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onceuponaoneshotfanfic · 10 months

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Playing Pretend (Part 3)

Dinner, dessert, and realizing someone might get hurt.

Roy Kent x Reader

2.8k words

Warnings: Language, plenty of pining, "only one bed" trope I guess

A/N: Came out a bit longer than I intended, but I'm not complaining!

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Roy’s arm was still wrapped around your shoulder, fingers tracing circles on your bare skin as he laughed at something your brother-in-law said. Another reason you’d picked Roy to be your fake boyfriend: he got along perfectly with your family and didn’t need to create some fake personality to make them like him. They adored Roy. It was probably your dad’s deepest dream to have the two of you get together.

You had caught the look on your dad’s face as he watched you across the room. His smile was that soft, gentle smile, the one he’d worn when you were a kid receiving an award, or when you learned to ride a bicycle, or when he helped you move into your first place all on your own. It was his proud, I love you so much smile. And it broke your heart a little, knowing that he’d be so sad when you and Roy “broke up” after the wedding. Almost as sad as you would be when the weekend ended, and Roy went back to just being your friend’s big brother who you pined after in silence.

But for now, you laid your head on his shoulder as your older sister shared some silly story about your nephew, enjoying the rumbling you felt when he chuckled, that gruff sound that made your heart skip a beat.

He leaned close and whispered in your ear, “How’m I doing?”

Ignoring the shiver his breath sent down your spine, you nodded. “Perfect,” you answered quietly. Just as your gaze flickered down to his mouth, wondering how many kisses you could get away with by excusing them as part of the “act”, a housekeeper came in and announced dinner, asking everyone to follow her to the dining room.

Roy was on his feet immediately, holding his hand out to help you up. “Feel like I’m on an episode of fucking Downton Abbey,” he hissed, smirking.

“What do you know about Downton Abbey?” you teased with a laugh.

“I know you’ve got a fucking thing for Matthew Crawley,” he shot back, raising his eyebrows at you.

Feeling like you were being watched, you gripped Roy’s arm affectionately. “Is someone jealous?” you cooed.

“Maybe,” was the small growl before Roy’s lips connected with yours again for a brief, heated moment that made your heart skip a beat. “Is this alright?” he whispered, nose brushing affectionately against yours as everyone else walked past the two of you. “The kissing?” His eyes were full of concern, a look he often gave you when he got protective. As any guy would of his baby sister’s best friend- right?

You shrugged coyly. “Getting to spend my weekend snogging a handsome footballer kind of helps take the sting out of the whole ‘my sister is marrying my ex’ bullshit.”

The smile he wore was a surprised one. “You think I’m handsome?”

“Oh, shut up, you know you are,” you tutted, giving him a playful shove as you moved past him into the dining room. With your back to him you missed the fierce blush that covered his face as he shook his head and watched you, that big smile remaining despite no one being around to see it.

Once everyone had settled in their seats, Jim’s dad raised a glass. “Thank you all for joining us to celebrate our only son and his lovely bride-to-be,” he started, nodding to Jim and Lauren, who sat directly across from Roy and yourself. “It’s going to be a very busy weekend, so it’s nice to have the opportunity to have our first official meal as a family before the festivities.” His eyes lingered on you for a moment, wistfulness flickering across his face for a brief moment.

When you and Roy had arrived at the house and were searching for your room, you’d bumped into Jim’s parents in the hall; there was a lot of clearing of throats and avoiding eye contact from all three of you as you re-introduced them to Roy, informing them that the two of you were now dating. Jim’s mother looked almost disappointed at the news, the corners of her mouth tugging downward, before recovering and offering her congratulations.

Jim’s dad continued his little toast. “I hope this weekend is full of wonderful memories for our new family and that this is the first of many celebrations we share.”

As everyone raised their glasses in agreement, Roy reached under the table for your hand, despite the fact that no one could see it. While you marveled at how determined he was to convince the whole table of your farce, Roy knew the truth: he wanted to hold your hand, plain and simple. And after all this time, this weekend finally gave him excuse to hold it as much as he wanted. There was no way he was going to waste that.

He did reluctantly have to let go once dinner was served, but not without bringing it to his lips and pressing a kiss to your hand first. Across the table, Jim’s eyes narrowed slightly, before he turned to Lauren, acting like the picture of the attentive fiancé. You couldn’t help but notice the more Roy leaned over to whisper jokes in your ear, or found an excuse to touch your hand, or acted generally boyfriend-y, the more Jim mirrored that affection with Lauren. You did your best not to dwell on the observation, instead focusing on how nice it was to have Roy Kent by your side.

When dessert was served, Jim’s mum suggested taking it outside to enjoy the lovely night. Roy grabbed your bowl before you could and planted a kiss on the top of your head.

“Just grab the spoons, yeah, love?”

Love. Roy Kent just called you love. You’d seen him with other women he’d dated- really dated- and you’d never heard him call any of them love. The word stopped the breath in your chest as you reminded yourself that he was playing a role, acting as the perfect doting boyfriend.

But goodness, you liked the way it sounded.

You led Roy to the garden, where Roy nodded to a bench nestled under a low tree, a bit away from where everyone else was sitting.

“Mind if we sit over here?”

Your chest purred with pleasure at the idea of being alone with him in the secluded little corner, even if just for show. “Sounds good,” you managed.

Roy watched you carefully as you sat down before joining you on the bench, sitting closer than he had to, pressing his thigh against yours. He knew, deep down, that he was kind of taking advantage of the situation, that he was just a friend doing you a favor, but fuck, when was he going to get another chance like this? To dote on you, to touch you, to kiss you, to show you how mad about you he was. He would worry about getting his heart broken later.

“How you feelin’?” he asked, trading your dessert for one of the spoons you held out.

You shrugged as you took the bowl that he handed you. “Alright.” Your gaze flickered to Jim and Lauren, who were chatting with Jim’s parents. Jim’s eyes locked with yours for a brief moment before you turned back to Roy, who watched you with a frown. “How are you? You’re doing a great job with this whole boyfriend thing. You’re a natural.”

Roy turned his focus to his dessert, ignoring how tight his chest felt. “I’m fuckin’ fine. More concerned with you, actually. I’m sure all this… is hard.” He lifted his head to look at you. “It fucking sucks. Watching the love of your life be in love with someone else. Really fucking sucks.”

Something in the fiery way he looked at you sent a shiver down your spine. “Yeah. This is pretty damn difficult.” After a moment, you shook your head. “But… I don’t think Jim was the love of my life.” Roy’s raised eyebrows urged you on. “I mean, I loved him. Really, I did. And I would’ve married him. And it hurts like hell watching him marry someone else, never mind who it is.” You shrugged. “But he wasn’t the love of my life,” you repeated firmly.

“How d’you know?” Roy leaned towards you intently, both of you completely forgetting about the sweets in your hands.

“I don’t,” you admitted with a soft chuckle. “But I have to keep telling myself that, don’t I? Have to keep hope that the real love of my life is still out there, looking for me as much as I’m looking for him.”

Roy’s heart was on fire listening to you. He wanted so badly to tell you that he was right fucking there, that he’d been there for years. He wanted to give you a real kiss and whisk you away to the swanky bedroom you were sharing. Fuck, he wanted to offer to take Jim and Lauren’s place in front of the officiant on Saturday if you were keen.

Instead, he gave you a small, understanding nod. “Should write that down, it’s fucking beautiful.” And you knew he meant it. “Right. Well. I am… going to find a fucking bathroom.” He stood, putting down his bowl and forcing a playful smirk. “Don’t eat my fucking dessert, and if I’m not back in an hour, send a search party, see if I fell into a moat or got caught in a dungeon or some shit.” He bent down and kissed the top of your head before walking briskly into the house, hands stuffed in his pockets.

“You two were having a pretty serious conversation from the looks of it,” your father’s voice mused.

You looked up at your father, who was observing you carefully. “Just about how weird this weekend is,” you half-lied. “He just wanted to make sure I was okay.”

He nodded. “Well, I’m sure it’s strange for him too. Watching you watch your ex get married.” He bobbled his head. “Be easy on him.”

You shook your head. “Roy knows there’s no feelings there. Just awkwardness, really. He completely understands.”

“He’s a good guy. You know I’ve always thought so.” He laughed. “We’re all just glad you two finally figured it out.”

“Right. Right.” You thought for a moment about the way your family wasn’t completely surprised by your new “relationship”. “You know, I’m still not sure what I was missing all those years. What did everyone see that I didn’t?”

A smile crossed his face. “Really, love? You never noticed the way that fella looked at you? All wide-eyed and flushed? Or the way he’d run himself ragged during matches when he knew you were there, just to impress you? There was one Christmas he came home, and I swear he took one look at you and looked ready to quit football just so he could stay with ya.” He chuckled. “Just glad he finally made his move.”

“Oh. Yeah.” You giggled weakly, pretending you’d noticed those things. “And was I just as obvious?”

“God, maybe worse,” your dad chortled, slapping his hands together with glee. “Where to start? Always finding a reason to talk to him, screaming like a banshee whenever you watch him play, and your mother and I overheard more than one late-night call to Sunderland when he was away. I’m just surprised it took him so long to realize how in love you’ve always been.”

Roy chose that moment, with your face starting to warm, to return. He nodded to your dad as he resumed his seat beside you. “Alright there?” He scrunched his eyebrows together. “Your face is all red.” He leaned close and planted a kiss on your cheek, relishing the heat against his lips. “Fucking cute when you blush,” he hummed. His own cheeks reddened when your dad cleared his throat, reminding Roy that he had an audience. “Fuck. Sorry,” he hissed.

Your dad held his hands up in defeat. “Can’t blame you two for wanting to make up for lost time.” He clapped your shoulder lovingly and returned to your mother, who was watching you with a soft smile.

Deciding to let yourself lean into things as much as Roy, you leaned your chin on his shoulder, gazing up at him adoringly. “Feeling kind of tired,” you murmured. “Thinking I’ll head to bed.”

Sure enough, he pecked your forehead. “I’ll join you.”

Rather quickly, you noticed, Roy grabbed your forgotten desserts and carried them to the table Jim and Lauren sat at. You followed him, offering a small wave to everyone.

“Goodnight,” you called.

Lauren raised an eyebrow. “More alone time?”

You wrapped your arms around Roy’s middle and squeezed tight. “Just a bit knackered. And I know tomorrow’s a busy day, want to be well-rested.”

Jim offered a tight smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Goodnight then.”

Conversely, Roy’s smile was wide. “Have a great night, Jim.” He nodded to everyone else before taking your hand and leading you inside.

As the two of you walked down the hall to your room, you couldn’t help but realize that Roy was still holding your hand; you told yourself it must be in case someone happened to see you. That had to be it; Roy committing to this whole fake-relationship thing.

Once you were in the room, you each silently went about getting ready for bed, with Roy letting you use the restroom to change. You quickly removed your makeup, brushed your teeth (longer than usual), and changed into your pyjamas, feeling suddenly a bit shy in your sleeping shorts and oversized shirt. But Roy’d seen you in pyjamas plenty of times; how was this really any different?

For Roy, it was completely different. His breath caught in his throat when you walked out of the bathroom and his grip on the t-shirt he was about to put on tightened. It wasn’t necessarily the view- which admittedly drove him mad- but the knowledge that, in just a few minutes, you’d be in bed. With him.

Likewise, your heart hammered as you once again saw his bare chest- or “bear chest”, as Paul once joked at a pool party. You couldn’t tell if you were relieved or disappointed when he tugged on his black shirt, covering the hair and the light blush that covered his skin.

“D’you care which side?” he grumbled, pulling back the covers. He knew he should offer to sleep on the floor or something, but he knew you didn’t mind; how many times had you fallen asleep leaning against him on the couch? Or that time your families had gone camping and you had begged him to cuddle with you because it was so fucking cold?

Sure enough, you shrugged and helped him pull back the blankets. “Up to you.”

With a grunt, Roy threw himself on the bed, grinning when you did the same. “Only took, what, thirty years. But look at us, our first slumber party.”

You rolled your eyes and brought the blankets over yourselves; Roy couldn’t help but notice the tender way you made sure he was covered. “Roy, I spent the night at your house so many times growing up. We absolutely had slumber parties.”

He shook his head with a small breathy laugh. “Come on. You weren’t there for me.”

Not knowing what came over you, you turned onto your side and propped yourself up on your elbow, your eyes tracing Roy’s profile. “Who said I wasn’t?” you teased.

It was Roy’s turn to roll his eyes. “Oh, fuck off,” he grumbled, smile playing on his lips. “Go the fuck to sleep.”

With that, he turned and clicked off the lamp that sat on the nightstand, leaving you in darkness, wondering how you were going to sleep with the knowledge that Roy Kent was right next to you. Miraculously, you did finally fall asleep, listening to Roy’s soft snores that you knew you’d have to tease him about.

The next morning, you woke up with your head on Roy’s chest, his arm wrapped around you tenderly as he continued to snooze.

Fuck.

Your breath became shallow as you tried to figure out what to do. Gently pull out of his grasp? Stay this way and hope he woke up and removed his arm? Part of you- fine, all of you- wished you could wake up this way every morning.

Carefully, you removed Roy’s arm, the spot where his hand had been quickly becoming cold, and rolled over as slowly as you could, not stopping until you were flat on your back, a safe distance from Roy. Holding in a sigh, you stared at the ceiling, wondering if you’d be able to get through this weekend with your heart in one piece.

#he's here he's there he's every fucking where #roy kent #roy kent playing pretend #roy kent x reader #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent fic #roy kent fluff #roy kent fanfic #ted lasso #ted lasso fluff #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fic #ted lasso fanfiction

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edosianorchids901 · 4 months

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Learning to Live

Ace Omens Hugfest 2024 prompt - "group hug"

Aziraphale tried very hard not to let out any audible noises as the tears fell. He didn’t feel entirely self conscious about the tears. It had been an awfully difficult day, after all, and he’d learned long ago that sometimes it was necessary just to cry for a few seconds before getting back to work.

But while he felt a bit like sobbing for a longer length of time, he refused to allow himself that much loss of control. It would make Crawley feel as if he needed to extend comfort, for one thing, and that would hardly be fair. His silent companionship was kindness enough.

And quite remarkable, at that. Aziraphale marveled at it, which proved a very nice distraction from his guilt. Crawley had come out here to sit with him, to ensure he was okay. And he’d stayed.

He’d broken Aziraphale’s fall, really. Softened the landing. And now, the world didn’t feel nearly as overwhelming, the consequences as dire. It was almost too good to be true.

“Did you mean it?” Aziraphale asked.

Crawley didn’t look at him, still just gazing steadily over the water. “Hmm?”

“That I wouldn’t like Hell. I-I mean, it’s Hell. I don’t suppose anyone is supposed to like it.” Was that rude? Aziraphale was a bit too rattled to be sure. “What I mean is… does it really matter to you, what I like?”

“Nh.” Crawley gave a tiny shrug. “Wouldn’t have encouraged you to eat if I didn’t think you’d enjoy it.”

“I did enjoy it.” So much more than he would have ever expected. Oh, he’d been curious about food, but he never thought he’d get the chance to sample some. “But do you really expect me to believe that the only reason you tempted—er, that you encouraged—me to try the food is that you thought I’d enjoy it? No nefarious motives?”

Crawley gave another tiny shrug. “‘Course I had nefarious motives. Everything I do is nefarious.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips, unconvinced by that. Crawley was quite excellent at playing the evil demon—but he wasn’t evil, not at all. “Was your nefarious motive, perhaps, related to wanting someone to share a ‘meal’ with?”

That got a reaction, albeit a subtle one. Crawley’s eyes darted to him for just a second. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Aha! I knew it.” Aziraphale found himself smiling, and feeling much less alone than he had a mere handful of minutes ago. And suddenly quite daring. “Would, um… would you by any chance be interested in doing it again? I was thinking, I never did try the wine…”

That got a full reaction. Crawley twisted to look at him, eyes wide behind the dark glasses. “Are you sure you’re ready for that, angel? Source of drunkenness and all that.”

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s only troublesome when consumed in excess.” Aziraphale tilted his head, trying his best to appear as if conflicted. Important to keep up the pretense, rather than to admit he’d quite happily do anything if it meant spending more time with Crawley. “It’s not strictly forbidden for angels to drink…”

“There you are, then.” Crawley gave a tempting little side to side sway. Aziraphale strongly suspected that the tempting was as much an act as his own reticence. They might have rather more in common than he’d initially assumed. “Let’s go. I know a little tavern that serves terrific cocktails, has good wine, and loads of different things to nibble.”

“Well, I suppose I can hardly resist an offer like that.” Aziraphale rose, and found that he was suddenly rather tired. Crawley too, moved slowly. Perhaps they were both a bit worn down by all that had happened. It would be nice to get away from here.

“Are you leaving, Bildad?”

Crawley jumped at the sudden call, and Aziraphale touched his arm lightly in reassurance before turning towards the girl. “Ah, Jemimah! Lovely to see you, my dear. Yes, Bildad and I are both off to… to…”

“Turn more people into animals?” Jemimah asked eagerly, looking at Crawley with wide eyes. “Can you do me again?”

A little smile tugged at Crawley’s lips. “Sorry, all out of time for changing people into animals today. My friend and I are on our way to cause chaos elsewhere.”

“You’re causing chaos,” Aziraphale corrected. “I’m merely… um…”

Friend. My friend and I.

Crawley considered him a friend? The thought of having a friend was so shocking that it left Aziraphale utterly speechless.

Crawley lifted an eyebrow. When Aziraphale just kept gaping at him, he turned back to Jemimah. “Right, so. See you around, kid. Keep making cool pots.”

He tried to step around her, and she blocked him. “You have to hug me,” she declared with a bright smile. “Both of you. Hugs are really important to keep everyone happy.”

“Oh, are they?” Aziraphale asked faintly. Perhaps that was what was wrong with him so often. He’d never been hugged before.

“Yep! Group hug!” She held her arms out.

Crawley took a step back. “No. Nonono. Demons don’t do hugs.”

“They’re important for happiness,” Aziraphale said, giving a little pout. An almost tempting pout, really. “And you wouldn’t want to disappoint the child, would you? Or me?”

Irritation tugged at the lines of Crawley’s face, and he hissed. But nevertheless, he stepped closer again. “Okay. Fine. Just make it quick.”

“Yay!” Jemimah threw her arms around both of them, hugging them close. Aziraphale instinctively curled an arm around her, then gave Crawley an inquisitive look.

Crawley still looked as if about to flee. But he gulped and reached out, briefly touching both Aziraphale and the child. Aziraphale put an arm around him too, and beamed.

“Right.” Letting go after a mere few seconds, Crawley wriggled out of the hug. “Let’s go. Come on, angel.”

“That was lovely, dear. Thank you.” Aziraphale smiled at Jemimah, and she giggled. “Bye, now.”

“Bye!” She waved to them both, and took off.

Aziraphale gave Crawley a sly look, enjoying the consternation on his face. “So. It seems demons do hug.”

“Oh, shut up.” Crawley set off, and Aziraphale fell in step beside him. “Just for that, I really am gonna get you drunk tonight.”

“You’ll have to do much better than that to tempt me, you old serpent.”

But not much more, really. Being tempted was really quite fun, and Aziraphale thought he might be able to get rather used to it. And perhaps, he could even get used to having a friend.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #jemimah #art #ace omens hugfest 2024

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drconstellation · 4 months

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i'm sorry i'm a bit slow when it comes to reading comprehension...i thought crowley saves the goats because he doesn't want to kill them, not because they're associated with demons? or did i get that wrong? 🙈

Angelic Sheep and Demonic (Scape)Goats

[Just for reference, the question above was prompted by another meta: Goats, Crows and The Flood]

Thank you for the question. This gives me a chance to write up a sheep and goat meta at length - but I hope you're not going to regret asking it, because its not a simple answer. While I am always saying "it never is in the GOmens AU" I have to admit this one took off with a life of its own (the metas do that sometimes) and has ended up much longer than I thought it would and went to places I didn't expect it to go, but sometimes that is the joy of writing these.

Crowley doesn't want to kill them because he thinks they are innocent and blameless, just like the children of Job - and by extension, we are meant to see he thinks he was unfairly blamed and condemned to be a demon as well. That's it at its most simple level, but by understanding why there is an association between demons and goats will give you a much deeper insight into Crowley's story and why he would act this way. S2 of GOmens is like an onion, you need to peel that thin dry skin off and then slice through several more juicy layers to get the full depth of flavor into the complex meal that has been created for us. Its worth the tears that the chopping of the onion releases in the end. Are you brave enough to find out?

Take the conversation above, between Sitis and Bildad/Crawley. Sitis is a parallel-character to Aziraphale here, wearing the angel's signature teal green, and she questions the demon about the children being threatened with destruction. Then let us put these two parallel scenes side-by side: Sitis vs Bildad and Aziraphale vs Heaven

AZIRAPHALE: Oh. So just his worldly goods. MURIEL: Exactly. Oh, nothing important, no. Just his farm, his camels, his goat, his oxen, his children, his geese… AZIRAPHALE: His WHAT?! MURIEL: His geese. You know, big cross ducks.[flaps arms] AZIRAPHALE: His children?

So we have Sitis looking in horror at a demon at the potential death of her children, and then we have Aziraphale looking in horror at Heaven acting demon-like, not caring if children are destroyed in pursuit of victory over Satan. "Trust in God's plan, Aziraphale. Always," admonishes the shoulder-demon Gabriel (he is so often a shoulder demon - I have words to say about this! - in another meta) In other words, be a good sheep, Aziraphale, and have faith in the Almighty. Don't worry about the goats, or kids. They aren't important.

If you listen carefully during the Job minisode, A Companion to Owls, you'll notice Gabriel prefers to emphasize the number of sheep that will be returned to Job in the end. The Christian church is very big on the sheep imagery! Sheep are considered to be modest, humble, obedient (because they follow one another - you need to be a good follower!) and patient. They follow their shepherd's voice and goes where he directs. (Uh huh...) Followers are described as being part of a flock.

Goats, on the other hand (ah, yes, we'll talk about that in a moment) are considered to be a bit on the nose. Literally. A rutting billy goat is described as having a 'fetid' smell, they can be promiscuous, capricious, devious (wily?) and contrary. Their strong-mindedness, singleness of purpose and leadership qualities (!*) make them the opposite of sheep. While going your own independent way is frowned upon by Heaven, this leading quality of the goat is sometimes used to lead the sheep.

"There are three things that are stately in their stride, four that move with stately bearing: a lion, mighty among beasts, who retreats before nothing; a strutting rooster, a he-goat, and a king with his army around him." Proverbs 30: 29-31

Did you get a good whiff of that sinister archangel, Shax?

(oh boy, some of the stuff I found researching this for more detail...such as "going your own way creates disunity...this leads others astray..." wtf! Looking at this in context with the show makes it kind of, well, some things make more sense to me now? I guess that's a big reflection on the kind of culture I personally grew up in, because I know there are cultures where unity and togetherness is looked upon as happiness and harmony.)

In the tv show, we know the scene blocking - where the characters stand - has great importance. Standing on the right-hand shoulder of another character makes them a shoulder-angel (the dexter side), standing on the left a shoulder-demon (the sinister side.) By watching who stands where usually tells us what moral stance they are taking in that scene.

If we take the example from the Job minisode below, we can see quite an interesting dynamic from the scene blocking. On the left, we have Sitis and Job, who is crouching down. They are an Aziraphale-Crowley parallel-pair, and they are even colour-coded with their colours! Sitis, in Aziraphale's teal on the angelic right of yellow tunic-wearing Job, who's modelling Crowley's suffering for sin but without understanding why. Job has crouched down to highlight Crowley's entrance. On the right the glowing angels are arrayed - Michael on the angelic right shoulder, Gabriel in the middle (more often than not he stands on the demonic left) but this time Aziraphale is taking the far left demonic position, and we know why - he's about to lie like a demon! But even on a grander scale, Sitis, Job and Crowley all stand on the angelic RHS of the visiting angels, making the archangels and Aziraphale all collectively LHS demons in this scene. And Gabriel thought they'd won the bet...*snort*

You should all take a moment to appreciate this piece of Art. Go on. Do it.

Sheep and goats had this right- and left-handedness meted out to them long ago in the bible. The sheep belong to the morally righteous right-hand side, of course, the side of angels, and the goats to the demonic left.

But when the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the holy angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory. Before him all the nations will be gathered, and he will separate them one from another, as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. He will set the sheep on his right hand, but the goats on the left. Matthew 25:31-33

This passage and the following lines from Matthew describes how Jesus will judge the righteous from the sinners, and those who have been deemed good will be saved, but those who are deemed unworthy will be treated like goats: "Then he will say also to those on the left hand, 'Depart from me, you cursed, into the eternal fire which is prepared for the the devil and his angels" Matthew 25:41

So we've established the link between goats being demons, and the left-hand side, so they have an affinity with Crowley. We can do a bit of humorous visual and word play between kids and children.

Children.

ah.

oh. OH. Hang on a minute...

Lets just take a step back to the beginning of the minisode, where Crawley delivers his short monologue to the assembled goats.

CRAWLEY: You should know why you're about to die. God has abandoned you. The God who claims to love you, who demands your praise, has given you up to be destroyed.

They're rather small goats, aren't they. The kind of size that makes you wonder if they are goat children or grown goats... you know, it doesn't matter - they are little, cute and innocent. You are meant to associate them with kids, now, and in the past. (Like, in the way, way back past. Like not just the Flood, but the Before the Beginning past.) What matters is Crawley's speech to them, because it sounds very much like him repeating his own experience about his Fall from Heaven. We already know from S1 there is a conflict around Crowley's Fall involving wanting to ask God questions. We get to explore this further several times in S2.

Then later, after emerging from Job's cellar, they witness God talking to Job.

AZIRAPHALE: I don't suppose he's getting any answers. CRAWLEY: No. But just to be able to ask the question.

We don't hear all the lines God speaks to Job, but we hear enough to them to understand that they come from the Book of Job 38 and 39. The context behind these two verses is...interesting. I was going to delve into them a little more but I think that will get us off track on this meta, so perhaps I should come back and revisit it separately, but we can note that several ops have pointed out that the lines we do hear God speak clearly to Job can be connected to Crowley. There are no coincidental accidents in S2.

But just look at Job in that last image - the light of God shining brightly down through a hole in the clouds, darkness all around...

Hmm. Remind you of anything. Like maybe... another Voice from above?

Who we've seen has shown a particular dislike for a certain demon, even though most certainly remembers what his name is.

METATRON: Ah, well, always did want to go his own way. Always asking damn fool questions, too.

Well, doesn't that sound just like a demon goat.

That withering look the Metatron gave Crowley in S2E6, the comment about asking "damn fool questions," - just about the only conclusion you can come to is that the Metatron had something to do with Crowley's Fall. What and how exactly is still unclear, but there are some clues in Gabriel's story, as Gabriel is acting as both a parallel and foil to Crowley in S2. At this point we should also talk about the scapegoat ritual that was widely practiced around the near Middle East regions for quite some time.

The scapegoat ritual involved two young goats being chosen for sacrifice, but one of them had the sins of the community spoken over them then set free to wander into the desert wilderness to die, while the other was sacrificed as a Burnt offering to God. This was a symbolic way of removing sins from the community.

It is also applied to the Passion of Jesus. When the gathered crowds are offered the choice between letting Jesus or Barabbas go free, they choose Barabbas. I've written at length how I see this applied to S2 in this meta here: The Passion of Jimbriel: Resurrection and while Gabriel and Crowley share the role of Jesus fairly equally throughout the Passion story line, there is one point it can be split and Gabriel becomes the Barabbas and the goat that was released into the wilderness and Crowley becomes Jesus on the cross - but he turns into the sacrificial lamb! Perhaps that needs to be changed to the burnt offering...

I know there are quite a few meta ops that are aware of the scapegoat ritual, and more often than not I see Aziraphale being suggested as the current scapegoat. But the way I see the ritual being used in GO is not so much in the present story but in the past, and Crowley was the unwilling scapegoat for the rebelling angels that fell.

OK, I think I've run out spoons on this meta, but seeing how its managed to be at least twice the size I initially envisioned it to be, and its since generated two more meta ideas in the writing of it on top of the ones I'm already trying to do, that isn't too bad.

I'll wrap it up by saying no matter who the scapegoat is, Aziraphale needs to let his inner lion out so he can be The GOAT in S3. I'm sure the original nanny-goat will applaud that.

*talking about that topic...I should have a meta out soon centered around Crowley and Gabriel that will cover this. I will probably come back and edit a link in to it.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens meta #crowley #goats #sheep #crows #job minisode #a companion to owls #aziraphale #gabriel #michael #muriel #the metatron #shoulder angels #dexter vs sinister #scapegoat

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lauriegraham01 · 4 months

Text

the purest expression of grief

pairing: crowley x reader, gn!reader

summary: "darlin' don't you stand there watching, won't you come and save me from it?" or having tempted you into a life a sin, crowley realizes he's gone too far and tries to save you before it's too late

wc: 4.9k

cw: drug abuse, depression, near death experience, power imbalance, complicated relationship dynamics.

a/n: uni has kept me away, terribly sorry. this has been in my drafts for a while, i hope u all enjoy and pls leave feedback. (inspo from hozier + paris paloma)

Your mind is foggy as you lose all control of your body. Ears ringing from the music that's playing too loudly, eyes hazy from the smoke that crowds the dancefloor, and head shaky as the world around you moves in a blur. Has it been merely hours or days since you first started dancing, you couldn't tell. Your mind wouldn't let you think that far back. You stand amidst the crowd occupying the dance floor, losing yourself to the music of the night, and letting yourself only feel the pure bliss that the life of sweet sin seemingly always offered you. Just across the dance floor, with an arm perched on the bar stood Crowley. Dressed sleek in his signature all black look, they nursed a drink in their hand as they watched you from afar. Crowley had always been enamored by your shameless wonder, and even now after millenniums of having been at each others side, they still find you just as wonderous as he did back in the beginning.

Amongst the angels that served as guardians of the gates of Eden, lied you. An angel with strength and beauty that showed the power of the Almighty Herself. When the Garden was no more and the humans you swore to protect were outcast, Crawley, as you knew him before, was there to witness how you had fallen for God's newest creation.

"Here. Take these." With hushed whispers, you shield Eve from the prying eyes of the Garden, unaware of the serpent that remained coiled in the corner, as you reach into your robes to retrieve the several stems of hyssop that you had picked from the garden.

"But I-"

"You mustn't worry about what the Almighty says. Despite her anger, she still will watch over you as will I." Looking up at her, your heart contracts seeing the fear etched on Eve's face as she now prepares to face the world outside the sacred garden.

"I never meant for any of this to happen," Eve's voice comes out small, like a child scolded.

"I know," you say softly, "but there is still a way to make things right."

Grabbing her hand, you softly place the stems of the hyssop into her open palm. Inspecting the purple buds that adorn the plant, her eyebrows furrow in curiosity as to what the plant’s purpose is.

"You will soon find out that each passing month, you will undergo painful cycles where you will shed blood. This will only last a couple of days, but the pain that comes with it can be unbearable. This..." you cup the bottom of her hand that held the plant, "will help ease the pain that you will feel. Plant it, multiply it, and when the time comes, make a tea and it shall work."

Eve softly closes her fist, careful not to crush the delicate buds within her grasp.

"Thank you," she murmurs.

"Of course." You smile reassuringly and for the last time you see the glimmer of hope that lives in Eve, even if hidden behind her anxieties of what was to come.

You fly over the gates, in your own way saying goodbye to the fortress you have grown to love, wings slowly flapping steadily in place as you watch Adam and Eve venture out into the unknown.

"Well that was awfully kind of you-"

"My Lord!" Gasping loudly, your hand clutches your chest and your wings flare as you're caught off guard by the sudden presence at your side.

After a beat of catching your breath, you look over at the intruder and when you do, you have to do a double take. They look so familiar but...no...it can't be?

"Crawley?"

"I'm sorry do I know you?"

"Ye- oh, well I suppose not." Words dying off as you remember the rumours of Crowley's torment that followed after their fall from grace.

"I'm Y/N!" Your voice comes out more cheerfully this time, as you flash him a smile.

"Pleasure. Right, well like I mentioned, that was awfully kind what you did back there," turning his head to the side to look at you, he's met with your brows furrowed in confusion as to what he's going on about. "With the hyssop? I mean that was bloody brilliant and that's gonna save her a lot more heartache in the long run."

"Oh! Yes! Well I had to help, I can only imagine what she's bound to go through." You look back over to the lone two figures far in the distance within the desert, it'll be nightfall soon and you can only hope that they find shelter sometimes soon.

Crowley studies your profile as your gaze remains forward. You truly are a creature rarely seen and in those wholesome eyes that seem to have the light of the stars within them, he sees the darkness of the lonesomeness that lingered beneath.

"How did you come to grow so fond of them?"

"They had a choice and in the eyes of the Almighty they chose wrong," your face falls, a defeated sigh escaped your lips as you turn to fix your gaze unto Crowley. "Despite the punishments they face, they face them together. They have a companion and they're capable of so much love and so much more than what I believe any of us can imagine."

"You wish to live like them?"

"I'm afraid I can't. My duty is to the Almighty."

"I'm sure they would do good having someone on watch, hm? If you could protect them, then you can do good here at least enough to y'know make sure they don't ruin things all over again."

"Crowley?"

They hum in acknowledgement.

"How'd you know about my gift to Eve?"

Shit.

"I erm..I-I'm sorry, what?"

"Were you watching me?" You grin ear to ear as you tease the demon, face warming at the thought of Crowley having watched your every move from afar.

"I-Well-Ah-What, no. Oh s-please, that's rubbish."

"Crowley, you really are the devil." You laugh as you nudge their side playfully with your elbow.

When they try to do the same, a flap of your wings allows you to just barely miss their aim, and your laugh only grows at the sight of their widened expression.

"Ohhh Angel, you're in for it now." His seemingly threatening words fall short of any true malice, only mischief as they invite you in- making you fall deeper within his trap the longer you looked at the wicked grin on his face. Heart soaring as the two of you flew over the desert sky together, the beginning of something new.

You couldn't have envisioned the life that you would lead forward from that fateful day. Perhaps it had been also been your destiny to fall for temptation back in the Garden, your innocence having died screaming since Crowley slithered from Eden. Lifetimes have passed since then and you've seen everything that humanity had to offer. Yet despite having seen it all, you still fell victim to your own loneliness. Hiding your relationship with Crowley from Heaven's back came with a heavy tax. There would be periods when the shame and guilt you carried would become too much and the light in your eyes would fade. Whenever you felt this way, you would often turn to your vices in order to numb the pain. Crowley knew of this, in fact it wasn't uncommon for the two of you to indulge in illicit substances together, your hunger for more only growing the more you indulged. While they always tempted you to indulge in the sweetness of sin, they wondered if this time they've gone too far.

He's had quite a few already but that doesn't make him slow down. Raising the glass to his lips, his eyes remain fixed on you as even in the darkness, you still illuminated a heavenly glow.

"Some things never change", he thought to himself.

Yet even in your glow, they don’t miss the vacancy behind your eyes. The light that they had spent all of an eternity getting lost in had vanished and instead a storm of emotions were buried just beneath. It was only a matter of time before the storm would grow stronger and Crowley knew it as well as you did. You always were clever, and tried your damnedest to keep them hidden from everyone, especially Crowley, but it was no use. The demon had a tendency to see right through you and it was one of the things you loved most about them, but right now it was the very thing that annoyed you the most.

"Crowley," even telepathically they don't miss the tired and slurred hush of your voice as it echoes within his head, the various substances you've indulged in wiring your system. "Don't you stand there watching, won't you come and save me from it?"

You know that they've heard you, it wasn't uncommon for you and Crowley to communicate like this. So when they finally break their gaze and turn their shoulder to face the bartender again, your heart sinks thinking that they won't come to save you. You feel your face grow hot in embarrassment as you mentally scold yourself for being so vulnerable.

When Crowley turns around from closing his tab, you've vanished from the crowd and have already sought shelter in the bathroom. Clutching onto the sink for dear life, ragged breaths come out of your lips as you feel warm tears fall down your face. As you look at your reflection in the mirror, your torment only grows as your stomach twists in disgust by what you see.

"Oh Angel, how the mighty have fallen." You say self-deprecatingly as you harshly wipe at the tears in your eyes. Despite appearances, you weren't the angel you once were. Yet you knew that if Heaven saw you for what you were, you too would fall from grace.

With shaky hands you reach into your pocket and pull out a small golden vial- a gift from Crowley from the 20s. You unscrew the top as you gently tap the white powder onto the back of your hand. With a sniff, a rush courses through you as you feel the effects of the drug only enhance your already intoxicated state. As you tuck the vial away again and fix your appearance, you brace yourself for the world outside.

As you emerge your way back to the dance floor, your vision becomes hazy as the bright lights bounce around the crowd. In its wake, they illuminate one familiar face. They've never been the best dancer per se, but they always knew how to lose themselves in the moment.

As they come up from behind you, hands planting themselves on your hips as he presses your bodies together. Even as much as you feel yourself wanting to relinquish control to them a part of you holds back-desperately wanting nothing more than to be saved.

"Darlin', don't you join in you're supposed to drag me away from it."

"I'm here, love. I'm here." The breath of his whisper tickles the nape of your ear.

You knew you would be safe with Crowley, but the deep ache for salvation clouded your judgement. The infinite number of substances coursing through your veins only brought about infinite shame.

"Crowley," you sigh, "please."

You turn your head to look at him over the shoulder, and Crowley stills. The buzz and electricity of the nightclub die once he sees the loneliness shining through your pleading eyes, breaking his heart with every second.

"Right, come on then."

He takes your hand as he leads you away from the crowd and back into the streets of London. Despite having been on Earth for millenniums, one thing you never grew to get used to was how unbearably cold it can get. Crowley knows this, so he gives you his jacket and tucks you into his side as he rubs your arms comfortingly, hoping to warm you up.

"I'll get the car," they say facing you as you both stop on the edge of the sidewalk. They see your gaze fixated on the floor and know that your mind is elsewhere, probably worlds away from where they are.

"You gonna be alright?" Hooking a finger underneath your chin, they raise your head to finally look at them again.

"Yeah," your voice comes out shaky as you take a deep breath. "I'll be fine, Crowley." You try to give them a reassuring smile but it never quite reaches your eyes.

Crowley feels guilty for the way you feel, blaming themself for pushing you too far and not having listened to your signs earlier.

"Go." Your voice breaks them out of their thoughts. "Please, Crowley."

"Right. I'll be back yea?"

"Okay."

You watch him walk away further into the crowded streets, disappearing as he turns into the parking garage. Fumbling in your pockets you take out the pack of cigarettes that Crowley keeps in his jacket and you light one up. Thankfully the bentley doesn't come into view until you squash your cigarette bud underneath your boot.

When you get in there's no music playing, and it's like that the entire ride home. The only thing heard is the ambience of the passing city, the unbearable street traffic, and the heavy silence that lingers between the two of you. Every couple of minutes, Crowley's eyes shift over to you as you lean your head against the passenger window, eyes taking in the passing scenery.

"Eyes on the road, please." You mumbled, speaking for the first time in the past twenty minutes.

"They speak." Crowley narrated half amusingly.

"Not now, love. Not tonight please."

Crowley feels a sting at your words, not because they were necessarily hurtful but because they knew that you were hurting inside and at the cause of their hands. They turn their head back to the road in front and grip the steering wheel tighter, dreading the long night that's bound to unravel.

You hadn't realized that you've arrived at your apartment until Crowley placed a hand over your thigh and gently shook your leg.

"Sweetheart, we're here."

As you come back to your senses you see your apartment building right outside the window, the kitchen light glowing faintly from inside.

"Thank you," you don't spare a look at Crowley as you prepare to bid goodbye. As you go to pull onto the car handle, you feel it stiffen as the door locks itself.

"Crowley-"

"Not until you tell me what's wrong."

Finally looking up at them you take in how disheveled their is. No longer in a neat quiff but instead had strands falling all over the place. Right hand still gripped tightly around the steering wheel while their left hand remained free.

You know where this was going, you've played this game many times before with the demon but you had very little patience tonight.

"Crowley, please not tonight. I just want to be alone."

"You know better than I do that I can't let that happen."

"Why not?" You spat out, tilting your head at them albeit daringly. Only to be met by their squinting eyes as you both relieve the same memory of the past.

A momentary shock flashed across both Aziraphale's and Crowley's face as they made each others figure out as the dust of their sudden apparition settled.

"Angel? What are you-"

"The same reason why you are here. I could feel it."

Crowley swallowed thickly, nodding in acknowledgement of the celestial force that had brought both the angel and demon here in the living room of your flat.

Aziraphale had been shelving books when he first felt it. Crowley had been downing a whiskey at the pub when he felt it. At first it had hit them dully, making them stop in their tracks. Moments later, the pain radiated every fiber of the celestials beings, bringing them to their knees. It felt like a burning. Like the heat of a thousand suns had consumed them and they instantly recognized that pain. Having felt it plentiful during the rebellion, with the images of war and bloodshed still vivid in their minds even after all this time. The horror that consumed them as angels they both knew and loved met either their untimely end or their damning descent.

You were slipping from this form, from this world, and both Crowley and Aziraphale could feel every ounce of that pain.

"Right, where are they?!" Crowley seethed as he begin to pace around the living room.

"They must be around here somewhere, shall we split up?" Aziraphale anxiously met Crowley's gaze as he flexed his hand at his side rhythmically. Nervous habit.

"I'll take upstairs." With that the demon bolted upstairs and began his search as Aziraphale remained in the lower level of your flat. Echoes of your name rung out as they both called out to you.

It was the howling of Aziraphale's name that sent the angel running upstairs to Crowley. Dread weighing on his tongue with every step he took. The swung door and bright light emanating from the bathroom drew him in the right direction as he called out to Crowley.

As Aziraphale appeared in the doorway, he froze at the scene that laid in front of him. Crowley sunken on the floor with your limp frame cradled in his arms.

"What in Heaven's name happened?" Aziraphale breathed out, wide eyed in shock.

"I didn't- I don't know-th-they just-", words seem to fail Crowley, even more so than usual. Forming words took to much strength when the only thing he could feel, see, and taste was fear.

Aziraphale's face hardened as a defiance washed over him. Not tonight. Swallowing his fear down, Aziraphale sprung into action and was at your side.

Your skin was scalding and burned Aziraphale when he tried to touch you. Streaks of blood adorned your nose and cupids bow. Your heart was beating too fast and your breathing was too shallow.

Crowley smoothed your hair back as he took note of the sheen of sweat that adorned your forehead.

"Don't you dare give up on me. Do you hear me y/n?" Crowley croaked through how impossibly tight his throat felt. "You're not going anywhere."

"Crowley, look at me." Aziraphale urged, voice steady as he tried hard to be level headed.

Crowley was rocking back and forth, looking down on you as he muttered incoherently beneath his breath. Aziraphale saw the way Crowley had been unraveling and while he understood why, he knew that they needed to join heads in order to save you.

"Crowley," Aziraphale whispered as he placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. This seemed to snap Crowley back to reality as his gaze finally tore away from your face and fixated upon Aziraphale's. He couldn't breathe right, not that he needed the air anyways, but he took note of how hard his chest had been heaving. His wide eyes darted frantically between Aziraphale's as he searched for some kind of answer.

"What do we do?"

Aziraphale knew that they couldn't call for help. Who on earth could possibly help revive an angel back to life. This was something that would need divine intervention, and then he realized the only option they had left.

"A miracle?" It came out whispered, as if he himself wasn't sure of it.

"Aziraphale..."

"It's the only way."

The two only stared at each other. Communicating through panicked breaths and wide eyes searching for another answer yet reaching defeat and accepting that there was none.

"On my count. 1...2...3!" Crowley boomed as he and the angel intertwined hands and placed them over your chest.

A warm yellow light engulfed the entire room, blinding both Aziraphale and Crowley from each other as they both drew from their respective forces to perform this act. They lose all sense of time in the light of their miracle and it isn't until Crowley feels you stir within their arms that he opens his eyes.

"Y/N?"

Serpentine eyes meet yours as you fluttered your eyes open, slowly regaining consciousness. Your eyes darting everywhere as the world around you is still out of focus, you gain an inkling of clarity once Aziraphale's cool blue eyes meet yours.

You were dying, you knew that much. You had been toeing the line between life and death and death had nearly had its claim on you. Yet somehow in the space between, it had been Aziraphale and Crowley who saved you. Bringing you back home to them.

"That won't happen again and I've been fine since, Crowley." Venom lacing your every word as you stared at him coldly.

That night had been your rock bottom. The sixties were a time of radical change for everyone and it was in the drug liberation movement that your substance abuse had found its spark.

"Now, if you don't mind I'll just-" and with a wave of your hand you miracled the car to unlock itself.

As you climb out of the car, you have to cling to the door as your legs nearly give out on you. As the cold air nips at your skin, sending a shiver through your spine, you try to stop the world from spinning just long enough to get into your apartment.

As you wade through the grass you hear Crowley call after you. Ignoring them, you slot your key into your front door and relief fills your senses as you finally pry the front door open. Turning around to shut the door, your met with Crowley's chest as they stand in the entryway.

"I don't need a babysitter, Crowley." Your gaze cold as you tilt your head upwards to face them.

"Clearly, you do." Walking around you, Crowley makes his way further into your flat before seeking seeking refuge in the living room.

With a huff, you close the door and make your way further into your flat. Feeling Crowley close by as you entered and exited every room as you got changed. Their gaze never left yours, meanwhile you were doing everything in your power to ignore him. The task had proven itself difficult after 42 minutes. As Crowley watched you place a kettle for tea, his patience finally had worn thin.

"Is this what we're going to do? Keep silent all bloody night," their voice flat in annoyance as their stare bore into the back of your head.

A clatter rang out as you slammed the kettle back down on the burner. The anger from your manic state had been simmering for a while and Crowley's comment was enough to make it erupt.

"What do you want from me, Crowley?!" You bellowed as your eyes grow wide and crazed, meeting his daringly.

"I want us to quit using!!"

The boom in Crowley's voice was strong enough to rattle the flat, causing your wine glass from earlier to slide off the kitchen table and shatter on the floor.

You stare at the shattered glass on the carpeted floor. There it is. The big truth, the one that seemed to be seeping in your brain as fast as the crimson stain setting in your carpet.

"What?" Your voice came out a low murmur as your focus remained on the floor.

Crowley's chest deflates as they let out a heavy sigh. One that they've been holding for decades. You knew you didn't want to, you knew you loved it that much. Crowley also knew that, as much as it pained him. Having seen the destruction he's caused from his own hand, he never thought you were to get burned in his fire. Having swept you away from a paradise and into a world of sin, Crowley can't help but blame themself for the way things have ended up. They should have protected you better from it.

"I think maybe we should quit. All the drugs, all the drinking, at least for a little while." Voice teetering on remaining cool as they bargain with you.

"Go to hell," you sneer as you bump into his shoulder purposefully.

"Oh, I've been and it's actually quite lovely this time of year! The pipes have just gone through cleaning." Crowley barks as you march off.

The shattering of glass echoed throughout the flat as the fuel of you and Crowley's fire burned hotter at each passing second. Insults and accusations hurled at each other as you two miscommunicated.

"Y/N, don't you see what this is doing to us? What this is doing to you? This isn't us!" Hands waving frantically between your bodies, hoping to prove their point.

Coming to a halt from your previous march, you slowly turn to face the demon once more.

"And who exactly are we, Crowley?"

"Not this." A sigh elates from their lips as their shoulders slouch.

A moment of silence falls over the two of you. With the air still thick from all the tension, you can't see reason or rationality from the smoke of you and Crowley's fire.

"Devil," you call him slow and unsteady, hands shaking as they did long ago.

"When you stole my virtue, did you foresee that the fruits of my innocence would come to die far too young? Did you know the path I would take and what I would lose on it?" You close the distance between you as you slowly walk towards him.

"Angel, you know I didn't-"

"Then why did you do this to me?"

Crowley is stunned to silence. Throughout the entirety of your relationship, Crowley has carried a guilt for exposing you to a life of sin. Yet it wasn't until know that their fears would be confirmed as they stood their reeling in the weight out your accusation.

"Angel please-"

"You opened my eyes and you did this to me!"

Your screams rung out, piercing Crowley's ears with each slam of your fists across their chest. Walking backwards, Crowley tried to calm you down from your fury. Grabbing a hold of your wrists before flipping you where your back now was pressed against the wall.

"Let me go, let me go," you seethed through gritted teeth. Body thrashing against them as you fought to escape their hold.

"This is what I'm talkin' about," Crowley hissed. "This isn't you, love. You've lost control of your body, you feel no safety in my arms, we're constantly at each others throats. You don't trust me, y/n."

Your body slacks underneath Crowley's hold as the weight of his words cut through you like a knife.

"I've no language left to say it y/n, but I cannot go on like this any longer."

"Why didn't you stop me?", you mumble beneath your breath.

"I didn't know it would get this out of hand. If I knew, I would take it back in a second. I would have never sought you out in the Garden."

You can't help the soft smile that graces your lips as the warm memories from Eden flash in your mind. The days spent in paradise and time spent in playful innocence with Crowley. You've come a long way since then, and as quickly as it came your smile fell as you take in how far you've fallen from grace.

"I didn't mean for this to happen," your voice cracks as the weight of your shame come hurling towards you again, threatening to throw you overboard.

Your visions begins to blur and without a moments notice, a sob wracks itself out of your body. Crowley cups the sides of your face as he places kisses all over your face, whispering apologies between each kiss.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry love, I promise we'll make it out of this. I promise I will make it up to you."

Your cries become muffled as they pull you into their chest, hands smoothing your back comfortingly.

"What if I can't stop?" Your voice comes out hoarse. You don't know how long you've been in Crowley's arms, but your cries have now died down to sniffles as a drowsiness seeps into your bones. "What if we can't make it out of this one?"

Pulling away slightly to get a clear view of you, Crowley see's the tiredness in your eyes.

"I promise I will do whatever it takes to make sure we survive, that you survive."

"It's hungry work." You didn't feel worthy of Crowley's love or care, feeling guilty of the burden you've placed on them.

"Not for me." Crowley shakes his head defiantly. "Not if it's you."

"I don't deserve this. I've been unkind to you, I can't give you what you want-"

"Y/N, when I met you I swore I had dreamed you. A creature so beautiful, so loving, never having asked me once about the wrong I did. I can only pray I can show you a shred of the light you have given me."

Crowley's devotion remained unwavering. Seeing the light in his eyes as he pledged his loyalty made your heart ache a little less, and the pain less unbearable. Crowley noticed your eyes ever seeking, head reeling a million thoughts but not asking, for in some sad way he already knows.

"I know what it's like to carry the shame and hate of some other man's beliefs, let me carry that with you," he pleaded.

Flickering between his yellow eyes, the love that poured from them made you feel lighter. You knew that the road to recovery would be long and present its own trials, but you didn't have to face them alone. In fact, you never would have to feel alone anymore.

"I'm all in- I need to know you still want this, that you still want me."

Nodding slowly, a smile cracks itself on your face.

"In every lifetime, Crowley."

#good omens #gomens #aziraphale #anthony j crowley #crowley #crowley x y/n #crowley x you #crowley x reader #david tennant #neil gaiman #angst

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notyour-valentine · 8 months

Text

Welcome to Downton, Mr Shelby 12 ~ Tommy Shelby x Crawley!OC (Series)

[Masterlist] [Taglist] [Series Masterlist]

Summary: Just a lot - we have places to go with this story

All my writing is produced by an adult and created with an adult audience in mind (18/21+). You are responsible for your own media consumption.I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other.

Wordcount: 5400 words

Part 12

Charlotte.

His head snapped up. All this time he had thought, he had been talking about Mary, but Charlotte?

How?

She was still practically a child. It simply wasn’t possible. How could she even come into contact with someone like that?

"I will do what I can to protect your cousin from harm.", He assured him, his grey moustache quivering, "however the safest way would be to remove her from Shelby's sphere of influence in it’s entirety.”

He pronounced every word with a sharpness.

“Can I trust you to do that?"

"Of course you can.", Matthew hissed. The man’s tone had been as insulting as his accusation shocking.

She was family too and he felt responsible for her, for all of them. Being the heir did not only mean that he would one day own the title and the estate, but he would also be the head of the family, tasked with protecting them all. And even if he wasn’t, she was still his family - Goodness’ sake!

After the Inspector had left, all and any idea of lunch at the club had evaporated as he immediately began to make inquiries, calling in favours and asking for references - anything and everything that could be found out about Mr Thomas Shelby from Birmingham.

"As quickly as you can, please."

The days of waiting on responses were gruelling and left him agitated and unpleasant. Since he knew in advance, he simply prolonged his London stay until he had to return to Downton, and even then he did not wish to leave the papers in the office in Ripon and so he brought them home with him.

A part of him wanted to act immediately, felt like running up to the big house, taking Charlotte aside and telling her, warning her, but then he realised that she would not know any of it.

She would know the charming handsome man Campbell had described as luring women in. And she wouldn't believe him, at least he couldn't be sure. If he couldn't convince her at once, she could go to him to ask him, or to confront him, and then who knew what could happen.

So Matthew needed evidence, concrete, indisputable evidence that would convince her enough to make her stay far away from that man.

But the more he found out, the less he understood.

There was no record of his birth, no criminal record, nothing- until he went to France.

It was as if he appeared in 1915, a man grown and ready for war.

There was no criminal record after the war either, no mention apart from a newspaper article that described him as partaking in a protest in Birmingham where they lit a bonfire with the King's portraits.

In the article he was quoted as talking about how the men loved and served their king but that they felt abused by the new police tactics- headed, incidentally, by a Chief Inspector Campbell.

So this might be personal.

Matthew didn't remember much of criminal law, but he knew that personal matters always muddied things.

And then, he tried to look at his businesses. Companies had to be filed, which was comparably easy to find, or so he thought.

The first was a bookmaking company with a gambling licence from 1919 for the races. It was quickly followed by some factories and a motorcycle and car business, focussing on trade, all established in the following year.

But to find his way through that web took time and energy. Companies owners by other companies owned by other companies- it was like walking through a labyrinth with moving walls.

It also made the paperwork on his desk at home pile up to astronomical levels.

Matthew looked up as the door clicked open.

"I thought I'd bring you some tea.", His mother said with a smile.

"Thank you, Mother.", He said, offering her a tired smile.

She put it down on the desk, her eyes glancing across the paperwork before she picked up a page from what the war office had sent him, detailing his outstanding report of his exemplary war record that earned him gallantry medals.

"Huh.", She said surprised, before placing it back onto the table. "Charlotte never said Mr. Shelby was a war hero."

She said it in passing, almost casually, before she walked over to open the window.

"Charlotte knows Mr. Shelby?", He asked, his heart thundering in his chest.

A small part of him had - up to this point - held out the hope that it had simply been a mistake.

"Of course she does. I told you about the charity initiative she has joined? It is his initiative. Didn't I mention his name?"

Matthew's gaze danced through the room as he was desperate to hold onto something - anything - other than the terrified feeling in the bottom of his stomach.

"Whatever's the matter?", She wanted to know. "Are you ill?"

"No,", he whispered, running his hand through his straw blonde hair. "I am not ill."

He cleared his throat and tried to avoid his mother’s piercing gaze, but to no avail.

“Matthew, I wish you would talk to me.”, she asked gently, sitting down on the sofa and inviting him. “It is no good to keep your grief locked in like that. Lavinia-”

“This isn’t about Lavinia!”, he snapped a little harsher than he had intended.

He didn’t want to talk about Lavinia, not to his mother and not to anyone and the very last thing he needed right now was a mention of his own greatest personal failure when he was trying to prevent another.

“What is it about then?”, his mother asked.

Matthew paced up and down the room, trying to think of what to say, knowing the wording was key. He didn’t have proof yet, and if it got out before he had that proof, there was no way of knowing what would happen. It was like being in France all over again - every moment could prove lethal but one simply had to move.

“I have heard things about Mr. Shelby that concern me.”, he finally said.

“What things?”

Matthew couldn’t say, not now at least, not until he had it in indisputable black and white.

“The point is, it is not a man Charlotte should be in contact with. For her own good.”

His mother raised her eyebrow. “For her own good? What harm could there possibly be in working for a charitable foundation?”

If that so called charitable foundation even exists. If it isn’t just a ploy to lure her in. If the man she works for wasn’t a criminal. At least according to Campbell.

“The cause does not matter. She should not be anywhere near him whatsoever!”

His mother’s jaw tightened.

“Matthew, this isn’t like you. You can’t just tell her where she can and cannot go!”, she scolded as if he was the one in the wrong here.

“Well someone has to forbid her and if that person is me then so be it!”, he insisted, his chest heaving with heavy breaths.

His mother, however, seemed to be completely calm.

“Don’t you think you are overreacting? I don’t know what you’ve heard but Charlotte seems very taken with him and frankly, I admire him. But if you are unsure, perhaps we could invite him for tea.”

“Him?”, Matthew asked, his voice sounding breathless and foreign to his own ears. “For tea?”

Isobel Crawley nodded. “Charlotte does not want the family to know the extent of their workings just yet. She fears that Robert would put a stop to it.”

Oh how very soothing.

Matthew bristled. Things were far from good if he already had her keeping secrets from her father.

“I don’t want you helping her anymore. No covering, no helping her get away. Nothing like that, do you hear me?”, he demanded.

“Matthew, you are getting rude!”, she snapped right back, her cheeks flushing.

He raised his hands and took a step back.

“You’re right. I am sorry. I didn’t mean to sound that harsh.”, he said, “but Mother, this can’t go on.”

“Whyever not?”, she asked impatiently. “You make such a fuss but refuse to tell me why!”

Because I can’t tell you yet.

“Perhaps I should just talk to her.”, he thought out loud.

I needn’t mention all of it, just perhaps find her a distraction, a new occupation to keep her busy. She was a good girl and far easier to sway than Edith or Mary.

The longer he thought, the more the idea of a distraction seemed suitable. Perhaps he could try and find a different man for her to be interested in, a decent fellow from a good family. She deserved that. Cousin Violet would have a list ready by sundown and he could work with that.

Yes, a distraction might be the very best thing.

Besides, he still had time. She was busy now preparing for the Wrinnington Ball next week, and shortly after was the races they would all be attending with Sir Richard. While Matthew knew these social obligations would cement the path of his future, he was not overly fond if them, but if they kept Charlotte busy and bought him time, he had to cherish them more as simply a necessary evil.

He thought of her even when he wasn’t thinking of her, simply put. Even in business meetings and while going over reports, she was never far from his mind, lingering in his thoughts like a dancer in the wings before a performance, awaiting what would soon take place in front of a packed audience, with blinding lights shone upon it.

And there it was again, the doubt, the guilt, the worry.

He had planned it out, had decided it long ago, had overthought and approved the plan, his plan.

It didn’t matter now, it shouldn’t matter, nothing should, because he had thought everything over, everything but this.

She trusted him.

She had trusted him, had trusted him longer than he realised, but the moment she fell asleep in his presence, her head slightly slumped, her chest rising and falling slowly, her hands resting in her lap-

It didn’t matter how or why, it mattered that she felt safe enough around him to allow her exhaustion to overcome her, to let her eyes flutter shut. She trusted him not to harm her, not to put her in danger.

Thomas Shelby couldn’t remember when someone had last trusted him so, without him demanding or ordering or threatening.

Even his own family members were beyond reluctant and persistent, often complying only because there was no alternative, or simply stopping to resist.

She had trusted him blindly, stupidly, the way only a person could who had experienced the world as a pretty, harmless place.

His men had trusted him, Tommy thought, back in France, though they had not trusted him, but rather their Sergeant Major. They had trusted him because they thought they knew him, because it was easier to follow the command if it came from a familiar face, in a known tone, but that made it no less deadly.

Men were dead now because they trusted him.

Dead in the mud, dead in the field hospital, dead in the canal and the streets of Birmingham - and dead in their prisons.

The boy had trusted him too, the one playing at being an outlaw, with a wooden gun and a holster made by the woman who did what mothers do.

He had trusted Tommy to protect him, to keep him safe and from harm and now he was buried like he had once been, only under far firmer, drier ground.

Sometimes, now, when he dreamt of that horrid night, of the creaks and cries of bursting beams, the frightened calls of his comrades and the deafening silence, he saw himself there, and Arthur and John, and Freddie and Danny and the rest of them. Sometimes, when he dug, his hands clawing at the earth, he turned to find the face of the boy right next to him, his eyes wide and still filled with fear, as if he was yet a few heartbeats away from death, as if his heart was still thundering in a feeble attempt to get the blood where it needed to go.

And if it wasn’t the boy and the mud, it was the shovel and whispers of German.

When he was awake, he could fight ehm with whisky and occupation, but in his dreams, he forced himself to think of her, of the loose strand of hair that fell in front of her eyes, somehow escaping both hat and hairties, a rare mishap in the perfection and poise she normally portrayed.

He could conjure the image even in his sleep, even in his nightmares. And in them, like she had in life, she was so calm, not even the noises coming from the darkness would startle her.

Breathe with her. Just breathe with her.

And he did. In and out, in and out.

The shovels were still there, but they wouldn't disturb her. She just kept sleeping and he kept breathing.

In and out. In and out.

To his shame, he found himself focussing on that every night before he tried to sleep, no matter where he was, which bed he was lying in, he always brought her with him.

He had tied her fate to his by parading her around in front of Campbell like a prized racehorse and as revenge, she held the key, the only key to salvation in her silk-gloved hands, the same he had tainted my mere association.

He had seen hell in France, and now he had created his own purgatory.

His plans, those he had made in sleepless nights, now finally came together but there was no satisfaction, no relief, no joy, even though it was going well, too well, really.

Tommy should have known that it was only a matter of time until it all went up in flames.

But like a house of cards, it all came crashing down in a matter of hours.

He had been at May’s, for the horse, and a distraction. He had things to get out of his system, probably. And there was no harm he could cause, not with May.

But before they got anywhere, really, he got that call.

Michael arrested in Birmingham.

Arthur arrested in London.

Billy dead, shot, and pinned on Arthur.

And Solomons and Sabini united against him.

It had been too much in too short a time and when he saw the smug smile under that hideous moustache, he knew. While he couldn’t pin it on Campbell, not entirely, he knew he had his fat little hands involved.

He called it insurance, of course, but it was nothing but retaliation, a strike back to punish him after aiming to humiliate him with Charlotte, or a test to see how quickly he would pull the strings he had threatened him with.

If he had aimed to call Tommy’s bluff, it had worked.

Despite his icy fear, despite Polly shouting at him to get Michael out, he couldn’t bring himself to make the call, to Downton or her uncle in the ministry.

All he could think of were May’s words.

You think your people are ruthless? Try mine.

He would have tried, he could have tried, but not with Charlotte. And the realisation cut deeper than he thought it could.

But failure always stung, still the mere thought of his original plan turned his stomach to the point where he knew he couldn’t come face to face with the girl, and instead skipped out on the meeting with the hospital staff for the foundation that had been nothing but a scam to lure her in originally.

The detailed, neatly written report she had given him was a sweet salt in the wound. Like always, she was trying so hard. She had done so from the very beginning and by now she was good at it.

He could spot the wit in her writing, the cheeky tone she used to describe one doctor’s reaction, almost mocking him for how he treated her as a near-deity due to her title, something she used to her advantage. To their advantage.

Tommy remembered her uncertainty, the refusal of payment for fear she would do more harm than good, and now?

There were things in motion, plans set to work, good plans, that would improve the lives of thousands. He had planted a rotten seed in burnt soil in the name of a scheme, but somehow she had gotten it to bloom either way.

Sweet, foolish Charlotte.

If she had been any less good, he would have had no qualms to fulfil his original plan, and now he was leaving all that behind to protect her. Payment, he found himself rationalising, for all the children who would profit of her work.

But beyond that, while getting his affairs in order in case his Epsom plan failed, he found himself thinking of her again, of how she talked about her father, her family, her duty to them, her uselessness with money, her utter dependence on them, and the risk her sister had taken in setting herself loose from it.

It must’ve worked, though, for her sister and the chauffeur, but Tommy knew a great deal of fools who let themselves be lured in by love. If her chauffeur loved her any less, she’d be stranded and penniless in a country not her own, disowned by her family and lured in by promises of love.

Charlotte had been lured in too, by Tommy and his schemes. Who was to say there wouldn’t be another one to try it for other reasons?

And was there not the risk of someone in his family blabbing? Polly, he thought, if he didn’t get Michael out quick enough would be on the next train to York, knocking on Downton’s door and threatening to bring the whole place down and Charlotte with it. She wouldn’t hesitate, hell, she had already demanded to know why he hesitated to feed her to the wolves to get Michael out of prison.

Even if he didn’t fail, there was still a risk of Polly pulling a stunt like that, one that would ruin Charlotte, one that could see her disowned and out on her own.

Because of me, Tommy thought, because she thought she was helping me.

It was yet another reason to keep him up at night, that allowed him to work until dawn if need be, longer than any other.

"Tommy, I'm going home.", Lizzie said, peeking her head into his office and waking him from his thoughts.

"Yeah. Go home, Lizzie. You should have gone hours ago.", He mumbled without looking at her., and diligently avoiding looking at his watch.

He’d have to give Lizzie a few notes extra.

"I was waiting in case you needed anything…", she said, her painted fingernails red against the black of his door.

I need Arthur back. I need Polly's son back.

I need peace with the backcountry boys again.

I need the clubs and the warehouses back. I need a bullet for Solomons and for Sabini and another for Campbell.

I need a fucking solution for everything.

He took the final sip of his whisky.

I need sleep.

His eyes wandered over to where Lizzie was still waiting.

She didn't say it out loud, but the offer stood all the same.

He covered his face with his hands and rubbed his closed eyes with his fingertips.

Why the hell not, eh?

If he couldn't find rest, he might as well find release.

He locked his office door and followed Lizzie towards the stairs. There was no talking, for there was no talking needed.

Lizzie knew what Tommy wanted - what Tommy wanted from her.

But that was just it, wasn't it?

His feet stopped and he watched her descend and with every step she took, with every step he didn't, he felt the miles of distance between them more than before.

She turned, looking up at him, a silent question written all over her face.

"Good night, Lizzie.", He said softly, before returning to the office.

He hesitated, his hand hovering over Lizzie's phone just like it had over his earlier.

But then he picked up.

The operator had connected him comparably quickly.

"Painswick Residence London.", The butler said. It was a familiar interlude and each time he thought that he really had to get her her own telephone. But by now he knew her too.

"Thomas Shelby. I need to…", he broke off, taking a deep breath. "I'd like to talk to Charlotte please."

He was surprised at how tired his voice sounded.

"The young Ladies and Lady Rosamund are not in residence."

"Where are they?", He asked. "Back at Downton?"

He could call there as well, but she was supposed to be in London. She had said so herself. Or maybe he had missed that too.

"No, Sir. They are attending a costume ball at Hasting's House."

Tommy scoffed, looking into the darkness outside the window.

Of course she's at a fucking ball.

He could almost see her, dancing under the glittering lights of a ballroom, diamonds around her neck and a tiara in her hair with not a care in the world as she was spun around by some red-faced lordling.

"Should I take a message, Sir?", He asked. "Although I doubt she will respond before tomorrow."

"No, thank you. Goodnight."

After he hung up, he unlocked his office once more and poured himself another drink.

Fuck.

Tommy braced himself on the desk and let his head hang.

It wasn't too late to go after Lizzie, or to find someone else who he could make do with.

Or maybe he could go to the yard and take one of the horses out until the sunrise came.

But he didn't want to fuck, not even to clear his head.

So he picked up the phone again. The voice on the other side was the same. “I changed me mind,”, Tommy said. “I do want you to take a message for Charlotte.”

The butler cleared his throat.

“And what precisely would you wish me to convey to Lady Charlotte, Mr. Shelby?”

He had begun the drive south in the earliest hours of the morning, after less than a few hours of sleep, arriving at Ada’s both unannounced and in the middle of the night.

But the night gave him time to make up his mind. In a way, it already had been, but at the same time, it removed all doubt.

In a week, he could be dead, a body rotting in the ground, with the only worth remaining in what he left behind.

Ada’s boy, John’s children - those matters were sorted now. The letter to the New York Post was written, in the hands of Ada.

The business would be in good hands with her and Polly.

That only left the foundation, and Charlotte.

After an early breakfast with his sister, who looked a proper bohemian with her silk robe and expensive coffee tastes, he left for Hyde Park.

By now he knew her mornings were when she was most flexible, and the park was close enough for her to meet him there. And she did, thankfully, alone. One could never be sure with her and her family.

When she came closer he could see beyond her cream coat that revealed just a hint of her pink dress underneath. The colour matched the shoes and the ribbon on her hat, of course.

All these little details he had grown to expect from her.

“Good morning.”, she greeted, offering him a warm smile that couldn’t hide the slight shadow under her eyes.

“Long night?”, Tommy asked.

She tilted her head from side to side, a slight blush creeping up. “Oh you know how it is.”

He really didn’t, but he didn’t want to push it. “Are you well?”, she asked, a line of concern forming between her brows.

“Well enough.”, he admitted as they began to walk. Well enough for a man that could be dead soon.

She huffed slightly, but she didn’t pry- not with her words at least. Her eyes dug into him from the side as if she wanted to see through his skull and into his thoughts.

That’s not a place you want to go, love.

“Is there anything I can help you with?”, she asked softly.

He shook his head.

“Whatever it is, I hope it improves soon.”, she said, giving his arm a little squeeze.

She leaned into him slightly, as they walked, passing nannies pushing prams, and little children running at their sides, a few men rushing to jobs, and a few women taking morning strolls. One could walk through this part of London during this time. Not even Sabini or Solomons dared to get their men into these areas- her areas. That was what calmed him. She at least was safe- safe from the Jews and the Italians and even fucking Campbell.

He had been considering asking her to take Ada and the baby in, just for the Derby day. That way they would be out of harm’s way in case…

She might even do that for him, but Ada wouldn’t go, not to her. He cursed her politics and the stubbornness they both shared. Ada would ask questions, questions he couldn’t answer. And the last time he had told her to get to safety she had stepped right into No-Man’s-Land, with the baby.

By pure luck, it had worked. But this time around it was more than Billy Kimber.

“I have some papers for you to sign.”, he finally said, stopping at one of the many benches by the fountain after glancing at his watch. She only had little time and would soon have to return in time for the train to Downton.

“Papers? Now?”, she asked surprised.

“Not much.”, he assured her,as he pulled forth three folded documents from the coat pocket.

Charlotte had to step closer to read them.

“Tommy, I don’t understand.”, she said softly, looking up at him. “Power of attorney?”

“Yeah.”, he said, holding the pen between his fingers.

“The money for the hospital and the other projects are already set aside, but I’ve slotted some more for the running of it. It should go smoothly.”

“But why?”, Charlotte asked wide-eyed.

“Don’t worry.”, he assured her. “It’s just in case.” “In case of what?”, she demanded to know.

In case my plan doesn’t work.

In case Campbell outsmarts me.

In case I die and I never see you again.

“In case I will be temporarily absent and decisions have to be made for the good of the foundation.”, he lied.

“Without consulting you?”, Charlotte asked, glancing at the paperwork once more. The uncertainty was ever present in her voice. “Yeah. You’ll be able to make calls on your own.”

This was the whole point of it, of granting her power and ensuring that the work of the last few months didn’t go arry. If he had to leave this world, then he would at least leave it with something decent behind and the only person whom he could entrust with that part of his legacy, was her. “Surely it would be better for that trust to be placed in Mrs. Gray or Mrs. Thorne, or even your sister in law.”

Likely.

“They are your family.”, she insisted. “This is as much your project as mine. We built it together. You know the workings better than anyone and you are the only one who actually knows how to run it.” She didn’t look convinced.

“I trust you Charlotte, and I want you to…”

To continue this in case I’m gone.

“I want you to sign. Just so I can rest easy, eh?”

She pursed her lips but she took the pen and signed all three papers.

“Thank you.”, he mumbled, as he took both pen and papers off her again.

“Was that why you were so worried?”, she wanted to know. Tommy decided to nod.

And he also chose not to tell her of the amendment to his will. Karl and John’s children would benefit from the trust fund. The family from the rest.

He chose not to tell her about the houses in Kensington, Mayfair and Belgravia which he had bought- large houses in good areas that she could rent out for a profit. They would bring in a good amount of rent money that should keep the foundation more than afloat as well as giving her not only security but also some form of independence if she ever decided to need it.

That would be his last gift to her, if it came to it. That, and the letter he had already written, kept in the other pocket, separated from her only by the thin material of the other coat pocket.

He already had the stamps on it, and the address, just waiting to be sent in case.

Four pages, he had written. Four fucking pages, scribbled down at Ada’s breakfast table like a madman.

It was the longest letter he had ever written and yet still felt so painfully short. There was so much more he wanted to talk about, so much more he wanted to tell her.

“Tommy, are you quite well?”, she asked, her hand reaching up, just barely brushing against his cheek. They were so warm.

A part of him warned him not to do it. But the louder voice inside him said fuck it.

He had put all his affairs in order, had sorted everything out. Now all the letters had been written, all the papers signed and all the preparations taken.

He could well be a dead man walking, Epsom drawing ever nearer, and a dead man had no time for regrets.

He may never get the chance again.

And so, with the papers back securely in his pocket, he reached for her cheek, feeling the warmth and softness of her skin as he leaned down to capture her lips with his.

Thank you for reading - I'd love to hear your thoughts

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mimisempai · 7 months

Text

The music of my name on your lips

Summary

Angel.

Crowley's name for him.

From the beginning. Pronounced only by him.

In all tones and with all emotions.

But always with affection and now... with love.

Notes

Day 4 : Music

Angel's sound on Crowley's lips is like ASMR

On Ao3

Rating G - 1299 words

Aziraphale awoke to the comforting sensation of warmth, and it wasn't the fluffy blanket that was the cause, but his demon's arms wrapped around him and his body pressed against his own.

Now that fall had arrived and the weather had cooled, Crowley clung to him even more for warmth when they slept together.

Not that Aziraphale complained. Far from it.

He inhaled deeply, reveling in the novelty of their mixed scents, which created a unique scent that enhanced the sense of comfort he'd felt upon waking.

Aziraphale turned slowly in the demon's arms, slipping his arm around his waist and gently moving his head so it rested on his chest.

"Angel..." Crowley sighed, his voice heavy with sleep, before stretching out while keeping his eyes closed.

Aziraphale ran his fingers through the red hair and the demon sighed again, his voice this time tinged with contentment as a slight smile appeared on his lips, "Angel..."

Angel.

Aziraphale wondered if he would ever get tired of hearing Crowley call him that. After so many millennia, he still hadn't.

Only Crowley called him Angel.

Probably more often than he'd called him Aziraphale.

From the beginning.

In every tone, with every emotion.

"Surely the great thing about being a demon is you can do whatever you want."

Aziraphale couldn't help but feel a certain jealousy, even though he would never admit it. At least not to himself.

"Mm, you sound jealous, Angel."

When he uttered the moniker he'd given him in that provocative tone, it was clear that Crowley, devilishly perceptive, had, of course, sensed that unwelcome feeling in Aziraphale.

Job's children looked at him, frightened amid the flames, and asked, "Can't you save us?"

Aziraphale shook his head and replied, "I'm afraid not. He has a permit, you see."

Then he looked at Crawley and added confidently, "But... do not be afraid. You're perfectly safe."

He was certain of that, and nothing would change his mind, not even the demon's challenging tone as he asked, "Are you sure, Angel?"

Oh, Crowley's tone had been so challenging when he'd spoken his name as they were surrounded by flames. Challenging and eager for an affirmation of his trust. Trust that Aziraphale had unwaveringly confirmed.

"Do you know what trouble I'd be in if... if they knew I'd been fraternising? It's out of the question."

Crowley replied harshly, "Fraternising?"

He clearly didn't like the word Aziraphale had used, but considering his foolish request, Aziraphale continued, "Well, whatever you wish to call it. I do not think there is any point in discussing it further."

Crowley looked at him sternly and replied, almost hissing, "I have lots of other people to fraternise with, Angel."

Aziraphale replied haughtily, "Of course you do."

Crowley retorted, "I don't need you."

Aziraphale countered, "Well, and the feeling is mutual, obviously," before striding off and tossing the paper into the water.

I have lots of other people to fraternise with, angel.

Even after all this time, Aziraphale hated the way "Angel" had resonated with the demon's anger. Despite the fact that he now knew the exact reason for that anger.

Crowley was halfway into the Bentley, calling out to him in the middle of the crowded street, "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."

Aziraphale remembered how distraught he'd been as he watched Crowley leave, wondering if this was really the last time he'd hear the demon call him that.

"Oh, Mr. Fell, about the rent. I just want to say you're an angel."

Aziraphale, embarrassed, hastily replied, "Oh, nothing of the sort," then handed her the plate of cake, which she declined.

He and Crowley walked toward the bookshop, and the demon asked him softly, "Doing good again, angel?"

Crowley had been so perceptive again, as he was whenever Aziraphale was concerned. The only thing the angel had noticed lately was that a new softness seemed to color Crowley's voice when he called him that. Since the aborted Armageddon.

He so desperately wanted Crowley to understand that they had to help Gabriel, he tried to tell him, "I just..."

Crowley approached and interrupted, "Angel, this is the supreme archangel of all Heaven, your former boss, who tried very hard to cast you into hellfire and destroy you. He is not our friend."

How could he not immediately hear the anguish in the way the demon had pronounced his name at that moment?

"And you told him just where he could stick it, then?"

Did Crowley not realize what Metatron was offering them?

He immediately replied, "Not at all."

Never had he seen Crowley look so forlorn, so disappointed, as he replied, "Oh, we're better than that, you're better than that, Angel!

Never had Aziraphale heard his nickname uttered by the demon in such a desperate, betrayed way.

Aziraphale still felt his throat tighten as he thought back to that moment when he'd probably crushed all of the demon's hopes and the demon had crushed his own.

If there was one way he didn't want to hear his nickname in Crowley's mouth again, it was this.

That of disappointment and deep sadness.

Metatron said coldly, "Very well, let's see if you and Crowley can protect mankind from what's about to happen."

But Aziraphale ignored him and made his way to the front door of the store. In his haste to cross the street, he was nearly hit by a cyclist coming from the left, forcing him to step back.

"Angel! Watch out!"

Crowley.

His voice, uttering his name with concern.

Always watching over him.

Aziraphale was overcome with emotion as he realized that no matter the tone of Crowley's voice when he uttered that name, there was always an undertone of caring, affection, and now love.

Angry.

Provocative.

Challenging.

Worried.

Disappointed.

Frightened.

But always caring and loving.

Angel, so often spoken on the night of their reconciliation, comforting, forgiving, apologizing, accepting.

And each subsequent "angel" now had an additional color.

The color of their shared love.

Angel

Admonished, scolded, growled, because sometimes it was necessary.

Angel

Whispered before, during and after shared moments of intimacy.

Angel

Murmured to comfort after a bad dream or to heal deep wounds of the past.

Angel

Over and over again.

"Mmm, Angel?" Crowley murmured as he opened his eyes, pulling Aziraphale out of his thoughts.

The angel smiled before leaning forward to plant a kiss on the tip of Crowley's nose. He chuckled softly, amused at the small frown it caused.

The demon raised his head and straightened up a little to give Aziraphale a lazy kiss, which the angel gladly returned.

After a few kisses, Crowley asked, "What time is it? " and rubbed his nose into the hollow of Aziraphale's neck.

"Almost eight o'clock," Aziraphale replied, kissing the demon's hair, who replied in a plaintive voice, "Angel... Why did you wake me so early?"

He pulled the blanket over him and snuggled even closer to Aziraphale.

The angel chuckled again, tightening his arms around Crowley before replying, "I didn't wake you, you did it yourself."

The demon muttered back, "Cheeky angel..." drawing another chuckle from Aziraphale.

"Go back to sleep, my dear."

"And you, what are you going to do?" asked Crowley, his voice slurred as he clearly began to fall asleep again.

Aziraphale replied tenderly, "I am watching you sleep. Since you keep me from getting up."

Crowley snuggled even closer to the angel and hummed contentedly, "That's perfect...love you...Angel."

Had Crowley looked up at that moment, he would have seen the expression of infinite happiness on Aziraphale's face.

The angel had heard many symphonies and pieces of glorious music, but none as beautiful as this sound on his demon's lips : Angel.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story 🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable Growing Love series : here (After season 2)

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here (Before season 2)

#good omens #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #ineffable boyfriends #aziraphale #crowley #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #GOS2Spoilers

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