#crowley’s snake tongue

[smoxensweetpea]

That awkward moment when you think AO3 is down but actually your sister and bro-in-law’s parental controls are blocking it.

#does this show up on a report?

I mean it’s fine if it does. I just want to know if there’s going to be a conversation and/or silent judgment about why I’m trying to open and read an explicit Good Omens fanfic with the tag “Crowley does weird things with his snake tongue” at their 4th of July party. 😅

#guess I’m using cellular data for my fanfic

#worth it

(@fellandcrow - it is your fic! 💙)

[bobkanlidebacon]

little aziracrow sculpture i made.

[pikaboubou]

Snake bae 🐍

Isn't he just the sweetest snakey-snake you've ever seen? 🤤❤️

[00bread]

The thing with tongues is, they get stuck. A lot.

(Especially if you have a tendency to lick things you shouldn't be licking)

.....sometimes with things you're supposed to lick as well

[fuzzygoblin]

Look I did some art too!

4k words Rating: Explicit, doppelbanging, nearly a time loop fic

GOAD Doppelbanging 2024 Summary:

Aziraphale and Crowley are still getting the hang of performing miracles together, and accidents happen. Sometimes they are quite happy accidents though.

Thank you @isiaiowin for the beta and @goodomensafterdark for organising doppelbang week!

[swordsonnet]

i've seen some people crocheting their own crowley snakes, so i thought i'd try my hand at it too! this was my first time working without a pattern, so there was a lot of trial and error involved and there are still some messy bits, but i'm pretty happy with the end result :D this long boi measures about 184 cm/6'1" without tongue and 189 cm/6'3" with tongue. he's also very nice to cuddle! i call him crochetley.

[owl68]

Petition for more Crowley hissing scenes

[sonkitty]

[meanwhile-at-the-cottage]

Today Aziraphale and Crowley raked the leaves in the front yard into a giant pile. Suddenly, Crowley disappeared and Aziraphale was very concerned until a big snake poked its head out of the leaf pile and flicked its tongue happily.

[abzania]

List of Book!Crowley things I think you should know:

Owns a collection of soul music (that he's very proud of)

Has snake skin boots that may or may not be his feet

Has a tendency to hiss when he forgets himself

Whispers commentary to Aziraphale while the Metatron and Beelzebub discuss if Armageddon should happen

Is an optimist who believes the Universe will take care of him

Reads novels

Loves naps, particularly after a large meal

Bought petrol just for the bullet hole decals

Doesn't make reservations because that's something that only happens to "other people"

Believes every car has a cassette player, so every car he drives does, even if it's not supposed to

Breathes life back into a dove Aziraphale accidentally smothered in his jacket

Likes classical music, but can't listen to it because the cassettes keep turning into "Best of Queen" albums

Thinks about putting his message box cassette into his car to turn Hastur into a "Best of Queen" album but decides he's not that evil

Thinks satanists are weird/disturbing

Can do weird things with his tongue

Also, highlight from the book you should see, because Crowley is fucking adorable:

[katiefrog217]

Aziraphale waited patiently in the shallows of the dropoff near the shore of his post on the Eastern Side of the Lake, fidgeting with his ring as the sun rose higher in the sky. He cast anxious glances behind him to scan the area, both for any potential intruders (which were rare) and any visitors from his colony (equally as rare). His side of the Lake went practically forgotten, but one could never be too careful. A flicker of a shadow over head caught Aziraphale's attention, head whipping around to scrutinize the surface.

The pale merman could just make out a shadow near the edge of the shore, and suddenly his anxiety washed away, tension easing from his shoulders. He reached out invitingly towards the shadow, fingers brushing the surface. He didn't need to wait long before there was a splash and his vision was suddenly obscured by a slew of bubbles. Aziraphale remained calm, even as a massive figure descended in front of him, even as they latched clawed fingers around his neck. He reciprocated in fact, reaching a confident hand out to cup a sharp jawline. The bubbles cleared just enough for him to catch a glimpse of golden eyes framed by a shock of red hair before he slid his own blues closed, leaning into the gentle kiss on his lips.

Crowley hummed as he leaned into his touch, claws tugging him forward ardently. Aziraphale obliged him, leaning further into the kiss with a sigh. He wished they didn't need to rush all the time, that they didn't have to fret about getting caught.

Fueled partly by his regret (and a hint of mischief), Aziraphale boldly pressed a tongue forward, slipping between the seam of Crowley's lips to press against his pearly whites.

Crowley growled a warning and he teased over one of his fangs - Aziraphale chuckled but relented, withdrawing for now. Crowley always worried about possibly invenomating him, though Aziraphale assured him that it was unlikely, implicitly showing Crowley how much he trusted him. No, he insisted it even. Regardless, he didn't want to spend what little time they already had together pushing his buttons.

This was so closed to not getting done before May I swear...

Seriously would you believe me if I said this was started at the beginning of the month? Yeah I got heavily distracted.

But I finally got it done! Hurrah!!!

I do have their designs somewhere on paper, but I'll have post them later once I clean them up.

Happy Mermay everyone!

Azi - [Fresh Water]: Based mainly on a feather tailed Betta Fish, a sea angel (loosely), and an angel fish.

Crowley- [Brackish Waters]: Based on a Sea Krait, a Mangrove snakes, and loosely inspired also by an angel fish.

[bluberryfields]

Just gonna stare at this face all day

[poisonouswonderland]

imagine...

A clawed shadow reached from the darkness of the other side, latching onto your ankle at your hesitation.

“Wait—“ Panic surged through you and overrides the pain when the claws dug into your skin. It tripped you when you tried to run. On the floor you turned away from the mirror, using one hand to scratch at the ground, the other stretching out to grab onto anything, anyone. “Waitwaitwait! No! No, I don’t want to go!”

Grim ran faster than running from Ace and Duece, faster than when his own life was in danger, faster than he ever thought he possibly could. Your friends are quick to follow but become suddenly dodging fiery balls of onyx that shoot from the void trying to swallow you. Crowley’s eyes widen, incantations and commands rushing off his tongue to stop the mirror.

Then he shouted your name. He thought he was only a step behind you, how did he get so far? With every leap he took it seemed the room stretched farther, keeping the mirror, keeping you, miles away. He was mentally preparing to say goodbye… no matter how much it shattered him inside. But this?

“Please, please!" You screeched, voice broken and desperate. "I don’t want to leave you!”

This would destroy him in a way he could never recover.

Darkness pooled around your face and stole it from him, muffling your horrifying cries that were daggers to his heart. Ever determined, your knuckles were white gripping the golden edges of the mirror.

Narily avoiding a blast, he kicks off the ground and slides on his knees in front of the mirror. Clutching your wrist, he feels your pulse under his fingers, rapid and frightened, and it fuels him to use all his strength and more.

“I’ve got you!” He shouts. It's all he can do to comfort you and, peculiarly, himself.

His lips pull into a snarl as he grits his teeth until they hurt, his eyes are all too focused on your where your face should be emerging. Grim is shouting at him in warning and he sees it a millisecond too late. A dark hand, more firm than the shadow from earlier, snakes from the mirror and cruelly wraps it's fingers just below his. In one strong tug he's lost all he's gained. Though it ripples like water, the hits his knuckles and refuses to give him passage. A strangled noise rips from his throat as he stares at your fingers, sees how you're pinching his sleeve in a final effort to remain tethered to him. "No!" He roars when you slip from his grasp, fists raised to pound against the mirror in fury. It absorbs itself just as they come crashing down and he finds himself crumpled against the floor fighting tears.

He failed you.

[buryustogether]

in the lap of the gods

aziraphale x f!reader x crowley

summary: it’s 1941, and aziraphale is about to perform on the west end stage. he needs an assistant, of course, but you can’t stand the outfit you’re required to wear. your angel and your demon show you just how much they love it.

word count: 3k

warnings/tags: smut and fluff, reader wears a slutty outfit, threesome, thigh riding, semi-public sex, body worship, crowley’s a horny bitch, war violence, bombs, mentions of alcohol, mentions of guns

“I really don’t see why this get-up has got to be so… revealing,” you said. “I look like a harlot.”

“Well,” came a voice from behind the thin paper of the changing screen, “I suppose it’s to entice the strapping young soldiers out there. They do seem to enjoy a bit of… should I say… adultery?”

There came a second voice from further in the room, coiled and slick like a serpent. “Or,” he drawled, “it’s for easy access.”

“Crowley,” chided the first voice, disdain dripping from his tongue.

You gave a silent huff as you adjusted the skimpy little outfit the manager of the West End theater had given you, tugging at the thin material that barely covered your breasts and the thin strap that snaked between your legs. It was a glittery, near-elastic piece of pazazz that was sure to earn you more than a few glances and whistles this evening… something you promised you wouldn’t let get to you. If not for your reputation, for the pair of men on the other side of the changing screen that encased you like a butterfly trapped in a jar.

If you inhaled deep enough, you were still able to smell the smoke that clung to Aziraphale and Crowley’s suits, permeating the air and poisoning their natural musks that you so loved to inhale. You had spent the better part of the evening, as you followed them through London streets and around a magic shop, picking pieces of rubble and dusting traces of the explosion from their backs and shoulders. The bomb had shaken you to your core despite being miles away when it had happened, tucked away safely in the passenger seat of the Bentley.

“Crowley,” you had said as your demon had parked his car between the shadows of two tall, sturdy buildings that still stood against the smoke and destruction of the bombs. “What are we doing here? There’s still planes overhead.”

“Just sit tight for a minute, love,” he’d replied before climbing from the Bentley. “It seems our angel’s got himself in a heap of mess.”

The explosion had rocked the ancient church in the distance like a match igniting a stick of dynamite; fast, and hot, and loud. You waited so long you considered getting out and running to search the site for your lovers before they had come strolling around the corner through the dark, dusting themselves off and murmuring quietly beneath their breaths.

“Aziraphale,” you had said when you climbed from the car to greet them. “What on earth have you done?”

“Good evening to you, as well, my darling,” he had said, then lifted your hand and placed a loving kiss upon your knuckles. “Just got myself a bit caught up. Nothing to worry your head over.”

Crowley had harrumphed slightly as he dropped himself into the driver’s seat once more. “Get in, you two. I’ve got an appointment to keep.”

An appointment had led to forty broken bottles of whiskey. Forty broken bottles of whiskey had led to Aziraphale becoming a magician, and that had led to buying a very real rifle with very real bullets. And the rifle, and the bullets, and the broken bottles of whiskey, and everything else had led to you finding yourself here behind this changing screen, examining the costume of a magician’s assistant who, really, was only there to look pretty and smile when the light panned over her.

Crowley had told you it would be a bit of fun, was all. Aziraphale had assured you no real harm would be done.

Had you not loved them both more than you needed air to breathe, you might have considered saying no, begging your angel to not get up on that stage, dropping to your knees and begging your demon to miracle up a few more bottles of liquor to make up for the whole thing.

But, oh… you loved them far too much.

“Are you about settled, my darling?” came Aziraphale’s voice from deeper in the cramped little dressing room. “It’s ten ‘til, and I would rather not further anger the madame of the theater any more than necessary.”

“She’s a loony old bat,” came Crowley’s quip. “A few minutes won’t hurt her.”

You took one last look down at yourself - at the feathered headband in your grip; the exposed tops of your legs and the plump ‘V’ of your upper thighs that led to their apex just covered by the elastic; the heels that glittered in the dim light; the curves of your breasts, just barely held in place by the haltered neckline of the costume. You looked ridiculous.

With a long, deep breath you felt in your sternum, you placed a hand on the edge of the changing screen. “Don’t you boys poke your fun at me,” you warned them. “I know how I look, I don’t need you both reminding me.”

You pulled back the screen and stepped out, avoiding their eyes as you fiddled with the headband. You expected Crowley to bark out bouts of laughter, for Aziraphale to politely cover his mouth and look away to hide the rosiness of his cheeks as he held back a few giggles. But there came none of that. Instead, you were only met with silence. Hesitantly, you glanced up to meet their gazes.

Crowley and Aziraphale, for once in their eternal lives, looked rather lost for words. You didn’t take too many moments to soak in the way the demon tilted down his shades so he could peer those yellow eyes over the rims, nor how the angel’s back had gone stiff and he clutched his magician’s hat to his chest so tightly his knuckles paled. Instead of entertaining their amusement, you scoffed and clicked over to the vanity illuminated with golden bulbs; funny. Almost all the Watson bulbs had been grinded down for the war efforts. You supposed the West End had a bit of advantage in their supply when it came to things like glass and elastic.

“Yes, yes, gape all you want,” you snipped as you leaned forward to examine your reflection in the mirror; Christ almighty, you looked like a common slut. “Neither of you know how humiliating this is.”

At once, your angel jumped into action. “No, dearest,” he said as he came to stand beside you at the vanity, gently discarding his hat on the countertop. “We’re not poking fun at you, not in the slightest. We’re… well, you simply look…”

You eyed him from the corner of your vision.

“Incredibly doable,” came Crowley’s pitch from where he’d spread himself across the old couch tucked against the wall.

Aziraphale sent him a rather stern glance as you felt your chest drop slightly into your belly. You fixed your reflection with another stare. You looked like a prostitute, all your private planes and surfaces on display for everyone who even glanced in your direction. There was hardly a chance they enjoyed seeing their girl pimped up like this; was there?

“What he’s attempting to say,” said your angel as he reached out a soft, well-manicured hand and rested it respectfully on the middle of your back, “is, well… you do look rather ravishing, is all.”

“Oh, stop it, the both of you. You’re being mean.” Shouldering off his touch, you reached for a bit of the lipstick resting against the vanity and tried to stop your hands from trembling as you pulled off the cap and screwed it up. In all honesty, it still flustered you a bit when they showered you in affection; which they did often. How was it possible that an angel and a demon, in love themselves, who had seen the beginning of the earth and all the beautiful men and women in it, had fallen for you, a mortal, a little bit of soul within this planet full of it?

It didn’t quite make sense to you, but in the moments like these, when you felt yourself growing weak against their words, you cast the thought aside and let sense run rampant.

“After all this time, and you still don’t believe us when we say something nice?” clicked Crowley, reaching up to take the brim of his hat and rest it on the arm of the couch. He tilted his head at you in the reflection of the mirror, his gaze just out of sight behind his shades. “Come here.”

You looked to Aziraphale before blinking a few times, smearing your third layer of lipstick across your mouth. “The show will start soon,” you heard yourself say hesitantly. “I have to go out and announce him to the audience before…”

“Come here.”

Your demon’s sudden drop in tone sent a pang of both anxiety and arousal racing through you like fire dancing along your veins. You set down the tube of lipstick, hearing it clatter slightly from the shaking of your hand, and twisted around on your ridiculous heels to face him. He sat there on the couch, legs spread like he owned the world and arms stretched across the back of the seats like he was waiting for his two favorite people to arrive at his sides. He waited chin held high, finger tapping impatiently on the back. Aziraphale said nothing as you trailed from his side and approached the demon; when he spoke like this, it affected the both of you in the same way.

Crowley adjusted his legs when you came to him, allowing you to tentatively straddle his thighs until your hips were flush against his. A look back in the mirror told you your ass was hanging out of your skimpy little get-up, the leotard-like shape doing nothing to protect your modesty. Aziraphale seemed to be enjoying it quite nicely. You felt long, slender fingers touch your chin and guide your vision back to your demon. With his other hand, he reached up and pulled off his shades so that he could meet your gaze, yellow, slitted eyes boring into yours.

“You really ought to start taking our word for things, love,” Crowley said, and you shivered when his voice retained its deep baritone that only saw the light when there were two things at hand; imminent danger, and the promise of depravity. “‘Cause when we say you look good…” He leaned forward until his thin lips were level with the shell of your ear, his breath fanning across your skin. “We bloody well mean it.”

His hips shallowly bucked up into yours then and the rough material of his trousers rubbed at your clit perfectly through the thin elastic of your costume. You were unable to keep a soft, breathy murmur from escaping your lips at the sudden jolt of feeling, your hands flying up to balance yourself on his broad shoulders.

Behind you, you heard Aziraphale take in a small breath at the sight. He nervously shuffled his weight on his feet, glancing to the door that led to the stage. “Crowley,” he said in what should have been a warning, but it was far too soft to be taken seriously. “Now is… now is certainly not a good time for this.”

Crowley pulled another sound from you, this time a moan, when he held your hips in place and bucked again. “Well, it’s like I said,” he replied, tilting his head so he could look up at you as your hair fell into your face and your eyes began to roll back. “A few minutes won’t hurt them.” The corners of his mouth twitched upwards. “Besides, our girl’s nervous. Come and lend a hand, calm her a bit. You know how she likes it.”

You felt your face flush with heat from embarrassment, but you were slowly losing your will to care as Crowley leaned down to attach his lips to the base of your throat. His forked tongue laved across your skin like he was trying to memorize your taste, teeth nipping and fingers tightening around your waist. You were hardly able to notice when a second weight dipped the couch beside him, and your demon patted your thigh to get you to move. You knew just what to do; you always did. Feeling yourself beginning to grow slick between your legs, most assuredly ruining the gusset of this ridiculous outfit, you swung your legs over to kneel across both Crowley and Aziraphale’s thighs, which were pressed together where they sat so close not an inch of light could have separated them.

Aziraphale’s warm hand reached out to gently cup your chin, his thumb brushing lovingly across your jaw. “Forgive our earlier stutter, my darling,” he said, then leaned forward to press his plump lips to the point where your clavicle dipped. “I assume by now you know the effect you have on us.” He kissed you again, this time upon your bare shoulder. “Especially when you present yourself in such an outfit.”

Just a sigh escaped your lips, Crowley’s finger ran along your side, pulling a short yip from your throat that he quickly swallowed by fitting his mouth over yours. From there, they moved like they shared one mind, like they knew you inside and out because, really, they did.

The couch creaked quietly as Crowley dragged your barely-clothed cunt over their thighs, earning them a drawn-out moan like a symphony to their ears, and Aziraphale’s grip came up to hold the back of your neck steady as he pressed kiss after kiss to anywhere he could reach; your throat; your chest; your shoulder; your arm. They moved you about like their own little doll, so familiar and fine tuned with your reactions they knew they would happen before they did. Sparks erupted like flint on stone within the pit of your belly when, eventually, Crowley pulled you forward at a slightly new angle and your clit caught wonderfully upon a hitch in Aziraphale’s trousers. You tilted your head back and released a long moan, barely able to keep yourself up when you were suddenly worked to hit that spot over and over again.

“Ah…!” you mewled as Aziraphale nipped ever so softly at the exposed skin of your shoulder. Your arms trembled as you struggled to keep your hold on their shoulders. “Oh, right there, boys, right there. Keep going, please don’t stop…!”

Crowley’s lips tilted up into a crooked smirk, slitted eyes drinking you in like a forbidden liquor he’d been dying for since he first heard of it. “I hardly think you need to go out there at all, angel,” he said to Aziraphale beside him. “We’ve got our own show right here.”

You worked your hips along with Crowley’s push and pull, offering more and more of your skin to your angel for him to mark and lavish, feeling yourself approach that cliff they so loved to drag you off again and again. You never feared the fall; you knew they would always be waiting to catch you before you hit the bottom.

Small, whimpered noises escaped your throat as you chased your released upon their thighs, your clit rubbing and catching perfectly against their trousers like this was exactly what they were made for. Lips were showering your skin with love and affection. Hands were anchored securely to your waist. You were held so intensely, so beautifully, that it only took a few words from the tip of Crowley’s tongue to send you reeling toward your end.

“Come on and sin for us, love.”

Your orgasm came hard and fast, racking your body with trembles and twitches you couldn’t control, with bursts of color in your vision like fireworks, like guns firing off beside your ears with smoke that would blind you for days. You felt your release stain the fabric of their pants, and it was the last thing you really minded before all but collapsing against the pair. Hands, arms, mouths caught you securely, rubbing along your back, holding you tight, gently kissing along your face. You felt them pull away for just a moment to meet each other for a deep, passionate kiss before returning to smothering you with adoration.

It was an idyllic few seconds, the quiet that came after an explosion of a moment such as that, before there came a sharp, rattling knock against the dressing room door. “Pick up the pace, Mister Fell,” came the voice of the madame of the theater. “We’ve got an audience waiting, and the war’s not getting any better these days!”

You groaned softly, nestling your face into Aziraphale’s neck as he stroked your hair and called in return, “Ah, yes, of course. We’ll be right out!”

You wanted nothing more than to not go up on the damned West End stage, to smile and twist in your glittery costume and tease the soldiers in the audience like you hadn’t just gotten your world rocked within an inch of your life. And yet… everything came to an end. You whimpered again when your angel gently shifted you off of him, placing you temporarily in Crowley’s hold, before getting to his feet and gently snapping his fingers. You felt the dampness across your demon’s thigh fade into nothingness, along with the slick between your legs. Your hair righted itself to its former do, and the smudged lipstick across your mouth was once more perfected. When you lifted your head, however, you noticed Crowley had elected to keep the messy imprint of your lips across the corner of his mouth.

He noticed you looking and gave you a sly, crooked grin. “I like to wear my trophies,” he said before pulling your head close and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Come along now, gorgeous. Don’t want to keep the fans waiting.”

Shakily, you got to your feet, struggling momentarily to stand on your heels. While your heart slowed its racing pulse and the heat gently ebbed from your cheeks, Aziraphale lifted your feathered headband from before and tucked it securely over your hair.

“There’s our darling,” he murmured, smiled softly down at you, then tilted up your chin to press a light, though nonetheless loving kiss upon your swollen lips. “Are you ready?”

You took a breath, straightened yourself out, and nodded your head. “I am now, I think,” you replied.

“Perfect,” said your angel. “Because I’ve got a bullet to catch.”

[omens-for-ophelia]

"Good boy..."

Crowley isn't 'Good', and he isn't a 'Boy' (so to speak), but somehow, when Aziraphale gives a pleased little hum and threads his fingers idly through crimson curls with promise, he really, really wants to be.

Safe, sane and lovingly consensual play for our favourite disaster puppy, featuring non-explicit nudity and dom/sub overtones.

Little clumsy drabble & full art below the cut:

Even as his demon sits sweetly at his feet, the expression in those golden eyes does not beg permission nor plead for relief. Rather, like they always have, they watch him with curious and patient intensity, and wait to take whatever would be given. Aziraphale throws a glance up towards the windows of the bookshop, and the heavy curtains dutifully swing themselves across the windows, shutting out any unwanted passers by. This isn't for anyone but the two of them tonight.

The hum in Aziraphale's throat deepens by an octave. He spreads his thighs wider in his armchair, carefully removing his tidy reading spectacles to set them beside his long-abandoned teacup, threading one hand deep into Crowley's curls. He moves the other hand to lovingly trace across his lower lip.

"You've behaved so well today..." The words sigh out of him with a smile. He continues to circle his neatly manicured fingertips over Crowley's red, open mouth, shivering when a forked tongue flicks out cheekily to taste him. When resistance wavers and that snaking tongue coils wicked and wet around his finger; when Crowley eagerly leans forward to take him deeper into the warmth of his mouth, Aziraphale's hold on his hair curls into a fist and tugs, forcing him to bare his long, lovely throat.

The once-patient look in Crowley's eyes is gone now - replaced with something both desperately starving and incandescently alive. The angel gives a slow, satisfied smirk.

"Ah ah - don't be greedy now, there's a good boy... I'll give you what you need. I promise."

tagging @ineffabildaddy & @foolishlovers ❤️

[infernal-scales]

❝ OH, do you not? You seemed to be roamin' 'round plenty earlier, what with you touching 'n smellin' everything you saw like that acid tree... ❞

It's said with a wide, unblinking gaze as the angel cleans their wing off, head tilting to the side as they watch the other's movements with a twitching smile. A dove pecking away at an ant on the snake's back, unaware or, perhaps, unconcern, it was within STRIKING DISTANCE.

A sharp intake of breath breaks their staring with a blink, and Crawley brushes their shoulders together as they walk past. Turning on a heel to face Aziraphale again, they gesture to the paradise behind them.

❝ Well, I can SHOW YOU AROUND if you'd like? Have you dipped your feet in the pond yet? Bit chilly for me, but I do run HOT. ❞

AZIRAPHALE SCANS CRAWLEY up and down with a single gaze. And then another, just for good measure. Deeming the demon's intentions honest ( for now ), his hands fall back to his sides, and he shrugs.

❝ EARTH, ❞ Aziraphale replies quite literally. ❝ It's entirely new for all of us. ❞

His eyes flit up to the tree branches, and a reflexive smile spreads across his lips at the sight of the apple blossoms. More tantalizing than anything he's ever seen in Heaven.

❝ Have you had the opportunity to explore? ❞ He returns his attention to Crawley, reaching over to brush a few stray leaves and petals from the top of a disheveled wing with the feathers of his own. ❝ Surely as a demon you get more FREE RANGE to roam. ❞