#while short-circuiting at Aziraphale's every move

[fogemorfem]

I live for the fanfic trope of Crowley basically fighting for his life while hearing Aziraphale making "almost pornografic" noises while eating. I have read fics where they eat and Aziraphale just enjoys it and it's not a Thing and Crowley is normal about it, and I'm always disappointed.

[sightofsea]

GOD the "I dont go shopping I get and retrieve" prompt for the south downs PLEASE

ok so I just wanna say this may have gotten away from me

❝ I don’t go shopping I get and retrieve. I have a narrow focus, unlike some people. ❞

Aziraphale crosses his arms, trying to look above all this and failing. "I have no idea what you mean."

Crowley makes a series of disbelieving noises, wildly waving the receipt in his hand. "Look at this! We needed eggs and you came back with--" He sputters some more before holding the receipt close and taking off his glasses. "3 dozen lemon marionberry muffins, a tin of £20 rose tea, four different types of cheese danish, a recipe book from 1877, and brioche."

Aziraphale shrugs. "Well what's wrong with that? Those were all perfectly delicious."

"You forgot the eggs!"

"Oh." Aziraphale blinks. "Yes, I suppose I did."

"And it's not just that," Crowley continues. "Every time we go into that antique shop you end up buying half the store. And I'm all for irritating consumerism, you know me, practically invented it when I got the home shopping channel up, but the expenses."

"Crowley, again, we have an endless supply of money."

Crowley grumbles. "Fine! Fine, yeah. But the space, Aziraphale. I mean." He gestures to the room.

Aziraphale looks around. There's stacks of books on the coffee and tide tables, and some wedged between the couch cushions. The window is open, and the multitude of antique chimes he bought a few weeks ago glitter gloriously in the light with their greens and ambers but tangle up when the breeze passed through. The shelves are lined with his collection of regency snuff boxes. There's stacks of plates on the floor--not used, of course, but they're a set from 1813 he had wanted for so long, and he found them for a steal. Even the mantelpiece is choked with porcelain figurines and fancy pots that Crowley has been filling with plants.

"I," Aziraphale starts, though he hates to say the rest. His hands twist in on each other, and he sighs. "I suppose it is getting a little cluttered. Oh, but I like the clutter."

"I'm not suggesting a total overhaul," Crowley says, voice soft. "Just, you know, some spring cleaning. The human way. Pack up some stuff for the attic." He pauses. "And also getting eggs this time."

Aziraphale sighs again. "Alright. And I'll go get the eggs. They also had a lovely selection of peaches there that--"

Crowley rolls his eyes. "You're lucky I love you. Walk or ride, you think?"

Aziraphale considers. "Walk."

"Right. Eggs only."

**

When they return, eggs in hand (along with the peaches, and some Hazelnut Ritter Sports because Crowley can admit that he is a hypocrite, unlike some people) they get to the cleaning. Crowley has promised the human way, but looking at the mess now resolves to first snap them neatly into piles on the floor. Easier to go through everything and all that.

After a few hours of sorting they've got the books back in the study, at least, which has been steadily becoming a larger and larger room with the confines of their tiny cottage, and some of the wind chimes tucked away in the attic. The box of porcelain figurines was especially surprised to find itself in an antique shop in Dorset, but what Aziraphale didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

(The box will be equally surprised tomorrow morning to find itself unpacked and back on the mantelpiece, while a smug angel looks on and a mussy haired demon groans in exasperation.)

For now they've moved to the snuff boxes. Aziraphale is sorting through them now, criss-cross on the floor. It's late now, and the wisps of his hair glow orange in the lamplight. He's wearing another hideous jumper that their neighbor's knitted for them. It's fraught with knots, but Aziraphale can't find a way to say no to a gift and he figures that if he wears it once it's enough to call it a job well done. Crowley watches as Aziraphale checks the inside of one box before setting it aside and inspecting another. He feels a sort of warm stretching in his chest. Aziraphale always looks his best when the lights are low.

As if his ears were burning, the angel looks up. "What is it?"

"Hm?" Crowley hums.

"You're staring. Do I have snuff ash on my face?"

He does, but Crowley won't tell him that. "No, no. Just, erm." He's still very knew to this, the whole saying what he means kind of thing. "Just like looking at you, is all."

Aziraphale beams. The warm stretchy feeling grows more. "Oh, Crowley." His smiles softens. "You are--"

"Oh, tell the whole blessed world, why don't you," Crowley grumbles. His cheeks are hot. Is it hot in here? Perhaps it's the furnace. He should check the furnace.

"We're married, darling, there's no need to be embarrassed."

"Not embarrassed, just." He's not used to it, still. The whole thing of saying something so true and having the other person hear it and respond to it. To even like it, is. He shakes his head and picks up one of the snuff boxes. It's metal, and lightly carved with ivy leaves. "Why do you have so much of these anyway?"

Aziraphale sees the moment pass and moves on. "Well, I don't know. I suppose I just think they're neat."

Crowley smiles. "Oh, you would, wouldn't you?" He opens up the box, and inside the lining is a single piece of folded paper. He remembers this. He knows what this is. He tries to stuff it somewhere before Aziraphale notices, before he--

"What's that you've got there?"

Fuck. "This? It's nothing. Uh, shopping list, looks like."

Aziraphale raises his eyebrows. "Shopping list?"

"Or a receipt. Or something of the like."

Aziraphale leans forward. "Well, let me--"

"No! No," Crowley yells. He keeps the paper from Aziraphale's reach. "I'll, uh. I think it's best if I keep it, yeah?"

Aziraphale looks at him dryly. "Crowley."

Crowley's resolves crumbles. He pulls his arm back down. "It's. It's a letter. From me." He swallows. "To you."

"Oh, well we used to send each other letters all the time, didn't we?"

"It's a." He grimaces. "Love letter. From back when they were in fashion. Regency or something like that." He opens the letter, grimacing again at the language. "1817, to be exact. Got drunk and snuck it in the box thinking you'd never open it. Completely forgot about doing it, actually."

"What does it say?" Aziraphale asks.

"I don't--" Crowley starts, shaking his head. "'S all flowery words, it's not really--"

"Crowley, please."

He's giving the big shiny eyes this time. Crowley rolls his own eyes and takes off his sunglasses. "Yeah, alright," he says. "My dearest Aziraphale." Oh, this is going to be much harder than he thought. "Every day without you grows lonelier than the last. To think I spent centuries without you is laughable. You have found me bewitched, I am sure. Bewitched by your smile, your eyes, the wisps of your hair. Every day I look at you and find something new to love. To say I have loved you for ages would be to understate time and all of the years I have looked upon your face with utter adoration. I would kiss the rose of your lips if you would be so kind as to let me. I cannot ensure you against the wrath of an unjust God, but if she be so she is not the God for us. As such, however, I understand if your feelings are not true to mine. That which is divine has no obligation to be upon sullied ground. I stand with a flawed love, but it is yours nonetheless. As am I. Best regards, Crowley."

He swallows. He can't bare to look up from the paper. In the time it's taken to read it his voice has gone rough and his eyes are wet. "Told you, 's a load of--"

Aziraphale's lips are on him lightning quick, cupping his face in his hands. Crowley leans in, bringing one of his hands to feel the groove of Aziraphale's knuckles before the angel pulls away. "You never cease to amaze me."

Crowley rolls his eyes. "It's not that good."

"No, I refuse to see it as anything other than amazing." He snatches the letter from Crowley's hands. "I'm framing it."

Crowley frowns. "Framing it?"

"Yes." He runs his thumb over the paper, looking at the words before blushing a bit. "If you wish, I can give you one of mine and you can frame it as well."

Something short circuits in Crowley's brain. "One of yours. You--" A half consonant tried to escape his mouth a few times before hitting jackpot. "You wrote love letters about me?"

Aziraphale shakes his head. "Well, much later, yes. And some poetry." He looks bashful. "You're not the only one who had trouble getting their words out." He smiles a bit sadly, and reaches out to take Crowley's hand in his.

Crowley stares at Aziraphale for a while before returning the grip, interlocking their fingers. "Well," he croaks. "Lucky we found a way."

"Yes," says Aziraphale. He brushes a thumb over Crowley's knuckles. "Extremely lucky."

They forget about cleaning for the rest of the night.

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Ectotherm - Conclusion

By extremely popular demand, I give you an actual happy conclusion to the story “Ectotherm.” 

And because I can’t do anything halfway, it’s 1664 words, making it already about half the length of the original story (so you can see why I couldn’t just fold it into the conclusion chapter).

For those who have not read the original, follow the link above. The link to the AO3 version (which is expanded, with an additional scene plus a short almost-conclusion in Chapter 18) is in the notes there, and I’ll add it here since external links are sometimes iffy (PM or @ me if it doesn’t work).

--

Crowley couldn’t get warm.

The angel had spent the morning carving lines and curves deep into the wooden floor, until Crowley could feel every scratch and dip through the sensitive skin of his belly. Now the angel was trying to keep him at the center of the pattern, while he ran around the edge doing – something.

There was a heat lamp, but it was too far away. Why wasn’t he under it?

Crowley started sliding across the floor, coiling and uncoiling in the direction of that delicious, life-giving heat –

The angel suddenly loomed before him, hands flapping. “No, no! I told…the center…few more minutes.”

A few minutes? Crowley was cold now. He wound to the side, planning to dart around, but the angel’s feet suddenly shifted, coming down sharply in his path.

Startled, Crowley reared up, nearly as tall as the angel, to hisssss from his maximum height, head flattened, vision suddenly clear enough to see the angel’s face: eyes wide, jaw tight. Frightened. Crowley gave another hisssss, hoping that would be enough to scare the interloper away, clear a path to the heat.

But the angel merely raised his hands, moving more slowly this time. “…sorry, my…adjust the lamp…break the circle now…start all over…” The words were murky, distorted, most of them too low or soft to be perceived. “…explained…ten minutes ago…remember?”

Ten minutes? That was a long time.

No, no it wasn’t. The cold was just making his mind fuzzy again. He gave another longing look at the heat lamp, then at another, further away, tucked safely in a corner where he could bask and hide. He felt exposed, anxious, very much in danger. What if this was some kind of trap?

Then he looked again at the angel’s face. Not frightened. Worried. Sad. Tired.

Crowley trusted Aziraphale. He couldn’t remember precisely why, but it was undeniable – a deep, profound trust. If Aziraphale said he had to stay here, stay he would.

“Fasssssster,” Crowley grumbled, and twisted back to where he’d been before. A moment later, the light from the heat lamp grew a little warmer. Still not quite enough, but better.

Two more slow circuits around the marks on the floor, adjusting things and muttering, and finally the angel sat down, facing Crowley. He held out his arms, but Crowley was in no mood to be handled, pulling back into his coils.

“I need…preferably your face.” Crowley flicked his tongue, but otherwise didn’t move. “Please…”

Reluctantly, the black and red snake moved closer, lifted his head until the angel could cup his jaw with burning-hot hands. He didn’t like it and pulled away, fighting the urge to retreat.

Necessary, this is necessary. He tried to relax into the contact, tried to pretend it didn’t feel wrong.

The angel’s blue eyes fluttered shut; Crowley could just make out the tense wrinkles forming in his brow, but the stiffness in the fingers around the snake’s jaw was unmistakable. It wasn’t enough to be painful, but it was close. Crowley’s back half twisted and writhed as if ready to pull away, even while he focused his entire being on keeping his head still. Necessary. Trust him. It’s necessary.

Finally, the angel’s hands fell away, and he dropped back, breathing heavily. His eyes opened and he smiled. “…finished.”

Good.

Crowley turned and slithered under the heat lamp, stretching out for maximum comfort.

Just as he was settling in for a good late-morning nap, the angel appeared beside him again. “…you hear…finished...”

Now what? Perhaps he should go find one of the more secluded lamps, to avoid interruptions.

“…fixed you...”

Shrugging off the nap for the moment, Crowley raised his head just enough to tip it to the side. Fixed…?

The angel knelt at the edge of the heat lamp’s warmth, and spoke again, much louder. “…fixed…change back…”

Crowley tilted his head the other way. Change back…?

“Human! Crowley, human.”

It all came back in a rush. Arms. Legs. Hands. Drinking strange red water, watching birds swim, moving very fast in a large black box which made the angel very angry – human.

He reared up again.

Nothing changed.

“Hhhhhow?”

The angel shook his head, mouth working, but Crowley couldn’t hear a sound. He pushed closer, far closer than was comfortable, until the heat pits of his face were filled with the angel’s warmth, until he could see the tears gathering in blue eyes.

Crowley focused on those eyes, that shape, on every part of his life in human form that he could still make sense of.

Still no change.

Hissing with frustration, he abandoned the warmth of the heat lamp, shooting away to weave among the plants, drape himself across the sofa, even nudge his face at an open book.

No effect at all.

He couldn’t remember how to change back.

As he circled the shop again – feeling his energy sap away in the cold – he noticed the angel sitting once again at his desk. Crowley climbed up his leg, across his back, draped over his shoulders and around his chest. Felt the pure warmth, cleaner and sweeter than sunlight.

The angel wasn’t working now, of course; his chair was pointed away from the desk, as if to avoid even looking at the piles of paper. He clutched something in his hands, shoulders heaving, chest shaking with sobs. “I’m sorry…I tried…I tried so hard, but I couldn’t…I’m too late.” The voice was a little clearer now, rumbling through Crowley’s belly.

“Sssshhhhhh,” Crowley comforted as best he could, trying to nestle his head on the angel’s arms. It wasn’t a gesture he was comfortable with, but he could remember now that arms, hands, were important. Perhaps if he could get closer…

“If I hadn’t been so foolish…oh, my love…I failed you…”

But Crowley wasn’t listening. He was looking at what the angel held in his hands. He was looking at –

“Glassssssesss.”

“Wh – what?”

“Glassssess.” Crowley nudged at the angel’s hands until they parted, revealing a pair of black lenses held by silver frames. “Pleassse. Glassessss.”

It wasn’t easy to put a pair of sunglasses onto a snake’s head, even one so large as Crowley. They dangled rather uselessly down either side of his jaw, the lenses didn’t exactly cover his eyes, and where they did the world became a murky black soup he had no hope of seeing. But it felt…right.

He turned, trying to face the angel, but somehow lost his balance and tumbled to the floor.

“Crowley? Are you…Crowley?”

The voice was too crisp, too sharp, to rich. It was startling.

He shook his head and hissed, but it sounded strange. Thick. His tongue couldn’t get out because there were too many teeth.

Crowley blinked. Not because he had to, but because he suddenly realized he had eyelids.

A hand drifted over and adjusted the glasses, settling them correctly over the ears and across the nose – no that was his hand, his fingers.

His eyes drifted up and he was shocked at how clearly he could see the angel standing over him, looking more pale, more drawn, and just a bit thinner than he remembered, clothes a rumpled mess, eyes red.

“Aziraphale?”

“Crowley!”

Two arms suddenly around his shoulders, pulling him up onto legs he barely remembered how to use, wrapping around him, pulling him into the indescribable softness of Aziraphale’s embrace. It took him a moment to remember that he had arms of his own, that he could twist them, twine them, pull Aziraphale even closer.

He could still feel Aziraphale’s warmth pressing into his chest and stomach, but it no longer felt like a blazing fire, or the strange glow of life-giving heat. It was simply a body, pressed close to his. Two bodies trembling, shaking, shoulders heaving, breath ragged.

Aziraphale was still crying, still mumbling apologies into the demon’s shoulder.

Crowley was laughing.

They didn’t let each other go for a long, long time.

--

Crowley was warm.

No, Crowley was happy.

It wasn’t as easy to fit both bodies on the sofa in this form, but they managed – Aziraphale stretched out, Crowley, lying across his chest, legs in a tangle, head tucked against his throat, listening to the sigh of breath, the rumble of heartbeat.

They hadn’t talked about it. Aziraphale had finally admitted to being tired, and they just found themselves here as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“I suppose I’ve gotten used to this,” murmured Aziraphale, who never used to lie on his own sofa, trembling fingers tracing through Crowley’s hair.

“I’m used to it, too,” he mumbled back, but used to it didn’t begin to describe it. This was right, this was home, and he knew it was more than a leftover serpentine instinct to bask that had brought him here, that would keep bringing him here for as long as Aziraphale would allow it.

Aziraphale’s right hand was still twined with Crowley’s left, resting on the angel’s chest. Crowely couldn’t stop studying it, turning it, running his thumb across fingers and knuckles and nails. He could feel more than just heat now, he could feel the softness, the rough callus on the side of one finger where Aziraphale rested his pencil as he wrote, the faint hard edges of papercuts. It was an entire world to explore, that hand, full of more wonder than Crowley had ever suspected.

“Might be more comfortable in a bed,” Aziraphale whispered, clearly already on the edge of sleep.

“I’ve got a bed,” Crowley said idly, still looking at the broken edges of Aziraphale’s nails. He’d never seen them like that before. Aziraphale had kept them perfectly manicured since the invention of manicures. “Lots of space, too. More than I can use. But then, all my plants are already here…” He trailed off, realizing what he was saying.

“Mmh,” was Aziraphale’s only reply. The fingers combing through Crowley’s hair were now almost still.

“S’alright, Angel. You rest. We’ve got all the time in the world.”

--

Thank you for reading!

And thanks to the “demanded a happy ending crew”: @joyandotherstories @aknightofthe7kingdoms @witchingwhovian @ourpearls @ambular-d @sparkkeyper , @angel-and-serpent who has been sending me artwork of Grandma Poss (don’t ask), and my own mother who kept shouting “give your fans a happy ending” (she doesn’t read my fic but she has STRONG opinions).

Happy (late) National Serpent Day!

[i-write-and-therefore-i-am]

One Monstrous Miracle (Part Two)

Ugh! It’s been 3 whole months since I updated this story! This one is a bit long, so maybe it will make up for that? Anywho, in addition to this being a bit of a doozy, it’s kind of a filler chapter, which I hate to do but there ya go. I’m feeling a bit wonky about this part, but make sure to let me know how you feel about it. I hope you enjoy! (P.S.--Let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list!)

Previous--Next--First

Pairing: Aziraphale/Human!Reader

Warnings: I don’t see any here!

Word Count: 2076 (!!For WhY?? Why can’t I write this much for my courses??)

It had been a few months since that first meeting, and it had become second nature for you to stop by his bookshop on the way home from work. You were grateful that Aziraphale didn’t actually want to part with any of his precious volumes, or else your poor bank account would definitely suffer. Because the shop was essentially the best sort of library you could imagine, it was incredibly easy to find a book to read. And because Aziraphale was the nicest man you had ever met, he was more than happy to let you find a comfy old chair to park yourself in whilst you read said book. This was how most of your days went recently, and it was, in fact, how this particular day had begun.

The door clicked shut behind you with the pleasant sound of bells that you had grown so fond of. You were in a good mood—you’d gotten a major promotion at work, which meant that although you’d have to work a few more hours, you’d be doing things that you enjoyed and getting paid more for them. Aziraphale had, for some reason unbeknownst to you, planned to cook dinner for the both of you today. You’d objected, not wanting him to go through all of the trouble of having to close his shop early to get dinner ready by the time you got out of work, but he’d persisted.

               “It’s a special occasion, Y/N!”

               “What is?”

               “Being alive, of course!”

You’d known that there was something more, but you ignored it in favor of relishing in the cozy affection that washed over you at how adorable this man could be. He could find wonder in the most trivial thing, which never failed to put a smile on your face. Even recalling moments like that, as you were doing now, could lift your spirits.

You wandered around the shop, browsing the shelves for any new additions. Aziraphale’s shop had quickly become your safe haven—a place that you could go and just relax with a good book and not have to worry about anything else. Soon, you had come to associate that feeling with the man himself. You hadn’t felt this way about anyone in a very long time, and it was refreshing, in an odd way, to feel like a teenager again. This was something new and unexpected, and perhaps it was just what you needed. Your inner monologue was cut off by Aziraphale calling your name from across the room.

“Y/N! You’re here! Just in time, everything is ready.” You turn and smile at him but frowned when you caught sight of the old grandfather clock standing by the sales counter.

“Already? I only got here a few minutes ago,”

“Oh, I wanted it to be ready for when you got here, so I started early—”

“But I got here almost an hour before I normally do! How are you finished already?” A flash of something unidentifiable crossed over his face, but it was quickly replaced with a charming smile.

“I must’ve forgotten to set the clock upstairs and started earlier than I had thought. A happy accident, no?” Again, the doubts in your mind vanished, and you found yourself grinning back at him. Ever the gentleman, he gestured for you to walk up the stairs in front of him. The smells coming from the second floor had drifted down slowly and were weaving themselves around you, making your mouth water in anticipation. When you got to the top of the staircase, Aziraphale darted around you to open the door to his flat.

Despite all the time that you had spent in his building over the past couple of months, you had never ventured up here. You doubted that you would even notice if you had—the flat had the same eccentric-yet-cozy feel to it that the bookshop did, except in the place of books there were hundreds of different knick-knacks. Some looked rather new, and others looked as though they had jumped straight out of a history book.

“This is where I live. Pardon the mess, I haven’t been able to find a good system of storing yet.” He started fiddling with a set of Russian dolls that were sitting on a side table but gave up as quickly as he started and turned back to you. You realized that he was waiting for you to say something.

“I love it. It’s…homey.” You smiled genuinely at him. In some ways, it felt more like home to you than anywhere else, but that was a revelation for another day. After a few seconds of slightly awkward standing, your stomach chose that exact moment to growl. Loudly.

“Where are my manners? You must be starving! Here, let’s get some food in you, alright?” He led you to his dining room, where you were immediately greeted with the most delicious-looking meal of your life.

“You made all of this for me?” You asked incredulously, not believing your eyes. The table in the center of the room was positively groaning under the weight of all the food Aziraphale had cooked. Somehow, every single one of your favorites had made it onto tonight’s menu, making your heart grow warm with the knowledge that Aziraphale listened to and remembered the things you told him. You looked up at his expectant face, feeling silly for getting so emotional over dinner.

“It’s wonderful, Aziraphale. Thank you.”

“Of course, my dear. Anything for you.” He moved to pull out the chair closest to you, indicating that you should sit down. “Shall we?”

Dinner was divine. The food you ate on that day was the best food you had ever, or would ever, eat, period. You insisted that Aziraphale was secretly a world-famous chef, an idea that he quickly shot down— “How on Earth could I be a world-famous chef in secret? Wouldn’t everyone know? It wouldn’t be much of a secret, Y/N.”—but you weren’t too sure. You ate more than your fill, but when Aziraphale suggested that the two of you end the night with a cup of cocoa by the fireplace, you couldn’t refuse.

And so, you found yourself sitting on Aziraphale’s worn tartan sofa, sipping the rich chocolate and staring into the flames. Aziraphale sat beside you, his cup resting nicely on his knee. Together you sat in comfortable silence for quite a while, giving you time to reminisce over the evening and, more importantly, your thoughts about the man who had orchestrated the whole thing.

You knew that you had developed a sort of crush on him, and it had become increasingly apparent in recent weeks. Your heart would pound harder the closer you got to his shop, and the second he would look up from his work and focus his attention on you, you could feel your cheeks start to burn. It was highly unlikely that he hadn’t noticed anything different about the way you acted around him, but you knew he was too kind to say something about it. The trouble was that the friendship you had built with him, the easy companionship that you found in each other, was too precious for you to risk losing it by telling him what you truly felt. What if he didn’t feel the same way? What if he only wanted you to be his friend, nothing more? Oh God, what if he was gay? You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, but quickly looked away. Your anxiety was spiking, and you had to do something about it before—

“AZIRAPHALE!!” Both of you jumped, but thankfully most of your cocoa was gone so none of it spilled. Aziraphale was not so lucky, and he cursed as he looked down at his chocolate-covered lap.

“Damn!” You looked around for something to wipe it off with, but you couldn’t find anything. When you refocused on him, your brain short-circuited for a second. Aziraphale’s pants were now completely dry, with no chocolate on them whatsoever. He seemed to have gotten some on his hand though, because he had part of his pointer finger in his mouth, trying to suck the pain away. Loud footsteps were coming from the stairway outside the door of the flat, and you stared at each other in confusion.

The door was kicked off its hinges in the singular most dramatic entrance you could imagine. The strange man at the door seemed to be other worldly, like his very presence upended the balance of the Universe. Space rippled around him, giving one the impression that he was swaying back and forth, almost snakelike. He had the air of someone who was much much older than they appeared, which clashed atrociously with his spiked, modern haircut and his skintight jeans. It hurt your eyes just to look at him, but, like a car wreck on the M-25, you couldn’t look away. Somehow, even though he was wearing glasses the color of a black hole, you could tell that he was ignoring you entirely. You watched as he made his way to stand angrily in front of your friend. Aziraphale opened his mouth, but he was cut off.

“I’ve been calling you for day, you useless blob! I thought something had happened to you, Aziraphale! In case you’ve forgotten, we are in this together. If we fuck up, it will be the actual end of the world. I—who the Heaven is this?” The man turned to peer at you through his sunglasses, frowning as if you were a spot on the sofa, and not a living, breathing person sitting there instead. Suddenly he turned back to Aziraphale, so you could no longer see his face, but his body language changed drastically—he looked dangerous, like an animal ready to pounce. When he spoke his voice was mocking, dripping with derision.

“Really? You mean to tell me that this pathetic waste of space is what has you tied up? Didn’t you learn anything from the last time you tried it on with a mortal? I knew you were dense, Angel, but not stupid—” Aziraphale was up before your brain could process that he had moved at all. He was now standing toe-to-toe with the stranger, which would have looked unimpressive if Aziraphale had not been so obviously full of rage that it practically radiated off of him. The taller man looked down his nose at Aziraphale but said nothing.

“Don’t you ever speak about her in that filthy way again.” Where the tall man’s voice had been unsettling, Aziraphale’s was downright terrifying. You had never heard him sound so threatening, and you’d seen someone try to buy his first edition of Gutenburg’s Bible. It sent shivers down your spine, and your instincts kicked in. You rose from your seat, backing away from the escalating argument in front of you. The two men fought back and forth, and your heart sank further and further into the pit of your stomach. The night had started out so well, you had no idea when things had gone so wrong. You located your purse on the coffee table and picked it up, clutching it to your body.

“I’m going to leave now,” you tried, but to no avail. You cleared your throat, feeling like you were on the brink of tears. “I said, I’m going to leave now!”

That got their attention. Aziraphale’s eyes went wide when he saw you holding your purse, not to mention the way you seemed to be unconsciously cowering away from them. He reached out to you but you stepped back, shaking your head.

“Th-thanks for dinner. I have an early day tomorrow and I should really head home.” You turned to leave. Your hand was on the doorknob when you heard Aziraphale’s voice from behind you.

“Will I see you tomorrow, then?” Your shoulders tensed, and you had to bite your lip against the—completely ridiculous—tears that spring up at the careful hope you could hear. You took a deep breath, and without answering, opened the door and left the little shop.

From the street, you could hear a tremendous noise coming from the second story window, like something quite large and heavy being thrown against the ground. You shuddered because deep down, you didn’t know if the stranger had done it, or if Aziraphale, sweet, loving Aziraphale had. You walked faster.

Tag List:

@chelsdub, @a-hoe-for-vanya, @lordbeezyprinceofhell, @ohfortheloveofchuck

[ourownsideimagines]

Being Aziraphale’s Sibling Human AU Headcanons

I legit didn’t write anything today for a one-shot so here are some head canons for being human!Aziraphale’s sibling!

I promise an actual structured story for tomorrow!

Also, forgive me if I got anything about the British education system wrong, for I am an American doing their best.

---

Aziraphale is your adopted brother. He’s a few months younger than you.

Your parents adopted him when you were two going on three, so you don’t remember life without him.

Your parents were very overprotective, and honestly didn’t let you out of the house much, so you’re very close with your brother

When the two of you started school you were put with separate teachers, and this didn’t change until year seven. 

Still, during recess and lunch breaks the two of you always managed to end up together.

You two meet another kid, Crowley, in year 9. He and Aziraphale butt heads at first but the two of you get on like peas in a pod (which is why Aziraphale eventually warms up to him)

Aziraphale gets rather excited when he learns Crowley was adopted.

The three of you are considered a rather odd group. Aziraphale is the book nerd, Crowley the music nerd, and you’re the theater nerd.

Sleepovers. Lots of sleepovers - typically at your place, since your parents weren’t fond of Crowley’s, and Crowley will take any opportunity to ditch his family.

Aziraphale will always help you with your homework, all you have to do is ask

He’ll always be there for you if you’re feeling down

The two of you shared a room for so long, then you moved into a place with three bedrooms (you’ll still sneak over to his room sometimes to talk or if you have a nightmare)

Aziraphale comes to all your theater performances, whether you’re on stage, back stage, or on tech (Crowley tags along)

Aziraphale had the highest grades in all his classes so you went out to dinner to celebrate, and that night Crowley snuck into your house with some wine he stole from his parents to celebrate and the three of you got absolutely hammered.

Let’s just say your parents didn’t allow Crowley into the house for quite a few months after that (and you and Aziraphale were grounded)

You go to Church every Sunday and Aziraphale is a strong believer (so is Crowley, surprisingly, but he’s also very critical and scrutinizing)

Family trips are also a thing. Lots of picnics, and trips to museums and zoos (until the age of 15 your parents wouldn’t let you wander off alone)

You can go to Aziraphale with everything. He’ll always keep your secrets safe, and you’ll keep his as well.

Aziraphale came out to you as asexual eleventh year, and as panromantic a year later.

If you come out to him, he’ll be very accepting of who you are and/or who you love

If the two of you fight, Aziraphale will be very stubborn but will apologize when he’s cooled down.

He’s like an old man when it comes to technology. He only used his cellphone when he absolutely needs to, and hates when he has to type up an essay (he once paid you to type up an essay he’d handwritten).

Get him a typewriter, he’ll actually use it.

He is a HUGE procrastinator. He’d always rather be reading than doing anything else. But he somehow always gets his work done on time.

People assume he’s the older one

You and Crowley once pranked him into thinking you’d dyed his hair while he was sleeping by using spray on hair color (it took a few days to wash out, though).

Aziraphale always plays classical music and you force him to dance with you, even though he can’t do so to save his life.

He’ll act the role of big brother if there’s any people romantically interested in you that you’re not interested in yourself.

If you do show interest in someone he’ll make damn sure they’re a good person

God forbid you show interest in Crowley, Aziraphale’s brain would probably short circuit.

[ldybluerse]

The Nice and Accurate Tale of Beauty and the Beast

Chapter Six: Beauty and the Beast Good Omens AU

There is little for a Fallen to do when they are not getting into trouble; they are only really meant for trouble-making.  Not to worry though, most Fallen love making and getting into trouble, they love it even more when they get other people involved in their troublesome trouble.  

All Fallen, but one.  

Crowley didn’t mind the idea of trouble or even making smaller amounts of it, nothing that would really hurt someone unless that person was inclined towards harm already.  Crowley also was not a fan of going into town during some peak trouble-making hours (when the shops are busy or at night when there was less people out but more nefarious sorts of trouble are lurking around).  

This meant that Crowley had a lot of time on his hands.  He dedicated his extra time towards the gardens in and around his castle.  As he did not have anyone else to speak to most days, Crowley would talk to the plants.  Though, perhaps “talk” was too gentle of a term for what Crowley did.  He put the fear of Crowley into the plants, making them the most lush, colorful, and vibrant plants in all of France.  His roses were extraordinarily terrified, which is why they always minded their thorns and never curled a petal.  The colors of the roses were beyond anything anyone would find outside of the greenhouse and the scent of those roses could be considered intoxicating to the human nose.

But it was not the roses that Aziraphale saw first.  It wasn’t their sweet fragrance that he took note of right away.  It was not even the perfect display of colors and verdant leaves that gave Aziraphale reason to pause just inside the door.  The roses were the furthest thing from his mind as he gave his full, undivided attention, to the mass on the floor amongst the flowers.

Crowley was asleep, his serpentine lower body coiled in a loose circle while his upper body draped lazily over a portion of his lower half.  Aziraphale watched as slow and even breaths moved the large Naga’s chest in a pattern that marked Crowley as asleep before Aziraphale’s eyes flicked to the thick lashes resting against a speckled cheek.  Being careful to not make a sound, he approached taking in every detail that he could of the Naga before him.

Aziraphale admired the long mess of red curls that spilled over pale and slender shoulders.  A smile playing at the curve of his lips as he noticed the freckles that blemished those shoulders. 

He studied the way that sleep softened Crowley’s angular face, took away harsh lines of unease and distrust.  It made what was striking, tender instead.  From closed off to relaxed.  From beast to beauty.

Aziraphale noted the lack of wings, meaning that Crowley could easily “put them away”, as it were, if he wished.  The Favoured’s smile made a small appearance as he thought of the earlier display with them out was all for intimidation and show.  With lazy strides he walked his way slowly around the Fallen, admiring the sheen of obsidian scales in his magic light.  Crowley’s hair had tumbled in a way that Azirphale could see how the black snake scales continued up his back, tapering as it ascended his spin.  He wondered if the scales of his tail were as smooth as a snake’s?  

Was his hair as soft as it looked?

The Favoured should, strictly speaking, strive for asceticism, a life of rigorous routines and self-denial.  And while Aziraphale could pretend that he was like that, the truth is, he is a hedonist.  Indulging in earthly pleasures never gets in Aziraphale’s way of doing what he thinks is best and being a helping hand as much as he can, yet it means he was far from able to avoid temptation.  He collected books, pretending that he sold them was his cover story to the higher ranks that helped cover his love of “material objects”.  The utter joy and delight he gained from reading, how utterly enchanting the written word was.

Pretending to be human meant that Aziraphale had a reason to enjoy food, sip all manner of drinks, relax in beautifully crafted clothing.  He loved it all.  Which should be enough to tell anyone that Aziraphale was not very good at resisting temptations.  Especially small ones, that meant no one was harmed over.  

Aziraphale’s hand raised before he was fully aware of it.  He hesitated, withdrawing his hand back and shaking his head a fraction.  As if needing a leash on the wayward right hand, Aziraphale held his fingers with the left; thumb and pointer playing with the gold signet ring on Aziraphale’s right pinky finger.  He looked Crowley over again, once more noting he was indeed asleep before he allowed his hand to reach up and graze the fire locks.

The corners of Aziraphale’s eyes crinkled as his brows raised, yes, the hair was as soft as it looked, if a bit messy.  His smile was no longer hiding as he gently touched the Fallen’s curls.  Tenderly he brushed back the hair to get a better look at all of Crowley’s sleeping face.  His fingers were light as they tucked some of the long strands behind a pointed ear, his fingers lingering over the snake tattoo that rested before Crowley’s right ear.  

~*~*~*~

Crowley came awake to the soft strokes of someone brushing his hair.  The temptation to allow this to continue as long as possible was too great.  Keeping his eyes closed, Crowley relished in the tender sensation.  It had been so long since someone touched him so gently, so long in fact he couldn’t pinpoint when the last time such a thing had happened.  He was certain he never had his hair brushed for him since he became a Fallen, living in isolation.  Crowley questioned whether someone had ever brushed his hair even before his curse.  Favoured were not the touchy-feely type.  

He decided that he didn’t want to think about the past or how lonely he had been, instead he would focus on the soothing hands playing in his hair.  There was no tugging or harsh scrapes against his scalp, even when the Favoured came across a tangle in his hair, it was worked out with the utmost care.  He was at ease in that moment, Crowley should have been panicked, at the very least worried; he was in a vulnerable position with his supposed enemy extremely close at hand.  He should get mad because the Favoured clearly did not follow orders to stay out of the West Wing.

Crowley couldn’t bring himself to be anything but in relaxed bliss.

When the brushing stopped, he almost let out an audible whimper because it was over far too soon.  The brush was replaced by deft hands that was working the hair.  Crowley could feel that something was happening but had no clue as to what the Favoured was doing.  “What are you up to…” It was in that moment Crowley remembered he did not actually know the other man’s name.  A few strangled sounds later, after Crowley was done tripping over his tongue, he tried again, “What are you up to Angel?” 

Aziraphale was surprised by the nickname, Angel, what a strange thing to call him.  Humans created the mythology of Angels and Demons to explain the strange things that happen when Fallen and Favoured are about.  Who is to say that Favoured were not Angels but by another name.  Still, it was an odd thing to call him just because of the human stories.  “I am braiding your hair Dear.”

Dear?!  Crowley had not expected an endearment in return.  “Yes, well… uh...ngk…” Crowley was worse than tongue-tied as his brain short-circuited and left him without any response at all.

Aziraphale was enjoying how Crowley’s pointed ears turned as red as his hair when he blushed.  Who knew something he called everyone would have such an impact on Crowley?  “When was the last time you tended to your hair?  It was in such a state.”

“I think a couple of days, I had a long nap before my “mail delivery”.  I didn’t think I needed to brush my hair before I left.”

“Ah yes, the matter of you delivering, what I am hoping is medicine.  Although that Baker child got sick so suddenly she may have gotten ill due to poison.” Suddenly the hands that were styling his hair stopped.  They were barely touching him but Crowley could feel the stiffness.  “You are not at fault for people getting sick are you?”  Aziraphale was horrified that he had just now thought of such a thing.

“Of course not!  I have nothing to do with anyone getting sick.  And I don’t hurt kids, my kind might do that sort of thing but that isn’t something I would do.”  Crowley glanced as best he could over his shoulder to where Aziraphale was standing.  

“Oh… you can hardly blame me for being suspicious you are a Fallen.  A working apothecary that belongs to a Fallen would produce poisons, not medicines.  That is why I wanted to ask you.”

“And you would believe me if I told you I didn’t poison random people?”

“Well, no?  I supposed I should not.”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“I have no reason to believe or trust you.”

Crowley decided he didn’t want to hear how much of a beast he was because of the curse.  “And why have you been poking about the West Wing, when I expressly told you not to.”  

“You must realize the best way to get someone to do something you do not want them to do, is to tell them not to do it.  Besides, I wanted to know what you were up to and hiding.  Whether or not there was a cause for concern.”

“Of course there is cause for concern.  It’s not like I am a nice person.”

“Mmhmm… do you mind terribly if I pluck a few roses?”

“You’ll do what you want anyway, so why ask?”

“You can hardly blame me for being curious,” Crowley felt the loss of heat from the Favoured’s body as he stepped away and towards some of the roses.  “We have just met and did not speak much…”

“You wanted to stop talking,” Crowley interrupted.  He received a raised brow and stern look for that one.

“Yes, well, we hardly spoke.  It is my job to know what you are doing and to stop you.  I see no reason to stop you from healing sick children, as I now know that is what you are doing.”  Aziraphale walked back once he selected several beautiful white roses that would accent Crowley’s hair and eyes.

Crowley stiffened ever so slightly when the other was back, his fingers working with his hair once more, weaving the flowers through the tamed mane.  

“Besides, I found myself rather bored.  There is not much for me to do besides explore.  Were I not your “prisoner”, I would happily be out of your hair and back at my bookshop.”

Crowley made an undignified sound, “We both know you are no prisoner Angel.  So there must be another reason you are staying.”

“Curiosity.  About you, you do not act like other Fallen I have come across or heard about.  Ah, there we are.  All done, and such a lovely sight.”  Aziraphale beamed as he looked over his work.  “I have been rather rude, as I have not properly introduced myself yet.  I am Aziraphale.”

Crowley took several long moments for his brain to process everything Aziraphale had said in those short few sentences.  “Yes..well.. Uh… You own a bookstore?”

“Yes, it is my disguise as I investigate the Fallen activity in this area.”

“You need a disguise?”

“If I wish to blend in with the humans, I should act like one.”

“People don’t notice things Angel.  They happily go about their lives without ever noticing odd things happening.  I suppose this means you like books?”

——————————————————

I regret nothing.

[why-not-go-with-style]

So correct me if I’m wrong, but we don’t really see anyone actually flying in this series, do we? And what’s the point of characters with wings if they don’t fly at least once? I thought to myself, and then proceeded to write a fic where... nobody actually flies either. But there’s a lot of talking about it!

I wrote this while sitting on a ledge looking down onto the concrete two stories below whenever I needed a reason to be sufficiently scared. (Method acting? Watch me method write instead).

Word count: 1789

———

Crowley’s wings are pitch-black, and well-groomed, and never-used.

If one were to find out about this and ask questions – they wouldn’t, because Crowley knew how to keep his secrets, but there are always hypotheticals – he had a list of excuses catalogued neatly at the back of his mind.

The list went as such:

1. No thanks. Humans have all matter of surveillance technology nowadays. You think you’re alone, and the next thing you know there’s a video of a flying man being discussed on every news station.

2. There’s nowhere to fly, recently. London’s got all these antennae and chimneys and phone lines. One can go out into a field somewhere if one were so inclined, of course, but refer to point one.

3. The birds get real defensive when you try to share their airspace, and you don’t want to antagonise the birds. (Look what happened to Spider).

4. Us snakes aren’t made for flying, really. You ever seen a flying snake before? Yeah, didn’t think so. We’re meant to slither and suchlike.

5. None of your bloody business, that’s why!

They were all good excuses, and each one on its own would, no doubt, appease the poor curious soul which dared to question a demon. When blurted out all at once, in rapid progression, in an ever more alarmed tone, however, they raised far more questions than they answered.

Another circumstance that made the excuses slightly less convincing was when the questions were asked by an equally ancient being with a pair of wings of his own. Foam-white, and all-ruffled, and well-used.

Because Crowley, of course, knew how to keep secrets, but every rule had an exception, and for all Crowley’s rules the exception was the same. It liked crepes, and Chateau Lafitte 1875, and – horror of horrors – tartan.

And flying, too. Can’t forget flying.

As such, Aziraphale asked a question – the question, really, for it was one of the few questions Crowley (who appreciated questions with all his being) could stand not being asked. It happened one fine evening in the flat above the bookshop, a bottle of wine opened on the wooden table between them, but not yet even half-empty (or half-full, depending on which one of the beings in the room you asked). They were sitting there, and they were drinking, and then Aziraphale tilted his head to the side in that way he always did when he was curious about something.

“You know, my dear, I’ve always wondered,” he said, sloshing the liquid around in the bottom of his mug. “Why is it that you never fly?”

And in Crowley’s defense, he hasn’t expected it. Not today, not out of the blue like that, not so soon after the turmoils of averting the Apocalypse and other side hustles. So Aziraphale asked, and Crowley’s brain short-circuited.

“Well,” he blurted out. “Well, you see – no thanks. Humans have all matter of surveillance technology nowadays. You think you’re alone–“

It was a well-practiced list, and Crowley knew it word for word. Still, Aziraphale’s eyebrows proceeded to creep higher and higher at the increasing levels of alarm in his voice. The angel set his mug aside and leaned forward in his armchair, watching the demon flail.

“None of your bloody business, that’s why!” Crowley finished, huffing in frustration and emptying his own glass at a swallow. “Why are you asking, anyway?”

“Well,” Aziraphale said, carefully. He blinked a few times, coaxed his facial expression back into a neutral state. “I will admit to having been curious. I can’t say I expected... that sort of response.”

“Oh shut up,” Crowley scowled, making an effort to keep in as good a nature as he could manage. “It’s complicated, angel. Drop it.”

“Well, all right,” Aziraphale muttered, and Crowley remembered, suddenly, that making him drop subjects when he got that sort of a puzzled look on his face has never worked out for him before. Sure enough: “But still – it’s not that you can’t fly, certainly?”

“Of course I can fly, who do you think I am?” Crowley huffed. “I’ll have you know I’m one hell of a flier, me. Barrel rolls, Cuban eights, all sorts of things, really!”

“So..?” Aziraphale prompted. Crowley grimaced at him.

“So what? I gave you a whole list of reasons, angel, was that not enough?”

“Oh no, it was very... comprehensive,” Aziraphale said. “It’s just that I have a hard time imagining any of them would actually hold you down if you wanted to fly. The snake thing, perhaps – but then, you are usually quite adamant on insisting that just because you are a serpent, it doesn’t mean you can’t do human things. I can’t see why flying would be any different.”

“I can’t see why flying would be any different,” Crowley repeated in an attempt at a mocking voice (a failed attempt, really, judging by the quirk of Aziraphale’s eyebrows). “Of course it’s different! Flying is– flying is– You know!”

He gestured around wildly, knocking a couple of books off the shelves behind him. Aziraphale miracled them back to their respective spots before they even hit the ground, sending Crowley one of his ever-patient looks.

“I don’t know, my dear”, he said. “But I want to understand, if you’d let me.”

Crowley hissed at him. Then thought about his behaviour for a moment and cringed to himself, forcing his arms back at his sides.

“Sorry,” he said. Aziraphale shook his head, a shadow of an amused smile flickering on his face for a moment before it morphed back to attention. “Well – the snake thing is a part of it, really. I belong on the ground, crawling and whatnot.”

“Crowley–“

“Yes, yes, I know,” he wrinkled his nose. “When has that ever stopped me? Well, if you really must know, angel...”

He clutched his fists around the woollen quilt, which Aziraphale insisted on draping over his sofa because he maintained it was much more comfortable than leather. (It was, of course, but in Crowley’s humble opinion it utterly ruined the purpose of a leather sofa, which is to look expensive and be as uncomfortable as possible). The angel opposite him tipped his head to the side.

“If you really must know,” Crowley repeated, his voice wavering only a little, which was an achievement in its own right, “it’s the heights.”

“The... heights?” Aziraphale echoed, his brows knitting together. Crowley looked down at his hands, unclenched his fists, and straightened the quilt again.

“Yes, the heights,” he huffed. “Well, the falling, I guess, but it’s all kinda a packaged deal, ain’t it? Listen – you aren’t the one who took a freestyle dive from the top of the pearly gates down into boiling sulphur!”

“There are no–“

“Pearly gates in Heaven, yes, I know, I’ve been there, angel! That’s not my point!” Crowley exclaimed. “My point is that I’m done falling, thank you kindly! There is a limit on how much falling a being can take in their life, and I rather think that I’ve exhausted it!”

He refilled his glass with a snap of his fingers and drained it again, avoiding Aziraphale’s gaze. The angel followed suit, pouring himself some wine from the bottle. Crowley saluted in his direction and made a remarkably decent attempt at a smirk.

“Anyways, whatever,” he drawled. “Just... forget it, angel. Doesn’t matter.

“Doesn’t ma– of course it matters!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “I mean – I wouldn’t dream of forcing you to do something you don’t want to, my dear, but don’t you ever get... you know..?”

“No, I don’t know, angel,” Crowley snorted. Aziraphale bit down on the inside of his cheek, fidgeting with his fingers in frustration.

“If I stay on the ground too long, I feel so... earthbound,” he said, searching for words. “Heavy. Not in the literal sense of the word, I am, of course– anyway. Flying, it’s – freeing. The wind, and the sky, and the earth below – don’t tell me you’ve never missed it. I mean, Before, you must have–“

“Before,” Crowley sneered, “was Before. Now is now. You’re an angel, angel, of course it’s freeing for you! I haven’t flown for millennia – you can’t in all honestly believe I wouldn’t tumble down the moment I tried it even if I wanted to!”

Aziraphale shrugged, keeping his eyes focused just above Crowley’s right shoulder. Were he a human, Crowley would suspect he’s avoiding eye contact. As it stood, however, he was pretty confident the angel was straining his eyes to catch a glimpse of the black feathers. Crowley scoffed and twitched his shoulders upwards, letting his wings show.

“See?” he said. “Mint condition. Never used.”

Aziraphale’s gaze slid back towards his face, even as his own wings shimmered into existence behind him.

“I think it is rather like riding a bicycle,” he said softly. “You never quite forget how to do it. I mean – you have a car, of course, you hardly need bicycles, or any other methods of transportation, for the matter, which– Ah.” He wrinkled his nose in the adorable manner he had when he realised his rambling has gotten slightly too off-topic (not that Crowley ever objected to listening). “Never mind that. My point is, if you don’t want to fly, it’s perfectly fine, my dear. But – well, if you ever do, I hope you know there is always someone who’d be willing to catch you.”

A flustered shiver cascaded down Aziraphale’s unkempt feathers, and although Crowley couldn’t see them, he suspected that his were doing much the same. He wanted to turn around, tell them to stop this traitorous behaviour, but he didn’t dare move. He didn’t dare look away either, trying to soak in all the warmth of Aziraphale’s gaze like a serpent on a particularly cold winter day, and failing even in that, for there seemed to be no end to it. He snapped his fingers again, a soft sound, barely there in the swish of feathers, and reached for his glass, fumbling across the table and still refusing to look down to find it.

“Well then,” he said, and he found his voice to be suddenly awfully hoarse. “I’ll... think about the offer.” And then, lifting the glass up, fumbling over his words and his thoughts just as much: “To... bicycles?”

If Aziraphale’s gaze was a campfire, then his smile, as he lifted his mug by its own ceramic wings, was nothing short of the binary stars of Alpha Centauri.

“To bicycles,” he agreed, clinking it against the glass. “In any case, if the worst comes to worst, I did make a scooter fly once, didn’t I?”

Crowley choked on his wine, and then laughed, and didn’t stop laughing for a long time.

[me-my-interviews]

Theater/College/Human AU

Aziraphale never had a hard time talking to others. He could strike up a conversation with anyone in his classes and would always remember what other people’s weekend plans were once they told him. He would ask how those plans went the next time he saw them and they would tell him.

But they never stuck around.

While Aziraphale could go and start talking to anyone, making real friends was a real struggle. Here he was, a third-year in University and he still didn’t have any real friends.

He did have some people who were in his History of Religion major that we would talk to. Gabriel, Uriel, and Michael. Apparently, they all met each other in their 101 class, never saw the irony of their names and formed their own little group. He met them earlier in his third-year when he was assigned a group project to work with them.

He meets with them in the history building every once in a while, for a bit of studying and socialization. This doesn’t mean he has their numbers or anything, they are just always there it seems.

But that’s not the problem.

See, Aziraphale had to take an elective class for his degree, and decided to take an acting class. Easy enough, have some fun on stage and move on. Right? Wrong.

On the second day of class he was randomly partnered to another boy in the class to preform a short scene. This wouldn’t have been such a problem if the boy wasn’t so good looking.

As soon as Professor Nai called his name and the others name (“Crawley?”) to be partners he looked around trying to find him. And he couldn’t even look him in the eyes once he did.

This was for two reasons. One, he was wearing sunglasses inside like people who are trying to hard to show off how cool they are. Two, he was very handsome.

He had shoulder-length red hair, a leather jacket, those blasted sunglasses, and a pair of leave-no-room-for-imagination jeans on. Completely not Aziraphale’s type. Until today.

They walked up to each other and found a space in the room to start practicing.

“Hello, my name is Aziraphale. Sorry, but I didn’t quite catch yours?” Start off polite, see how this goes.

“Crowley. It’s no problem, Professor didn’t say it right anyways. So, what’s our scene?” He leaned over Aziraphale to look at the two scripts their teacher gave him to start with.

Damn. Aziraphale could listen to this Crowley fellow talk for hours with an accent like that.

Off they went using their time to act but they both kept getting off track talking about anything but what they are supposed to as students do when given little supervision.

“So, what do you like to do for fun?” This question actually threw Aziraphale off a bit, he was not used to people asking him about his own life. Mainly he asked about others and made a space in which they could talk but they rarely asked him back.

“Oh, well umm, I actually like to read. I guess I don’t do much more than that otherwise...” Great, now he sounded like such a bland person. Crowley probably thought he was such a boring bookworm with an answer like that. And with those sunglasses he couldn’t even get a read of his face looking at his own.

“Why doesn’t that surprise me. You dress like an apprentice librarian.” He reached over and pinched the shoulder of Aziraphale’s overcoat. Before he thought about the hand that was touching him and what he was going to say, he responded.

“Well you look like your about to start up a motorbike gang without the faintest knowledge of how one operates a bike, so your one to talk.”

They both froze at that response. Hand still on his shoulder, Aziraphale frozen in time at his brash response. He had one chance to make a nice impression and there is goes out the window.

But then Crowley reared back in laughter and gave a thump of appreciation on his shoulder saying, “You got me there angel, you got me there!”

‘Did he just call me ang-’

“Come on, we better take our seats before our teach yells at us.” And sauntered off back to where most of the class was gathering again.

Aziraphale took a moment to compose himself. They seemed to hit it off quite well. Maybe they could become actual friends and meet up outside of class! And maybe it could develop into something more... no, don’t think like that. One thing at a time.

He had an older generation phone, it had to be charged constantly but was at least touch screen, maybe he could ask to exchange numbers. It would be forward but Aziraphale felt that he could ask now. Better at the start of the class year then wait until the last week.

With that thought in mind, he pulled his phone out from his pocket and walked up behind where Crowley was seated. He opened his mouth to ask the question when he saw the ginger turn on his phone.

He only got a glimpse of his lock screen but that was enough.

It was a picture of a cute girl with round glasses and long braided black hair. She was smiling so sweetly towards whoever was taking the photo. Then he unlocked the screen to a text conversation.

Before he looked away, he saw long boxes of dialogue between the two texting and a long name with little, he believes they are called ‘emojis’, next to it.

Aziraphale took all this in, took a silent deep breath, put his phone away and sat down next to him.

+_+_+_+_+_

As the class went on over the next few weeks, Crowley and Aziraphale spent as much time as they could together in the class. Sadly, it was only three times a week, but Aziraphale looked forward to it every day. He hadn’t really been able to connect with anyone else in the class but he also did admit he didn’t make much of an effort to.

They sat next to each other before class, choose each other to work with each other when they could and started making a few inside jokes between the two of them.

Aziraphale was falling hard. Crowley was such a charmer, with his quick wits and willingness to say his opinion even if it was an unpopular one. His leather coat and sunglasses that never seemed to leave his body.

Even though he knew he was just going to get hurt by joking and being with Crowley, if that photo of the girl on his lock screen was anything to go by, he still kept doing it. Which left him about halfway through the class one Friday preforming an improv scene with the one and only Crowley.

They were preforming a scene in front of the class and had to adapt to when someone in the audience called out for a specific scene change. They were currently a bartender and a drunkard when their Professor told them to pause and change scene.

“You broke up with each other last week but are trying to hook back up!” A darker skinned girl in their class shouted up to the two on stage.

They both looked at each other, one through glasses the other through sunglasses, and Crowley stepped up real close to Aziraphale with a smirk.

“Baby, please come back to me. We both know you love me, give me another chance.” He reached out and slowly pulled off Aziraphale’s glasses with a soft touch.

Aziraphale’s brain short-circuited for a moment and he knew he had to have been blushing hard. But he would not let Crowley win this.

He reached out and tucked the soft red hair behind his right ear, where he saw a tattoo he hadn’t noticed before. It seemed to be a coiled-up snake.

“You are just as much of a snake as the one on your face. You think I would take you back? Prove to me you deserve a second chance. Prove to me that you are worth me.” Aziraphale felt proud of his comeback and leaned in closer to the others face. The class waited with baited breath.

Crowley, as much as his face could be seen, suddenly looked odd. He took an obvious step back and handed the glasses back to him in silence. Aziraphale was confused with this sudden change in his demeanor. Crowley took another look at the blond-hair man, a glance at the audience and stalked off the stage and out of the classroom.

Aziraphale suddenly felt very, very alone. The class was in silence and his Professor tired to get his attention and say it was all okay but he barely heard it. All he knew is he went to far, somehow, and lost the only one he could really consider to be his friend. He lost all chances to make something in the future with each other.

He slowly walked off the stage to his backpack and sat down quietly. He wasn’t asked to do anymore work for the rest of that day.

+_+_+_+_+_

He laid in his bed and cried that night.

First time in a very long time.

And it was a very long time he cried.

+_+_+_+_+_

The weekend flew by in a blur for Aziraphale. He went about his life, getting ahead on reading assignments, projects, and homework, but it was all done halfheartedly. He couldn’t stop thinking about what he did wrong. He knew it must have been something he said but it was all a blur at this point.

Even his beloved books couldn’t hold his interest.

When Monday came around, he dragged himself to his acting class, later then he would had normally gone. Before he would always show up 20 minutes early so, he could spend time before class with Crowley, but now he had to convince himself not to skip.

As he was approaching the classroom, he saw two people stood by the door. One was a pretty girl with long black hair in a dark dress with a shawl. She was leaning against the wall facing Aziraphale but was talking to the person in front of her.

It took Aziraphale a minute to recognize the person. It was Crowley but with cut hair. Instead of the shaggy-shoulder length hair, he had it short and with a quiff. They both laughed at something one of them said and it broke Aziraphale out of his trance.

This was the girl on Crowley’s phone. This is his girlfriend. He started tearing up.

She glanced over and saw him. A concerned expression crossed her face.

“Hey, are you okay?” She started to go around Crowley who turned around, and startled at seeing him.

“I-I have to go!” Then Aziraphale turn and ran off, ignoring the yell of “ANGEL!” behind him. Crowley wasn’t cruel, no matter how hard he tried to play it cool, he was really a softie and Aziraphale got to see that side of him. But now he messed up and Crowley has a right to hurt him, its what he deserves really.

That was Aziraphale’s logic if anything.

That was what he kept reasoning to himself for the next week. Over and over again telling himself this.

He knew he had to go back to class at some point but also knew he could miss a few days without a large deduction of a grade. He was just trying to focus on some of his other classes.

This meant that he was spending more time in the history building and consequently more time with Gabriel and his people.

He never knew why he always went back to them, there was plenty of spots in the building to stay at. He thought it was simply because he really did not have anyone else to talk with. He was lonely.

“And that’s why the fourteenth century was the best century of them all.” He zoned back in to see that Uriel was proudly seated obviously waiting for applause to what he must feel was a solid argument.

“Aziraphale, if you’re just going to sit there silently you might as well leave. You don’t need to add anything but at least pretend that you are listening.” He looked over to Michael who was borderline glowering at him.

“Ah, you’ll have to forgive me, lots on my mind is all.”

They rolled their eyes but Gabriel leaned onto his elbows onto his knees and said, “Girl troubles? You’ll have to talk to Michael about that.” She looked unhappy at being brought in for this but looked over at Aziraphale.

“So, what is it? She already has a boyfriend? Does she even know that you exist? Your more than likely not going to be worth her time, so you’ll have to put in a lot more work if you want anyone to look at you twice.”

“And maybe lose the gut, not flattering.”

They all nodded and turned back towards Aziraphale as though expecting him to cheer for their advice and offer them some sort of gift in response.

He looked at all of them, really taking them all in. Then slowly shook his head.

“You know what, no. I’m done with all this. First of all, its ‘boy troubles’ and second off you can all step off of your high-and-mighty thrones. I don’t need any of you to give me advice or try to care about my personal life. I’m leaving and I just have to say, you all…are just very bad people!”

With that he stormed off, proud of himself for finally calling them out.

One problem down, one to go.

+_+_+_+_+_

Friday finally came by and he was determined to talk to Crowley. He hated how emotional he has been and felt that now was the time to talk.

He tried to get there early but managed to be five minutes late thanks to people stopping him to sign their petitions. (How could he say no, they all made very compelling arguments.)

He opened the door and had tunnel vision for Crowley. He was sat in their normal spot seeming to be listening to their teacher go on about the more intense scenes that they will start working on.

Aziraphale quietly walked over to their spot (completely missing their teachers smile at seeing this) and sat down.

It took a moment for Crowley to notice anyone was there, Aziraphale realized this was because he was falling asleep.

He poked him.

“Crowley,” He whispered, “I’m sorry that I have been avoiding you. I didn’t mean whatever it is I said on Monday, I was just acting.”

A sunglasses clad face turned to look at him, mouth agape and eyebrows raised.

“I-I actually like your tattoo if that was it, it suits you. And I, well I mean that in a nice way, not that you actually are a snake ha-ha. Also, you cut your hair! I like it. Looks very soft. I’ll miss your little braids though. But obviously it’s your body, you choose what you do with it-!” He was rambling now, no idea where to go at this point.

Crowley reached over and grabbed one of the waving hands in the air.

“Aziraphale-”

“Crowley, Aziraphale, thank you for volunteering, we look forward to seeing this particular scene at the end of the class.”

The two boys startled and looked at Professor Nai. When Crowley grabbed his hand, they both left them in the air. Long enough it seemed like they raised their hands together.

For a scene that neither was paying attention to.

They slowly got up to retrieve the scripts and move to work outside, never seeing the knowing smile on their teachers face.

Professor Ado Nai was doing the Lord’s work after all.

+_+_+_+_+_

With their moment ruined by being interrupted, they both were awkwardly standing towards each other in silence.

“Well, I guess we could, ah, start on this scene.” Aziraphale handed over one of the scripts and they started reading over it with growing horror.

“Oh, umm, well this is…”

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“What?”

“I can go tell her we didn’t volunteer for this.”

Aziraphale stared at him for a moment.

“What did you mean by if I didn’t want to do this. Wouldn’t it make your girlfriend jealous?”

“My WHAT?”

They looked at each other. They were both having the same conversation but felt they were universes apart from each other.

Crowley sighed and took off his sunglasses. His pupils were almost pinpricks because they were so small and yet a beautiful shade of bright green surrounded them. Other colors seemed to swirl in and out but suddenly he was moving closer and Aziraphale moved focus.

He reached out and put his hands on either side of Aziraphale’s face and leaned in almost a hair’s breath away.

“If I were to kiss you right now, would you consider it just for our scene or for something more.”

“…more…”

Crowley leaned in and planted a soft kiss on Aziraphale’s lips. This was Aziraphale’s first kiss and was just trying to play off of what Crowley was giving him.

It was a short kiss, but it was a long time coming for them both.

They pulled back and looked at each other.

Aziraphale started fumbling and pulled out his phone.

“On the-the second day of class I wanted to ask for your number. But I saw you had that girl on your phone…”

Crowley looked at him for a moment before it clicked.

“Anathema. Nono she’s just my friend. Has this weird thing of destiny or some shit with this other dude? Fruit or something. I just lost a bet and that’s why she’s there.” He smirked and leaned back in.

“You weren’t jealous or anything were you?”

“No! Of course not!” He was blushing again.

“Well here.” And before Aziraphale could think, Crowley whipped out his phone, the sound of a camera shutter went off. “There, now you can be my lock screen.” Pause.

“If you want to of course.”

This was starting to be a bit too fast for Aziraphale. He was so happy with this turn of events but it was starting to be a bit much.

“That’s-that’s fine but maybe could we-would you mind if we, just took a minute…?”

Crowley smiled and put his phone away. “Of course.”

He slid his sunglasses back on and held out his hand which Aziraphale took.

“Why do you wear those all the time?”

“My eyes are very sensitive. I know what I look like and don’t care, but even these lightbulbs give me headaches without them.”

“Oh, good to know. Are you free after class?”

“For you angel, I’m free 24/7.”

And that was the start of their relationship. The scripts were left fallen onto the ground and forgotten.

Their professor never called them back in to preform that day.

When she walked out later after the class was dismissed, she saw them laying on the ground and picked them up.

Romeo and Juliet. The highlighted part to preform was when Juliet lies supposedly dead on that slab of brick. And Romeo kisses her hopes of her awakening.

Professor Nai silently patted herself on the back for her own ideas after seeing these two holding hands walking back into class together.

[citrontartellete]

I want you and always will

So, hello again :). I´m completly obssessed with this show, someone save me !! So this one is based in of my favourites songs ever that is “Oceans’ by Seafret and to me this song scream their names. So here is a kind of angsty fic with happy end and smut at some point. 

Pre - Armageddon

 ‘Good evening you are listening to BBC Radio 1’

 Yeah I want you

And nothing comes close

To the way that I need you

I wish I could feel your skin

And I want you

From somewhere within      

 Crowley sighed and rolled the glass scotch between his handsclosing his eyes listening to the music. For the first time in years Crowley bothered to listen to the radio, the apocalypse was near and he wanted to do something different. Following the silly human cliché of doing something you never did before. He took a sip of his scotch and sighed again, biting his lips his mind going back to a few hours ago, replaying everything that Aziraphale, his angel, had told him. He then watched carefully as a tiny bit of hope showed up on the angel’s face and the dreamy look on his too blue and beautiful eyes and Crowley dared to hope too. Dared to hope about only their side existing, away up in the stars just the two of them, living in a small house on Alpha Centauri or Gallyfrey. Gallyfreian people were such nice understanding people they would accept them with no trouble, no more reports, no more thwarting or wiles, no more head offices Beezebuth or Gabriel or any of this, just the two of them in a nice planet with nice people trying to finally be happy. Where he could finally, touch, kiss, and tell everything he felt and had to swallow down every fucking day for almost six thousand years. Those bloody feelings he kept for ages bottled up inside him.

‘Go off together ? Listen to yourself !’

  His mind supplied, the hopeful tone on his angel’s voice, of course Aziraphale wanted this as much as he did, just as badly it was written all over his face. Of course, he refused it to both actually go off with him, to actually leave all this stupid nonsense behind and just be happy. Stupid, stupid, stupid angel! Their fucking head offices didn´t give a fuck about them. Crowley thought angrily, feeling the tears sting in his eyes. He just wanted a chance with Aziraphale, to touch him properly. He recalled all the times they´ve encountered each other through the history and the small weeks they would take off together to get drunk and mock their respective head offices, and just talk. How close they were of each other staring, almost touching, and almost giving into those feelings bubbling under their skin, the longing afterwards. He could feel the angel´s eyes follow his every move when they were together how Aziraphale would fixate his eyes on his lips every time Crowley took a cup or a glass to his lips, or ate a bit of food. The angel would lick his lips and close his eyes sighing in resignation. Crowley knew, he have watched and replayed every little moment on his mind, torturing himself with it, wanking himself to the memories of these small stolen moments when their fingers brushed together or when he and Aziraphale got too close or their knees and shoulders brushed together.

Imagining how touch his angel must feel, if his skin was soft like it seemed, how it would be run his hands for those blonde white curls and trace his lips with his fingers following their shape, to hold on Aziraphale soft lovely body while they were deep in passion and letting out all those eons of hiding their feelings behind.

Crowley took another sip of his scotch and got up. Would not do dwell on these thoughts right now. He was going to the bookshop again, he was going to beg the angel to come with him to Alpha Centauri or Gallyfrey or Pluto since the angel said yes to him. He just needed to convince him to come to the stars.

It didn´t work. His angel kept stuck with that stupid idea of talking with the Almighty, so She could fix it. God as always was moving in mysterious ways, God writes straight with crooked lines, because none ever knew God’s plans for heaven´s sakes. Not even angels.

‘I´m going home angel. I´m getting my stuff and I´m leaving and when I´m off in the stars I won’t even think about you’ It was the worst and more hurtful lie that ever escaped his lips. Of course, he would think about Aziraphale and he knew that in no time he would be back to beg him again, actually beg, get on his knees if he needed to.

 I want you

And I always will

I wish I was worth

But I know what you deserve

You know I'd rather drown

Than to go on without you

But you're pulling me down

 He lost Aziraphale and nothing made any sense. He had lost his angel, the world could fuck explode right now he didn´t care, he is going to just sit in this pub and drink himself until the skies were red and comets were crashing down the atmosphere and the sea turned into a massive bowl of bouill- bouilla whatever name the French called that fancy fish stew of theirs. He had no reason to fight anymore. Crowley would gladly spent the eternity doing whatever he was told to or causing problems or listening the Heavens torturing the demons with The Sound of Music for all he care. He started to pray silently that the rain crashing outside would be one of holy water, heavy fat droplets of holy water. Be discorporate was still a better option than live without Aziraphale. His life would be so empty without him and that endless faith and love, grace, and he did not even add the fact that Aziraphale was a enough of a bastard worth knowing.  He recalled being an angel sometimes. It was when he first saw Aziraphale, before he sauntered downwards, that gracious angel with an easy smile helping the cherubs with their chores of looking cute all the time, and following Gabriel´s steps without a word of complaint even though the archangel would throw orders at him. Crowley followed Lucifer and the guys, and every time he feels guilty and unworthy of Aziraphale and everything that he is. He hates himself so much for it. Why he did not have seen it before? Defying the Almighty, asking questions when they were made with sole purpose of obeying and do as they were told. Nevertheless, he was curious, curious about what was that about. About the questions, he wanted answers. Why was this so wrong Up There ? He just wanted to know and that would have been his damnation. If he hadn´t asked or went to the bloody meetings with Lucifer he could be with Aziraphale right now, both in heaven, fighting side by side. It was fun though, how his world revolved around the angel. His angel.

 Post Amargeddon’t and Trials.

Crowley watched Aziraphale feeling a little dazzled. Watched as he moved around his flat to fetch more champagne, to talk with his plants covering the little traitorous bastards with love and compliments. He only followed him resting his body against the doorframe as Aziraphale listened to what the plants were saying, the champagne flute on his hand, bare feet and without so many clothes, the light making his white blonde curls glisten, his cheeks flustered and an easy happy smile on his face.

‘Oh thank you !’ he said to the bindweed over the small fence that Crowley had placed against the wall, the white flowers vigorous and shining more than ever ‘Oh, really ? I didn’t know that !’ the angel said. gently lifting his eyes from the plants to stare at Crowley his eyes blue eyes so bright, it almost seemed to Crowley that all the stars were dancing in his angel´s eyes ‘Oh….Are you sure of this darling ?’ he asked the plant, gently turning to a large pot of lemongrass.

The same lemongrass that Crowley would take to the angel, under the excuse of drinking fresh tea instead of the boxed ones because ‘Really angel for all you know these teabags must be filled with all sorts of chemicals, here lets have fresh tea !’ Actually, nothing made Crowley happier than seeing the knowing smile on Aziraphale´s face and he loved take the product of so much hard work to the angel (Not that shouting at the plants count as hard work when it comes to gardening). It made him immensely happy.

‘Enough angel you´ll spoil ‘em’ The demon said.

‘But darling, they were just telling me how much you talk about me’ the angel said amused never breaking the eye contact, leaning a little to listen what a bromeliad had to say as well, Aziraphale giggled ‘Yes, he is lovely, indeed’ the angel winked at him.

Crowley gasped. Aziraphale winked at him and his plants beamed the little fucking bastards beamed and giggled. Where are their respect for him? He would teach them a lesson later. Crowley walked to Aziraphale and took him by the hand taking him out of the greenery, swearing and murmuring under his breath about what he would do to them. He had not noticed when the angel interlocked their fingers together trying to supress his laughter.

‘Honestly, darling don’t threat the poor things like this they are not lying’ Aziraphale said and Crowley came to a halt in the middle of the corridor leading to the living room the angel taking advantage of the moment, slowly wrapped his arms around the demons´ torso, resting his cheek on his back and Crowley wanted to scream. He closed his eyes and swallowed the scream down his throat, squeezing his eye shut, feeling the angel´s fingertips move gently through the thin fabric of his shirt in light caresses sending shivers down his spine, making him almost moan. Then Crowley felt a light kiss on his shoulder and bit back another moan. It was a butterfly kiss only. It was not worth a moan, really. However, Aziraphale´s warm lips against his cold skin even over the fabric of his shirt is….is….Oh God.

He waited so long for it, for this touch even if it is this gentle, even with a layer of fabric separating his angel´s beautiful soft lips from his skin.

Crowley´s brain short-circuited when he felt the angel place a small open-mouthed kiss on the back of his neck, he went weak on the knees, if Aziraphale wasn´t holding him so tight he´d fallen to the floor. If that had happened he would have worshipped Aziraphale by kissing his feet and hands in utterly devotion, offering himself in abandon to his angel take his claim on him. He felt the angel clutch him closer, flushing their bodies together. He would not mind if it was one time drunk thing, a moment of adrenaline after being through so much. Crowley just needed it; he just needed the angel’s touch, the angel taking him in any way he wanted to have him. Crowley would be his gladly. Even if God Herself smite him afterwards. He did not care.

Aziraphale stopped touching him and he let out a despaired noise escape his mouth and begged on a pained tone of voice

‘Please angel, please, don´t stop, don´t stop….’ The demon almost sobbed.

‘Darling, please stop thinking. I can hear it’ the angel answered calmly. Then Aziraphale spun him around and placed a hand on his cheek, he leaned on the touch kissing the angel´s palm eyes fluttering close, feeling Aziraphale caress his cheek with the pad of his thumb, and slowly dragging it through the demon skin until it reached his lips, tracing them, rubbing his finger there. Crowley whimpered, parting his lips allowing the angel to continue his exploration ‘So beautiful….’ Aziraphale whispered and kissed him. Licking into his mouth, tracing his tongue and teeth with his tongue, sucking on it. Making hard to Crowley to keep control of his body. He barely noticed that he had miracle them on his bedroom making Aziraphale laugh a little on his lips.

They started to divest each other with trembling hands and impatient huffs.

‘We could just miracle them away, darling…’ Aziraphale suggested panting a little after another breath-taking kiss, while Crowley fumbled with his pants.

‘No angel, I´ve waited too long for this moment to just miracle them away’

When they finally were free of clothes. Crowley felt his back collide against the mattress the angel all over him, kissing his neck and down his chest, playing with his nipples alternating licks and gentle bites making the demon arch his back, kissing each one of his ribs while interlocking their fingers, whispering praising lovingly words.

‘You’re so beautiful like this, darling’ Crowley dug his fingers on the angel´s shoulder, running his nails over the skin whimpering each time the angel lowered his kisses more, reaching his hipbone, tracing soft kisses on his thighs the demon screamed in pleasure when the angel took him in his mouth, licking his cock head first and ever so slightly taking him, never breaking their eye contact or the hold on his fingers. When Aziraphale started to bob his head, almost closing his eyes Crowley lose it and he moved his hips in soft thrusts.

‘Aziraphale….’ the angel moaned around his cock, sending electric shocks through his body. He was sure he could not hold it any longer and then he came on his angel´s mouth with a cry, squeezing Aziraphale’s fingers with a breaking force.  Aziraphale smiled at him from between his legs and he pushed the angel up by the shoulders, kissing him violently tasting himself on his angel tongue watching as Aziraphale moved slowly. How can the angel be so calm about this? So patient. He straddled Aziraphale, resting his hands on both his cheeks kissing him desperately while whispering on his lips ‘Take me angel, take me...Make me fully yours’ He sobbed on the angel´s lips biting them and then kissing him brutally again.

A few moments later Crowley felt Aziraphale´s fingers inside preparing him, while the angel sucked bruises on his neck and shoulders. Why was Aziraphale taking so long to be inside him? Why? Crowley thought with despair. He was getting impatient. Needed the angel inside him, it was an overwhelming need. The only thing he could think about right now. But before he could complain again, Aziraphale was sliding inside him carefully, watching his face for any sign of discomfort.

‘I´m alright angel’ he whispered, locking their gaze. They moved together on a slow rhythm at first, Aziraphale holding him tight. His eyes were so full of love, Crowley could feel every ounce of this love dripping of the angel´s pores and engulfing him, making him feel all this grace and light inside him. So powerful. He never felt so loved, so cherished before. It was dizzying.

‘I love you’ Aziraphale panted on his lips, thrusting harder and Crowley writhed beneath him screaming the same thing, wrapping his arms around his neck. The demon closed his eyes when he felt his angel coming inside him. When he opened his eyes again there were pearly white feathers scattered and floating around the room.

‘I love you angel’

***

‘I only noticed at that church in 1944’ Aziraphale said sometime later when they shared some takeaway, both wearing robes and sitting on the floor. Shoulders touching. ‘Sorry dear’

‘What for angel ?’ Crowley asked eating a bite of his broccoli

‘For taking so long, I was too afraid of it before. Too afraid of my feelings, too afraid of what might have happened to you’ the angel explained with a tight voice.

‘What made you change your mind?’ Crowley asked curious.

‘Now I know the Almighty would never punish me for loving’ The answer was simple and sincere. The demon laughed and leaned to kiss his angel cheek.

‘Yes, She would never’ He agreed. They finished their take away and then cuddled on the couch falling asleep. When they woke up later, both noticed a new plant near the window. A white rose bush and small note. Both laughed and kissed again. Now they have all the time of the world.

‘You are right. I would never judge you. You have my blessing

-God’

[diaboloframboise]

Good omens fanfiction: An Angel’s apology, part 2

Hi everyone; this is the second part of An Angel’s apology. This takes place after the bandstand argument when Aziraphale tells Crowley that they are not friends and that it's over. This moment crushed my heart so I wanted to see Aziraphale think and apologize about it. This second part is the sexy time happening after the reconciliation. You can read the first part for the actual apology / reconciliation or just this one according to if you want soft or smutty ineffable husbands or both :-) 

Here’s the link to the first part:

https://diaboloframboise.tumblr.com/post/186194654378/good-omens-fanfiction-an-angels-apology

Thank you so much to my great beta reader @thischarmingmutant for providing feedback, nice comments and advices, it is much appreciated.

-------------------------------------------------------

They couldn’t have told how long they stayed like that, basking in each other comfort, letting their clasped bodies express their feelings for a while. Aziraphale eventually pulled back to be able to look at Crowley, wanting to apologize once more, but he never got the chance because Crowley abruptly kissed him. It was not a polite kiss. It was neither tentative nor soft. It was scorching, and hungry, and earth shattering. It was 6000 years of pent up frustration suddenly let loose. It was like a lightning strike in a black sky, and it was like finally, finally getting home. Aziraphale clung to Crowley’s shirt to answer his kiss, clumsily trying to match his devouring passion. Crowley pulled back way too soon for Aziraphale’s taste.

“Too fast?” Crowley asked hoarsely. “Because I can wait some more.”

Aziraphale started to shake his head before Crowley had even ended his sentence.

“No more waiting, my darling,” he said a bit out of breath. He cupped Crowley’s face with his hands, making sure to look straight in his eyes.

“I love you,”Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley swallowed hard, his hands tightening their grip on Aziraphale’s hips. He seemed to scrutinize Aziraphale’s face, looking for a flicker of doubt or hesitation perhaps. He didn’t find any. Aziraphale smiled that soft, sweet smile that was reserved for Crowley only, and Crowley abruptly dove back to Aziraphale’s lips, frantic and desperate.

Aziraphale sighed into Crowley’s mouth, losing all perception of time and of anything that wasn’t Crowley’s lips on his. He nonetheless noticed when his back hit something soft, and briefly opened his eyes in wonder. He had no clear idea on how it had happened, but he was now spread on Crowleys’s bed, flat on his back and pressed into the mattress by a very hungry demon.

Aziraphale wondered briefly how they had ended up here. Did they walk or did one of them perform a little miracle of teleportation? He couldn’t have told. Crowley chose this moment to slot Aziraphale’s lower lip between his teeth to nibble. Aziraphale decided with a breathy moan that he very much didn’t care about the logistics bringing them to bed, as long as Crowley would keep doing whatever it was he was doing. Crowley rolled his hips in a sinful way that had Aziraphale arching against him.

“You still ok?” Crowley asked in a raspy voice.

Aziraphale nodded vigorously.

“Very much ok, my dear, but maybe...” Aziraphale’s voice trailed off as Crowley had abruptly stopped moving at the word “but”, an agonized expression on his face that made Aziraphale hurriedly continue.

“But maybe it would be even more delightful with less clothes,” he added hastily.

Crowley relaxed immediately and smiled softly at Aziraphale, relief etched all over his face.

” You have the best ideas, angel.”

Crowley resumed kissing him, a bit more slowly this time, taking the time to map every inch of Aziraphale’s mouth and recording his reactions for future reference. He started to work on Aziraphale’s buttons, one at a time, enjoying the feeling of unwrapping him out of his clothes, layer after layer. Aziraphale tried to return the favor, but was too distracted by the kisses Crowley was pressing into each newly bared spot of skin as he was gradually undressing him. Aziraphale sighed in frustration, tugging harder and harder at Crowley’s shirt, to which Crowley smiled and dove in for another earth shattering kiss.

The rest of their clothes vanished abruptly, and neither of them could have said which one of them miracled them away, not that they cared. Aziraphale marveled at Crowley’s expression of wonder as he was looking at his angel, finally bare in front of him. Crowley seemed unable to have his fill at watching him, reveling in Aziraphale’s erratic breathing, and getting lost in Aziraphale’s eyes hazy with desire. Aziraphale tugged impatiently at Crowleys’s face, asking for their lips to connect once more and Crowley complied immediately, lowering himself onto Aziraphale’s body, making them both moan at the contact of their naked skin.

Aziraphale had dabbled in sex a few times, out of mere curiosity. It seemed to be such a big deal for humans, even more than food or fine wine, that he had gotten curious. He had given it a try with both men and women, as Aziraphale didn’t care about genders, he simply cared about souls. Even if he had acknowledged the niceness of the thing, Aziraphale had never fully understood what the excitement was about. He had fondly attributed the hype of it to a weird human quirk. He would have never been persuaded to give up crêpes for sex for example, thank you very much. But his perspective on the matter was shifting at lightning speed as Crowley started to do wicked things with the hand he had wrapped between Aziraphale’s legs. A particular twist of Crowley’s wrist on the upstroke made Aziraphale rethink all of his priorities. A precise press of thumb on a particularly sensitive area had him howling and thinking that yes, he would give up crêpes and cake just to feel that one more time. Aziraphale tried to reach blindly between Crowley’s legs, because there was no way he was letting him do all the work, but Crowley gently moved his hand aside.

“Hold that thought, angel, but for now let me take care of you,” he murmured hoarsely.

Aziraphale wanted to protest, really, because how fair was that, but Crowley lowered his head to lick at Aziraphale’s nipple and every protest he had on the tip on his tongue flew away in a broken moan as he arched against Crowley’s mouth.

Crowley took his time, mapping and learning all of Aziraphale’s body with his hands, then with his lips, and then with his tongue. He catalogued every reaction in every place to a kiss, a stroke, a flicker of tongue. When Crowley moved back up to Aziraphale’s face after a last soft kiss on his calf, Aziraphale was shaking. He tried to speak, failed spectacularly except for a few incoherent mumbles, and instead raised his head to plead for a kiss. Crowley obliged, plastering himself against Aziraphale. Aziraphale let slip a cry as Crowley pressed their hips more firmly together, rolling them in a languid movement and efficiently pinning his angel to the mattress.

“You still okay?” Crowley panted into his mouth. “Is this how you want to do this?”

Aziraphale whimpered, gripping Crowley’s hips, his thumbs digging into the flesh and pushing against him while muttering something unintelligible.

Crowley slowed down the sinful roll of his hips, eliciting a desperate noise from Aziraphale.

“I’m gonna need a verbal answer here,” Crowley rasped into his ear.

Aziraphale nodded and focused very hard, trying to get a minimum hold on his brain.

“Inside”, he whispered shakily, “I want you inside of me.”

Crowley’s brain instantly short circuited. He looked positively wrecked as he made an agonizing noise, pressing his forehead against Aziraphale’s.

“You are killing me, angel,” he whined almost reproachfully.

Aziraphale had the nerve to look smug even in his state of utter dishevelment.

“Is that a yes?” he asked, out of breath but very obviously proud of the reaction he had elicited from Crowley.

Crowley growled before attacking Aziraphale’s lips savagely, molding their bodies together once more. He let one of his hands roam over Aziraphale’s body while supporting his own weight with the other. Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s right knee and hooked it around his own waist before switching hand and do the same with the other. He then quickly miracled a pillow under the angel’s lower back and magically slicked his fingers before reaching for Aziraphale’s buttocks.

Aziraphale arched against Crowley at the first press of his finger, his mouth shaped in the most perfect O as his head pushed back against the mattress. Crowley went slowly, so slowly it was actually maddening for both of them, but there was no way Crowley was depriving himself the awe of hearing every gasp and moan tumbling from the angel’s mouth in an endless stream.

Aziraphale writhed on Crowleys’s fingers at a particularly clever move and wriggled frantically to keep the angle right.  Crowley obligingly helped him, curling his fingers just so. The noise it wrestled from Aziraphale was one that Crowley wanted to hear for the rest of his life, so he did it again, and again, and again, marveling at the utterly wrecked face of his angel. Aziraphale clung to Crowley’s shoulders, desperately trying to find some purchase as he felt like he was falling and falling and falling.

Aziraphale suddenly felt a pang of fear. It was too much. All of his senses were in overdrive, he had no control over anything anymore and it was terrifying. He opened his eyes abruptly and met Crowley’s burning gaze. Even in the heat of a moment like that, Crowley’s stare was holding so much care, and attention, and reverence, and love, it was overwhelming. Crowley was so obviously controlling himself to check that Aziraphale was okay, that he was enjoying himself, that things weren’t’ going too fast for him. Crowley smiled softly and pressed a tender kiss on Aziraphale’s forehead, making Aziraphale’s panic recede at once. He was safe. Heart, body, and soul. He was safe. He closed his eyes again and let the sensations flood him.

When he couldn’t bear the wait anymore, Aziraphale reached between Crowley’s legs and took him in his hand to guide him where he wanted him. Crowley shuddered, an almost pained expression on his face. Aziraphale noticed that Crowley was shaking and he took his face between his hands, asking if he was okay. Crowley nodded unsteadily.  

“It’s a bit much,” Crowley admitted in a breath. “You have no idea for how long I’ve wanted this. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted and so much more. Can’t believe it’s happening.”

Aziraphale hummed his understanding. “Take your time, my darling,” he whispered soothingly. “We have all the time in the world after all. Could you kiss me first, perhaps?”

Crowley complied immediately, molding their lips together in a desperate way, like he was trying to convince himself that it was really happening, that Aziraphale was really here and that he wasn’t going anywhere. With his sensitivity to emotions, and especially Crowleys’s ones, Aziraphale felt his trouble.

“I am not going anywhere, Crowley. Not now, not ever. I love you.”

These words, murmured in a shaky voice but with absolute certainty were enough for Crowley to feel his last doubts evaporate. His need for Aziraphale hit him again at full force and Crowley started to slowly slide inside him with a broken cry.

By the time Crowley was fully in, Aziraphale was babbling constantly, the only recognizable thing being Crowley’s name said over and over again interspersed with pleading nonsense.

They started to move together, immediately finding a rhythm as though they had done that since the beginning of time. And they should have, Aziraphale thought erratically, because nothing could ever be better than this. Their bodies were in perfect harmony, as were their hearts and their souls in that very moment. There was nothing they would ever cherish more that this feeling of moving as one, breathing as one, being one, now and for all eternity.

When Crowley felt that Aziraphale was getting close, he pulled back from his lips.

“Look at me, angel, please look at me,” he pleaded.

Aziraphale peeled his eyes open with great effort, his gaze unfocused but adoring all the same.

Crowley wrapped his hand between Aziraphale’s legs making him cry out. A few strokes were enough to make Aziraphale’s body seize up then spasm uncontrollably as his release hit him like a train at full speed. He sobbed Crowley’s name one last time before collapsing boneless on the mattress. Crowley gave a last thrust before following Aziraphale in his agonizing bliss, a broken shout on his lips.

They stayed a long while without moving, trying to catch a breath they didn’t even really need. Crowley sprawled himself over Aziraphale, who moved just enough to rearrange their bodies in order to keep all their limbs tightly intertwined. The unadulterated joy and wonder Aziraphale was feeling in this moment was overwhelming in the most wonderful way. Aziraphale tilted his head just enough to resume kissing Crowley, just because he could, and because now that he had started he didn’t think he could ever stop anyway. It was sloppy, and messy, and completely uncoordinated, and even so entirely glorious. It was nothing more that the sliding of two pairs of lips together, really, but nonetheless the most magnificent feeling Aziraphale had ever known. Aziraphale wanted to keep doing that for all eternity, and it was a good thing that neither of them needed to eat, or sleep, or even breathe, because they were actually able to keep doing this for all eternity. Aziraphale must have said so out loud because Crowley chuckled against his lips. Aziraphale pulled back an inch to be able to look at him with impossible fondness.

“Do you object, my dear? I thought it was one of my best ideas since at least 3 millennia.”

Crowley shook his head with a crooked smile.

“I don’t object at all, but if we kiss all the time you won’t be able to eat crêpes anymore, you know,” he said teasingly.

Aziraphale laughed before pressing a quick kiss on Crowley’s lips.

“I’m willing to trade crêpes for kisses,” he assured with utmost conviction.

“You can still have crêpes from time to time,” Crowley said generously. “And read. But the rest of the time, it’s settled: we’re kissing.”

“And having sex?”Aziraphale asked hopefully “Because I quite enjoyed that too.”

Crowley smiled and hummed his agreement against Aziraphale’s lips. “Sex too, angel,” he promised before pressing his forehead against Aziraphale’s.

“And by the way, angel, I love you too.”