crowley's words echoed in his mind.

How could someone so clever be so stupid? 

Crash

Glass and ceramic pieces remained scattered about the apartment. If Crowley could break it, he sought to make it so. Ripping down glasses and mugs, throwing them to the side to hear the shattering sound that seemed to, at the very least, felt gratifying.

He grabbed a bottle of wine, having planned to throw it, too, remembering that he was gifted by his so-called friend. 

No. They were still friends. 

Right? 

He popped the wine bottle open and brought it to his lips, tilting the bottle up. Wine escaped his lips, dripping down his jaw, mixing with the tears the demon hadn’t realized he had begun to shed. The bottle was nearly empty when he stopped. Looking at the red liquid, swirling it around in the bottle, remembering it was a post armageddon gift. Now, it was but the beginning of the next.

“Ngk!” he screamed as he threw the bottle against a new wall. Wine stained the wall, dripping down to the scattered glass beneath it. 

The Metatron's words broke through the fog that was Aziraphale's thoughts. “And here is your desk, we don’t have much use for them but perhaps that will change, yes?”

Aziraphale nodded softly. He waved the Metatron goodbye, electing to create a sound barrier around his new desk that simply sat in the middle of a random corridor. He had been struggling to hold back his tears walking with the Metatron that he miracled them to earth, who knows where. 

Sitting down at his desk, head in hand, he began to sob. Trying to remember why he was there in the first place. Thinking back to his conversation with the Metatron, how he knew about Crowley and his arrangement. Worried as to how heaven might retaliate against them had he said no. So he said yes. To protect him, he told himself. 

Crowley had all but confessed his love for Aziraphale moments before the kiss. It should have been a moment of celebration, a loving reunion as they both, at last, had each other.

Instead, it was painful. Heart-wrenching. 

And there was nothing the angel could do about it. So, he cried.

 

Crowley, hunched forward, taking long strides down the hallway. The door opened before he could reach for the handle, as it feared for its life. 

As it should, Crowley thought.

Standing at his desk, arms stretched out, he threw whatever plans Shax had left to the floor. For good measure, he set them ablaze. Flames fanned around him, rising to meet him. His hands were flat against the marble desk. He curled his fingers, dragging them down into the marble as he screamed into the flames, trying to release his rage as he cried out. 

He slumped down into his throne, left only with the sharp pain of his own broken heart. 

Crowley took his sunglasses off, throwing them against the already frightened door. The broken pieces lay on the floor.

Looking up, his mind was filled with so many questions. For himself. For Aziraphale. For Her. 

One that had encompassed them all. 

His eyes shone amber yellow, full of tears that began streaming down his face, as he asked “Why?”

[gh-0st-y]

you can tell who my favs are

— Romance In the Rain

summary : riddle had to stay over at ramshackle due to the sudden change of weather - why not make the most of it?

cw : slight mention of riddles past, nothing else just fluff - gn!reader

riddle sat on ramshackles couch, staring out the window. rain droplets tapped against the glass, watching them run down, like how a child would pretend the rain was racing eachother. the blanket you offered him draped over his shoulders, holding it losely at the corners.

"sorry for the wait," your voice pierced through the quiet noise of the rain, "i made you your tea - careful, its hot," you placed it on the small table in front of the couch, sitting yourself next to riddle. you watched how he never took his eyes off the rain, "riddle?"

"ah, my apologies," he broke out of his trance to focus on you, picking up the tea you gave him, "thank you, again, for letting me stay over," he sipped the tea, making sure it was cool enough before hand.

"like ive said, its alright - i wasnt gonna let you go back to heartslabyul in the rain, you could get sick," you chuckled, brushing some hair out of his face. you felt how his face slightly heated up, his cheeks dusted with a gentle pink.

youd never heard him to be so quiet, though, it was nice, the quiet between you two. comforting. riddle was finally able to take a break. same for you, with the constant task of taking care of grim and the first years, and all the other tasks crowley liked to dump onto you - prick.

with an idea, you stood up, catching the attention of the red head, "where are you going?"

"outside." you grinned, making your way over to your shoes as you began to put them on.

"what? but its raining, thats a stupid idea!" riddle stood up himself, the blanket around his shoulders falling to the ground, "you said it yourself - youll get sick!"

"ah whatever - itll be fun!" you giggled, opening the door and running outside, feeling the rain hitting your face as you laughed dancing around, "cmon outside riddle!"

"but- ill get sick, and you will too – this is childish!" he yelled, standing by the door. his mother would never let him do something like this - would punish him at the thought of even doing it.

"who cares! its just us, we can do whatever!" you called out, hair and clothes sticking to your body.

riddle looked between you and the sky. he stook his hand out the door, the rain hitting his skin. he looked away from his hand to you who danced around. letting out a sigh of defeat, he stepped out into the rain, the water immediately hitting his face. he squinted his eyes to shield them from the rain. in the moment, you grabbed his hands, spinning him around with you. the smile on your face made him warm despite the cold touch of the rain.

maybe it wasnt so bad.

a/n: GRINNING FROM EAR TO EAR RN

[wanna-rock-n-roll-in80s]

Piece of cake

Good Omens Crowley x F!Reader NSFW

A/N: if you're into some domestic demon smut - be my guest! also a bit of alcohol and cursing, no special warnings :) 18+ please no minors

1,844 words

"And 2 tablespoons of cacao powder. That's it," you finished measuring ingredients for a chocolate cake you'd promised to make for Aziraphale.

"I hope he'd like it," you thought taking a sip of wine and placed a piece of parchment paper into a loaf pan.

All dry and wet ingredients were put into separate bowls and everything was ready for start when you heard a quiet rustle which meant Crowley was already up. His lazy yawn got you to smile, you poured another glass of wine, took both of them and came up to the table where he was lolling back in the chair with his legs spread.

"Morning, love," demon's narrowed eyes scanned you from head to feet and he swung his knee a bit inviting you to take a seat.

"Morning," you got comfortable on his lap and snaked your arm around his neck handing him a glass of wine, "did you sleep well?"

"Hmm.. not bad really," Crowley leered at you while his fingers started stroking your thigh, "but it's much better here," he slowly kissed your chest and neck savouring the moment your desire started to whet.

"Mmmhmhm," you moaned gently when he shifted to your jawline, "Crowley, I ..." you had no chance to finish the sentence as you were drawn into hot making out.

You didn't actually realize when your wine glasses ended up on the table and both his hands were all over you. Those skillful long fingers left no room for you to think clearly, almost, but after all you picked yourself up and broke the kiss leaving your lips just barely touching his. Crowley smirked and got you back into slow kiss sliding his tongue along yours. His soft moan of pleasure was nearly enough for you to surrender, but you stopped him one more time pressing your hand against his chest.

"Quit tempting me," you breathed out panting.

Crowley's ardent gaze made you fidget and he smirked again.

"Asking a demon not to tempt? Seriously?" tips of his fingers slid from your elbow to your wrist, you felt a gentle grip before he started to cover your palm with light kisses.

"Not now," you whispered being not sure if your voice would sound properly, "I... I got something to do."

"Is that so? Need help?" Crowley tilted his head waiting for what you said.

"Oh, that's just a piece of cake!" you laughed, "I mean actually I'm gonna make a cake."

"Ssso, can I watch then?" he hissed excited.

"Sure," you cupped his face and gave him a sweet kiss first on his perfect nose and then on his cute snake tattoo, "I love you, Crowley," you took another sip from your glass and he repeated after you.

"I love you too," he smooched you, "so let's begin then?"

You nodded and got up pulling his hand leading him to the kitchen counter.

When you stood in front of your bowls, Crowley hugged you from behind.

"Can you turn on the oven, mm?" you asked while getting stuff in a certain order.

"There's no problem, dear," he snapped his fingers not moving away, "I can turn on anything and anyone I want," last words were said with such an obvious hint, that it was indeed hard for you to stay focused on what you were gonna do.

"So, where do we start?" he purred against your neck.

You pulled a bowl with dry ingredients closer, "Here," you quickly stirred all together with a whisk, "so, now the next step," bowls swapped places.

"Mmhm next step," Crowley mumbled huskily and, as if following his own recipe, idly pulled up your tank top, his hands squeezed your bare breasts.

You watched him stroking your hardened nipples and let out a soft sigh, the fact that he supposed you should watch turned you on even more. You tried to mix liquids together as you could and praised yourself for measuring it all beforehand, because your mind was now too clouded. Crowley was planting small bites and kisses behind your ear and his heavy breathing was making pulsation between your legs even worse. You finished with mixing and pulled the first bowl closer.

"Um, weell, next step, I guess?" Crowley groaned softly and licked your neck.

"Oh yes," you faltered and the next thing you knew, his hand slid right into your panties.

"Ssssss..." his satisfied hiss made you biting your bottom lip, "Do I really turn you on THAT much?" his fingers reached your dripping wet entrance and started massaging your inner lips and clit spreading your juices all over it.

A moment before you were ready to finally mix all together, but now your legs almost gave way.

"Ohh no-no-nonono," Crowley held you tight not letting you fall, "I will help you," he got sure you could stand straight and poured liquid into the first bowl with his free hand.

You quickly finished the last mixing but still felt weak. Demon's fingers continued with little teasing rubs, but despite that tricky situation, you were quite pleased with your batter. So, now you had to gather yourself for the last push.

"There's already nothing much left to do, right?" Crowley whispered in your ear clinging closer to you and pressed his taut hard-on against your backside.

It was too much, you threw your head back on his shoulder with a slight whimper. He changed his stroking speed to even more pleasurable like testing your strength.

"Crowley, I can't..." you gave a gasping sob and he passed his other hand over your chest to take you by the chin tenderly and turn your face to him.

"Oh you can," he kissed a corner of your mouth looking at you with undisguised relish, "You can. We have no right to leave Aziraphale without dessert."

"I... I didn't tell you it's for him. Or did I?" you asked hesitantly.

"C'mon, it was easy to guess," his fingers stopped gradually, "Who's our main sweet tooth?" vibration of his low voice against your skin sent shivers down your spine, "I mean I love sweets too, but.. you know," he spoke even lower, "Quite another kind of sweets," Crowley pulled his hand out of your panties and licked your juices off.

"Ahh.. ff.. fuck, please I should finish," you said under your breath and he chuckled at how ambiguously it sounded, "Of course, how could I let you stay... unfinished, um?" his fingers hooked a brim of the loaf pan and dragged it closer gracefully, "But first get it over."

"Damn, you such a ..." you grabbed the bowl and quickly poured batter into pan scraping the sides with a spatula, as soon as it was done you stuck it into the oven and set the timer.

It bleeped starting the countdown and the next second you were drawn to the floor, and contrary to expectations, your back met not a hard surface but magically appeared mattress. You definitely enjoyed benefits of dating a demon. A feeling of his heavy body on top of you gave you no chance to deepen into pleasant thoughts, and then your attention got all on his lips into the crook of your neck.

“Ouf…” Crowley left some hungry kisses on your skin, “you know how bad I love to undress you myself, with my own hands,” his muffled voice under your jaw made you sigh and buck your hips, “but now I just can’t wait,” and with a snap of his finger you both got absolutely naked.

You rolled your eyes and sighed when his hard dick touched your lower abdomen and instinctively rubbed yourself against him, neither you nor him were in the mood for play because slow burning tension had led you to a desire for relief. Demon’s glowing eyes were fixated on yours as he reached between your bodies to guide himself to your aching entrance supporting himself on his elbow. When his swollen head slid along your slick lips you almost fainted, you wanted him so bad that you pushed your hips meeting him to finally feel him inside.

“Such eager, are we?” he managed to comment with a sassy grin, but you both knew he wanted you as much. His ruffled red forelock tickled your face when he lowered to suck on your neck and then softly pressed his lips to yours.

“Mmmhhmm,” you hummed impatiently snaking your arms around his torso, “Crowley…” your begging whisper made him grin again. He tilted his head a bit connecting your lips once more but now you felt his tongue and his dick entering you at the same time.

You forgot how to breathe for a few seconds, the sensation of being filled by him brought you to a pure bliss. Crowley broke the kiss and nuzzled your neck, “Oh yes, like…like this,” you stuttered as he started to quicken the pace, “Fuck…oh…” it seemed that all your sweet spots were stimulated simultaneously, and hot waves radiated through your body with every hit on your clit. He growled against your skin thrusting in and out and your little gasps turned into long pleasured moans. Those rhythmical wet slaps sounded so lewd and so good, you seized him tight as you felt close.

“Ahhh…ah yes…” you could barely let out a word, a few first spasms shook you, “Crowley…” your inner walls started to clench around his dick and it drove him insane.

“You’re almost there,” he panted licking your fresh hickeys and speeded up, “And I…oh fuck…” his voice became husky, “You’re so tight, I…fuck…I’m coming,” his movements got jerky and in a few seconds you felt him gush out inside you extending your own orgasm. Your heavy breathing started to calm down while some magic was happening in the oven - wasn't it the perfect start of the day?

Later in the evening Aziraphale visited you, as promised, and now he sat at the table amused holding a plate with a half-eaten slice of cake. “Mmmhmm…” he drawled swaying a fork like deciding which side he should continue with, “Dear, I never doubted it would be such…” angel put a bit into his mouth and chewed savoring the taste, “Yes, such scrumptious,” his eyes shut down in his delight and you smiled at the sight. “I tried my best for you, Angel, and I’m glad you enjoy it,” you spoke softly and buried deeper into Crowley’s embrace as you both relaxed in the one wide armchair.

“Definitely it was made with love,” Aziraphale noted before cutting off next bit, “Oh yes, literally with love,” you blurted out without thinking of what you were saying. Angel paused for a second blinking and then you realized, “Oh, sorry,” you hid your face in Crowley’s chest with a quiet chuckle. Honestly you didn’t plan to embarrass Aziraphale, but your boyfriend was here to help you to make it right, “Sorry,” he stroked your hair, “she meant ‘during love’,” Crowley checked angel’s cheeks getting bright red and wore a smug look clearly satisfied with a result, “Another slice?”

[space-pot8o]

Inspired by a post by @toedenandbackagain

The advertisements were how they found each other, every once in a while, when the world changed too quickly. The newspaper was the only form of media to remain consistent. There was just too many ways to communicate now, Crowley thought. He’d had a hand in creating the internet, and now the humans were so invested even he could barely keep up with it.

Of course, he had a cell phone, but Aziraphale didn’t. He’d already tried the bookshop’s landline to no avail. It was like the angel was allergic to any technology made after the mid-nineteenth century.

He paid the man at the newspaper stand, scooping up a paper and opening it to the personal adverts as he wound through the crowd. He barely needed to pay attention to where he was going; people just seemed to veer out of his way.

Halfway down the page, he found what he was looking for.

Angel will be feeding ducks at St. James’ Park on Monday at 10am. Company would be appreciated.

“Found you,” Crowley muttered. Or at least, he hoped. The last time he’d been wrong, it had been the most awkward of situations. It was… well, let’s just say there was a reason Crowley didn’t respond to adverts that fit his physical description anymore. Or those looking for an ‘evening companion’, as much as that sounded like a term Aziraphale would use. No, he only responded to ones that specifically said ‘Angel’ now. Less chancy.

Crowley glanced at his watch, the shimmery dark face reading quarter to ten.

“Perfect,” he murmured, snapping the newspaper shut and tucking it under his arm. Aziraphale might like to read it, he supposed. He also supposed that perhaps he should stop talking aloud to himself so much.

Thirteen minutes later, Crowley arrived at St. James’ Park. In the distance, on the bench where they usually met, sat a prim figure with a shock of light hair and a cream colored jacket. One side of his mouth drew back in a grin as he sauntered over, keeping his eyes on the ducks in the pond as he came up beside the bench.

“That one was a bit obvious, don’t you think, angel?”

“It’s Angela, actually.”

Crowley froze, turning to look at the person sitting on the bench, who was not in fact Aziraphale but instead an old lady with pinned up white curls and a glimmer of mischief in her eyes.

“Oh, I suppose I must have mistyped it when I was sending it into the newspaper. I just can’t get the hang of these computers.”

Crowley blinked, glancing around uncomfortably as the shock began to pass.

“I think I’ve answered the wrong advert,” he said, taking a step backwards.

“Oh,” the lady said, her face falling a bit. “Well you’re here, would you like to feed the ducks with me, anyway?”

Crowley hesitated. As disappointed as he was that it wasn’t his angel, there was something compelling about her.

“Well alright, I suppose,” he heard himself say as he sank down onto the bench beside her.

“Here you go, dear,” she said, handing him a chunk of bread from the bag beside her. He accepted it as she threw a handful of crumbs into the water.

“My best friend Peggy just passed away, you see, and feeding the ducks used to be a regular outing for us, especially as we got older. I only put the ad in the paper because I don’t have too many friends left and I’m just at such a loss without Peggy.”

She gave Crowley a sideways glance.

“It seems to me you feel the same way without whoever you meant to meet here, your angel, considering how disappointed you were to find me instead.”

Crowley gave a noncommittal shrug, shifting uncomfortably. She was right, of course, but he wasn’t going to admit that.

“The ducks seem to like you though, don’t they?” Angela continued. “Do you come here often dear? I swear they remember faces. They would certainly remember Peggy every time, though I think she was coming here to feed them long before we started coming together.”

She threw a bit more bread in the water.

“Oh, that reminds me.” She reached for her bag. “Would you like a sandwich, dear?” I brought an extra, it was always for Peggy, she was always running around and I swear she would never stop to eat unless I made her.”

She pulled out a paper-wrapped square, which Crowley accepted reluctantly. He would have refused, but there was something in the woman’s eyes that warned him against fighting too hard.

He unwrapped the paper, revealing a ham and cheese sandwich on good homemade bread. He took a bite to be polite, and Angela smiled.

“There’s a good boy. You’re quite a skinny one, aren’t you? You remind me of Peggy’s husband when he was young, only you’re much taller. Of course, that was before the war.” She trailed off, tossing another handful of bread to the eager ducks.

Crowley took another bite of the sandwich, surprising himself. Usually Aziraphale was the only one who could get him to eat.

“I just realized I never got your name, dear,” Angela said, turning back to look at him.

“Anthony,” he replied after a moment, deciding Crowley would be too hard to explain. “Though not many people call me that.”

“Oh yes,” Angela replied. “I know how that is. My given name is Angela, but I’ve never met someone who didn’t call me Angie instead.”

Crowley nodded. Nicknames were such a human thing, he thought. You have one name but everyone just calls you something else.

“Some people have called me Tony,” he said slowly, trying not to show his distaste. “You could call me that instead.”

Angie glanced over, her eyes shrewd.

“You don’t strike me as a Tony,” she replied. “Anthony suits you just fine, I think.”

Crowley relaxed a bit at her words.

“One of Peggy’s friends had a son named Anthony,” Angie continued. “Now he was someone better suited as a Tony. I always felt the name Tony was meant for a troublemaker, but that doesn’t seem like you at all. But young Tony, he can’t seem to stay out of trouble. I think he does it on purpose. No, you’re much too polite to be a Tony.”

Crowley’s eyes narrowed behind his glasses. Where had this woman been for the last six thousand years? Under a rock? Crowley, polite. What a concept. Though, he supposed, Aziraphale would likely agree with her.

“My angel keeps telling me I’m a good person,” he said, tossing some bread into the pond. “I’m not inclined to believe it, though.”

“Why ever not?” Angie replied. “You seem perfectly nice to me.”

Crowley did his best to ignore the uncomfortable prickle her words sent over his skin.

“My job… it requires me to do some things, that most people would agree, do not make me a nice person.”

Angie was silent for a moment.

“And it’s not like I hurt anyone, of course not,” Crowley continued. “I just… inconvenience them.”

“Does it bother you?”

“What?” He jerked his head up.

“Does it bother you,” Angie repeated, “That you do these things? That some people might think you’re bad?”

Crowley blinked, truly stumped for the first time in four hundred years.

“I mean, it’s my job,” he replied. “It’s who I am.”

“Oh, psh,” Angie replied, waving her hand. “I can’t even count anymore the number of times I’ve had this very conversation with Peggy. Her job always had her doing these questionable, dangerous things. I’m not sure her employers cared about the means as long as she got to their end. It wore on her, too. But you are not defined by your job, you are defined by what you care about. Now I’ll ask you again, does it bother you?”

“I suppose it bothers me that I don’t feel like I live up to my angel’s view of me,” he admitted. And it was true. He never felt as good on the inside as Aziraphale seemed to think he was.

“Well then, there you are. Bad people, truly bad people, don’t care about being better. So from what you’ve just told me, that proves you’re not a bad person.

Crowley froze again as her words washed over him. Never, in all his time on earth or in hell, had he ever considered that. He still wasn’t inclined to believe her, but she said it with such conviction that he couldn’t help but wonder if it was true.

Angie glanced at him again, her gaze shrewd but soft.

“Surely if that’s what I see, your angel sees it too.”

It was all Crowley could do to nod.

They sat together a while longer, Angie telling stories about the trouble she and Peggy got into after the war. Crowley nodded and made the appropriate remarks required for polite conversation, and he found himself actually enjoying her stories.

All these years, he’d never bothered to connect with a human. They seemed so dull, and their lives were over so quickly. He hadn’t thought it was worth it. Besides, he had Aziraphale and that friendship was plenty for him.

About an hour later, their stock of bread was finally depleted. The ducks, of whom a great number had congregated on the water before them, began to disperse once they realized the supply of treats had run dry.

Angie dusted off her coat, watching the ducks swim away with a sigh. Crowley glanced at her, but her gaze was fixed across the pond somewhere in her memories.

“I know I wasn’t who you were hoping to meet,” she told him. “But I am glad to have met you. You’ve made me feel a bit less lonely just when the world was starting to seem big and empty. Thank you, Anthony, truly.”

He shifted in his seat.

“Well I suppose… well, I could meet you here again. If you’d like.”

“I would,” Angie said, her blue eyes misty as she gave him an enormous smile. “Same time next Monday?”

Crowley gave her a nod, stretching out his legs as she stood.

“Goodbye, Anthony. See you then.”

He watched her totter off down the path until she was out of sight, then turned back towards the water. What an odd turn of events, he thought. What she’d said to him ran through his mind as he sat there, waiting to see if perhaps his angel would still show.

For the next seven Mondays, without fail, Crowley would meet Angie at the park to feed the ducks and listen to stories about her life. She enjoyed talking about her adventures with her friend Peggy more than anything, which Crowley was surprised to find sounded a lot like some of his adventures with Aziraphale; In particular, one dicey evening involving a church, some German spies, and a few rare books.

One morning, on the eighth Monday in fact, Crowley was early. He sat on their usual bench, waiting for Angie to appear around the corner, when he felt a presence beside him. He turned his head slightly to the right, just enough to see a flash of cream coat, and his mouth tugged into a grin.

“Hello, Angie,” he said, turning his eyes back to the pond.

“Hello, my dear Crowley.”

Crowley froze. He knew that voice, and it certainly wasn’t Angie.

“Trying out a new nickname, are we?”

He whipped his head around to see Aziraphale standing there, looking ethereal in the morning light.

“Er, no,” he replied. “What are you doing here?”

“I was walking by and I saw you sitting alone. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, angel,” he replied, the words coming out a bit harsher than he intended. He wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t really want to tell Aziraphale about Angie.

“Alright,” Aziraphale replied, his face falling the tiniest bit. “I’ll leave you be. I’ll be at the bookshop later, if you feel like catching up. Perhaps we can get a bite to eat.”

“No wait, I’m sorry, you don’t have to go,” Crowley straightened abruptly, catching Aziraphale’s sleeve.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to disturb you.”

“Sit down, angel.”

Aziraphale took a seat beside him, settling in as he always did.

“Are you quite sure you’re alright?” He asked again, glancing at Crowley worriedly.

“I’m fine, I told you. I just come here sometimes to¬—”

“Anthony! There you are.

Crowley’s adrenaline spiked again as he turned to see Angie making her way up the path towards them.

“I see you’ve brought a friend today. I wish you would have warned me so I could have made an extra sandwich. Here’s yours, by the way— honestly, do you live on air, Anthony? You’re still so skinny.”

She paused for breath and handed him the paper wrapped sandwich.

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m Angie,” she said as she took her seat on his left, reaching out her hand to Aziraphale.

He shook it, his expression still dumbfounded as he glanced back and forth between the two of them.

“Angie, this is my friend, Aziraphale,” Crowley told her.

“A.Z. Fell? Oh, you own that lovely little bookshop in Soho, don’t you? I’ve been meaning to stop in there for ages, but it never seems to be open when I drop by.”

Crowley could sense Aziraphale relaxing at the mention of the bookshop, and he let out a quiet breath of relief.

“Here you go, Anthony dear, I daresay these ducks have waited long enough,” she said, handing him a chunk of bread.

He threw some in the water, handing a piece to Aziraphale as well.

“Oh, here comes that swan again,” she told him, throwing bread in the opposite direction from where the white monstrosity was silently gliding towards them.

Aziraphale tossed his crust of bread towards it, and the giant bird slowly began to sink. He jabbed Crowley in the side with his elbow, and the swan resumed bobbing on the surface.

“You know, two weeks ago that naughty bird came right up and stole my bread bag right out of my hand. Anthony jumped right up and tried to get it back, and the poor dear almost fell in the pond! It was quite a sight, though, to see him fighting a swan in the middle of St. James’ park.” She let out a laugh. “But he’s always doing such nice things like that, he chased my hat when it flew away and he’s always helping me around puddles and such.”

Crowley sank a bit lower in his seat, his ears reddening as he saw a small smile of amusement on Aziraphale’s face.

“Cr—Anthony is such a nice person, I tell him all the time but he doesn’t believe me,” Aziraphale replied, casting a kind look at Crowley, who was presently trying to sink through the bench and the ground and down to somewhere he could escape this embarrassment.

He shot an irritated look at Aziraphale, who simply smiled back.

“Oh that reminds me, Anthony, I brought this for you,” Angie said, reaching into her bag to pull out a long, cream colored scarf. “It’s getting colder every day and you’re all skin and bones, you must get dreadfully cold and I don’t want you getting sick.”

Crowley took the scarf, reluctantly looping it around his neck. Aziraphale’s amused smile returned as Crowley shot him a look— one he knew the angel would understand even if he couldn’t see his eyes, that dared him to say anything about it.

Of course he wouldn’t get sick, but he wasn’t going to tell Angie that, nor was he going to hurt her feelings. She continued telling stories and Crowley began to relax as Aziraphale joined in the conversation. He smiled, thankful that the worst of the awkwardness had passed. He threw a handful of bread to the ducks, only half paying attention to the conversation for a few minutes until Angie leaned forwards a bit towards Aziraphale, reaching over to pat his perfectly manicured hand.

“I’m so glad he finally brought you to meet me, my dear. Of course, he’s told me so much about his angel I feel as though I know you already.”

Crowley’s eyes widened behind his glasses. He didn’t dare look at Aziraphale, though he was sure the angel’s smile mirrored Angie’s.

“Ngh,” he said, crossing his arms and shifting uncomfortably, wishing very much in that moment that he was elsewhere.

“Oh, you’re just like Peggy,” Angie chastised. “She was always so easy to rile. Very well, I’ll leave it alone if only so you stop looking like you’re trying to hide inside yourself. Here, feed the ducks some more.” She handed him another piece of bread, which he accepted.

“But really, Mr. Fell, you’ll have to tell me more about this knitting club. I could always use more good friends like Anthony.”

Aziraphale obliged as Crowley sat and listened, nodding and replying every once in a while as would be polite in a conversation between friends. The three of them sat happily on that sunny Monday morning and fed the ducks, as they did on every Monday that came after.

[katelyn--renee]

Composure

Title: Composure

Fandom: Supernatural

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Reader/(Y/N) Winchester (mentioned), Harper Winchester (OC, mentioned), Daniel Winchester (OC, mentioned), Crowley (mentioned)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Wife!Reader

Words: ±2670

Description: Dean and (Y/N) take their shot at a normal life and settle down. Over the years, they have a few kids. Things are good. Until they’re not. What will Dean do when his past comes back to put an end to his happily ever after?

Written For: @deanwanddamons ​ 2K Celebration! Congratulations babe! That’s awesome! My prompt will be in bold -  “Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.”

Warnings: ANGST! Descriptions of blood. Mentions of breaking and entering. Kidnaping. Show level violence/outbursts of anger. 

Author’s Note: This is in correlation with another fic of mine, Sweet Cherry Pie. It takes place about twelve to thirteen years after that one, to give you a brief timeline. There will be other fics with that original storyline, so stay tuned.

Thank you so much to @wonder-cole​ for being my beta for this wonderful piece and helping me with the title. You’re awesome and much appreciated! She has some amazing work of her own, so please do yourself a favor and check it out! Check out @talesmaniac89​ for more awesome page dividers!!

Disclaimer: I do not own any photos or gifs, all rights go to original creators/owners.

Interested in more of my work, check out the link below.

Masterlist

The rain was heavy tonight, thick and angry as it poured from the dark clouds above. The fat raindrops were noisy against the single paned windows. The water coated the glass surface and made it impossible to see through, even as the flashes of lightning lit up the night sky and cast long shadows through the living room of 35 Maplewood Road. There was a heaviness surrounding the house, as if something wicked had been there.

The home was dark and empty, and the furniture was overturned and broken in places; the sofa was thrown over backwards, the cushions laying discarded across the floor with the end table toppled over beside it. The lamp that had occupied its surface was shattered to pieces on the wooden floor, and the rug had been stained with something dark and red. 

The coffee table was shoved out of place, the glass surface no longer there in one piece and the mirror that hung in the hallway had a spider web like crack across the surface, hanging now only by one screw. In the very center of the crack, something crimson and shiny caught the lighting from outside, almost as if someone’s skull had been smashed there.

The familiar idling of Baby’s engine grew louder as Dean pulled in the driveway of his home, the brakes squealing as he came to a stop and put the Chevy into park. A feeling of dread began to knot into his stomach, making the muscles of his jaw flex as he tried to bite back the feeling. Something was wrong; all those years of hunting and honing his instincts told him that much. Not a single light was on inside of the home and yet, (Y/N)’s car was parked out front. Not good.

Dean fished his phone from his jacket and swiftly unlocked the screen with a swipe of his thumb across the glass, dialing the number he knew so well. Pressing the receiver to his ear, he waited while the call rang out once... twice… “Come on, (Y/N/N).” He muttered under his breath as the fifth tone sounded. Her voice greeted his ear, but it was artificial; the recording of her voicemail, Hi, you’ve reached (Y/N)... 

“Damn it.” He cursed between gritted teeth and ended the call. He tried again, pressing redial. “Come on, baby, answer your damn phone!” He shut his eyes when he got the same results as before, cursing to himself as he shoved the device back into his pocket.

Never taking his eyes off the front of the house, he leaned over for the glove box and swiftly unlatched the compartment door, just as he’d done a million times before. Green eyes continued to scan for any signs of movement, even through the thick wall of rain that coated the windshield, despite the efforts of the wiper blades. 

Reaching a steady hand inside, he pulled out a pocket sized flashlight and his beloved stainless steel Colt, the engraving on the barrel catching the lightning as it bolted across the sky. Expertly, he removed the clip with a press of his thumb and double checked the bullets inside before sliding it back into the place, securing it with another click. It’d been years since he’d held the weapon, but the pearl coated handle felt just as natural as breathing against his palm.

Leaving the Impala’s engine running, Dean climbed out from behind the wheel and shut the door, the hinges creaking with age. Clicking on the flashlight, he approached the home with long, yet cautious strides, his booted feet silent in his approach, even through the heavy rain. 

His mind was racing with every terrible possibility, his guilt threatening to eat him alive as images of his family, in the worst possible outcome, flashed before his eyes. It made his blood run cold. His heart was pounding rapidly with fear, pushing the adrenaline through his veins and forcing him to move forward rather than let the panic overwhelm him.

He tried to peer inside the living room through the set of windows lining the front of the house, but it did little to ease his uncertainty; if anything, it only made it worse, only able to make out long shadows and dark shapes. His clothes were completely soaked through, hugging his large frame by the time he’d reached the front porch, the coolness of the rain chilling him to the bone. Droplets of water dripped down his face and the tip of his nose, and his hair clung against his forehead.

Approaching the large red door, his scowl only deepened, darkening his features when he discovered that it had been left unlatched, allowing in a single beam of light with each flash from the storm overhead. He glared at the lock and then narrowed his eyes as something caught his attention, the muscles there twitching. Stretching a hand out, he examined the wooden surface, his fingertips grazing over the chipped paint and splintered wood. Someone had broken in.

Taking only a moment to compose himself, Dean exhaled slowly and swallowed back his apprehension, forcing himself to go on. Using the weight of his body, he nudged the door open cautiously and poked his head inside. The experienced hunter kept his gun aimed high and at the ready, his finger hovering over the trigger. Wrist over wrist, Dean held the flashlight steady with the opposite hand, the beam unmoving, providing him with some light through the darkness.

All of those years of training were put to the test as he stepped through the threshold of his home, his expression as hard as stone and giving away absolutely nothing, despite the fear that was boiling just beneath the surface. His eyes darted around the room, following the beam of his flashlight, taking in every detail of his surroundings just as he’d been taught all those years ago.

Following the layout of the house, Dean came to the living room first, stepping over the broken furniture and discarded decorations. The sight of his home in this state made him uneasy and that much harder to keep his cool, able to sense the panic starting to creep in. Where was (Y/N)? Where were the kids? Who had done this to his family? Was it revenge?

Another flash of lightning caused something slick and shiny to catch his eye, and Dean let out a shaky breath. Hesitating for only a moment, he crossed the room and crouched down next to the sofa to investigate, the troubling sight seized his heart. There was a substantial amount of blood there, a large pool of crimson that had soaked into the fibers of the rug. 

Near the top of the stain, a gold chain necklace was lost within the mess and a thin layer of another substance was scattered around it. It was almost yellow in color and had a very distinct, very specific scent that accompanied it. Touching the surface of the floor next to the stain, Dean felt something grainy under his finger tips. Lifting it to his nose, the smell of sulfur invaded his senses. Demons.

“Fuck,” He cursed, the boom of the thunder shaking his house as it lit up his face simultaneously. Still crouched, he plucked the necklace out of the sticky crimson mess and glared at the amulet with a heavy gaze, his hand shaking. He shut his eyes and closed his fingers into a fist, the knuckles turning white around the piece of jewelry. It belonged to (Y/N). It had been a gift, a charm to ward off evil and prevent possession.

This was all his fault. He should have known better. Hell, he did know better and yet, he ignored it, because he had a chance to finally be happy. To have an actual family and live the normal, apple pie life he’d always wanted. And now the ones he loved were missing and more than likely dead. Or probably close to it.

His chin quivered for a moment and hot tears stung at the corners of his eyes, his emotions getting the better of him. How could he let this happen? How could he be so stupid and reckless? He knew better, damn it! Once a hunter, always a hunter. There is no getting out of the life, not entirely, because those evil sons-of-bitches will always be out there. 

One way or another, they always find a way to catch back up to any hunter who has tried, and every single time it ends bloody and messy and violent. He needed to find them, he just had to. And he would save them, no matter what it cost. He’d pay it.

Releasing a heavy breath, he opened his eyes and willed the tears away, shoving the emotions back down into the pit of his soul. Despite his efforts, a solitary tear made it’s escape, dripping down his left cheek and onto the color of his shirt before he could stop it.

Dean rose to his full height and squared his shoulders, prepared to continue his search. Sliding the necklace into his jacket pocket with care, he followed the trail into the hall with a heavy heart. 

Glass cracked and snapped under his boots as he walked through the space, his jaw flexing when he saw the picture of his family shattered on the floor. Their happy faces only added to his grieving heart and guilty conscious, their smiles making his soul ache.

That had been a good day, nearly five years ago now; (Y/N) had worn his favorite blue dress that day, the strapless one that stopped right above her knees and showed off her sexy legs. 

She had on that silly - but achingly cute - oversized tan hat that kept the sun from her eyes. He would always tease her about that goofy hat, but she never cared what others thought of her, never ceasing to be herself, no matter what.

They’d gone to the park that day, had an actual picnic and he’d played catch with his son while the girls giggled and painted their nails...  They even taught the twins how to ride their bikes that day. They couldn’t have been more than seven years old.

Harper had caught on much quicker than her brother, of course, taking after her mother in that way. Those girls were naturals at almost everything they did, only needing to try something a few times before perfecting it. That had been something he’d adored and admired about his wife and it was a huge part of what made her such a skilled hunter when they met.

Daniel, on the other hand, had to take the time to understand how something worked first. He needed to study the mechanics of things, take them apart, rebuild and understand it completely, inside and out, before he was able to master it. Danny often reminded Dean of the Winchester side of the family. That had been a good day, one of many they’d shared together.

Brought out of his memories by another angry boom from outside, Dean pressed on. Where the picture had once hung, there was a bloody handprint smeared on the white wall, the two colors contrasting greatly. 

The blood streaked out toward the kitchen, giving the hunter a clear path to follow. Damn it. Dean grit his teeth. It felt as if something had his heart in a vice, squeezing it tighter and making it increasingly difficult to breathe the further he went.

His emotions were threatening to break through the surface again, fighting hard against his resolve, but he held his ground against them, purely focused on finding his loved ones. Now was not the time to break down. Following the trail of blood and debris, he checked each room along the way, trying to be as thorough as possible. He couldn’t afford to miss a damn thing. 

Their bedrooms were empty, and unsurprisingly, every inch had been torn apart. Dean’s chest heaved with emotion, his breath hitching in his throat; if anything happened to those kids, he would never be able to forgive himself.

Continuing on, the hunter emerged into the next room, and found much of the same; broken furniture, shattered pictures and even more blood. But not a single sign of his family. The sliding glass door had been left open, allowing the rain from the storm to collect onto the tile floor. 

Dean shut his eyes and took several deep breaths, his chest aching with every forceful beat of his heart. He needed to call Sammy, needed to form a plan. When he opened his eyes, something on the countertop caught his eye; a sheet of paper. Cocking his head with curiosity, he crossed the room in three long, determined strides.

It was a note, addressed to him.

It’s been too long, darling. How’s Moose? Hope the wife and kids are well...oh, wait, that’s right, you’re as clueless as ever. No surprise there. Before we get to the fun bits, let’s talk business; I need a favor and you and your giant of a brother are going to help me. Now, to ensure that things go as planned, I have something of yours. I assure you, they are safe. For now. Do as I ask, and they will be returned to you, alive. So, Dean, dear, let’s make a deal, shall we? You know where to meet me.

Squirrel,

Yours truly, 

The King of Hell

“Crowley.” Dean growled deep in his chest, his teeth clenched as his blood began to boil over with rage. “Goddamn it!” He shouted, swiping the contents of the counter onto the floor. “Fuck!” He kicked something across the room, too angry to pay much attention to it as it slammed into the stainless steel refrigerator. He swung at the closest surface, his fist connecting with a nearby wall.

The drywall collapsed around his fist as the plaster fell to the floor at his feet. His knuckles were screaming at him, but he didn’t care, too fueled by his rage to notice. What could Crowley possibly need their help with? It didn’t matter. Whatever it was, they would get it done and save his family. Crowley would get what’s coming to him; Dean would make damn sure of that.

Taking a few calming breaths, Dean removed his phone with a bloodied hand and opened his contacts, scrolling through the names until he found what he was searching for. Sammy. Dialing the number, Dean held the phone to his ear with baited breath. After the third ring, Sam’s voice came in through the other end, sounding concerned because of the late hour, “Dean? Everything alright?”

Dean shook his head, his vision blurring with tears. He cleared his throat, trying to prevent it from shaking too much. “No, Sammy. It ain’t alright.” He admitted, gripping the counter with his free hand, bracing himself. He wanted to crumble onto the floor, his body trembling; his mind flooded with so many different emotions, each of them trying to overpower the other: fear, guilt, anger, heartache…

“Dean, what is it?” The younger Winchester questioned, the worry evident in his voice. “Is it (Y/N)? The kids? Is everyone okay?” He waited patiently on the other end, but Dean could hear him moving around; he assumed his brother was getting his things ready to head out.

“Damn it, Sammy,” Dean’s voice broke as a few tears slipped through the cracks, “Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.” He shook his head, allowing himself a moment to break, his chest heaving. “We were out!” He slammed his fist down onto the counter, terrified and angry.

“Dean, what’s going on?” Sam pleaded, wanting desperately to help his big brother. 

“Crowley.” Dean clarified, going into more detail as he composed himself and straightened his stance, “Crowley’s taken them.” He took a calming breath, his moment of weakness over. “I need your help, Sammy.”

“Already on my way.”

Annnnnnd there you have it. I hope that wasn’t too rough on the heart? No worries, there may or may not be a part two in the works? We shall see. ;) 

Anyway, if you enjoyed that, please like and comment and if you’re feeling a little extra generous, share it with your friends, too! You’re feedback is like GOLD! As always, thanks for reading! 

Taglist!

Supernatural

@akshi8278​ // @flamencodiva​ // @perpetualabsurdity​

[idreamofplaid]

Request

Summary: Sam turns to Crowley for help in getting rid of the Mark of Cain. The reader takes over the situation which does and doesn’t surprise Sam.

Characters: Sam x Reader; Crowley

Word Count: 1027

A/N: I am so thankful for every reader I have. Recently, @the-departed-potato made a comment on one of my fics that touched me so much I messaged to ask if I could write a fic to say thank you. Here’s the result of that request.

It wasn’t often the King of Hell was allowed into the sanctuary of the bunker. Even more rare, were the times Sam called on Crowley for help. He was desperate to get the Mark of Cain off his brother, and Crowley seemed like his best option. If the King of Hell didn’t know about all things malevolent, who would?

“I do indeed have information that might be useful to you, Moose.” Crowley swirled the very aged and very expensive scotch in his glass with a slight twist of his hand. Sam had dipped into Dean’s private stash for that, but anything that might bribe or persuade Crowley to be helpful was worth Dean’s wrath when he found out, even the kind of rage he possessed now with the Mark of Cain on his arm.

That was the reason Sam had gone against every instinct he had and allowed Crowley into the bunker. He was desperate to get that mark off his brother, desperate enough to turn to the enemy for help, and it was clear Crowley was enjoying every minute of it. He focused his eyes on Sam, his gaze was penetrating and purposeful. “What would you be willing to do for my help?”

To this point, you had been sitting quietly in a chair listening to the exchange. You were done being quiet. “Stop playing your games, Crowley. Sam isn’t doing anything for you.”

The expressions on the faces of the two men as they watched you stand and walk over to crowd in Crowley’s space were a study in contrasts. Crowley watched you with a challenging curiosity. Sam’s eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in concern. Meanwhile, you didn’t miss a beat with your verbal assault on the King of Hell.

“You’re lucky Sam hasn’t killed you long before now because he absolutely could. And you have the nerve to come waltzing in here acting like you’re doing him a favor. All you do is stall when every day Dean is getting worse.” Crowley nonchalantly took a sip of his whiskey, and you felt your blood pressure rise.

You felt Sam’s familiar hand touch your shoulder. “Honey, maybe you should….”

You turned to face him, your eyes flashing with a clear intent, your voice quiet but strong. “Sit.”

Sam let go of you and took a couple of steps back. He ran his hand through his hair and let it rest on the back of his neck. His tongue circled the inside of his mouth from his cheek to his lower lip. “Yep.” Sam knew when to surrender to your will. He took the few steps to the leather chair by the bookcase and sat down.

Crowley smiled at you, clearly pleased by your performance. “Well, aren’t you the fiery one? Should you ever get tired of the Moose, please do give me a call.” Your only response was to glare at him.

He drained the rest of the scotch from his glass and put it down on the table. “Well then.” He raised his eyebrows and adjusted his jacket, then the King of Hell rose and with a nod in your direction said, “There’s a shaman in New Mexico I need to see.” He snapped his fingers and was gone.

You braced both your hands on the table and took a minute to steady your breathing. Staring down the King of Hell could be overwhelming when you paused to think about what you’d done, but it was something you wouldn’t hesitate to do again. You’d do it for Dean, and that meant doing it for Sam too. Anything that hurt his brother, hurt him.

Sam spoke from the corner where you’d sent him when your adrenaline was flowing. “Maybe it should have been you dealing with Crowley all this time.”

You went to him, needing the reassurance of his closeness now that the heat of the moment had passed. Sam reached up, silently asking you to put your hand in his. You gave him your hand, and he pulled you down into his lap. He dragged the pad of his thumb across your bottom lip. “You’re amazing. You know that?”

You smiled and shook your head. “Either that or stupid.”

Sam returned your smile. “Well, that was the King of Hell.” His dimples deepened as his smile got bigger. “Should I be jealous of him by the way?”

You laughed and settled your arms around Sam’s neck. “Not hardly. Crowley has a thing for Dean. That’s why he’ll talk to that shaman and anybody else he can think of to get rid of that mark. He’d love it if Dean went dark for good, but Crowley’s not stupid. He knows Dean would destroy himself before he let that happen. So, the King of Hell is going to do whatever he can to save Dean. He just needed an excuse to do it. I gave him one.”

Sam moved his head closer to yours. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin as he spoke. “You’re smart too. Do you know how sexy that is?” You noticed the deep gray green of his eyes before they closed and his lips touched yours, soft at first before his tongue tangled around yours with an intensity born out of relief and passion.

Sam broke the kiss and stood, lifting you in his arms as he did. His eyes had darkened even more, and they were locked on yours. He ran his tongue out over his lip and pulled it back into his mouth. “How ‘bout I show you just how sexy it is?” 

His smoldering look quickly turned adorable, and his tone was playful. “Unless you want me to sit down again.”

“Sam Winchester, don’t try me. I’ll make it so you can’t sit down at all,” you challenged. 

He leaned in, took your earlobe between his teeth, and nibbled on it before he whispered in your ear. “Is that a promise, baby?”

Sam carried you to his bedroom where, for a little while, you both forgot about the Mark of Cain and the threat it posed. Many promises were made and kept. Repeatedly.

Everything: @gambitwinchester @princessmisery666 @peridottea91 @logical-princey @emilyshurley @beenlovingromansincedayoneish @fangirlxwritesx67 @waywardbaby @atc74 @tumbler-tidbits @fandom-princess-forevermore @terrarium-jpeg @emoryhemsworth @crashdevlin @jules-1999 @cosicas-cuquis @sammyimpala-67 @queenoftheunderdark @dean-winchesters-bacon @timelordy-fangirl2 @sweetness47 @hobby27 @awesomesusiebstuff @kickingitwithkirk @becs-bunker @sandlee44 @supernaturalgrandma @volleyballer519 @kdfrqqg @lizette50 @sorenmarie87 @lovealways-j @mrswhozeewhatsis @spnbaby-67 @wayward-and-worn @petitgateau911 @thinkinghardhardlythinking 

Sam/Jared: @girl-next-door-writes @stunudo @feelmyroarrrr @idabbleincrazy​ @evansrogerskitten​ @focusonspn​ @autumninavonlea​ @durinsbride​ @deansyahtzee​ @waywardnerd67​ @fullmooner​ @sams-sass​ @beskaradberoya​

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens - “At Midnight” (Rated G)

Summary:

Crowley is devastated by how smoothly the world continues on after he loses Aziraphale to the bookshop fire. Adam stops the war between Heaven and Hell, and things go back to normal for everyone... except him. Crowley goes from demon to ghoul, haunting St. James's Park every night, caught up in his memories of his angel. Until one night, he comes across something unexpected that makes things a little better... (2416 words) ... and a whole lot worse.

Read on AO3.

The hands on Aziraphale's grandfather clock have crept dangerously close to eleven by the time Crowley steps out the door of the bookshop and into the night. He's not closing up. The shop was never open. 

Not for anyone but him. 

He’d spent the day lurking in the shifting shadows, coiled around the leg of angel's favorite chair, keeping guard. 

Watching for movement. 

Praying for change.

For resolution.

He marked time by the tolling of Aziraphale's clock, the ebb and flow of the commuters outside, and a single ray of sunlight carving its path across the floor, disappearing out the window at the stroke of seven. That’s when he came out of hiding, became his demon self once again.

Crowley pops his collar against the wind and locks the door behind him. He takes one last look at the pane beneath his fingertips, running them lightly over a ridiculous note affixed to the glass. It’s a note he wrote on Aziraphale's behest, proclaiming when customers can expect the shop to open. 

The long and short of it being - don't. 

I open the shop on most weekdays about 9:30 or perhaps 10 a.m. While occasionally I open the shop as early as 8, I have been known not to open until 1, except on Tuesday...

Crowley had written it to irritate his angel - a demonic dig, as it were. But after reading it, Aziraphale couldn't have been more delighted.

"Brilliant!" he'd said. "Masterfully convoluted! Now I can finally relax and finish my crossword puzzle in peace! Thank you, my dear."

Crowley had gone warm at Aziraphale's words. He had never felt so overwhelmed by praise. 

But now, the sign makes him bitter. 

It should have long been replaced with one that reads on holiday, circling the globe, or living the happily ever after life in Mayfair with my husband.

But that wasn't in the cards for Crowley and Aziraphale. 

Crowley snaps his fingers to lower the blinds and snuff the lights, and takes off at a brisk clip to the park.

Alone.

He does this every night - haunts St. James's Park close to midnight when he'd rather be at home asleep. Crowley had planned to sleep the next seven millennia away, wait until the world started over again before he showed his face to the sun, but infuriatingly, he couldn't. It's impossible for him to get comfortable in his bed when there should be someone else beside him, sitting up and reading by his damned holy light.

Crowley never thought he'd miss that stupid light piercing his eyelids and interrupting his slumber, but he misses it more than anything.

There was nothing left for Crowley after he lost Aziraphale in the bookshop fire. 

He'd always felt that if they went their separate ways, it would sever his heart, but nothing more. He'd go on. But the assumption had been that Aziraphale would still be - exist, just not in Crowley's life.

When Aziraphale went, everything good went with him - love, hope, color, and taste all vacated Crowley's world. But Crowley was too much of a coward to call it quits and join him in oblivion, since, as far as Crowley was concerned, that was where immortal beings ended up if they were eliminated from Earth. Heaven and Hell only existed for humans. Aziraphale and Crowley were created for this world. 

For them, this was it.

He thought he would get into his car and drive, but he couldn't make himself leave. He would get as far as Kent or Surrey, then his Bentley would stop.

Whether he was the one pressing the brake or his car - it varied.

Either way, he'd take a deep breath, toss off his glasses, rub the blur from his watery eyes, and the next thing he knew, he was home.

Couldn't sleep. 

Couldn't leave. 

Couldn't escape. 

Yup. This was Hell. Undoubtedly.

Since he couldn't stay put and he couldn't run away, he spent night after night roaming the park - a ghoul shrouded in shadows of the past. Selfishly, he did everything he could to make the park inhospitable after dark, the same way Aziraphale did for his bookshop to deter customers. He made the place dreary, filled it with suspicious shadows, cold spots, and feelings of dread. In his attempt to get rid of anyone who might bother him, he unwittingly thwarted a few mugging attempts and a handful of assaults, which eliminated crime in St. James's Park for the most part. 

Otherwise, he kept to himself. 

It didn't matter to Crowley one bit that Adam had saved the planet from Heaven and Hell's blasted war. Or that, in doing so, neither side seemed interested in Crowley anymore. 

Without Aziraphale by his side, Crowley wanted none of it. 

These nightly walks, re-visiting the spots where they'd met up through time, didn't help. His memories of Aziraphale had begun to erode what was left of his soul.

His regret over the one thing he had left unsaid.

But there was a handshake exchange afoot.

His late-night trips to the park were how he noticed the light, blooming, growing on the bench smack dab in front of the duck pond.

Their bench.

A thread of silver light that lasted one solid minute from beginning to end.

It was spectacular. Unbelievable in its brilliance. Of the few souls who braved Crowley's shield of demonic influence, only Crowley seemed to notice it. And he couldn't avoid it.

It called to him.

Crowley stalked the light for over a week, never getting too close. It seemed like the kind of thing Gabriel might conjure up to trap him. Heaven may not give two shits about him, but archangels have been known to hold serious grudges.

He resisted its pull, but Crowley is a curious demon, and curiosity got the better of him. Besides, what did he care if Gabriel got the drop on him? Crowley was up for a fight, even one he might lose.

He had nothing better to do.

Crowley walked straight to the bench and sat down the moment the light appeared. He stared at it, into it, trying to sniff out its origins, what it was doing there. Being this close to it, he realized he was wrong. It didn't appear out of thin air. It was a consequence - evidence of a seam ripping in the universe, and on the other side...

Crowley only saw him for a second, but that was all he needed.

Aziraphale.

They locked eyes. Aziraphale's face lit up as if he were seeing the stars for the first time. 

Stars Crowley created.

He was quite a distance from the tear. Like Crowley, he avoided it as much as possible. But seeing Crowley on the other side, he ran toward it, calling out a single word. It was all he had time for before the rend closed, and he was gone again.

The word he managed was Crowley.

Every night after, Crowley would arrive at the bench with plenty of time for the two of them to speak. As best as they could deduce, something bizarre happened during that fire in Aziraphale's bookshop. Unprecedented. Crowley assumed, at first, that the flames that devoured his angel's pride and joy had come from Hellfire. But they didn't. And Aziraphale, standing in the center of the transportation portal in his corporeal form, never made it to Heaven. He got caught in between. 

Purgatory. 

A place that many supernatural beings consider scarier than Hell. 

A railway station with a way in but no way out. For immortals, that is. Mortal souls can earn a place upstairs depending on how they behave in this celestial waiting room. But as humans and demons don't concern themselves much with Purgatory lore, there is no book in Hell or on Earth that can help. Crowley has tried finding one - traveled to libraries and broken into collections he would do only on Aziraphale's behalf. But for all of his lofty capers, he found nothing. There might be a book in Heaven, but Crowley has no way to access it.

And Aziraphale is trapped.

Wouldn't Crowley know it, but even under these circumstances, Aziraphale found ways to continue his insufferable good deeds, helping mortal souls trapped with him to move along. Though Crowley believes Aziraphale has an ulterior motive.

Peace and quiet.

Aziraphale has one of those faces that attracts people to him, people who long to share their woeful life stories. So he listens, and then he counsels. When that soul moves on, he earns the most sought-after prize of all - an additional measure of silence.

Crowley and Aziraphale thought Heaven would notice his absence by now. Gabriel’s memos were piling up on Aziraphale's desk, untouched. Or by the massive influx of souls arriving at the pearly gates. 

But no luck.

The angels in charge of the prisoners in the bottomless pits of Hell are more on the ball than the ones who keep an eye on the poor souls stuck in between.

This boundary between Earth and Purgatory dissolves at the stroke of midnight but zips up as soon as the clock strikes 12:01. Then Aziraphale disappears, not returning again till the following day. They are permitted one minute to tell each other everything, and they do their best to get it all out. 

There's one thing Crowley hasn't gotten to yet. Hasn’t for 6000 years. 

His one regret.

He plans on telling Aziraphale tonight on the off chance they can't come up with a solution to this.

Crowley feels the light before it appears. It tugs at something deep inside, ushers him to his seat on the bench. It arrives with a clap like thunder, so loud he’s surprised when it doesn’t shatter windows and crack foundations. Air whooshes by him at hurricane speeds, sucked into the impending rend. 

A second later, Aziraphale appears beside him. 

In a different dimension but beside him, framed by the light as if he's a reflection in a mirror. 

Crowley inches his hand close, knowing without seeing that Aziraphale’s hand rests similarly on the opposite side. They cannot touch. They’ve tried. 

Neither can cross the barrier.

“So, my dear,” Aziraphale starts, looking through the shimmer at Crowley, “how’s the bookshop?”

“Right as rain as always,” Crowley replies. He used to mutter, “Hello, Crowley. How are you? You’re looking well this fine evening,” but realized how immature and hurtful that was when Aziraphale heard him, and his face fell. Aziraphale wasn’t disregarding Crowley by not asking after him first. It was too painful for Aziraphale to acknowledge how far apart they were from one another. “How have you been, angel?”

“Can’t complain. Although I could really go for a plate of crepes. Or perhaps a nice, hearty gazpacho.”

“Don’t you worry. The moment I have you free of there, I’ll take you to dinner. Anywhere you want to go.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Aziraphale says, the longing in his eyes heartbreaking. “It wouldn’t be so bad over here if I had a book or two.”

“I did try passing you one over, but… “

“Yes, yes, I recall.” Aziraphale sighs at the memory of a favorite Wilde hardcover disintegrating into thin air. Luckily, that didn’t happen to either of them when they attempted to cross. “Valiant effort. Disastrous outcome.” 

“Meddled in anyone's affairs today, have you?” 

“As a matter of fact… ” Aziraphale smiles brightly. “A charming lady named Agatha. Lived a good long life. Died at the age of 93, I believe she said.”

“Wot in the world did she do to make it into Purgatory?”

“The usual. Attachment to sin.”

Crowley nods, lips twisting with a knowing grin. “Let me guess… the premarital variety?”

“That’s the one. She also poisoned an abusive stepfather, not her own, broke into a research facility to rescue rabbits, and stole a petty neighbor’s tomatoes on the daily until the day she died.”

Crowley chuckles. “Ah, yes. You’ve got to love old ladies.”

“Indeed.”

“Wot did you do?”

“Same as always. I had her give a proper confession. I forgave her for the poisoning, of course… “

“Of course.”

“... and the rabbit liberation. But we talked through the issue with the tomatoes. I explained that trespassing on her neighbor’s property is wrong even if the woman did dye all her delicates on her drying line puce.”

Crowley makes a face. He has no idea what puce is, but it sounds vile. “Probably justified there.”

“But that wasn’t the crux of her dilemma.”

“Wot was?”

Aziraphale turns, eyes wandering in the direction of the pond even though he can’t see it. “She misses the love of her life.”

Crowley's eyes widen. “Oh.”

“I assured her that her lover would be with her soon. After that, she was fine moving on.”

“Is that the truth?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale says wistfully. “He beloved misses her very much. They make a lovely couple.”

“That’ll be nice. The two of them reuniting.”

“Yes. It will be… for them.”

Silence falls between them. They steer clear of silence when they can, seeing how short their time is together, but it can't be helped. Aziraphale could work from here till eternity joining lost souls, but he can't help himself do the same. 

The weight of that overwhelms them.

Crowley's phone vibrates in his pocket, signaling their minute together coming to an end. The silver frame phases, its light dimming, sputtering like a candle about to go out. As with every time before, Crowley tries to stop it, tries to stop time to keep Aziraphale with him longer. But it doesn’t work. Either this rend works outside of the laws of time, or time has had it with Crowley’s antics, but this can’t be stopped. 

Crowley’s imagination isn’t strong enough.

“We only have a little time left,” Aziraphale says, “and we’re no closer to solving this puzzle!”

“I know,” Crowley replies. “I'll keep working on it. I promise. But before you go, I just wanted to tell you… ”

The air crackles as the rip begins to mend, the noise drowning them out.

"Yes, my dear?"

"I need to tell you... "

“Oh, Crowley!” Aziraphale starts to fade as the gap sutures shut. “I’m so sorry… "

The tear closes, his angel gone, and in the ensuing silence, Crowley’s last words hang in the air, having escaped his lips a second too late for their recipient to hear.

“… I love you.”

[wormstacheangel]

December 19, 2021

Hello! I’m done with this chapter just in time! It took me all day cause I get distracted easily lol Enjoying my countdown for Christmas with this domestic family? Then catch up with the masterpost here!

Summary: Welcome to the flashback episode where we get the story of how Dean and Cas got together. I think it’s dumb but cute :) 

Word Count:  2358 (yeah...this one could have been longer but I had to chill)

Cas was humming in the kitchen, his playlist playing loudly through the house, while he prepared Dean’s lunch. He stirred the soup once before grabbing a spoon to taste for seasoning. Adding a bit more white pepper before dropping the chopped kale into the hot pot of chicken rice soup.

“Dad?” Jack appeared on Cas’s left. “What time is Dad coming home?”

Claire appeared on Cas’s right. “And what the hell are you listening to?”

He turned towards Jack first, who was mesmerized by the stirring of the soup. “You’re Dad will get off from work at 5, so by 5:30 he should be home.” Then he turned his attention to Claire who was snacking on the homemade croutons. Her eyes met his and she smiled, small and crooked with warm eyes. “And I’m listening to a playlist Sam made me. I believe this is Wannabe by the Spice Girls. Oh, scratch that it’s playing Heaven Help Me by Lizzo now.”

Her eyes widened before she threw her head back to laugh. A hand landing hard on his shoulder while he smiled fondly at his daughter. Jack was already humming the song while reaching for some croutons for himself. Making a face when he bits down on a real burnt one.

“Does Dean listen to this teenage girl stuff?” Claire asked, leaning against the counter. 

Jack copied her movement but it didn’t look as casual as Claire made it seem. Cas moved around them to get a tall thermos to fill with enough soup for a second or third bowl. Dean’s lunchbox was already filled with everything he needed to keep himself warm and full until he came home for dinner. He even added a loaf of apple cinnamon bread to his lunch so Dean could share with his coworkers. A smaller thermos was filled with coffee and he was bringing an extra reusable water bottle, covered in stickers Jack picked out, just in case.

“Sometimes. If he’s in a good enough mood.” Cas admits as he finishes filling up the thermos and zipping up the lunch box. 

“You know, you never really told me when you two finally got together.” Claire pushed herself off the counter to grab his arm, looking at him with bright rounding eyes that matched his eye color. “I think I deserve to hear how my Dads got together!”

“It’s a great story.” Jack agrees as he decided that copying his sister wasn’t fun anymore but he was gonna rummage through the fridge. “Dad Dean doesn’t really like talking about it much.”

“What? Why?” Claire furrowed her eyebrows together while looking up at Cas for answers. “You two are so happy-old-married-couple that it’s sickeningly cute. Was he embarrassed or something?”

“Thank you?” Cas raises an eyebrow back at her as he swings the lunchbox into his shoulder. “And he was embarrassed but I think it’s a story we should tell in front of your father.”

“Why?”

“Cause it would be funny.” Cas tells her with a wink while Jack hummed in agreement, a big smile on his face.

As Cas drove slowly through the icy road, he was smiling, fighting back a laugh, unable to stop remembering the day he returned to Earth. Returned to Dean.

It was a few days of Earth time after Chuck was defeated that Cas escaped with his brothers and sisters, along with a few demons that tagged along. He made sure Ruby stayed asleep and behind, not wanting her to bother Sam or Eileen. He never did find Crowley or Meg, even spending some time calling out for both of them when he realized so many were woken up. 

Jack found him and helped him up to heaven to try to fix whatever they could. He didn’t ask about Dean or Sam but Jack reassured him that they were fine. 

“Let me make you stronger, Cas.” Jack reached for him but Cas stopped him, shaking his head.

“I don’t plan on being an angel for long, Jack. So let me use whatever is left to help you.”

And he did. Two Earth months passed before everything was sort of decided upstairs. Raphael wasn’t the biggest fan of the new dynamic but he followed orders, happy it wasn’t under Chuck and he could actually interact with whoever was in charge. 

Cas could feel more of his grace slip away from him when he was with Bobby, reassuring him that his boys were the hero’s he believed them to be, and most importantly they were happy. 

“Are you going back to them?” Bobby asked as he sipped at his beer, Cas sat beside him drinking one of his own. Tasted just like the first one Dean has ever given him. 

Cas hummed into the bottle. “I am.”

“But they think you’re six feet under?”

“They do.” He looked down at his bottle, peeling away the label with his thumbs. “Sometimes I believe that Dean doesn’t think so.”

“Why is that?”

“He prays to me constantly.” Cas smiles, listening to Dean’s prayer right now. “Right now he’s complaining about the crowd at the grocery store.” He chuckles. “And he’s right. I do hate waiting in those long lines.”

Bobby doesn’t say much but the way he says, “Just take care of my boy.” Felt like the blessing he needed, the push, to finally go back to Dean.

Jack was coming down to Earth with him. It may take a while longer to figure out the spell to conceal and hold Jack’s God powers but they would figure it out. Amara promises to find them a way to help him and will contact them soon, giving Jack a final squeeze before she disappears. 

Cas gave Gabriel one last hug, Adam even gave him one even though he was sure Michael wasn’t the hugging type before Jack flew them back to Earth. Appearing in the middle of the bunker’s library. 

Jack ran off with a small smile on his lips, it was constantly strained and never reached his eyes as his powers overwhelmed him, to go look for the brothers. Cas was feeling dizzy from the flight so he shut his eyes, taking a hold of the back of the chair to steady himself. 

Then he looked up when he heard a bottle break. There was a figure laying on top of the map table. 

Cas took out his blade and made his wobbly legs steady before making his way over. Kicking empty beer bottles as he went. Then two bottles of bourbon by the steps. Then he saw the broken bottle of tequila that now laid on the floor by the table.

His eyes traveled up to the map table to see Dean sat blinking over at him. Head tilted and mouth slightly parted. As if he still couldn’t put a name to his face.

Cas put his blade down and made his way over to the drunk hunter. “Be careful there is glass everywhere.”

When he made it to the broken bottle he pushed it into a neat pile with his shoe. 

“How about you go to bed and I’ll clean this up?” Cas leaned down to pick up the bigger pieces but he was quick to cut himself. “Fuck.” Cas hissed as he realized he couldn’t find any grace to even heal himself enough to stop the bleeding.

Dean gently reaches down to take Cas’s bleeding hand. “The last time I saw you, the real you, the same hand was bleeding.” Dean held on to his hand and tears started to fall into Cas’s hand. “I wish I could have at least helped you patch it up. I wish I could have at least done one goddamn thing for you.”

“Dean.” Cas reached to touch Dean’s face with the tips of his fingers but Dean pushed his face into his palm. His heart raced as he cradled Dean’s face in his good hand while his other hand was being held so gently. 

“I miss you, Cas.” His eyes closed as Cas’s thumb started to make circles around his cheek all on its own. Feeling the stubble that was growing too long for Dean’s liking. “I miss you so damn much and I just...I don’t-I don’t think you’re coming back this time.”

“I’m back, Dean.” Cas tells him with urgency. Taking his bleeding hand back to grab Dean’s face, wanting to make him look at him. When Dean blinks up at him again his eyes start to water. “I’m back! I’m here. I’m here, Dean. As long as you want me.”

“Cas?” Dean finally seems to look at him, actually see him. “You’re here?”

“I’m here.”

“You’re back?” Dean covers Cas’s bloody hand with his own while the other one reaches to grip the trench coat. 

“Yes, dumbass.” Cas chuckles through his tears. 

Dean tugs at Cas’s coat and pulls him into a hug. His arms wrapped around his shoulders into a tight embrace, his nose nuzzled into Cas’s neck. His breath tickling him and his breath...horrendous. 

“You stink, Dean.” Cas hugs him back as he hides his face into Dean’s shoulder.

“I love you.” Dean says as he pulls himself closer. 

“I know. I heard your prayers.” Cas chuckles into Dean’s skin. “I love you too.”

Dean pulls back so suddenly that it scares Cas. Thinking maybe he said something wrong but then Dean made another sudden move.

“Marry me!”

Cas choked on his breath when he couldn’t even find his next words.

“Cas, marry me!” His eyes were wide, eyes dilated and a flushed face. Clearly drunk out of his mind. “You’re back so we can get married now! I mean...I think you need to ask Sam for my hand but fuck him for ditching me for Eileen today. Let’s get married before he gets home.”

Dean started to pull him towards the stairs, both of them stumbling over their feet for two different reasons. 

“Can I come too?” Jack finally made his way towards them. “I can be a flower boy!”

“Jack, we’re not getting married.” Cas tells him, his head spinning. “I just…Dean, you’re drunk!”

“Am not!” Dean argued back, his brows furrowed together. Cas’s shoulders relaxed as he looked at how cute his grumpy expression was. “Say you’ll marry me, Cas!”

“Fine, I’ll marry you!” Cas smiles back at him and the grin that shined through Dean’s eyes made his heart race. Fuck, he really missed him. “But not tonight. Tonight we sleep off the alcohol.”

Dean Winchester was pouting at him and his heart ached. He reached to grip at his own shirt, right over his heart. “Dean, please.”

“But I love you.”

“Aww,” Jack pouted back at him. “Dad, he loves you!”

“Jack, you are not helping.” Cas glared at him and then before he looked back at Dean he had a pair of hot lips pressed against his own. Dean was kissing him.

Before he could even enjoy the kiss or even register it completely, Dean was throwing up on his shoes.

Back in the garage, Cas was grinning when he stepped into the warm office. Dean was in the front office when he walked in, the phone between his shoulder and ear as he typed away in the computer. His eyes widened when he saw Cas but then a smile spread across his lips.

“Yes, we’ll send someone right over to tow your car right over. It shouldn’t take more than two to look at. Of course. It’ll be ready by tomorrow. No worries. Okay, have a nice day.” He hung up the phone and quickly rushed to pull Cas into a quick kiss and a tight hug. “Babe, what are you doing here? I said the roads were still too icy to drive in.”

“And yet you put snow chains on my tiers this morning.” Cas hands him his lunch that his boyfriend takes with a grin.

“It’s cause I know you wouldn't listen.” He kisses Cas’s cheek. “Thanks, Babe. You have time to eat lunch with me?”

“I always have time for you, Dean.”

When lunch was over Cas walked back to his truck, Dean fixing the beanie over his head once again. Giving him a quick kiss before saying, “Get home safely.”

“You too, sweetheart.” Cas waves at him when he quickly rushes to the warmth of his truck. Then before he gets into the car he looks back at Dean, who of course was still looking back at him, “Oh, by the way, Claire wants to hear the story of how we got together.”

Dean stood there for a few seconds as his face dropped, cute grumpy. “No.”

“I promised to tell her over dinner!”

“No!”

“Love you!”

“Cas, babe, no!”

“Love you! Bye!”

“Love you too but no! Cas!”

That drunk proposal felt like years ago instead of months. 

Of course, the best part of the night was the following morning.

Cas woke up with Dean staring down at him, eyes red and filled with tears but a soft smile on his lips. Fingers running through his hair in a gentle caress. Never feeling more at home than he did that morning in Dean’s bed.

“I thought it was creepy to watch people sleep.” Cas mumbles as he reaches over to rub his eyes with the palm of his hands. 

“It is but you’re, um...you’re cute when you sleep.” Dean admitted while Cas froze his face warming up under his hands. “Are you really here, Cas?”

He finally pulled his hands down to stare back at Dean. “I am.”

“And you’re here to stay? Human?”

“I am.” Cas stood still under Dean’s intense stare. “If you’ll have me.”

Dean didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned down to kiss him breathless.

Cas, as well as Jack, was made to promise not to talk about the proposal. Especially the throwing up part or the Jack carrying a passed out Dean to his bed. Cleaning both of them up before he went back to his own room. 

Still, he loved to tease him every chance he got. And he knew their daughter will do the same.