#Aziraphale would be devastated if he knew
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hello! i was wondering if you have any more fallen aziraphale fics? thank you so much 💗
Hi! Here are some fics to add to our #fallen angel aziraphale tag...
Aziraphale falls from grace. by Pinkishrose (M)
After Aziraphale comes back from Heaven and reconnects with Crowley, leaving his Archangel days behind him, Heaven gets mad, and makes him fall. But Crowley is here to support him during this, torturous time.
Aziraphale Come Down by TheNapoleonOfCrime (T)
Crowley stared at the television with wide eyes, dropping the drink he held right on the floor and causing it to shatter. He watched the video that had been captured of the angel, his angel, Aziraphale, walk through the busy roads like nothing. Aziraphale, his friend who he always knew to be cautious, to be perfect, walking around as if he was drunk. And his wings, what had happened to them? What had they done to him? Without another thought, Crowley ran out of the bar he had been so comfortably situated in.
“Angel-!”
"Angel" He Called Me by AislinRegin (M)
Crowley falls twice so Aziraphale never falls alone.
Well, that won't do as an ending (Let's try again, shall we?) by longdeadking (T)
"Aziraphale would never—
Well, he simply wasn't—
It just couldn't—
Well. The point was, Aziraphale's feathers were… turning odd, these days."
or:
Aziraphale is having some growing pains as he gets used to his new role as Supreme Archangel. Crowley is being a pouty baby about being left on Earth. Everyone else seems to be doing just fine.
or:
fuck canon all my homies hate canon. they will be married if i have to officiate the wedding myself. (canon compliant, picks up a little bit after the end of the show)
requiem of a fallen angel by viperinz (T)
“Tomorrow, I might knock on your door again,” Aziraphale says, and it’s so quiet that Crowley has to strain to hear him. “I… I want you to read this before that happens. Should I not come, I want you to know why. A-and what I wanted to say tonight, you deserve to know it.”
He schools his expression, bringing it back to his annoyed one he had on earlier. “I don’t want your apologies if you’re going to leave. S’useless, isn’t it?” he grits out, putting a hand on his hip.
It’s only for a second, and Aziraphale looks back at him with a small smile. One that doesn’t reach his eyes, and one that is full of utter devastation.
“You’ve always been the best of us, Crowley,” Aziraphale says quietly, and Crowley closes the door.
When Aziraphale falls from grace after stopping the Second Coming, it's a slow, painful process. Crowley picks up the pieces, and holds him together.
One Vision by goodoldfashioneddeliveryboy (M)
Something Big. Something Falling. Something falling that started Up, which Muriel had felt, and had descended Down, which Crowley was now feeling. This wasn’t sauntering vaguely downward, no, this was crashing and burning, a comet encased in the hottest of flames, exploding and coming back together in a warped wave of furious celestial intent.
The surrounding BANG as it thudded from the mighty Above to the murky Below was felt by all supernatural entities, occult and ethereal.
On a bustling street in Soho, the Bentley's alarm wailed. In a dusty bookshop on Whickber Street, the lights flickered.
In a deep pit of hell, Aziraphale burned.
-OR-
Mr SuPrEmE ArChaNgEL falls Tremendously, the two ineffable idiots begin sorting their sh*t out, but the Second Coming appears to still be Coming much to everyone's utter annoyance.
- Mod D
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I can’t believe we got Crowley slowly walking down the stairs and the only one to witness it
gif created by @winter-seance
was fucking Jim
#Aziraphale would be devastated if he knew#i am devastated#for him#good omens#good omens 2#aziraphale#crowley#aziracrow#ineffable husbands#ineffable spouses#jimbriel
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i have watched the kiss scene and the breakup as a whole more times than i can count and my brain is still trying to process all the things it picked up on.
my newest painful obsession: aziraphale thought crowley came back for him.
they kiss, aziraphale says i forgive you and instead condemns them both, crowley leaves. the lip touching itself is fucking essay worthy because holy SHIT the amount of micro expressions flickering across his face is endless, michael sheen acted his ass off.
i think it's a mixture of surprise, unspoken love, a HEAVY dose of fear, disbelief, and oh my god what did he just do what did i just do. he turns away from the door and we get a very very quick shot of how exactly he is angled.
standing up straight with faked spiteful anger, the same anger he spit at crowley out of fear and insecurity, chin up, clearly waiting for something - or rather someone. we gotta remember that every single time crowley has left aziraphale, he came back. every. single. time. he came back and apologized, that's what they do.
crowley comes back and aziraphale forgives him and they continue bearing their silence.
the bell rings when the door opens again, just like it did when crowley left, and just. look at his face. how quickly he swivels around. the blink and you will miss it spark of hope.
and then the pure devastation when he realizes it's not crowley.
aziraphale thought crowley was coming back for him. he was WAITING for him to come back. even after all that, he couldn't imagine crowley actually leaving him behind, especially not after that kiss and his entire indirect love confession.
just like crowley thought for a tiny heartbeat that aziraphale was kissing him back, aziraphale hoped, hell, he fucking thought he KNEW crowley would never abandon him. not after "i could always rely on you. you could always rely on me." aziraphale has taken him for granted, of course he thought it was him coming through the door.
but that spark of hope gets stomped out beneath the metatrash's feet and he fully turns around, unable to face him and the reality of it all.
this time, he went too far.
this time, crowley did not want forgiveness.
he was about to say i love you and turned it into i forgive you, still clinging to their old ways, their old rituals, just that they are no longer those beings, no longer in that specific relationship. everything has changed.
they both thought the other would never abandon them. turns out they were both wrong.
#alex talks good omens#good omens#good omens season 2#good omens 2 spoilers#ineffable husbands#aziraphale#crowley#aziracrow#aziraphale x crowley#good omens meta#listen im dying over here
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This may be wishful thinking...but earlier in The Episode, we get Crowley explicitly comparing Heaven to a beehive, with himself as the hornet, safely escorted inside its well-guarded borders. Aziraphale refuses Metatron's offer several times, outright...until the Metatron bring Crowley into it, and only then does he agree. Crowley's existence on the line is clearly a game-changer. During the end credits, as the lift is going up, we see Aziraphale's carefully neutral expression shift into a smile. I wonder if he knew Crowley would refuse, which is why he doesn't seem as devastated as we'd expect, and his goal was just to get into Heaven, in an accepted, established position.
Is it too much to hope that Aziraphale may have something more on the mind, once he gets to Heaven, than being a god little worker bee?
My thought when it came to Crowley's comment there was that Aziraphale knows Heaven is like that too and part of his logic about getting Crowley into Heaven with him is that "once you're in there", they don't see you as an invader.
If we extend the bee metaphor further, Aziraphale has been convinced he's going into heaven as the person in charge. He believes he'll be able to make a difference in there. But you can't have two queen bees in a hive. One of them will always kill the other. They will not take a rival. This is between Aziraphale and the Metatron now.
My brain went to Pratchett's Lord and Ladies book as soon as the bee analogy came up as well because it's a good summation of Heaven. They're an entity working towards a single goal. They all work together, unquestioning, but the second there are two forces at loggerheads (two queens) it doesn't work. As Terry put it so succinctly "slash! Stab!" - you can't have two people trying to control/run it. One will destroy/get rid of the other and only the strongest will prevail.
And I think S3 is when Aziraphale realises exactly how strong he is. A lot of the time he's let the other angels squash him down, confine and constrain him with their rules and codes, but now, he has gone all-or-nothing to protect Crowley and humanity. Now, he won't hold back.
The Metatron believes he is predictable and I think that'll come back and bite him hard, because yes Aziraphale is predictable in that he will defend. But he was a soldier once, a fighter, and he will fight if needs be. As Crowley said to Nina, "he's unpredictable". This is the angel who told Heaven to stuff it and backflipped out of there to go and stop Armageddon 1.0. More recently, he was willing to put Heaven and Hell on a war footing to protect two humans. He didn't need to. He could have just removed himself from the situation, but he stayed to protect them as they stayed to help him.
Slash. Stab. The Metatron has no idea who he has invited back into his hive.
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For the sharing a bed prompt list...2 and 8? As well as any others you want to include because they're all delightful XD
"Did you know you talk in your sleep?"
"I- what?" Crowley, drowsy, blinked against the light coming from above. For a moment he thought it was Aziraphale, but it was just the lamp on the ceiling. He sat up, wiping the sleep from his eyes. Right. Bookshop. Lots of alcohol. Late, probably.
Wait. Did you know you talk in your sleep? Oh fuck. Oh Satan. Oh hell. Oh no. Slowly, carefully, Crowley turned his head towards Aziraphale, making sure to avoid his eyes.
"Ah? What'd I sa- I mean. Sure, I guess. I mean I didn't know. How would I?"
"How would you," Aziraphale repeated, suddenly looking a little sad, and Crowley wondered if the angel was still drunk. How long had he been out?
What had he said?
He forced himself to look at Aziraphale. The angel looked normal. Not devastated, or embarassed, or ready to flee and deny and forgive. So maybe it hadn't been so bad. He tried to remember his dream. He coudn't. It was unfair - shouldn't he be able to recall his dreams at will, as a demon? But the realm of dreaming seemed as off limits to him as that of Heaven. (Even the nightmares. Maybe that was a mercy.) Well - he remembered dreams like the humans did, anyway. In shambles.
He wondered if Aziraphale could remember his dreams: access them, rewind them, play them back and forth like a video - then again, the angel rarely slept, he was quite sure. Maybe that was better.
"Do you dream?"
"Me?" Aziraphale looked surprised, and considered the question alongside his wineglass. There was a little bit of liquid left in it. So he had been drinking, alone, while Crowley had drifted off. Oh dear. Maybe he was drowning his sorrows in alcohol, the things Crowley had said. "I prefer not to dream."
"Huh." Crowley sat up. "Why? It's fun."
"It's dangerous." Aziraphale studied his glass more intently, downing the last little gulp and abandoning the empty vessel on the desk.
"Right." Crowley swallowed. Well, he was right about that. "What... what did I..." He looked away. "...say?"
"Huh?"
"You said I talked. In my sleep. So."
"Ah."
"Anything I oughta know?"
"Oh, it was only... you seemed to be in an argument."
"An argument?"
"Yes. Yes - with me, I think."
"With you." Crowley's voice thinned. He miracled his hangover back, the light pressure on his head, as if it might take responsibility for the words that had been uttered. "Makes sense. Who else would I argue with. You're very... arguable."
"You mean I am a worthy opponent. A great interlocutor. A beacon of goodness against your vile--"
"Yeah. Sure. So we just argued, huh." His shoulders relaxed a little.
"It was about pigeons, I think. You said something about no, no pigeon pie, no eating, and rats with wings and God's ugly angels and protection and-" he added a rather dramatic little whine to his voice, not like Crowley at all: "misunderstood."
"Oh." Crowley thought he remembered, now, with Aziraphale's help, a slice of the pigeon pie dream. Aziraphale chasing after the poor pigeons with cutlery in bis hands and a napkin tucked into his shirt collar. Good. Excellent. A harmless dream. Pigeons. Wings. White-ish grey wings, everywhere, he remembered that, and then when the wings had cleared there had suddenly been no more pigeons or pies - only another misunderstood messenger of peace. His angel. So beautiful, amongst all the wings. And then he had--" Oh no. Oh, oh. Then the dream had shifted. He remembered now, and wished he hadn't.
"And that was it, right. Nothing else. Yeah. Pigeons."
"Well, then you said my name."
"Mgphm."
"You said Aziraphale." Aziraphale spoke his name neutrally, without much intonation, and Crowley was glad, because he knew that was not the way he had said it.
"Sure. We were debating pigeons. In my dream. So of course I said it."
"Yes..." Aziraphale was looking at his hands. He seemed to be debating something other than pigeons. "Only it was... ah. Nevermind."
Crowley almost asked. He didn't want to: he knew he had only said Aziraphale's name, and nothing else. He had sighed it against his lips, softly, tenderly, again and again, as he had kissed him, and the wings enveloping them were grey and safe, pigeons and peace. Old messengers, dreams.
He didn't ask.
The moment passed. Aziraphale smiled, congenially, and Crowley couldn't quite parse it.
(Much as Aziraphale couldn't quite parse the way Crowley had spoken his name, in his sleep, the soft tone and the pained, peaceful expression on his face. Much as he didn't want to ask, either. It had been too... It had been too much, too nice. Too good to be able to hold on to it. It was only a dream: it would be forgotten soon enough.)
"It was only my name."
"Yeah. Only your name."
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Free as My Hair
Crowley x F!Reader x Aziraphale
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale love your hair, but Crowley's also a little shit.
Soundtrack: Hair by Lady Gaga
Requests: Open!
Warnings: Bad Hair Day.
Your hair was your greatest source of pride.
It tumbled in loose, graceful loops all the way down to your hips. It shined like molten gold in sunlight. It shimmered like polished silver in moonlight. To put it plainly, it was fucking gorgeous, if you did say so yourself.
It was also, you were pretty sure, Aziraphale's and Crowley's favorite feature of yours.
Understandably, you felt. You spent countless time grooming it, styling it, caring for it. It had better rank high on their list, for all the effort, time, and money you poured into it. You were sure, though, that there were other benefits, of course. Aziraphale loved brushing it, and Crowley loved playing with it.
Among other, naughtier things.
You'd never once considered cutting it. Plenty of people asked, and it always seemed to boil down to the maintenance. For some reason, very few people could understand the love and pride you had in your hair, or the enjoyment you got out of caring for it.
Only your partners seemed to really get it, but maybe that was because they lived with you and got to see firsthand the dedication you put into it.
Well.
To say you'd never considered cutting it was a bit of a fib.
Crowley loved his Bentley the way you loved your hair.
And he loved taking you for rides. Loved the fear and thrill and adrenaline flit over your face one after the other in an endless cycle as he drove through London at speeds that should've been impossible and were definitely illegal.
He didn't usually have the windows down for these rides. He knew how utterly out of control your hair would be, how it'd ruin the hours you'd put into grooming that day, how devastated you'd be.
This ride, however, was different.
For one, Aziraphale was with you. This wasn't so unusual as to be cause for concern, but it was different enough from the norm to make you and Crowley feel slightly... off.
And to add to that, they both seemed on edge. You couldn't quite place what the problem was, but it was... tense.
"What would you say," Crowley started anxiously, turning to look at you for a moment, "about a trip to Oxfordshire?"
"Wh... why Oxfordshire?" you asked, curious but also apprehensive.
"No reason, dear," Aziraphale replied too quickly.
"We just thought it might be nice to get out of the city," Crowley supplied, shooting Aziraphale a look you didn't like.
"Breathe in some country air, as it were."
"Neither of you breathe," you deadpanned, glancing at the two of them.
"Yes, well," Aziraphale said.
"It was just a thought," Crowley offered.
Looking out the car, you could already tell that you were well on your way, whether you liked it or not.
"I guess it might be nice," you said with a sigh. You didn't miss the slight twitch of their lips at your compliance.
For a while, the car was silent. Crowley was focused on driving, and Aziraphale was reading something or other, holding the book with one hand while the other soothingly stroked your head.
You thought that you were maybe halfway there when suddenly wind roared through the cabin, and your hair started whipping about your face uncontrollably.
"Crowley!" you gasped, struggling to tame and contain your hair. "What the hell!?"
When you looked over at him -- and managed to see him through your thrashing hair -- he was grinning.
Oh, that dick.
"I swear on this Bentley, Crowley, if you don't put the windows up --"
"You couldn't do anything to this car if you tried," he said, throwing you an amused glance.
"You wanna take that risk?" you pressed, now holding your hair down at your neck. "After having kept this car pristine for a hundred years?"
A serious look flitted across his face for a moment as he weighed the options.
"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale said with a sigh. "Don't be cruel."
The demon grumbled, and just as suddenly as the cabin exploded with activity, it quieted and your hair stilled. It fell in hectic, frayed curls all over your shoulders.
You looked down and whimpered. "My hair -- you ruined it... Oh, God, I'm gonna have to cut it..."
You missed the guilt-stricken look Crowley shot you and the admonishing glare Aziraphale shot him.
"It's all right, dear," Aziraphale cooed. He put his book away and pulled you down so that your head rested in his lap. "It's all right."
He started carding his fingers through the tangled mess of your hair, and as he worked through it you started dozing off.
You were woken up sometime later by the angel gently shaking you and telling you they'd arrived in a place called Tadfield. The name didn't ring a bell.
As you got up and instinctively reached to smooth your hair, you remembered what had happened with the windows -- and you realized that Aziraphale must have pulled a miracle to return your hair to its former glory.
The knowing smile he shot you confirmed your suspicions, and you returned it with a grateful smile.
#aziraphale x reader#crowley x reader#aziraphale x you#crowley x you#good omens x reader#good omens fic#good omens fan fiction#michael sheen#david tennant
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there is something to be said for how much the Metatrons' offer of restoring Crowley to an angel changed things for Aziraphale, even beyond the face value of the offer
Azirphale eventually (and reluctantly) accepts the promotion under the presumption that he will be able to change heaven - "if I'm in charge, I can make a difference."
and obviously, Muriel and Jim/Gabriel are two key narrative players to show us why Aziraphale would think heaven can still be reformed - Muriel who was unbelievably lonely in heaven and, despite all their ineptitude, is so excited to experience earth for the first time (the fondness in Aziraphale's face during their scene together in the bookshop is so touching) - and Jim/Gabriel who Aziraphle once knew to be cold, unsympathetic, and remorseless but after having the memories and influences of heaven stripped away turns out to be helpful, curious, and self-sacrificing (we see Aziraphale come to terms with this change over the season, telling Jim in e2 that he's really not sure if he's still terrible but when Crowley is questioning Jim in e5, Aziraphale's sure he's just being silly)
but even after witnessing this, Azirphale isn't jumping at the offer to run heaven. He says so point blank, "I don't want to go back to heaven," but everything changes when he gets the offer to restore Crowley as an angel
and clearly, Aziraphale is so excited by the face-value offer, he and Crowley would be safe and they'd be together, and Crowley would never be punished for doing good again. Just look at his happy little hands when he's asking Crowley to pause his confession so he can share his own great news. He's beyond thrilled to be able to offer this to Crowley, to live this life with Crowley (before he realizes it's not a life that Crowley wants - those happy hands are devastating in hindsight)
so if bringing Crowley to heaven with him was the selling point, why is he still going after Crowley says no? Because in Aziraphale's eyes, the power to restore Crowley is the power to correct heaven's mistakes. So heaven can make mistakes - Aziraphale thinks the Metatron just admitted that heaven is fallible
that is HUGE
(this is also not what the Metatron was saying - but in this context what Metatron said doesn't matter, only what Aziraphale heard)
and this isn't just coming from some angel - the Metatron is the voice of God. The closest thing to speaking to God we have witnessed since 2500 BCE in the Job minisode (the most recent evidence of God speaking directly to a character). Regardless of where God actually is during this story, Azirphale would be taking the Metatron's word as the word of God
Aziraphale has been acting against what heaven says God wants since the beginning: giving away his sword in Eden to protect Adam and Eve from their punishment (which he then lies to God about but is still allowed to stay on Earth), lying to save Job's children and openly question God's role in the plan ("I… I don’t think… that is what God wants"), and of course stopping Armageddon with his Great Plan vs Ineffible Plan pedantry (and before this, his plan for most of s1 is to get in contact with someone higher than Gabriel because of course, God wouldn't actually want this) - and when he is finally found out, Gabriel and Michael cut his ties with heaven
but now might-as-well-be-God is walking into his bookshop and scolding the middle managers and saying they've been fucking up. And he tells Aziraphale that they were wrong about him and they were wrong about Crowley and Aziraphale's the one that's been in the right
(keep in mind that Aziraphale does not know that the Metatron has been on the same subcommittees as the archangels - after Michael and Uriel don't recognize him, he's probably assuming they have very little contact)
if Corwley falling was a mistake maybe everything else Aziraphale has been internally questioning is too. If heaven can make mistakes than something has been going wrong in heaven - a fault in operations not in design - there must something to fix
Aziraphale is a being of faith and he carries such guilt for questioning that faith. The idea that the Metraton is acknowledging a mistake must be such a balm to him
It's really no wonder he thinks he can change heaven after that offer
#good omens#good omens season 2#good omens meta#gos2 spoilers#aziraphale meta#obviously there are other things influincing his decision (esp his tendency to still fall into that heaven/hell binary)#also this is all manipulation by metatron#who just needs A and C sepparated#but I dont think metatron realizes what hes done by lighting this fire under As ass#Aziraphale is now a man with nothing to loose and everything to prove#and the metatron is going to end up regretting this
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Crolwey did not know that he was in love with Aziraphale until Nina mistook them for a couple. Crolwey paused after she walked off and mutterd "love?" to himself because he wasn't aware that was what that feeling was. He knew he wanted to spend the rest of his days with the Angel, knew he wanted to drink wine and make jokes, knew he wanted to protect him at all costs, but he didn't know that was love. At least he didn't know all of those emotions were romantic love. So when he figures it out- at the most awkward time (while they are trying to stop Heaven and Hell coming for them)- Crowley doesn't say anything. Mainly because he isn't sure Aziraphale knows what those feelings are either, and also because the conversation goes back to 'Jim', a.k.a Gabriel, and so Crowley has a newfound anger. He doesn't kill people, doesn't kill anything, and yet he tells Gabriel to jump out of the window. Crowley has realised his feelings and realized that the one person he loved was told to 'Shut your stupid mouth and die already', and that's not sitting well with him. Why would it? He hates Heaven with a passion but doesn't hesitate to go up there to save Aziraphale. After expreciancing all of this in just a few hours, the devastation of Aziraphale rejecting him (another post about that whole thing coming soon) hits like a brick wall. He has only just realized what he had nearly lost, and luckily had gotten back (in season on, and now this time, he was losing Aziraphale with these feelings right in the front of his mind.
Aziraphale though, he has known since 1941, when Crowley saved him from the Nazi's in the church. He can recognize love. We know that from Season One, but we also know he reads. Alot. He loves books. And he has more than likely read romance novels, and we know that he (at least I assume) talks to his neighbouring shopkeepers, so Aziraphale probably understands emotions better than Crowley. And defiantly understands Love more than he does. So Aziraphale isn't shocked by Crowley's 'confession'. He is slightly taken aback by the way Crowley is so clearly emotional over it after never being before, and never denies that he has feelings for him too. Aziraphale assumed that they were both aware of those feelings but neither of them said anything or acted upon it because of Heaven and Hell. But now they don't have to worry about it, Aziraphale is much more open to these things. For example, walking about with Crolwey in public and not seeming to rush back to the bookshop. Or him arguing the Bentley is THEIR car, in public. Or him inviting Crowley to dance (again, another post about this stuff coming because I'm obsessed). Aziraphale assumes Crowley just understands it because he does, like they each assume they know what's best for each other on multiple occasions.
Crowley realizes hours before Aziraphale leaves him, and Aziraphale has known for close to 100 years.
Which really makes the ending sting so much worse.
#goodomenss2#aziraphale#the bentley#good omens season 2#ineffable divorce#niel gaiman#micheal sheen#david tennant#anthony j crowley#aziraphale x crowley#crowly x aziraphale#aziracrow
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good morning folks today I am once again going feral over the final scene from A Companion To Owls and I have fucking thoughts about how Crowley has always known Heaven/Hell better than Aziraphale.
So first of all.
[“I’m not taking you to Hell, angel.”
“Why not?”
“Well, I don’t think you’d like it.”]
This is adorable and gentle of Crowley, yes. But also, this is not Crowley saying he can’t take Aziraphale to Hell, only that he isn’t. That’s an important distinction. What Crowley is saying, in the spaces between his words, is that yes, Aziraphale has lied to thwart the will of God, and that yes, Crowley himself Fell for less. But Crowley knows that things don’t work that way anymore. He knows that Heaven isn’t in the business of making people Fall, not anymore, or at the very least he’s learned over a few thousand years that what Heaven and Hell don’t know won’t kill them.
Crowley understands better than Aziraphale does.
And then also. Fucking ALSO. The final lines of that episode.
[“That sounds…”
“Lonely?”
“You said it wasn’t.”
“I’m a demon. I lied.”]
These words have been haunting me for over three weeks, since I first saw Episode Two in a cinema in Edinburgh. I said at the time that they’re the most devastating lines in the series; with Episode Six, they’ve slipped back a bit in those rankings, but they still are high.
Because, okay. Crowley lied, but not because he’s a demon. Crowley does lots of things other demons don’t do.
Crowley says “I’m a demon,” because that’s easier than saying “They don’t care, it doesn’t fucking matter, we are alone up/down here.” Because it is lonely, and when he’d said it wasn’t, he was lying to protect Aziraphale, to keep Aziraphale from knowing just how lonely he actually had been for thousands of years.
Crowley didn’t lie because he’s a demon. He lied because he loves Aziraphale, and because he was guarding his heart. And then Aziraphale went against the will of God, and suddenly, Crowley didn’t have to be so lonely anymore. They were, for maybe the first time, a group of the two of them.
Until.
[“I don’t think you understand what I’m offering you.”
“I think I understand a whole lot better than you do.”]
Crowley does. He knows that Heaven will never change, that for all Aziraphale’s best intentions, there is nothing that one single hedonistic idealist can do against more-than-millennia of bureaucracy and condescension and compliance to a plan no one understands. He knows Heaven and Hell better than Aziraphale does. He knew that keeping Gabriel would cause problems, would bring them back into the firing line, but Aziraphale was caught up in doing the right thing because some part of him still believes that Heaven does the right thing, too.
Crowley knows better. He knows Heaven has never, not once, been concerned with doing the right thing (“I have a permit”). Aziraphale goes along with Heaven as far as he can, until push comes to shove and he has to choose the right thing over the Heavenly one. Crowley’s seen it happen again and again. Aziraphale just… doesn’t see it for what it is, or maybe he doesn’t want to.
Crowley understands Heaven and Hell a fucking lot better than Aziraphale does, and at the end of the day, the fact that he’s never once communicated what he knows is the end of their ‘us.’
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rare is this love, keep it covered
pairing: crowley x angel!reader, gn!reader
summary: sneaking behind heaven and hells back, you and crowley reach the end of the road and he has to make a choice whether or not to let you in
tw: angst, fighting, religious themes, hurt/comfort, lotta hurt at first tho
wc: 1,615
a/n: inspiration stems from run by hozier
In the eons of Crowley's existence there had been very few times where they've felt true pain. Living through devastating natural and manmade disasters, the rise and fall of empires, famine, and death - none of those had left an impact on them quite like the your absence has made in their life.
You and Crowley's relationship could be described as corrupt in the eyes of Heaven and Hell if they knew the true nature of it. The truth was that the two of you had spent centuries pining over each other, but neither of you had acted on it in fear of punishment and bearing the wrath and hatred of some other mans belief. Despite this, you two managed. You knew where your relationship stood, and with this you came to love each other in secret, laws of Heaven and Hell neglected whenever you were in each other's embrace.
Life with the fallen angel was exhilarating, Crowley brought out a side of you that you never thought possible. Danger and mischief seemed to always lurk around the corner but you didn't mind because you knew you were safe as long as you were by Crowley's side. You rubbed off the demon as well, you amplified the gentle side that you knew was always there but they just kept hidden, locked away. You showed them what it felt like to be loved unconditionally and you brought a light into Crowley's life that they'd been searching for since the fall.
While embarking on adventures and loving each other through the monumental and the mundane- the highs were high, but the lows were abysmal. Crowley had their flaws, and you weren't perfect by any means. So whenever you would clash, it felt like the dread of an oncoming war. Pain and destruction would remain whenever you and Crowley were at your worst, and this time you felt that things were too broken, too devastated, too damned to mend.
It had been four months since you left Crowley's apartment in the middle of the night without so much as a note telling of your whereabouts. Crowley, still blinded by their anger brushed it off and assumed that you would return once you've cooled down. But days, turned into weeks, and months and after four months away without so much as a letter or a phone call from you, Crowley knew that the situation was graver than previously imagined. Their self-loathing was immensable, knowing that it was their actions and self-sabotaging that drove you away. It took another angelic intervention to be able to find their way back to you. Aziraphale was the only one who knew of your whereabouts and swore to not say a word of it to anyone - but when his demon friend came into his bookshop, bloodshot eyed and begging to know where you were, well he couldn't help himself.
That's where Crowley found themself now, on coastal roads in the south of France. Growing more impatient and anxious the closer they got to your address. You heard that precious Bentley from miles away before you even heard the knock on your door.
"Piss off!" You shouted bitterly from the other side of the door.
"How'd you bloody even know it was me?" Crowley said surprised that you immediately knew it was them.
"The only one who comes to visit is the mailman and he doesn't blast Queen!"
"Sounds like you need a better mailman," Crowley muttered to themself underneath their breath.
"Look would you just open the fucking d-" Crowley then heard the creaking of a gate opening and closing not too far off in the distance. Groaning in frustration, they march off behind the cottage you were staying at until they find the gate and is met with the sight of you trekking your way through the sands on the rather solitary beach.
Rushing to the shore to meet you, Crowley's met with the raging sea foaming with your loneliness.
"Save it Crowley, I don't want to hear whatever it is you have to say," you shout at them without sparing a look behind as you stomp your way to shoreline where the seafoam of the moving waves soaked your bare feet.
"Well that's not very nice of you, angel," Crowley quips back mockingly.
"You've used up all my niceties, Crowley. I have no more grace to offer you."
"Look love, i'm terribly sorry, okay? I'm sorry for the way we left things when you left. Now can we go home and get off of this fucking beach, you know how much I hate sand."
"No, Crowley." Finally facing them, your cold stare and unwavering tone catches Crowley off guard.
"I'm sorry?"
"I said no," you responded bitterly.
"Look y/n, I know how I am. I'm all ill tempered and hateful and push everyone away until they bugger off for good but for my sake y/n will you just please get in the car?"
"No, Crowley. You hurt me, okay? You don't get to come here and think an apology is going to fix what's shattered here. It doesn't work like that...not this time." As your voice trailed off at the end you stand up taller as you look Crowley in the eye.
Beats of silence pass between the two of you as Crowley tries to find the words to say. They knew it would be hard to be able to clean up the mess they've made, but your cold stare in your eyes made them uneasy in ways they've never felt. Here, you looked almost unrecognizable from the way Crowley's always know you since the dawn of creation. Eyes of wonder that looked into your ancient soul had always been a stark contrast to their hungry eyes carried by sneering menagerie. But now that light of wonder was windowed by pain, and at their hand. Crowley took note of the darkened sky above them and the distant thunder that rolled over the sea. Crowley could feel your anger and pain as you shifted the weather, winds growing stronger as you stood unmoving in front of them. Crowley felt crisp trepidation washing over them, a dread weighing down on them as it settled deep within their stomach.
"You knew what you were signing up for the day that we," flinging their hand between the two of you, "...became us. I told you from the very beginning that I'm too much, I'm scarred and torn beyond repair and I've built walls to protect myself and you from that pain, from that ugly shame."
"That never scared me and you know it, Crowley. I know who you were, who you've always been but you know that you don't have to suffer alone. It hurts me to see you carrying it all alone when I can help."
"S'not fair to you. You deserve better."
"I don't want better Crowley, I want you!" Lighting striking down as you exasperatedly shout back at them.
"I am somewhere outside your life, Crowley. I keep scratching but somehow I can't get in!"
Beneath your sky and punishing cold, Crowley knew that they couldn't live without you. That would be true Hell to them. With their serpent eyes never leaving yours, Crowley does something they haven't done since before the fall. Body slowing sinking down, they kneel before you. As the wind howls through their ginger locks, your breath hitches at the scene in front of you. Marveled at the sight of Crowley baring their onliness.
"My life is in your hands. It always has been."
Their hands creep up, knuckles turning white from clutching onto your side tightly as if with just a thought- in an instant you too would be washed away by the waves.
"In all of my eternity living-aimlessly walking through this earth, for once I see the truth in you. No one sees me but you. Forget Heaven and Hell, they're just words to me. I surrender my life to you, y/n."
The storm raging of ancient misery you've conjured slowly grows weaker as their words fully sink into your soul. You knew Crowley was good at heart, that they weren't inherently evil, but with them kneeling at your feet, their soul exposed and in your hands.
Sinking slowly into the ground you kneel in front of them, as you remain eye-leveled with Crowley you lift your hands to slowly caress their face and upon contact their eyes shut as a shudder escapes their lips. Feeling the dried tears that had fallen down their cheeks.
"Our sides may think that there is something wretched about this but I don't give a damn-I know there's something precious about this. Rare is this love Crowley, I need you to vow to keep it covered."
"With my wretched soul."
A small shudder of a chuckle leaves your lips and for the first time in a very long time, hope embeds itself into your heart with the promise of blossoming fully.
"Your wretched is my precious, my dear."
Crowley's lips curve into a small smile as their chest sinks, exhaling airs of tension they had bottled up.
With arms snaking their way around you even tighter, Crowley pulls you in as they crashes their lips onto yours. Desperate and all consuming, devouring each other other in attempts to make up for all the love lost and this new beginning you've found. With burning lungs you pull away and press your foreheads against theirs. Catching your breath you open your eyes to find Crowley's loving gaze already staring at you.
"Know that I love you, y/n," Crowley confesses hoarsely.
"I know," you say breathlessly. "I love you, Crowley."
#good omens#neil gaiman#crowley x reader#crowley x you#crowley x y/n#aziraphale#anthony j crowley#gomens#good omens!crowley#david tennant#martin sheen
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something about knowing you're doomed by the narrative but still struggling against it in the hopes of a happy ending. it makes it all the more devastating when it doesn't come true. and really, for all his existence, Crowley has been doomed by the narrative. he knows this, and for the most part, he accepts it. to ask questions is treason, to help others is to betray. he knows this. but he can't help it, can't help but kiss Aziraphale, to beg him to please, stay, they can leave the narrative together.
except Aziraphale still leaves. and it's not the narrative he's left.
so instead of two halves of a whole, now they're both broken apart. separate.
and it is a tragedy, because Crowley knew what would happen if he didn't do anything. he knew where he'd be left again, heartbroken and lonely. and then he was left there anyways.
#good omens#good omens season two#good omens season 2#good omens s2#gomens#gomens 2#aziracrow#crowley#aziraphale#azicrow#ineffable divorce#i am still going on about that yes#its been since august lmao#but my brain chemistry has forever been altered by it soooo#everyone else gets to be reminded too#:)
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hello!! i love you all so much (platonic) and appreciate the work you do. do you have any recs where one/both of the ineffable husbands/wives is getting out of a relationship and goes to the other for comfort and maybe realizes they've been in love with them the whole time? thanks so much <333333
Here are some break-up friends-to-lovers fics for you...
I'm All Yours by FeralTuxedo (E)
Anthony J. Crowley knew he looked like a walking mid-life crisis. The tight jeans, half-up bun and sunglasses positively screamed ‘I left my wife for the babysitter and bought a vintage car just to feel alive again.’ In an adaptation of his life, he’d be played by Hugh Grant. He looked like a divorcee desperate for action, and it didn’t help that he was currently standing outside a nightclub surrounded by drunk twenty-year-olds. But Crowley wasn’t here for a good time tonight. He was on a rescue mission.
Crowley has been rescuing his friend Aziraphale over and over again for a decade. Hopelessly in love, ready to jump at a moment’s notice when he was needed. When Aziraphale finally breaks up with his partner, Crowley is there to help him through what’s looking to be one hell of a mid-life crisis. Things could finally change. If he manages not to mess it up again.
A human AU with a whole forest’s worth of pining squeezed into a single day.
…And They Were Roommates by Mimsynims (E)
“You know… I just remembered that Richard and I were going away for a few days next month.” Something devious came over him. “Richard paid for it, but the booking is in my name.”
Crowley quickly caught on to what he was getting at. “Ooh, I see. That’s convenient.” He grinned. “For us."
When Aziraphale's boyfriend Richard (Dick) breaks up with him, he and his roommate Crowley hijacks an intended couples' vacation and uses it for themselves.
Lines that had started to blur even before their trip gets even more blurry - which perhaps isn't the best thing when both are hiding a crush on the other (and communication isn't their strong suit).
Ezra at the Wedding by tenandi (E)
Ezra's ex is moving on but he's determined to stop the wedding. With his handsome neighbor masquerading as his new love interest, will he win back his true love and rewrite the happy ending he deserves?
-
Crowley was leaning against the doorframe, obviously hungover and running on about two hours of sleep. A ripped t-shirt hung off one shoulder over a pair of boxers with devil ducks printed all over them. To top it all off, he was wearing black velvet slippers embroidered with his monogram. In any other instance, Ezra would have laughed but he was too busy being wrapped up in his anguish.
“What do you want, Crowley?” Ezra fumed. “I am having a moment here!”
You are HoMe (Half of Me) by angelsnuffbox (T)
Aziraphale had gotten dumped, plain and simple. But that small detail wasn’t nearly as important as all the things that happened after he’d gotten dumped - such as coming to a few realisations about his best friend of sixteen years.
Hooped Earrings by OfEden (E)
After 29 years Azira comes out. While her family and ex boyfriend don't support her, her life long best friend is there by her side every step of the way.
Crawling Back To You by madrabbitwrites (NR)
College-age Aziraphale pushed his closest friend away and moved out of town with his married Literature professor in a panicked attempt at escaping his family’s rampant homophobia. Years later, devastated by a dreadful break-up, he’s returned to his small hometown to live with his brother and attempt to heal his broken heart (and broken life, if he were being honest with himself). What he didn’t count on was his old friend Crawley- now calling himself Crowley and looking dashing as ever- to have returned as well.
Crawley’s wounds from their last argument are deep and Aziraphale may never be able to regain what they once had, but he’d certainly like to try. The two of them need to have an actual conversation, but that’s not really how these plots go, is it?
- Mod D
#good omens#ineffable husbands#ineffable wives#break up#friends to lovers#adult omens#human au#mod d
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Crowley has tried a lot of things during his long existence, and so far nothing has been quite as enjoyable as kissing Aziraphale.
He knew he would like it, if they ever got around to giving it a go. Granted, the act of kissing in general was a very abstract idea, since Crowley had zero experience with it before he planted one on Aziraphale that first time. So he didn't know exactly what kissing Aziraphale would be like. But he knew, sure as anything, that he would really like it.
That was the one and only thing he'd guessed correctly about kissing. Everything else is a nice surprise.
What's especially surprising is how it makes Crowley feel. He fully realizes this is stupid; of course kissing someone he loves makes him 'feel' things. That's the whole point, isn't it?
It was just so… theoretical, before. It was an idea, a notion, a fancy. A little treat for his brain when he got bored.
Kissing Aziraphale in real life, on the other hand, is not a 'little treat'. It's a huge, delicious, completely and utterly devastating feast.
Which would already be difficult enough to deal with, what with Crowley finding himself wishing he were kissing Aziraphale instead of whatever else he's doing at any given moment.
But it's more than that, because Crowley wants more than that!
And sure, yes, he's always 'wanted more' with Aziraphale. Of course he has. But that, too, had been abstract.
Not anymore.
Oh, no, not anymore. There is nothing theoretical about the way Crowley feels when he's been kissing Aziraphale for too many minutes. It's like he's on fire, deep inside. Like he wants to press every inch of himself onto every inch of Aziraphale and sink right in. It's so visceral that it's almost like it's already happening.
He can imagine it so much more clearly now than he ever could before. It's no longer just, "oh, wouldn't it be nice to have sexual relations with my darling angel, I just wonder what that would be like!" No, these days it's more like, "oh that would be good. That would be sooooo good. It would feel exactly like this, but more intense, and closer and better and more, and then I'd come all over him and it would be sooooo goooooood, oh God'', etc, etc, etc.
Crowley thinks that Aziraphale might want him that way, too. He's not sure, but he knows his angel pretty well. He's getting a vibe, he thinks. And he tries to wait him out, see if he brings it up first…
Until one afternoon, snogging just inside the front door after closing the shop early, Crowley steps directly into Aziraphale's space without thinking. Just wanting to get as close as he possibly can.
And the feeling of their hips making contact for the first time, the way Crowley is 75% sure that he can feel a bulge in front of Aziraphale's trousers and 99% sure that Aziraphale can feel his own… Crowley closes his eyes and groans. Presses his forehead to Aziraphale's, takes a deep breath, and then reluctantly pulls away until they're no longer touching.
"Why on Earth are you stopping now?" Aziraphale asks in annoyance as he opens his eyes.
"We need to talk about sex, angel," Crowley says simply.
"Oh. Oh!" Aziraphale says, eyes widening before he squints a little in confusion. "Are you quite sure?"
"Oh, well, if you're not interested, we don't have to-"
"No, it's not that! I'm very- definitely- um, quite interested. I suppose I just thought you were the 'getting down to business' type. Is there much to talk about?"
Crowley frowns at Aziraphale, even as a fond smile grows on his lips. Silly angel.
"Yeah, you know, it might be a good idea. Communication, right? Honesty and openness and so forth? Making sure we're on the same page?" Crowley reminds him with amusement.
Really, after all the misunderstandings and mishaps they've had over the millenia, you'd think that by now Aziraphale might have bought a clue that they need to talk more, not less. Especially about things that are this important.
"Of course, yes, you're right," Aziraphale agrees easily, bowing his head in concession. "Obviously. Do go on."
"Right, so, here we go," Crowley begins. "First thing's first. Do you want to have sex?"
"Yes," Aziraphale answers dutifully.
"With me?"
"Crowley," Aziraphale says, exasperated. "There's communication, and then there's redundancy to the point of idiocy, you know."
continue reading Honesty Era on AO3 (6k, explicit, no warnings)
#good omens#ineffable husbands#good omens fic#good omens fanfiction#ineffable husbands fic#crowley/aziraphale#aziraphale/crowley#aziracrow
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Good Omens season 2 is about what religious trauma does to indoctrinated people, and here’s why.
so i finally watched Good Omens after my friends BEGGED me to ever since the first season first dropped and even though the ending stabbed me in the balls repeatedly for several hours i can’t help but marvel about how genius the ending really is and how crucial it is to both Aziraphale and Crowley as characters
i was hesitant to watch this show bc i was indoctrinated and conditioned by evangelicalism from birth (i’m literally the kid of two ex-missionaries and my dad was a chaplain for 36 years) and i knew that i could easily get triggered if i wasn’t careful.
i’m so glad i watched this show. there’s many reasons but i really just wanna talk about the ending of s2 aka The Divorce. it went entirely over my friends heads bc none of them grew up in the church but when i watched the ending it felt like i was watching pieces of myself at war with each other even though they didn’t want to be. to me, i was watching two people so broken by heaven and hell that they don’t understand that what they’re doing is hurting themselves more than it’s hurting each other. this is a pretty long ramble so i’ll continue under the cut
Aziraphale and Crowley are two halves of the same coin (literally soulmates) and are narrative foils to each other. obviously right, i mean, everyone noticed that. but what they truly represent in the grand scheme of things is the fallout of religious trauma. Crowley has seen the absolute Worst of heaven and the angels. he’s been outcast, scorned, and tortured for (assuming based on the opening scene of season 2) simply asking questions and questioning his faith. Aziraphale is the poster child of what a good angel is in the eyes of heaven and has reaped the benefits for millennia.
what is happening here is a war between two halves of a whole, Denial vs Bitterness.
as a young child it was drilled into my head over and over that my faith had to be as strong as a rock all the time or i would crumble like sand. i idolized all the bible characters and memorized all the verses and did all the good and right things i was supposed to. i was a standard in all the churches i went to, i was the example of what a good christian was, and i knew it.
then, over time, i began to see behind the curtain on what was really going on in the church and i was devastated. how could something based on love do all of that? why am i so scared to think freely? why do i feel like i can never be good enough? the more i questioned the more shame i felt and the more bitter i became, but i longed to go back to that innocence of being the best little christian kid in the church.
Aziraphale cannot truly comprehend the uncomfortable reality that what he’s been subscribing to all this time isn’t good for him. heaven has been hurting him for a long time and he doesn’t understand that. how can something he thinks is so right, so true, so good hurt him and his friends so much? no, it must be something he’s done right? it must be some bad apples right? the whole orchard can’t be bad right? he just has to fix this. he just has to make it better for him and for Crowley and then everything will be ok again.
Crowley can’t wrap his mind around why Aziraphale cares so fucking much. hasn’t he seen what heaven and hell have done? they barely stopped the end of the fucking world!!! they tried to destroy both of them with holy water and hellfire!!!!! they’re still trying to meddle in their personal lives after everything!!! why is Aziraphale so stubborn???? why does he choose something so asinine over him? Crowley has been there for Aziraphale a hell of a lot more than heaven has, can’t he see that?
both of them are hurting deep down into their very souls and they just can’t see it. that’s what religious trauma does to you. it strips you so bare of your personhood that without your religion, who are you? without your god, you’re just an empty shell. you’re nothing without “us”, without the church.
without Aziraphale trying and failing to fix heaven, he’s never gonna understand how corrupt of a system it all is.
without Crowley learning that Aziraphale is hurting just as much as he is, he’s never gonna learn that Aziraphale really had his best intentions at heart and just wanted to do what he thought was the good thing
without both of them realizing that they’re both wrong, they’re never gonna come together and really stand up for themselves and for their friends and for earth as a whole. without this grief, without this pain, without this separation, they’re never going to be truly free
and i, for one, cannot wait to see them kick some ass when they decide that enough is enough
#this show is so good i’m so glad i watched it#good omens#good omens season 2#crowley#aziraphale#ineffable husbands#ineffable divorce#aziracrow
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61: Crowley
Chapter 61 of Too Wise to Woo Peaceably
*****
As Crowley closed the bedroom door with a snap of his fingers, he considered the ethics of “helping” Muriel to sleep. Seemed a bit wrong, in his opinion, but then out of the two of them he’d always been more of a stickler for free will. He turned his attention to where his feet barely grazed Aziraphale’s thigh and he eyed his obnoxiously yellow socks appreciatively...
They really were extremely soft.
“So...” he said, for the sake of breaking the silence.
Aziraphale looked down at the socks, and Crowley couldn’t resist wiggling his toes.
“Really…!”
Aziraphale sounded as if he had only just barely restrained himself from tutting disapprovingly, and after everything they had been through it made Crowley laugh. He sobered when he realised the angel wasn’t laughing with him; wasn’t even smiling. He was just fiddling with the hem of his jacket, looking nervous.
He decided not to obfuscate. “You look nervous,” he said.
“No,” Aziraphale said, clearly nervous, and Crowley didn't roll his eyes but it was a close thing. “Only… it seems more real with Muriel here.”
A flash of panic stabbed at Crowley. It was a reflex, a remnant of years of careful restraint, a flash of oh fuck he's changed his mind, and close at its heels came the temptation to sink into an immediate and devastating depression.
Of course, he was a demon with rather a lot of experience when it came to temptations, so he managed to mute it long enough to adopt an impressively neutral expression and ask, “Oh? What was it before?”
Aziraphale sat silently looking at his hands, which were laid flat against his thighs as if they couldn’t be trusted without constant supervision. Crowley looked down his nose at the angel and waited a couple of beats before nudging him with his toe.
Nothing.
He nudged him again.
And again… And again-
Aziraphale frowned in mild irritation as his hand closed over Crowley’s foot, locking it in place.
The sensation was so incredibly foreign that Crowley felt his entire body go lax, his awareness whittled away until it was isolated to the area of his foot now held firmly in the angel’s hand, and when Aziraphale ran his thumb across the top of his foot, it jerked reflexively.
Crowley made a garbled, nonsense sound that he himself couldn’t identify except to say that part of it was a groan, and all of it was embarrassing.
And then Aziraphale was suddenly shoeless and sitting with his leg up on the seat, his eyes dancing with the sort of excitement he usually reserved for the performing arts. Crowley crossed his arms over his chest and tucked his hands into his armpits, his thumbs pressed into the hollows by his shoulders. He stayed entirely still as Aziraphale lifted his heel with one hand and moved his foot alarmingly close to his groin.
Crowley was so focused on the way Aziraphale was worrying his lower lip between his teeth that when both hands wrapped around his foot he was almost surprised-
What the-?
… And then Aziraphale dug his thumbs into the sole of Crowley's foot, and the resulting wave of sensation that had shot up through his leg had almost made him fall off the chair, injuries be damned.
Heat flooded his cheeks.
“So sensitive…” Aziraphale teased, and Crowley didn’t know whether he wanted to jump out of his skin or melt into the chair.
Too much, he thought. He would never survive this.
He tried to tug his foot back to safety, but Aziraphale gripped it tight and drew a line from his heel to his toes, and the feeling was overwhelming, and his leg shuddered despite his best efforts.
Aziraphale took hold of the top of his sock, wrapped one hand tight around his ankle, and that was where it
all...
… went…
…… wrong.
In less time than it took to blink, Crowley was somewhere else entirely. He couldn’t feel his arms, but he knew they were bound behind his back and pulled higher than they should naturally go. Both his shoulders had been dislocated in sharp, intense, starbursts of agony that had faded to a dull pain, and that pain had been overwritten by other, more pressing, more immediate pains. His ankles were held in an iron grip by an angel wearing Aziraphale’s face, and it smiled up at him with polite disinterest as another angel carved a wavy line so deep into his shin that the white of bone shone through. A distant part of himself watched it happen. Oh, it's supposed to be a snake, he thought dimly. Rubbish snake. Thought angels were good at drawing. Aziraphale is good at-
Crowley collapsed back into himself like prey falling from the jaws of a predator, weak and shaken and afraid. He was backed into the armrest, every muscle locked into a state of paralysis borne of pure terror, his eyes fixed on Aziraphale, and he realised the angel looked frightened; he had his hands held out in front of him, his fingers spread as if to calm a wild animal.
Me, Crowley thought numbly. I’m the wild animal.
Aziraphale must have asked him something, because he had the expectant look of someone waiting for a reply. He’d probably asked if everything was alright. Crowley hadn’t even heard him. He tried to find some give in his muscles, some way to manoeuvre around the tightness. He finally managed to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth.
“Yess. Yes, yes. Sorry. Yesss. I’m fine,” he said, hoping his guess was correct, hating that his words were belied by the hissing he couldn’t control.
“Did I hurt you?” Aziraphale said, and Crowley quickly shook his head.
“Is it… Is it me? Is it the sight of me? Because of the-”
“I don’t know!” It escaped him in a wail of despair, and he tried to think. Was it the sight of him? “It was fine earlier when we were closer! I think it’s… I don’t know.” He shut his eyes and put his head in his hands, tugging at his hair.
He had this, this - whatever this was - that he had longed for and dreamt of for thousands of years, and it was here, so close he could touch it, and it had been shattered by a sledgehammer of memories that had no place in this room.
He'd been rescued. They'd defeated The Metatron. They were safe.
And yet here he was, ice-cold adrenaline flooding his veins. He felt as if the memory had ripped a jagged hole in his psyche and now he was picking at the frayed edges, trying to pull them together with trembling fingers. The playful joy and nervous excitement he’d been feeling only moments before had vanished, obliterated by the landmine of a gentle hand around his ankle.
There was a lump in Crowley’s throat and when he spoke, it hurt.
“Sorry, sorry, angel…” he said, and he wasn’t even sure what he was apologising for; the weakness of allowing the memory to take over, maybe. Or the fact that he'd clearly frightened him with his reaction. Or the fact that they wanted this - had finally acknowledged that they wanted this - and he was ruining it for them both.
He couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes.
There was a long silence during which Crowley tried and failed to slow his heart, which felt like it was about to hammer its way right out of his chest and make a break for it.
“Crowley…?”
He looked up.
“Do you think you could trust me?”
What a baffling question. Of course. He always trusted him. Had always trusted him. Even when the trust had been misplaced, still he’d trusted him.
And he trusted him now more than ever.
“Course. That’s not-”
“You found it easier when I was out of sight?”
Crowley nodded, although he wasn’t sure that was the whole truth of it. He didn’t want to talk about the whole truth of it.
Aziraphale slid off his bow tie and tossed it into Crowley’s lap. He picked it up, puzzled, and it wasn't a bow tie; it was a long, wide tartan strip.
“Is this another complicated attempt to communicate using tartan? Because if it is, I’m sorry to say I still haven’t-”
“No, no that’s not it at all!”
“Oh. Then what-?”
“It’s… for your eyes.”
Crowley stared as a blush crept into Aziraphale’s cheeks.
“My eyes,” he said, drawing out the syllables with careful precision.
“Yes.”
Crowley looked down at the tartan. “Aziraphale, is this supposed to be a blindfold? ”
Aziraphale turned properly pink, and the sight of the angel's discomfiture loosened something in his chest that had been pulled far too tight.
"I don't-" Crowley stopped, afraid to say the wrong thing. He understood what had spurred the idea, but the idea of being plunged into darkness, the idea of being at the mercy of the unknown, even if he knew to tell himself the unknown was Aziraphale… It squeezed his heart and lungs, leaving him feeling breathless and wrung out.
He stared blindly at the tartan. He knew the angel was looking at him. He could feel it.
He couldn’t do it.
“It’s alright, Crowley,” Aziraphale’s gentle voice sounded far away, like it was coming from the other side of the room rather than less than a couple of metres away. He sensed movement and looked up to see the angel move closer until he was within arm’s reach. He didn’t try to touch Crowley, he just knelt before him and stared, looking like he might be about to cry, and that was almost worse. Crowley came forward onto his own knees and pressed his forehead to Aziraphale’s, his hands coming up to cup the angel’s face.
They had destroyed enough. He wouldn’t let them destroy this too.
He grounded himself in the solid feeling of Aziraphale's skin against his hands, against his forehead. He leaned against him, his breathing ragged, and the angel’s hands fluttered around his shoulders before alighting like frightened birds. The cold that had poured into every corner of his body, rendering him frozen and numb finally started to dissipate.
“I can’t,” he whispered, and it was a plea for understanding. “I can’t, Aziraphale-”
The angel was murmuring things against his mouth, soft things, soothing things, and the panicked static in Crowley's head made it hard to focus but slowly it faded and he was able to catch phrases like please tell me how to help you? and I love you, and oh, Crowley, and I just want to make it better…
And he was making it better.
Crowley dragged the fingers of one hand along Aziraphale’s jawline and down his throat, pressing his fingertip to where he could feel a quick, steady heartbeat, and the way Aziraphale shivered, the way he closed his eyes at the touch... It fired up something bright and heavy deep in his body, smelting cold metal into gold ore.
“I can’t be in darkness. I can’t- You can’t-,” he hissed and tried again, “Please don’t restrain me. It…”
Aziraphale’s hand came up to stroke the back of his head. “It’s alright Crowley,” he said reassuringly. “It’s alright. We don’t have to do anything, we can just sit, and-”
Crowley pulled back, his eyes wide. “What?”
Aziraphale swallowed and blinked uncertainly. “I only mean that it’s all been rather a lot, and you really could probably do with some rest, you know, and I-”
“Angel.”
“... really don’t want to hurt you, Crowley. I don’t want to upset you, I am perfectly happy to just-”
“ Angel .”
“... rest here with you for a while, and then maybe at a later date, when you're-”
“A later date? ” Crowley’s voice was strangled with incredulity.
“... feeling better and well healed and rested then maybe we can circle back-”
Crowley had heard enough. He growled and grabbed Aziraphale by his shirt, pulling him against the back of the chair with him, nudging his nose against his, their lips millimetres apart, Aziraphale panting shallow little breaths against his lips.
“We will not be waiting for a later date,” he said, and Aziraphale's lips twitched at the outrage in his voice.
“If you’re sure,” the angel said sedately, sounding like he had almost said more but then wisely decided against it. Crowley wanted to know what it was he’d almost said.
Crowley wanted to lick the words right out of his mouth.
He dipped his head, pressed his forehead to Aziraphale’s temple, and kissed his jaw.
“I’m sure,” he said, keeping his voice even with some effort.
He dragged his lips down further to kiss his neck, and the angel made the most gloriously indecorous sound.
“We could always put a pin in it for now,” Aziraphale managed, sounding hoarse.
Crowley nipped his skin and was rewarded with a whimper. He immediately placed his hot mouth over the sting, soothing it with his tongue, and the angel was trembling, his breath stuttering.
“You know, I really don’t think we could,” said Crowley conversationally into the hollow beneath his ear.
Aziraphale shuddered, his eyes falling closed.
Crowley grinned at the sight.
“Well…” panted Aziraphale, “We can- we can go slowly.”
Crowley undid the top button of Aziraphale’s collar and pushed his chin up in order to drop a kiss in the hollow at the base of his throat.
“Of course,” he hummed agreeably, nuzzling against his throat. "Although your slowly..." he said, dropping a kiss against Aziraphale's collarbone, "...and my slowly..." he dragged his lips across to the other side and dropped another kiss, "...are wildly different interpretations of the word slowly, angel."
He traced a line up to the angel’s ear using his tongue and when he took his earlobe gently between his teeth Aziraphale practically melted against him. Crowley flicked his tongue against it and earned himself a low, needy whine.
Aziraphale was still trying to formulate coherent sentences. “... Important you’re com- Important you’re quite comfortable… ” he said, and Crowley's eyes narrowed.
That wasn't on.
He nudged Aziraphale so that he slumped against the back of the chair and slid one leg across his lap, straddling the angel. He looked into eyes that could easily have been wide with alarm but instead were glittering bright with expectation, pupils blown wide.
“I am-,” he purred, slipping one hand just inside Aziraphale’s collar and sliding it around to the back of his neck, “... extremely comfortable. You?”
He dragged his fingers through the angel's hair with one hand and undid the second button of his shirt with the other, watching his throat bob as he swallowed hard, his lips curling into a smile at the look on Aziraphale’s face. He looked stunned, dazed, barely able to process Crowley's words.
“Are you comfortable, Aziraphale?” He repeated, brushing a thumb against Aziraphale’s lips and gazing at him with heavy-lidded eyes. Aziraphale groaned low in his throat. Crowley rocked against him once, just to make a point, and Aziraphale bucked and made a noise that was mostly consonants.
"Alright," Crowley said with a rough laugh, "maybe comfortable is the wrong word..." He rocked again, this time so slowly he had to grit his teeth. He wanted- He hadn't words for what he wanted.
This, his brain supplied helpfully.
Arousal was hooked into the base of his spine, kicking streaks of delicious flame straight up to the base of his skull where they burst into white-hot points of pleasure like a firework. It left no room for thought. It was intoxicating. It was excruciating.
He hoped it was as excruciating for Aziraphale as it was for him.
" 'S thisss... good?" he pressed. His voice was ragged and low, the words dragged out of his chest and exhaled harshly against the angel's ear.
This time the hissing had nothing to do with stress.
Aziraphale made a noise that was decidedly unangelic; a sort of rumbling growl. It was an impatient, frustrated sound that Crowley could feel as well as hear. The pleasurable vibration sank deep into his bones, anchoring him in the moment.
"I'll take that as a yes," Crowley breathed into the angel's mouth, and kissed him deep and slow. His hands ran down Aziraphale's arms to where his palms were pressed firmly into the chair cushion, and he brought them up between them, lacing their fingers together.
He pulled away. "Is it a yes?"
Aziraphale's eyes fluttered open and he glared at Crowley, the effect utterly spoiled by the expression on his face. He looked punch-drunk, wrecked and they hadn't even- They'd barely-
"If I say yes, will you stop teasing?" Aziraphale said through clenched teeth, and Crowley huffed a laugh. A simple, uncomplicated happiness swelled in his chest until he felt like it might crack him open.
"If I say yess, will you believe me?" Crowley asked.
Aziraphale half-nodded, half-nuzzled against him.
Crowley spared the briefest thought for everything that had led him to this moment - the Serpent of the Garden of Eden rather improbably straddling the Guardian of the Eastern Gate, his forehead pressed to Aziraphale's, their noses brushing, their breath mingling, their fingers interlocked, their hearts pounding in a complimentary rhythm - and he thought it made the Fall worth it. Made it all worth it.
"Well, I'm a demon. Maybe I'm lying," he said, thinking of another time, and when Aziraphale slanted him a glance he gave him a grin. He put his lips to his ear, barely grazing the skin. "Tell you what, let's find out..."
And the angel choked out a laugh, and Crowley's heartbeat was so loud and fierce he thought the room must be shaking with it, and he wondered if there was even a word for this, wondered if Aziraphale, with all his books, would know what it was, because it felt too big, too much, too wonderful...
And then he knew what Aziraphale would say, knew what the word was, and it rang in his skull, echoing his heartbeat:
Ineffable
Ineffable
Ineffable
#good omens#ineffable idiots#crowley and aziraphale#aziraphale x crowley#ineffable#aziracrow#good omens fanfic#good omens fanfiction#ineffable divorce#crowley#azcrow#aziraphale#crowley x aziraphale#azicrow#good omens fic rec#good omens fic#good omens fic request#go2 fanfic#gomens fic#ineffable partners#ineffable husbands#ineffable spouses#ineffable husbands fic#good omens fix it#good omens longfic
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what are your favorite good omens fics??
WOO REC TIME thank u for asking!! you may want to ask again after i've finished my resolution of reading all my mutuals' fics though because i've barely had the time to read anything these past few months... so i don't have much bookmarked lol but here are a few anyway! (from earliest read to most recent)
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mourning doves by sleepyimpulse (Words: 22,686 Chapters: 7/7)
“I’m sorry,” he registered himself saying between heaving sobs. “I’m so sorry, Crowley, I’m so sorry. Forgive me, please, please forgive me.”
He hadn’t meant to say it like that, he knew the words were all wrong (he would never find the right ones). But the pain was coming at him in every direction and something, something had to give, and so he clung to Crowley like a life preserver.
Crowley bent his body over Aziraphale’s and slowly, surely, pressed a kiss to his bloodied forehead.
“I can’t,” he whispered, and Aziraphale went unconscious.
(Aziraphale falls, post season 2)
this was one of the very first good omens fics i read and one thing about me is i LOVE this type of angst. so so good and such a nice exploration of crowley's struggle with what forgiveness is. gorgeous and so angsty. have i said that already. angst galore
say yes to me (i've got my eye on you) by thehappyyears (Words: 11,983 Chapters: 1/1)
It’s a pleasant evening much like many pleasant evenings this month, so Crowley doesn’t expect anything unusual when he makes himself comfortable on his side of the couch and lets Aziraphale select the wine.
Which is why he’s resolutely caught off guard when Aziraphale disappears into a backroom, which Crowley always assumed was a wine cellar, and then turns around, darkness behind him and low, warm light gilding his hair and making his eyes bright. He’s breathtaking, he’s so beautiful, his eyes are so dark.
“Crowley,” he breathes.
Or, Crowley and Aziraphale have sex.
this is THE epitome of service top crowley. all hail service top crowley. also it's just so well-written and seamless. also i don't want this list to be too long so if smut is your thing then i recommend literally anything by focusfixated or zehwulf or Ineffably_Yours
Zmija by Himitsu_no (Words: 3,185 Chapters: 4/4)
He'd sigh in annoyance and hide his face in the angel's chest.
"Said if they lived longer they'd have more time to become nasty and corrupted little shits, do all sorts of evil deeds and the likes. They never questioned it and went as far as warn me in advance of all the bigger natural disasters."
Aziraphale would laugh and his fingers find their way into the red locks with practiced ease, and he'd bend to kiss the top of his head. "Did they do that, though? The evil deeds."
Crowley would smile despite himself, eyes closed and leaning into the caress.
"About a dozen, maybe. The rest were just... ordinary humans doing ordinary stuff."
There'd be a long pause in which the angel would take it all in, and the demon would replay many of it in his mind with unease.
Then Aziraphale would speak again, voice barely a whisper,
"How long were you in Mesopotamia after the flood, my love?"
yeah i have this in my bookmarks but i have not touched it ever since i read it the first time because. it hurts me :) idk if it's because of my mommy and daddy issues but the whole crowley being good with kids tropes makes me so sad. and also this fic is just. devastating to me. i really should leave a comment but i don't want to read it again fr
when i knew love’s perfect ache by sugarskulled (Words: 1,834 Chapters: 1/1)
A demon can't touch that which has been made holy by God. Crowley knows this well as anyone.
And Aziraphale?
Aziraphale is so holy it burns.
this is definitely one of my favourite good omens fics of all time. angst again and so bittersweet i think about it so often
better to read and eat cake in a Soho bookshop than to reign in Hell by Kaesa (Words: 35,717 Chapters: 5/8)
When Aziraphale flees Heaven with the Book of Life, he's planned for it -- he's alerted other angels stationed on Earth to Heaven's plans, and asked them to take steps so that humans won't get caught up in the inevitable battle he faces with the other archangels. But Crowley shows up too, and he doesn't know the plan, and in the chaos Aziraphale leaps in front of a terrible blow meant for Crowley. And so, still very angry with him, Crowley must get him back to the bookshop (which is full of annoying angels) and help him heal, and try to figure out how to move past their previous fight, because, sure, he's mad at Aziraphale, but he doesn't want him to die.
But soon enough it becomes clear that Aziraphale isn't necessarily dying. He is changing, and no one quite knows what to expect, because this situation has only happened once before, when Supreme Archangel Lucifer Fell and became Satan.
this fic has everything tbh and it's one i keep coming back to. the smut is great AND well-written and besides that the plot itself is so good??? the writing overall is just gorgeous tbh. slight body horror too :) the moment this updates i will be all over it like a rabid dog
Dear Angel by crowleys_bentley_and_plants (Words: 3,379 Chapters: 13/?)
A collection of emails addressed to a certain Aziraphale, found on the computer of a lonely demon.
poetic and hard-hitting and interconnected and also tells a story. through emails!! also the last lines of every chapter always knock me out lmaoo
to hold you like a bouquet by gravitron (Words: 10,676 Chapters: 1/1)
Crowley and Aziraphale, as told by history’s flowers.
can y'all read this fic oh my god i'm gonna fight everyone. so so beautifully written and well-structured. you know what i'm just gonna copy and paste part of my comment on here because yeah: i love your writing it's just. The Way Yo uWrite. The Words. your way with words. etc. and some of your sentences have a directness to them that's so effective. and the way you incorporated the flowers into every part of the story is like... so tastefully done I'm obsessed
#fearandhatred#fearandasks#i have so many moreeeeee omg but these. these#please show them some love#also if you want more recs just go through my bookmarks although half of them are private lol#good omens#good omens fic rec#good omens fanfiction#good omens fanfic#good omens fic
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