#except i guess the possibility that aziraphale might smile at him on the street and start the plan early

[holycatsandrabbits]

#ButterOmens submission!

ButterOmens explained

For future works: no max word count, all types of fanwork welcome! 

Snow Angel

Crowley knew the angel was gone. He knew it outside on the street. He knew it inside the burning bookshop. He would know it forever. But it wasn’t just the sense of loss that made him sob there, on the floor, in the flames. It was the thought of what Aziraphale had faced at the end. Had he been scared? Had it hurt? Had he wished for Crowley to save him, the way Crowley always had before? Imagining Aziraphale being alone at that moment was worse than Crowley being alone now himself.

It was hot in the burning shop, and the smoke made it hard to breathe. It was hot—and then slowly, in a oddly soft, sort of breezy way, it wasn’t. Crowley looked up and a falling snowflake lighted on his eyelash. Crowley had lost his sunglasses a while ago, and he wasn’t sure how long it had been since he’d had them off in a snowfall and had caught a snowflake just there. Another snowflake landed on his nose, and he watched them fall, filtering through the smoke, down over the flames of the shop. They should have melted. Everything was burning, books, tables, chairs, wine, everything except the snowflakes. They fell gently, and where they came to rest, they doused the flames.

They weren’t made of holy water—they were as harmless against Crowley’s skin as regular snow—but they were obviously angelic in origin. Crowley could feel that, he could see it in the way the clearing smoke revealed a soft white glow in the air, an ethereal aura. It grew brighter, until Crowley knew what was coming. He wasn’t surprised to see Aziraphale walking through the burning shop, glowing brightly, and so very, blessedly cold in the middle of the fire. The last of the flames winked out as he passed, his bare feet taking measured steps across the floor, white robe trailing behind him, swishing in the gathering snow. His wings had a glittering look to them, like they might be made of ice crystals.

Crowley pulled up his legs and rested his head on his knees, looking at the angel sideways. Even with the new perspective, Aziraphale remained.

“Did I crack finally?” Crowley asked. “My nightmares can’t even hold together anymore? Guess I don’t care, if you’re in this dream now.”

Aziraphale looked worried and compassionate and sad. “Let’s not stay here, my dear,” he said softly, holding out his hand. “Care for a walk in the park?”

Crowley shrugged, but he stood up and took Aziraphale’s hand. The angel’s skin felt soft and cold against Crowley’s heated fingers. Their next steps were on the path at St. James Park, and the snow fell down around them even faster now.

“Oh, you look better already,” Aziraphale said with a pleased smile. “Here, darling, let me see to you.” He waved a hand and Crowley found himself in clean clothes with no holes burned in them, light fabric that hardly protected him from the welcome cold of the snow. He still had no sunglasses, and snowflakes landed on his eyelashes again. Aziraphale twined their fingers together more tightly and leaned his head on Crowley’s shoulder. His left wing curled around Crowley, a physical representation of the angelic aura that was completely surrounding him.

They walked for a few minutes, and Crowley felt himself gradually calm. His breathing slowed and his steps grew more sure, black boots on the snowy path beside Aziraphale’s bare feet. Crowley’s heart kept racing, of course, but what else could it possibly do when Aziraphale was holding his hand?

All was well until Aziraphale gave him an adorably hopeful look and said, “Darling, do you think you’re ready to wake up now?”

Crowley missed a step and stumbled, nearly tramping on Aziraphale’s foot. He tightened his grip on the angel’s hand. “I’m not leaving,” Crowley said forcefully. “If you’re here, I’m not leaving. I’m going to sleep for the next century.”

Aziraphale looked amused. “Oh, I’d rather you didn’t, my dear. I’d miss you terribly.”

Crowley wavered a little, and Aziraphale reached out his other hand to steady him. “Aziraphale?” Crowley breathed. “Are you actually here? In my dream?”

“For the moment, yes. But I’m afraid that I need to open the shop shortly, so—”

Blackness washed over Crowley’s eyes. “Don’t leave.”

Aziraphale frowned in concern, but he also looked determined, and as strong as Crowley had ever seen him. “Let’s try something,” Aziraphale said. “Can you feel me holding your hand?”

Crowley looked down at where their fingers were clasped together. “Yeah.”

“All right. Now do something for me, dear. Let go.” To say that Crowley didn’t want to do that was a terrible understatement, but it was difficult for him to deny Aziraphale when he—well, it was difficult for him to deny Aziraphale anything ever, really. It was clear which one of them was the better tempter. Reluctantly, Crowley let the angel pull away.

“Now,” Aziraphale said softly, “can you still feel me there?”

“I—” Crowley looked down at his empty hand. Somehow, he didn’t feel the wind against his skin, and the falling snow diverted around his fingers as if something was in its way. There was the faintest feeling of Aziraphale’s hand still caught up with his.

“I’m holding your hand in the waking world,” Aziraphale told him. Crowley met his eyes in confusion and Aziraphale smiled at him. “I know you only trust one person, Crowley, but it’s me. I won’t lead you astray. Wake up into my arms, darling. Please.”

Despite his terror, Crowley closed his eyes and felt himself jump, throwing away the dream, the vision of Aziraphale as a sparkling creature of blessed cold and ice, leaping into the unknown and not sure if he’d be caught.

When he opened his eyes, Aziraphale was still there. Crowley’s entire body was folded up on the angel’s lap, with Aziraphale’s arms and wings wrapped around him.

“Welcome back,” Aziraphale said, with a very relieved smile. 

Crowley took a couple of shuddering breaths, and Aziraphale soothed him through them, rubbing a hand against his back. 

“Guess I was the one to leave this time,” Crowley whispered, weary and almost ashamed.

Aziraphale kissed him softly, on the lips and then on the forehead. “Doesn’t matter, darling. Wherever you are, I’ll come to you.”

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

*Crosses her fingers and hopes someone will draw Snow-angel!Aziraphale in the burning bookshop*

Thanks to @n0nb1narydemon and @acuteangleaziraphale for coming up with ButterOmens!

Find this work on Ao3

[sushiandstarlight]

I’ll Meet You Where You Are

Read this story on AO3

For @wordsintimeandspace​ and all of my ace readers.  Happy Pride!

“I would really like to hold your hand.”

The drive back from the Ritz had been silent until now, Crowley driving more carefully than usual.  Aziraphale really hadn’t given it much thought, despite the odd occurrence of being able to have thoughts other than that of pure terror for once in the car.  He made to respond, but Crowley cut him off.

“Neh, just- just let me say this, okay?”  Crowley’s long fingers were gripping the wheel, skin white at the knuckles, nails digging into his own palms around the wheel.

“Okay, say your piece.”  Aziraphale turned back to stare out the windshield, hoping to take some of the pressure off by not looking directly at him.

“I want to hold your hand,” Crowley started again, “and I think you’d be okay with that, right?”

Aziraphale nodded, clenching his own hands in his lap.

“It’s jussst, well I-,” Crowley huffed and swallowed hard before trying again, “I’m not sure I want more than that.  For- for now.”

“May I say something?” Aziraphale asked as quietly as possible, giving the demon beside him a once over and noticing that he was trembling ever so slightly.  Maybe someone else might not have noticed it, but he had a long study of Crowley behavior.

Crowley nodded jerkily and, unfathomably, slowed the car down more.  They were nearly going the speed limit now.

“I would like to hold your hand, dearest.  And that would be plenty enough for me.  The rest, I assume you mean... holding one another? Kissing? ... sex?”  He watched Crowley carefully for his reaction to these words and each one in turn sped up the trembling, “I’m not saying this to add pressure, I promise.  I think it’s best we speak plainly so we know where the boundaries are.”

“Humans,” Crowley wheezed the word, not so much in disgust but in anxiety, “Angel, they expect things.  They think one thing leads to another and everyone knows the steps.  I never... wanted.  I just wanted to be close to someone.”  He shut his mouth with a click, his lips going flat in frustration.

Aziraphale let the silence stretch, giving him space to collect his thoughts.  He’d had plenty of experience with Crowley’s wildly careening thoughts.  Sometimes he needed time to gather them back together before he spoke.

“I need you to understand,” Crowley continued eventually, voice quiet and forcefully even, “that I don’t have these... feelings... for anyone else.  I never have.  And really, if anything, I’ve been repulsed by the very idea.  Every time I reached out for a human, I got more than I bargained for.  Except, well, except the children.”

They had made it to the bookshop now and Crowley pulled into the spot that was always miraculously free across the street, cutting the engine.

“I guess what I want to know is what you’d expect,” he was still staring out the window, face unreadable behind his sunglasses, “I want to give you what you expect because you deserve it.  Because I-I love you.”

“Can I hold your hand now?  Since we’ve stopped?”  Aziraphale offered his hand, palm up in the seat between them and after a moment Crowley slid his fingers between the Angel’s.  Aziraphale squeezed gently and Crowley squeezed back, a small smile turning his lips up, even as they wobbled.  “I hope you know that I love you, too.”

Color rose up Crowley’s neck and into his cheeks before he turned to face his window to hide it.

“And part of loving someone is taking care of them, right?  I mean, I kept us in this... ambiguous... space for all this time.  I am- I can’t tell you- very sorry for that.  But, you are what I want, darling.  What ever we are.  How ever we are.  If what we’ve been and this,” Aziraphale lifted their joined hands, “is what we are until the real end of the world... then it’s more than enough for me.”

Crowley didn’t say anything but he squeezed his hand.

“Where ever you lead, I’ll follow.  Where ever you are, that’s where I want to be.  And how ever far you want to take this, I’ll meet you there.  Even if we do try for more, you can always ask to stop.  Loving you means I want you to be comfortable with who we are, too.  I want you to feel safe with me.”

“You’ve always been my safe place, Aziraphale,” Crowley’s throat worked noisily in the quiet of the car for several long moments, “That’s why this is so frightening.  I have wanted this for so long, but all the same... I’m scared.  I don’t want to mess it up... by being a mess.”

“You’re not a mess.”

“A bit of a mess.”

“Fine, you’re my mess, then.”

Crowley chuckled and sniffled.

“The most important part is that we know we love one another.  The rest... we can sort that out as we go, yes?  We can do that part together from now on.”

“That sounds good,” Crowley nodded, finally looking at him.  Aziraphale lifted his hand to touch his cheek but paused.

“This okay?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m trusting you to tell me if it’s not.”

“It’s okay, Angel.”

Aziraphale caressed his cheek gently and watched as Crowley pressed his face into his hand.

“I am honored by your trust, my love.”

“Hmm...”

“Why don’t we go inside?  I think I’ve just come into possession of a bottle of wine the same vintage that we had over dinner.”

“Sounds good to me, let’s go,” Crowley took his sunglasses off and popped them into the dash.  The yellow was just now fading back to just his human-like irises when he smiled at Aziraphale, “I suppose I’ll have to let go of your first, though.  Bit addictive now that I’ve tried it, not gonna lie.”  He released Aziraphale’s hand and got out of the car.  

As soon as he opened the Angel’s door, he offered his hand again and they walked to the shop, joined.

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

What Might Have Been - 8

My ongoing fic for @goodomenscelebration. Crowley has arrived in the post-Apocalypse wasteland, searching for Aziraphale. Angst and destruction ahead.

Parts 1-6 here.

Part 7 here (despite what the lying title might say)

Family

Crowley couldn’t sense Aziraphale.

Or rather, he could sense Aziraphale, knew he was somewhere in the world, but that was as far as he knew. Not the direction, nor the distance, nor anything else.

He circled over the V-cut valley of Devil’s Dyke, looking for anything familiar. Looking for anything alive.

Those cliffs to the left looked like the ones they had chosen for their home, but there was no cottage, no garden, no little copse of trees sheltering it from view. The landscape had been scraped clean to the bright-white stone underneath.

He circled again, over a lake of fire, another frozen but sublimating, like dry ice. A river of sludge that seemed to run uphill. White bones of animals that never lived in this part of the world, looking far too large to be allowed.

Another circle, further out. Over there – the village of Ditchling. Aziraphale dragged him down there for tea at that little café twice a week. He liked to walk down the main street and wave to the humans as if he’d lived among them for decades.

No one lived there now.

With a flutter of black wings, Crowley came to rest at the traffic circle in the center of the village. To one side, that bakery where Aziraphale liked to browse cakes and bottles of wine, windows smashed, shelves bare; to the other, the old Post Office building, which looked as if it had been torn apart from the inside out. What little remained of the brick walls were black with soot.

One whole side of the village was just gone, foundations still smoldering: the little shop where they bought vegetables whenever Aziraphale got it in his mind to try cooking dinner, the jewelers where they would look at rings, had been looking for months, still hadn’t made a decision because Aziraphale needed Crowley’s to be perfect.

Just past the bakery was a little plant shop, which had fared no better. Little pots and planters – once brightly colored, now chipped and faded – held the brown, withered remains of plants. He touched one, and it fell to dust between his fingers. Nothing could survive here.

Except, in the back, he thought he saw a bit of green. Stepping carefully through the shattered window, Crowley moved through the shop to a corner that got little light, but also shielded its plants from whatever happened on the street. And there it was: a tall succulent, most of its green waxy leaves already turned yellow and fallen off, but a few still clinging to life. He tugged at one, and it was still springy, still a little soft.

“Well. I don’t know how you survived this long, but a little water and you might make it.” He picked up the pot. “Doubt we’ll find any. But let’s see what we can do.”

He was easing back through the window and happened to glance back towards the traffic circle –

Something – someone – darted across the street.

Crowley hunched, pulling his wings out again, clutching his plant close, ready to flee. Aziraphale? Probably not; if the angel were that close, no chance his sense would be so confused. Someone else.

He could run, of course, fly away. He was here to find Aziraphale, and nothing else. He would find his angel, take him home, rescue their lovely home from the Archangels, and never think of this place again.

Except…

Except he was here now, and he didn’t know what was going on.

Crowley hated not knowing what was going on.

And the best way to find out was to ask someone.

With one last brimstone-scented breath, Crowley started towards the figure.

By the time he’d rounded to corner, it was empty again – just a long stretch of road, past the little café with the garden in the back, the inn, the church. It was too silent. Wind whistled over broken glass, but that was all. No rustle of paper, no skitter of feet, no birds, no insects. With the sky dark and scabbed over, he couldn’t even tell what time of day or night it was. The world seemed paused, frozen, holding its breath.

A foot scuffed.

Crowley pressed himself to the side of the inn, wings hidden. Something was just around the corner, perhaps in the parking lot. He set the plant down in the window box, among the decaying remains of its kin, and pressed himself to the wall, trying to look without being seen. It didn’t work, though, not only because his glasses got in the way.

“Right,” he whispered to himself. Could be a demon. Or an angel. Or…anything. Be ready to look and run. He had enough energy for one more form shift today, and a rat could very easily get lost in the ruins.

Snapping around the corner, Crowley found the other being was also pressed tight to the wall, trying to peer without being seen. Almost as tall as Crowley, dressed all in black, with short blond hair, just a hint of curl. The boy looked at him with wide – and very familiar – eyes.

“Adam?” Crowley took a step forward.

Mistake. Crowley was, immediately and without passing through any intermediate space, on the roof of the church across the street. He skittered for a second, trying to keep his balance on the impossibly steep pitch, but the building was in ruins, the consecration weakened to the point that he could barely feel it at all.

“Go away! Leave me alone!” The boy shouted, already backing up the street. “I won’t do it any longer, you hear me? I mean it this time! I want – I want to be left alone!”

“Adam, wait!” He shook out his wings again, jumping after the boy. There was no mistaking him, of course – the powers were a giveaway, but he looked almost exactly like the young boy he and Aziraphale had visited in Tadfield only a month ago. Except that Adam had been full of smirks and slouches and bad jokes, trying to convince Crowley to let him drive the Bentley just once around town, no one’ll know but me and Dog. Explaining his idea for a new ice cream flavor even the Americans hadn’t thought of yet. Laughing when Aziraphale asked him if it was possible to get a rotary smartphone.

This Adam stood ramrod straight, body shifting back to attention every time he stopped moving. Older, he seemed, stronger for certain, with a calculating look that took in everything. His eyes darted now, as he frowned, hiding a fear Crowley had never seen in him, not even at the Airbase three years ago.

But it was still him. Still his godson.

“Adam,” he tried again, softening his voice, holding his hands to the sides. “Do you know who I am?”

“Yeah,” he bunched his fists. “A demon. Think I don’t know? You might not be dressed for battle, but it’s obvious. Well, back off, or I’ll put you inside the church next time. I can, you know.” His lip trembled. “And I’m – I’m not going to fight again. I don’t – don’t care what you lot do to me, I’m not –”

“No.” Crowley took another step forward. “I’m not going to hurt you, Adam. You should be able to see that. In my mind.”

“Not looking in a demon’s mind,” Adam snapped. “Not after last time. You keep your nasty – everything to yourself.” He glanced over his shoulder, as if planning to run. But it was a long way to the next town, with bugger-all in between. “Why d’you keep calling me that, anyway?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Crowley adjusted his glasses, almost pulling them off. Would it make the kid more comfortable, or less? “Isn’t that your name?”

The sullen shrug was almost something the real Adam would have done, except without the little smile that always followed it. “I guess. No one’s called me that since…” he waved a hand, taking in everything.

“What happened, Adam?” A Tudor house had stood nearby, white plaster and ornate stickwork, with a brick section said to date back a thousand years. All gone now, except a set of brick steps, rising ten feet to open out onto empty air. Crowley sprawled against the side of it. “To England? To you?”

“Armageddon,” he snapped. Well. That was fairly obvious.

“You didn’t stop it?”

“Stop it? I started it!” He clenched his jaw, face twisting in pain. Both hands pressed to his forehead. “I didn’t mean to. The voices…they get so loud. Until I can’t think. Until I don’t want to think.” He looked up again, tears in his eyes. “I know – we both know they’ll make me go back. Just. Let me have until then. Just a few days.” Genuine pleading, the kind that only comes from real fear.

“Go back where? Tell me what’s going on.”

“Go back to your – your stupid war! I don’t want to fight, I don’t want to destroy angels, I don’t want to kill two billion humans, and I don’t want to declare myself God! I just…I want…” He bit his lip, stepping back, as if expecting to be hit.

“What?” Crowley slid down the wall to crouch just above the ground. That all sounded familiar, something from the books of prophecy Aziraphale had never stopped reading. But all that could wait. “What is it you want, Adam?”

The boy leaned against the brick stairs, and arm length away, and slid slowly down until he was in a crouch of his own. “I want…I want to go home. I miss my mum and dad. Your lot made me send them away, at the first battle.” He shrugged. “Not that they cared about me.”

“Ugh,” Crowley cracked his head against the wall. He did not come out here planning to deal with teenaged self-esteem issues. “Adam. Look. We both know the only reason your parents went away is because you compelled them. For Someone’s sake, I’ve met them. There’s no way they don’t care about you.”

Adam frowned in confusion. “How do you know my parents?”

“Ehhhhh…long story.” Crowley smirked. “You could save us both a lot of time, just read it from my head? No?” He shrugged. “Then you’re just going to have to trust me. I’ve met your parents. And I can tell you, it’s absolutely disgusting how attached to you they are.”

Adam snorted. “I think you’ve got the wrong parents, mate. Mine didn’t need to be brainwashed to take off back to America without me.”

Crowley stared ahead.

Then he turned to Adam, ripping his glasses off. “Did you say America? Did you – back to America?”

“Yeah.” Adam shrugged. “Thought you said you knew.”

Crowley wrestled with a sudden feeling of unease. Somehow, in an Apocalypse-torn wasteland version of the home he’d built, he’d found something that could make it worse. “What’s…tell me your full name. Full human name. What your parents called you.”

“Well, my mum called me Adam,” he said slowly, “but my full name was Warlock Adam Thaddeus Dowling.”

--

(Note for clarity: This is Adam. In this universe, the switch didn’t go wrong, he was raised by the Dowlings, and I compromised a bit on the name to what I hoped would be least confusing. I also tried to make his personality partway between Adam and Warlock, thanks to those Dowling influences. He’s 14 here.)

[wordsintimeandspace]

Better With You (3/6)

Due to a petty feud between their respective department heads, Crowley and Aziraphale have been hiding their friendship for months. When they’re suddenly stuck in lockdown amidst a pandemic, Crowley is not coping well. Thankfully, Aziraphale is there for him - but their changing relationship means that keeping secrets from their bosses only becomes more of a challenge.

Crowley/Aziraphale, rated M (for chapter 4). Read on tumblr or AO3.

Crowley knew that doing ninety miles an hour in central London was probably a bad idea and would only get him a scolding from Aziraphale, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. The streets were deserted anyway as he sped towards Soho. With screeching tires, he finally came to a stop in front of Aziraphale’s place.

He miraculously found a parking spot not too far away, grabbed his bag from the back seat and hurried towards the entrance. He’d thrown together some clothes, toiletries and work things before he left, enough to hunker down with Aziraphale for a while. Hopefully long enough until the worst was over. Crowley’s heart pounded in his chest as he rang the bell. He vaguely noticed how his hands were shaking. It felt like he’d just ran a marathon, his body trembling under the strain, but Crowley pushed through it as Aziraphale buzzed him in and Crowley sprinted up the stairs.

Aziraphale was waiting for him when he reached his floor. He was standing in the door, the light from his hallway illuminating him from behind in a way that made his soft white hair look almost like a halo. Crowley’s breath caught in his throat. Aziraphale looked like an angel, and Crowley had never wanted to fall to his knees in front of him any more than he did now.

Aziraphale’s lips were curled into such a tender smile that it made Crowley’s heart clench, but the smile slipped away as soon as Aziraphale took him in properly.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale started with a frown. “My dear, you look awful.”

Crowley scoffed, still standing at the top of the stairs. Suddenly he was self-conscious, unsure if he should come closer, although every single muscle in his body seemed to quiver under the strain of standing still instead of launching himself at Aziraphale. “Thanks,” he finally muttered. “That’s why I came here, just for the ego boost.”

Aziraphale let out a huff. “That’s not what I mean, you’re still handsome as ever. It’s just… oh, Crowley, please come here.” Aziraphale stepped forward, opening his arms for Crowley, and the last bit of Crowley’s self restraint snapped.

He dropped his bag at once and leaped forward to throw his arms around Aziraphale’s neck. Aziraphale answered without hesitation, wrapping his arms around Crowley’s waist. He held him close, both gently as if he was the most precious thing in the world and firmly as if he never wanted to let go. Crowley let out a shuddering breath, hiding his face in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck as he blinked against the tears burning in his eyes.

“It’s alright,” Aziraphale whispered in his ear, soft and sweet. “You’re alright, my darling. I’ve got you.”

Crowley desperately tried to stifle the sob that rose in his throat, but it was like a dam had cracked open, the exact same thing that had been gathering fissures for the last few weeks now. Each of Aziraphale’s hushed whispers punched just another hole into it, yanked just another sob out of his chest. Crowley couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down his cheeks any longer. Aziraphale just continued to hold him, soothingly rubbing his back and whispering words of comfort into his ear.

Crowley was only vaguely aware that Aziraphale steered them into his flat, without ever easing his grip. As soon as they made it to the living room Aziraphale sat down on the couch and pulled Crowley into his lap. Crowley followed willingly, curling up against Aziraphale’s chest, letting himself be held until finally the sobs died down. The utter despair he had felt previously was numbed for now, replaced by a fragile calm and a growing feeling of embarrassment. Crowley sniffled one more time, his nose still buried in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck. He didn’t feel up to facing him just yet. But if Aziraphale was bothered by his sudden breakdown he didn’t show it. His ministrations never ceased. He still stroked Crowley’s back and the nape of his neck, occasionally pressing a kiss to the top of Crowley’s head.

“‘M sorry,” Crowley finally croaked when he felt like he couldn’t escape reality any longer.

“Don’t be,” Aziraphale protested. “You have nothing to be sorry about.”

“Might have ruined your shirt though. Bet it’s all gross now.”

Aziraphale tutted. “Nonsense. And even if you did, it’s hardly more important than you are.”

Crowley closed his eyes against the nearly unbearable gentleness in Aziraphale’s voice. He suddenly wasn’t sure if he could handle this much affection after being starved for it for so long, but he definitely wasn’t going to tell Aziraphale to stop. “I missed you,” he mumbled against Aziraphale’s skin.

Aziraphale pressed another kiss to the top of his head. “I missed you too. And I’m sorry I didn’t realize how hard all this was on you. I should have checked on you way sooner.”

“It’s alright. It’s not that I called you either.”

“No. You could have though.”

“I- I wasn’t sure if it would have really helped,” Crowley admitted. “Hearing your voice without being able to see you. Or touch you.”

“Well. I’m glad you’re here now.”

Crowley’s breath caught in his throat as he recalled their earlier conversation. “Did you mean what you said?” he finally managed to get out, heart pounding hard against his ribs. “About your… affection.”

“Darling, let me look at you,” Aziraphale breathed out, and Crowley didn’t resist as Aziraphale guided both of them to lie on the couch until they were face to face, bodies still pressed together. Aziraphale cupped Crowley’s face in his hands and smiled at him so brightly it was almost blinding.

“There you are,” Aziraphale said, his thumbs brushing away the remaining wetness on Crowley’s cheeks. Crowley still felt like hiding, but he was lost in those pale blue eyes, drinking in the love shining from them, and he couldn’t have looked away even if he’d tried. “And yes, Crowley,” Aziraphale continued, his voice so calm and steady that Crowley never doubted that he spoke the truth. “I meant each and every word.”

Crowley let out a long breath, reaching out to grasp Aziraphale’s wrists. He felt Aziraphale’s pulse throb under his fingertips. “I feel the same, you know,” he finally managed to get out, his voice hoarse, and Aziraphale’s eyes gleamed in response.

“I wasn’t sure, but… oh, I had hoped you would, Crowley.”

“I thought I’d been quite obvious as well,” Crowley mumbled, tilting his head to press a kiss to Aziraphale’s palm. “Guess being around these wankers at work all the time makes it a little hard to get that point across.”

Aziraphale winced at his words.

“What?” Crowley asked.

“Oh, nothing, I’m just... thinking about what Gabriel and Beelzebub would say if they could see us now.”

Crowley let out a huff. “I don’t want to imagine,” he grumbled. “But they couldn’t possibly have anything to complain about. All we’ve been doing has been perfectly innocent.”

The smile was back on Aziraphale’s lips in just an instant. It slowly curled into a smirk, something wicked hidden behind his usual softness. “Would you rather make this a little bit less innocent?” he asked, his voice still even and calm as if his words hadn’t just sent a shiver down Crowley’s spine. “Because I would very much like to kiss you, although I was planning to wait until after I cooked you dinner. Just because we can’t go on a date doesn’t mean we can’t do this properly.”

Crowley snorted. “And then what? Will you kiss me goodnight after and and banish me to the guest room, because that’s the proper thing to do?”

Aziraphale studied him for a long moment before he spoke. “You’re more than welcome to take the guest room, darling, if that’s what you want,” he finally said. “Just because I invited you over doesn’t mean I have any expectations whatsoever in that regard.”

Crowley felt like he should scoff at the coddling, or at least counter Aziraphale’s ridiculous concern with a quip, but he was too busy blinking away the moisture gathering in his eyes and swallowing around the lump in his throat. Instead of speaking, he hid his face in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck all over again, breathing in the comforting scent of his skin. His words were reassuring to hear, Crowley had to admit. But the thought of sleeping in the guest room, away from Aziraphale’s comforting warmth and softness, was almost unbearable. “I don’t think I want to sleep alone,” he admitted eventually.

Aziraphale hummed, pressing a kiss to the top of Crowley’s head. “In that case you’re more than welcome in my bed. Again, I have no expectations. If all you want to do is sleep, I’ll be more than happy to do that with you beside me.”

For a moment, Crowley was at a loss of words. Aziraphale handled him with such care it was nearly overwhelming. He wasn’t sure how to deal with it, except to answer with a joke to hide his vulnerability. “Are you an angel? I mean an actual, proper angel? All with a shining halo and white wings? Do I need to be afraid of your divine wrath if I ever piss you off?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Aziraphale said, without any malice. “I know you went through a difficult time recently, and I simply don’t want to take advantage of you. I don’t want you to think my support comes with any conditions. And…” Aziraphale hesitated for a moment, taking a deep breath. “... you did tell me once that you’re asexual. Or, well, on the spectrum. I just thought it might be a delicate topic.”

Crowley felt his cheeks heat up. He hadn’t been sure if Aziraphale remembered - there had been a lot of wine involved on that particular evening, and he’d never brought it up again before now. “Hnk, I- yeah. I am. Demisexual, I mean.”

“Yes. I need you to know I am perfectly fine with that. I would never push you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“I know that, or I wouldn’t be here.”

“Good. I’m glad,” Aziraphale said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of Crowley’s head.

“And, there are a lot of things I’m comfortable with, but, uhh…” Crowley trailed off and gulped around the lump in his throat. He struggled for words for a moment, eventually letting out a groan. “Can we just, not have this conversation right now? I think I went through enough complicated emotions for the day. Give me a break, angel.”

Aziraphale chuckled and raked his fingers through Crowley’s hair, scratching gently. “Of course. Take all the time you need.”

Crowley let out breath. “See, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Angel. Too bloody good for this world.”

“Nonsense,” Aziraphale said, a smile in his voice. “If it reassures you, I don’t think all my thoughts regarding you in my bed are very angelic.”

Crowley laughed. He finally pulled away from the safe hideout that was the crook of Aziraphale’s neck and rolled over until he was hovering over him. “Good,” he said, grinning down at him. “I don’t think I want them to be. You can be an angel and a bit of a bastard at the same time, yeah? Think that would suit you.”

Aziraphale's lips twitched. "Is that a compliment?"

“Highest one there is. And you know what? Fuck doing things proper. Can I kiss you?"

Aziraphale’s eyes shone up at him. “Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, Crowley, please.”

It was all the encouragement Crowley needed. With his heart thumping wildly in his chest, he leaned down and finally pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s.

Crowley felt something uncoil inside of him, at the first gentle touch, at Aziraphale’s soft gasp, at he way he curled a hand into Crowley’s hair to keep him right there. It was like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, a pressure eased from his chest so that he was finally able to breathe. Aziraphale’s lips were warm, his body soft against his own, and Crowley never wanted to let go again.

It wasn’t like everything was well, all of a sudden. The state of the world outside still made him want to despair. But Aziraphale’s gentle touches and sweet whispers wrapped around him so tightly that for the first time in weeks, Crowley didn’t feel like he would fall apart any second now. It calmed his nerves, soothed all the raw places inside of him until the hurt was just a faint echo in the background instead an all-consuming ache. And for the moment, Crowley thought as he kissed Aziraphale again and again, that was enough.

[ineffable-dads]

Hello dear, new follower here :) may I request Crowley and Aziraphael talking to Adam after things have cooled off? It's your call if you wanna make the conversation Meaningful or just random banter. I'm very excited to see what you'll write anyway tbh

Ineffable Husbands, Grown Up Adam, basically an excuse for me to write about the nature of death and humanity, minimal editing

Word Count: 1.1 K

           Aziraphale and Crowley hadn’t intended to go back to Tadfield. 

          After the apocalypse that never was, it seemed wrong to do so.  Adam was human after all and it seemed best to leave the humans alone to do their own human things.  However, things were starting to happen. 

           Hastur had come to the cottage. He hadn’t done anything besides make thinly veiled threats, but it was enough.  Hell was getting antsy and chances were Heaven was too.  Both Aziraphale and Crowley knew they wouldn’t be able to handle both their head offices on their own if it came right down to it.  They needed to sit down and work it out, someplace neither Heaven and Hell would dare poke their head around.   Tadfield was as good a place as any.

           To no one’s surprise the village itself hadn’t changed much.  All the cottages were in exactly the same place. The lawns were kept and the trees were the perfect shade of orange you would expect in fall weather.  

           Crowley pulled the Bently into the cottage driveway.

           “He still has his powers then,” he said, getting out of the car.

           “It would appear so,” agreed the angel. “But, it’s different.”

           “How so?”

           Aziraphale paused a moment.  “The love is still there,” he said slowly.  “But, it’s different.  It’s not this buzzy happy love, it’s more…content.”

           “Content?”

           “Yes,” he said with slightly more confidence.  “Content.”

           Crowley raised an eyebrow, still not fully getting it, but knowing there was nothing more he could say.

           They both turned towards the cottage before a voice caught their attention.

           “Hello again.”

           The angel and demon turned to see a young man standing before them.  He was in his early thirties by the look of him. His features were classically handsome with a welcoming smile to match it, but for two supernatural beings there was a little something more that disturbed the image; a neutral space of nothing where body ought to be.

           “Adam?” Crowley asked, putting on an air of confidence the way a child might put on their dad’s suit.  

           He gave a small nod. “That’s me.  I will say I am surprised to see you two around here again. Problem?”

           “Might be,” Crowley admitted. “Mind if we stay till it cools off?”

           Adam shrugged.  “If you’d like, it’s not up to me really.”

           “Would you like to come in,” Aziraphale offered. “I think we could all do with a good talk.”

           Adam stood silently for a moment, looking down the street and checking his watch before accepting the offer. Soon enough the angel, demon and Anti-Christ were gathered around the kitchen table sharing a cup of tea.  Where the tea had come from in the supposedly empty cottage was anyone’s guess.

           “So what kind of trouble is it?” Adam asked, deciding to get right to the point.

           “We’re not sure,” Aziraphale said.  “Heaven and Hell have left us alone for the most part, but something is changing. I can’t say what, but it’s changing.”

           “Felt anything on your end,” Crowley asked.

           Adam shook his head.  “Same as always really.  No voices in my head or Tibetan monks, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

           Crowley nodded, but the relief he had expected at the news didn’t come. Something had changed in Tadfield, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

           “Where’s the dog?” he found himself asking.

           Adam looked at him in confusion.  “Passed away, almost five years now.”

           Aziraphale blinked.  “Passed away?”

           “He was an old dog,” Adam said, a little sadly, but not overwhelmingly so. “Went in his sleep.”

           Aziraphale and Crowley stared at each other, each looking to the other for how to proceed.

           “How?” Crowley choked out.

           Adam blinked.  “He got old. Last I checked, things that get old die sometimes.”

           “But that’s not possible,” Aziraphale interjected.  “Your dog was a hellhoud.  Hellhounds don’t pass away in their sleep.”

           “But Dog wasn’t really a hellhound, he as a dog.”

           Crowley stayed silent during the exchange, taking the time to really, truly look at Adam.

           “You’re aging,” he said, quietly.

           “Well, I would hope so,” Adam said.  “Otherwise I went through puberty for nothing.”

           “No, you’re aging, aging,” Crowley insisted.  “You’re not pretending to age, you’re actually getting older.”  

           “Yes.”

           “Why though?”

           “I’m human,” Adam said simply. “Humans get older, don’t they?”

           Again, there was silence as the angel and demon finally got it.

           “You’re dying,” Aziraphale concluded.

           “I’m only thirty-two, I’ve still got a while yet,” Adam said dryly.

           “But you will die, eventually,” added Crowley.

           “Everyone does.”

           “Not us,” Crowley said.  “Not things like us.”

           “Every person dies,” Adam amended.  “And I am a person.”

           “But don’t you understand, that’s what Heaven and Hell are waiting for,” said Aziraphale. “Once you’re gone, humanity will be left on its own and they can start the Apocalypse all over again with nothing to stand in their way.”

           “Except people,” Adam said.  “That’s the problem with you lot, you always seem to forget about people.”

           “Adam, listen to us,” Crowley emphasized.  “If you stay alive both sides will be too afraid to leave their front door.”

           “For how long?”

           Crowley blinked.  “What?”

           “How long until they’re not afraid of me anymore,” Adam clarified.  “How many friends will I have to watch die and fade away until either side decides it’s worth the risk? Or worse, how long will it take for me to forget how to be human to the point it no longer matters I’m still around?”

           “You won’t forget how to be human,” Aziraphale insisted.  

           “But I will,” Adam said, calmly.  “I’ve given it a lot of thought, and it seems to me that a big part of being human is knowing it’s not going to last forever.  If things go on forever, it’s rather like pretending.  Nothing you do is really real. If I go on forever, then the people in my life, things I do aren’t going to feel really real.  They’ll be passing fancies until the next century rolls around.  I don’t want to do that.  I don’t want to live forever if that’s how I’m going to see people.”

           Adam took a last sip of his tea, before rising from his seat.

           “If either side tries anything right now, I’ll gladly help you, but I’m going to stick to the time I’ve got.  Nothing more or less than that.”

           “Adam,” Crowley tried to say, before the young man held up his hand in silence.

           “I decided a long time ago neither side was going to tell me who I was or what I was meant to do,” he said.  “I’m human and that means all the free will I can stand.  You should know, you gave it to us.”

           Crowley opened his mouth to say something only to close it again.

           Adam gave a half smile before turning to Aziraphale.  “Thanks for the tea.  I hope you two have a nice stay.”

           And with that, he left leaving the angel and demon to wonder; what were they going to do next.

[preraphaelitepunk]

Fictober Day 17: The Love Language of Scarves

Prompt #17: There is just something about them

Fandom: Good Omens

Characters: Aziraphale, Crowley

Rating: Teen (a little bit of cursing)

Warnings: None

On AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/20843936/chapters/50118575

Love can be shown in countless different ways: a touch on the shoulder, a warm smile, time spent together, tasks taken on to save someone else the bother, little gifts, actually saying it out loud, cuddles, kisses, more . . . vigorous activities. After his great falling out with Heaven (to be distinguished from an actual Fall from Heaven), Aziraphale had enjoyed trying out all the methods with Crowley. He was aiming for a nice mix, though he tended mostly toward words, touches, and smiles. Crowley, though, had always been consistent, for millennia: he showed his love with acts and gifts. Words came harder for him, though practice was slowly easing the way.

“Ready for lunch, angel?” The bookshop’s bell jingled as the door swung closed behind Crowley.

Putting on his coat, Aziraphale said, “Indeed. You’re looking particularly lovely today, my darling.”

“Vile flatterer. I thought angels were supposed to be truthful.”

“I may be guilty of downplaying your appearance, but not of flattery. You look absolutely ravishing.” He enjoyed the faint blush creeping up the other’s sharp cheekbones.

As Aziraphale joined him, Crowley said, far too casually, “Oh, by the way, this is for you.” He handed Aziraphale a tissue-paper-wrapped package. It had tiny silver sparkles embedded in the paper, and was tied with a cream ribbon.

“How lovely, dear. Thank you!” Aziraphale kissed him on the cheek. “Shall I open it now?”

“If you like. Doesn’t matter.”

It was a scarf, in the lightest, most delicate wash of blue. Obviously hand knit, though by someone with enough skill and patience to coax the slender yarn into a pattern of lace that evoked intricate stylized fans, or possibly wings. Judging from the texture, it was cashmere, possibly with some silk blended in.

“It’s gorgeous, darling! I love it.” Aziraphale gave him one of his special smiles, the warmth and joy he reserved just for Crowley. “Wherever did you find it?”

Crowley shrugged, his cheeks reddening a bit more. “Dunno. Just picked it up on the high street somewhere, thought you might like it.”

“Hand knits on the high street? You simply must show me the shop, darling. Usually they only have mass-market stuff, or cheaper hand-made crafts. This must have cost a fortune.”

“Er. Not really. Just a few pounds.”

Aziraphale trusted Crowley implicitly, but he knew utter tosh when he heard it. “Now, I certainly don’t believe that, my dear. It takes hours to finish a scarf, especially a lace pattern like this. Then there’s the quality of the material — cashmere and silk do not come cheaply, poppet, and something this size must have required several skeins. Materials costs alone were probably fifty pounds, to say nothing of labor.” He didn’t mention the emotion emanating off the scarf: it was radiating love, knitted into the fabric like dog hair, though Aziraphale had to admit that wasn’t the most poetic of similes. Dog hair did lodge everywhere, though, and was impossible to get out, so the comparison seemed valid, if inelegant.

Crowley shifted on his feet, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Probably from a sweatshop, then. Drastically underpaid slave labor, hideous working conditions, fast fashion ruining the planet. Good choice for a demon.”

“You know that’s not true, Crowley. I’d be able to feel it if it were.”

Crowley heaved a sigh. “All right, fine, angel. You got me. I made it. Are you happy now?”

“Exceedingly. But I had no idea you knit, dear.”

“’S good stress relief. When I start to worry.” He smiled reassuringly at the wounded-sounding “oh” from Aziraphale and continued, “And I like the yarn. Winding a skein into a ball by hand is soothing, like meditation or something. And the skeins: there is just something about them. They’re like fuzzy, soft little pets. Except you don’t have to feed them, or yell at them like with plants. They’re easy. Pretty.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way. I’m glad you find it helpful, love, but you know you can always talk to me when you’re worried.”

“I know, angel.” Crowley took his hand and squeezed. “It’s just, sometimes you need something that you can do for yourself.”

“I understand.” Lifting their hands, Aziraphale pressed his lips to the soft, precious skin on the inside of Crowley’s wrist. “But please remember I’m always here whenever you need me, no matter what, no matter why. Wherever did you learn to knit?”

“In Hell. I was stuck down there cooling my heels — you know how it was, they’d call you down there for an update and then they’d be too busy to meet with you, keep you hanging around for yonks — and I got bored. Hastur taught me.”

Aziraphale tried to imagine the Duke of Hell with knitting needles and fuzzy skeins of yarn. He failed. “Hastur. The one with the filthy mac and the rather unfortunate smell of, um, manure?”

“That’s the bunny. Be funny if there were another Hastur running around, but as far as I know there’s just the one.”

“One is quite enough, dear.”

“Good point. He’d made a big black scarf for Ligur, and said it helped him. Focusing on something simple that you can control, and doing one tiny thing correctly over and over again. You can see your progress, your success. It makes a nice change from the rest of life in Hell, certainly. Anyway, he said it was good for handling stress, and suggested I try it. I was certainly stressed, so I did. And I liked it.

“Er, forgive me, dear heart, but I’m having a bit of difficulty imagining a knitting circle in Hell.”

“Nah, fiber arts are pretty popular, but you’re right: people don’t think it fits with the whole ‘big, scary demon’ image. We keep it on the down low, but it was kind of ni — er, enjoyable for a bunch of us to get together occasionally and bring out the wool and the booze, catch up on gossip.”

“But why? I can’t imagine there’s much demand for fuzzy scarves and warm sweaters in Hell.”

“You’d be surprised. It’s in the basement, and it gets damp and chilly sometimes. Quite a lot of the time, actually. But not everyone knits. Ligur did really disturbing cross stitch.”

Aziraphale tried to imagine this. “‘Curse this mess,’ that sort of thing?”

“More like ‘I love the sound of screaming in the morning’ or ’Eat a bag of dicks and die, human scum,’” Crowley laughed. “With flowers and skulls in the borders. He said he liked making art by repeatedly stabbing something.”

“I can imagine.”

“Dagon says that’s why she does needle felting. Well, I say ‘needle,’ but I’ve seen her use her teeth when she’s particularly het up. Makes little wool sculptures in anime style, with the hair the Hellhounds shed. The one she made of Beelzebub was classic; pity they burned it on sight.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but giggle. “You’re jesting, surely.”

“No! Swear to — to Somebody.”

“So what does Beelzebub do?”

“Macrame.”

“What, like plant hangers and wall hangings?”

Crowley shrugged, but his grin was wide. “I guess they like ropes and knots. So did Heaven have a knitting circle?”

The very concept of Gabriel or Michael sitting cozily with their knitting made a heretical giggle bubble up Aziraphale’s throat. “Not likely. I can’t imagine anything so human as that would be encouraged.”

“So no hobbies at all? Gabriel doesn’t collect stamps? Uriel doesn’t make pottery?”

The giggles were getting harder to stifle. “Sandalphon could bake bread. He’d enjoy punching down the dough.”

“Michael could do paper cutting; she’d like using a razor knife.”

“Oh, she definitely would like that. Sharp and precise and unforgiving.” Aziraphale laid his cheek against Crowley’s shoulder. “I don’t have a hobby, either,” he said, a little mournfully.

Crowley made an “ngk” noise and gestured around the bookshop with his free hand. “What do you call all this, then?”

“Oh. But I don’t think that counts, really. I’d like to do more with my hands. Baking, perhaps?”

“Could do. Or,” Crowley gave him a little squeeze, “I could teach you how to knit. Once you’ve learned, you could work on something simple while you’re reading: two birds with one thingie.”

“One stone, I believe.”

“That can’t be right. What do birds want with stones?”

“I don’t think they want much at all with them. I believe you’re supposed to throw the stone at the birds and kill them.”

“Urgh. Hastur probably came up with that one. Two birds with one birdbath, then.”

“Much nicer.”

“‘M not nice. Just don’t see the point in killing birds for no reason.”

“Of course, my dear. My evil, naughty old serpent.”

“Naughty indeed. And don’t forget it.”

“So will you?”

“Teach you to knit? Sure, if you like. But for now,” Crowley sat up and retrieved the scarf from Aziraphale’s lap, wrapping it securely around the angel’s neck and tucking the ends into his coat, “we have a lunch date.”

[fafsernir]

These Are The Days Of Our Lives (3)

Title: These Are The Days Of Our Lives

Fandom: Good Omens (Crowley/Aziraphale)

Chapters: 3/? (Read 1, 2) (#TATDOOL on my tumblr)

Summary:  Everything was fine, tickety-boo, as Aziraphale said. And Crowley knew that because he saw him every day, not because he loved him. Because he didn’t. (Teachers!AU)

Read on AO3

Support me on Ko-Fi :)

Crowley was walking in the street when he heard his name being called. Crowley wasn’t a usual name, so there wasn’t much doubt that someone was calling him. The thing was, he didn’t know a lot of people. Not a lot that would call him across the street, begging him to wait, at least. He had to do his grocery shopping, because Aziraphale was coming and Crowley wanted to cook something, but he had realized very late on that his cupboards were empty. Sometimes, being too minimalist was just a tad too much.

With that in mind, it seemed natural for Crowley to ignore the person who desperately wanted to talk to him. Odds were that the feeling wasn’t mutual. But he knew the voice, and after four times, people were staring at him as if they had clearly identified him as the source of the annoying noise. It was partly his fault; the person would stop screaming across the street if he would just stop and turn. So he eventually did. Right when the person had caught up with him, which resulted in them colliding into each other.

It didn’t take long for Crowley to recognize the clumsy man finding his balance again. Apparently, he was still as clumsy as before.

“Newton?”

“Yes! Crowley! Hi! You must have been listening to music, I was calling you…”

“Oh, I heard you,” Crowley answered before Newton would start one of his rambles. He rambled, a lot.

“Cool. Anyway! Fancy meeting you here.”

Oh, this was about to be very awkward, wasn’t it? Crowley put this thought aside and tried a smile.

“I haven’t seen you in ages, not since—”

“Uni! Graduation day! We didn’t really keep in touch. I wasn’t expecting you to do so, to be honest. How have you been? Scared any child with your plantamania yet?”

“That’s not how—” Crowley started, then gave up. They’d had this conversation over and over, and Newton persisted in calling that plantamania, because he liked the word. “I’m doing great, what about you?”

“Computers are still not agreeing with me…”

“You’re still working in that?”

“Of course! Only now I advise people, so I’m not technically touching the computers. Found my way around it.”

Crowley scoffed. Newton had always been particularly unlucky when it came to computers. He loved them, he understood them, he was great at them, but they didn’t want him near them. There was always something wrong, as soon as his fingers touched a keyboard. But he was passionate about them anyway, which had always sounded odd to Crowley, but who was he to judge?

“And I’m married now,” Newton added, showing his ring proudly. “We thought about inviting you, but Anathema said you wouldn’t come anyway, and she’s always right so… I hope you don’t mind. We thought about you, though!”

“You married Anathema?” Crowley asked, surprised, to say the least.

They had been a chaotic couple. Not that they argued or anything, they had actually been really sweet and all, but individually they already presented chaotic characteristics, so when they came together, it was… a lot of weird stuff happening. Crowley had thought they wouldn’t survive real life as a couple, but apparently their dynamic had worked well, because Newton seemed very happy to be married. And Anathema too. Even if Crowley couldn’t see it, he knew she would have left long ago if she hadn’t been happy.

They had all met in First Year, through a social meeting – one of the rare Crowley had gone to. After artificial and very bad icebreakers, the four of them – Aziraphale was the reason why Crowley was there –talked and laughed. Even if none was in the same degree, they stayed close together as a small group. They didn’t see each other every day, but they often gathered and liked each other’s presence. As Crowley knew Aziraphale already, he had never really needed anyone else in his life, and thus had never been the closest to anyone. He had very much enjoyed discussing with Anathema, though.

Newton and she had started dating somewhere during Year Two. It had been a surprise for no one, except Newton himself, maybe. To be fair, she was a very beautiful woman and Newton had a low self-esteem. Crowley could relate.

“Of course!” Newton said, interrupting Crowley’s thoughts. “How about Aziraphale?”

Bold of him to assume that Crowley still talked to anyone from Uni. But then again, Aziraphale wasn’t from Uni, but way before, so it was only natural that he still talked to him. Well, he had stopped talking to him after Uni, so he hadn’t been an exception back then – it wasn’t true, he had always been an exception.

“We work together now,” Crowley smiled. How small the world was, sometimes.

“Oh, is that right? It must be useful!” Newton seemed excited, and Crowley couldn’t see how useful it was.

“Sure. We do hang out a lot.”

“I wish I worked with Anathema.”

Something definitely sounded wrong. Crowley’s guts told him that the conversation wasn’t going in the way he wanted. He ignored the feeling.

“Are you sure?” he asked, instead. Nobody wanted to work with their partners, right? That meant no break from that person, surely it would be weird to see each other constantly.

“Is it not going well with Aziraphale?” Newton looked almost apologetic. Crowley was starting to lose the point of the conversation.

“It is, but it’s not like we’re married,” he shrugged.

“Do you guys want to get married?” Newton asked, as if the question had been in his mind for years. “You’ve been together for a while, now.”

“Not really,” Crowley answered before the rest of the sentence sent signals and alarms up his brain. “Sorry, what?” he thought he asked. It might have sounded more like “Uh, I- whu—“, though. He couldn’t be sure.

Newton looked puzzled. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up something awkward,” he quickly said.

“Wh-why would we be married?” It’s not that Crowley didn’t like the sound of that. But that was absurd. Why would anyone think that?

“That’s what couples do, I guess. I mean, not that every couple has to get married, but it’s just, you know, part of it, I guess? Maybe you guys aren’t into it, I mean…” The man was digging his grave by now. Crowley wasn’t even listening.

“C-c-couples? I’m not—we’re not…”

“Oh f—sorry! My bad, I thought you said… I’m sorry, what happened? You guys were so close? Oh, it must be awkward then, working together…”

“We’ve never been…” Crowley flailed his arms for a bit, then finally managed to get the word out, “a couple.” He almost whispered it, as if saying it might curse him. Or jinx the possibility of it being true. But why was someone thinking they were together?!

There was a silence. Then a profusion of excuses that gradually formed sentences.

“I thought you were… oh, my bad… But, I mean, everyone just figured you guys were together, back at Uni.” And then more excuses and ramble.

“What do you mean, everyone thought we were together?” Crowley asked, suddenly very, very intrigued. How had no one ever said anything?

“Yeah,” Newton frowned, as if he was the one not quite grasping the point of the conversation, now. “We went on double dates!”

“Those were dates?!” Crowley exclaimed. Oh, how his perspectives on a lot of lunches were changing suddenly. He wished he had known that. He didn’t know what that would have changed, but maybe…

“We just thought you guys weren’t much for PDAs. I mean, you did call him ‘angel’ all the time.”

Crowley wasn’t sure how he could still hold a conversation, but he was doing exactly that. “That’s… That’s a nickname. Because of his name.”

“That’s a term of endearment.”

“It’s not!”

“Who else do you call ‘angel’?”

“Well—uh… No one, but that’s because they’re not named after an actual angel.” Now, that wasn’t quite true, but Newton had never met Aziraphale’s family, so he didn’t need to know that.

“Sorry, but everyone thought you two were together… And we all thought you were adorable.”

Filing that last bit of information away, Crowley focused on not reddening – even if his cheeks felt very warm, suddenly – and on what Newton was suggesting. “Who’s everyone, anyway? We didn’t talk to many students…”

“Oh.” Another silence. Crowley started to dislike those silences, which seemed to come before life-changing statements. “Literally anyone that knew the nerd from the library? Aziraphale got quite the reputation for staying up late, being always there, with the most impressive pile of books that he would borrow and give back in a record time… Only to borrow all of them again, setting up other kinds of records…”

“So, everyone that walked in the damn library?”

“And more. People talk. Especially when there’re gossips about the tall, handsome man that is the only thing that seems to matter to the nerd, except his beloved books.”

Crowley was speechless. Not even for a deconstructed speech. He remembered being in the library a lot, to drag his friend’s ass out of the damned place. Sometimes, it was to drag himself away from studying too much. He had never spent as much time as Aziraphale on books – who had? – but he had been studying hard, nonetheless. His eyes wouldn’t let him work so long on books, anyway. So breaks from learning anything that his brain agreed on swallowing were welcomed, and always called for Aziraphale to be here. Because it was Aziraphale. And Crowley enjoyed his presence. It smoothed him.

To know that people, that everyone, thought of them as a cute couple, was weird. Disturbing and weird. But oddly comforting.