#he will be moving faster than crowley driving the bentley | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years

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A while back I was doing prompts based on this 100 Ways to Say I Love You post. @rudyrose365 had requested three different prompts and as you can see, the first one has gone wildly out of control. I was briefly tempted to do all three in one story, but thankfully talked myself out of it.

(The following people expressed interest in my earlier post saying this was coming: @akinmytua2 @n0nb1narydemon @losyanya - hope you like it.)

1. Pull over, let me drive for a while (2,000 words)

Driving south across England, long after sunset, Aziraphale saw Crowley’s head nodding heavily.

Two days after the world hadn’t ended, they’d driven to the far north for a picnic, blanket spread on a grass-covered cliff overlooking the ocean, watching the sun slowly sink and the first stars come out. Almost, but not quite, saying all the things they hadn’t said for six thousand years.

The words were close. They both knew it.

But neither quite knew how to take the secret they’d kept hidden for so many centuries and release it to the world. Neither of them was ready to open the door to all the emotion – and all the pain – that came with that admission.

And so they had a picnic, watched a sunset. Smiled. Let their fingers brush when they both reached into the basket, and didn’t flinch away from it. And that was enough for now.

But it was many, many miles back to London, and now and again the demon’s hand rose up and rubbed at his eyes behind the dark glasses. He shook his head, sniffed sharply, and kept on driving.

“Crowley, are you alright?”

“M’fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“It’s just…you seem…”

“I told you. It’s fine.”

Another mile in silence.

“I can put on some music if you like.”

“Nah. It’s all Queen. Need to get some new CDs.”

“I can stand a little modern nonsense if it will help –”

“Aziraphale, stop worrying about me.”

Three miles. They went quickly – the Bentley was, as always, driving at speeds that would make the most reckless human driver turn pale and opt for public transportation – but even Aziraphale could see that the headlights were wavering back and forth across the center line, that they weren’t taking the turns as smoothly as they should.

“Crowley, dear. Pull over. Let me drive for a while.”

“What?”

“You’re exhausted. You’re in no state to be driving. I’ll manage. You close your eyes and rest for a bit.”

The car actually started to slow down, not because Crowley was planning to stop, but because he was too shocked to continue forward. “Angel. You’re joking.”

“Why would I joke about something like that?”

“You don’t know how to drive!”

“Neither do you!”

“I don’t –” Crowley did something with the pedals and the shifting stick and suddenly the Bentley was going even faster than before. “I bloody well know how to drive! Do you think this is easy?”

“Just about every human has it figured out. It can’t be that hard.”

“Can’t be that…this is a vintage car, Aziraphale. You’d probably just wreck it.”

“I would not!”

“And anyway, how am I supposed to relax while you’re…grinding the gears and careening into…into cattle or whatever it is you’ll do.”

“Have some faith, Crowley.”

“Oh, faith, that’s rich.”

“I didn’t mean –”

“Just shut up,” he growled.

The Bentley’s passengers settled into silence again. But at least the argument had woken Crowley up a little.

More time passed, long minutes and short miles, the peace and warmth of the afternoon broken. Now and again they raced under lights, casting Crowley’s face a sickly yellow in the fluorescent glow.

“How long has it been since you slept?” Aziraphale finally asked.

“Don’t fuss, Angel. I don’t need to sleep.”

“But you do sleep. Habitually. So how long has it been?”

“Last time was…six or seven days…before Warlock’s birthday.”

“Crowley!” He twisted in his seat, trying to glare at the figure next to him, but the black lenses stayed on the road for once, and the face gave nothing away. “That’s nearly two weeks!”

“Told you. I don’t need –” But he was betrayed by an enormous yawn.

“That’s it. Pull over.”

“I told you, Aziraphale, I don’t –”

“Pull over now.” He raised one hand, ready to snap his fingers.

“Oi!” Crowley swatted his hand away. “Don’t go messing with my engine. It’s delicate!” But he immediately began to slow down, muttering about ruthless tyranny, until the Bentley rolled to a stop beside a wide empty field.

Aziraphale immediately threw his door open and stepped out. “Come here, Crowley.”

“Not gonna let you drive, whatever you –”

“I said, come here.” He opened the boot of the car and started moving aside the picnic supplies. There wasn’t much left from the meal; Aziraphale had been very thorough.

“There’s half a bottle of wine, I think,” Crowley grumbled. “But that’s not going to make my driving any better.”

But what Aziraphale pulled out was the thick tartan blanket they’d used for the picnic spread. He bundled it up and tucked it under one arm.

With the other, he reached for Crowley’s hand, slid the palms together, let their fingers interlock. Crowley jumped at the contact, but didn’t pull away. Even with the glasses, Aziraphale could see the question in his eyes.

“Follow me.” He led Crowley through the hedge and out into the field, further and further until the lights of the road were a distant memory. The darkness was complete, nothing but grass, the smell of earth, and all the stars above them. Aziraphale let go of Crowley’s hand and spread the blanket out, shaking it a few times before letting it fall to the grass. Then he stepped onto it and sat down, leaning back, propped up by his own arms. “Well, come on.” He patted the space to his left.

“Um. Aziraphale. What.” Crowley seemed at a loss for words.

“Come here. You’re too tired to drive, and I can’t, so we aren’t going anywhere for a couple of hours.” He waved his arm at the sky. “Which one is Alpha Centauri?”

“Oh. You want to stargaze.” Slowly, almost as if he were afraid, Crowley circled around behind Aziraphale, then finally stepped onto the blanket and sat beside him. “But. Um. You can’t see Alpha Centauri. Not from here.”

“That’s a pity.” He watched Crowley settle. The demon still seemed tense, uncertain. “Can you tell me which ones you helped build? Do you remember?”

“Remember?” A lopsided grin. “You think I can forget something like that?” When he reached up to pull his glasses off, Crowley’s hand was shaking. Not just with the cold, Aziraphale thought, though the wind had picked up, enough to feel a chill through his clothes. Crowley tossed the glasses aside and scanned the night sky with unfiltered eyes. “Over there, you see that one?”

“Which one? That bright one?” Aziraphale pointed.

“No, not…That’s Jupiter, don’t you know anything?” He slid a little closer to Aziraphale. “Look where I’m pointing. Over here.” His left index finger jabbed the sky. “The sort of reddish one.”

Aziraphale shifted, closing the rest of the distance between them, so that their shoulders brushed. He raised his right hand and pointed, so that their fingers nearly touched. “That one.”

“Yes, that’s it. Red supergiant, five or six hundred light years away. That one was fun. It’s gonna blow, you know.” He gave Aziraphale that grin, usually reserved for when he had a really awful idea that would almost certainly get them both in a great deal of trouble. “In another, oh, four thousand years, give or take. And when it does, it’s going to be so bright you’ll be able to see it, day or night, burning away in the sky.”

“How very like you.”

“Well, it was one of the last ones I worked on.” He sniffed, scanning the sky again. “Most of mine aren’t really visible from Earth, or aren’t part of a constellation. Just sort of there, lost in the crowd. Like me, really. No name. No value.”

“I never thought of you that way,” Aziraphale whispered, moving his left hand to cover Crowley’s on the blanket beside him. It was very cold.

“I know.” Then he stiffened, as if realizing what they’d said. “Yeah, Angel. I know.” He tilted his head, leaned it against Aziraphale’s shoulder. “But I’d been, you know, making waves. Asking questions. Talking to the wrong people. I could see the way things were going. So I set that one up as a little surprise. To make sure they couldn’t forget I was there.” He chuckled. “Set the fuse too long, though. But, hey, if the world keeps not ending, maybe it’ll still have a chance.”

“I’d like to see that,” Aziraphale said, turning his face just a little, to rest his cheek against Crowley’s hair. It tickled against his face and throat as Crowley moved, shivering in the night air.

“Oh, it’s gonna be something. Even you won’t be able to miss it.”

Before he could think it through – before he could talk himself out of it – Aziraphale unfurled his wings, one wrapping around behind Crowley, the other crossing over both their laps. “There. Is that better?”

Crowley startled, nearly pulling away. “Uh. What. I.” He stared at the white feathers before him as if he’d never seen them before, and his fingers hovered over the leading edge of the wing, unsure where to touch.

“You were cold.”

“Yeah, but. I mean. You didn’t have to…”

“Crowley.” Aziraphale placed a hand on Crowley’s cheek, turning that face back towards him, until he could see those eyes again. The pupils were wide in the dark. “My dear fellow. I can drive while you rest. I don’t mind giving you a little warmth when you’re cold. And whatever foolish schemes you have, I will happily join you in them. We’re on our own side now. Isn’t that what it means?”

“Is it?” His stare was more intense than Aziraphale had ever seen it. But the angel didn’t pull away from it. Not this time. Not ever again.

“Was there something else you had in mind?”

Later, they could never agree who leaned in first.

The first kiss was more a smashing of lips and teeth, noses hitting each other and bouncing off.

The second rather missed the target entirely.

On the third try they managed to find each other, lips gently pressed together. Aziraphale’s hand slid around to the back of Crowley’s neck, holding him in place as they kissed, again and again, lips parting bit by bit, slowly exploring the sensations they discovered.

One of Crowley’s arms looped around his waist, hot as the sun, pulling him closer. The fingers of the other hand traced down into Aziraphale’s coverts, sending warm shivers up his wing.

The angel gasped, head jerking back.

“Ssorry,” Crowley hissed, pulling his hands away. “Too fast?”

“Yes. No. I mean, I was just…” Too many new things all at once, his heart felt ready to burst, his mind in a whirl trying to make sense of it all. It was wonderful. It was terrifying. “I suppose. A little.” He couldn’t bring himself to meet Crowley’s eyes. “I can…try a little faster. Let me just…prepare myself first…”

“Hey.” A finger brushed his chin, slowly lifting Aziraphale’s face until he could see the golden eyes shining like stars in the dark. “There’s no rush.”

Crowley leaned forward and brushed a gentle kiss on Aziraphale’s cheek, then rested his forehead on Aziraphale’s brow.

“Thank you,” the angel whispered, though he wasn’t sure why. Tension drained out of him, leaving only a warm glow.

“Don’t thank me,” Crowley growled, though it sounded playful. “Just…never mention driving the Bentley again.”

Aziraphale laughed. “Well. If that’s off the table, I’m going to insist you get some sleep.”

“What, here? In the middle of a field?”

“Yes.” Taking Crowley’s shoulders firmly, the angel guided him down until his head rested in Aziraphale’s lap, wings draped over to cocoon him. “Right here. I’ll keep watch.”

Golden eyes slowly blinked, and not just from exhaustion. “Are you...sure?”

“Crowley. I am very sure. I have never been more sure of anything. Now get some sleep.”

With a slow smile, Crowley shifted, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale pulling tight against his belly. “Alright,” he agreed with another yawn, and his eyes stayed shut this time. “I’ll rest. But if this is a plan to steal my Bentley, you’re a more clever bastard than I suspected.”

“Yes dear,” Aziraphale said, hand drifting down to run through the shock of red hair. “I love you, too.”

He gasped at his own words, but Crowley didn’t even stir.

Aziraphale leaned down. “Er, Crowley?”

“Nh.” No other response.

His fingers combed through Crowley’s hair again. “Never mind. I’ll tell you in the morning.”

Thank you for reading! For the record, no, this did not go as expected, but I like it anyway!

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perhapsitmaybedragons · 4 years

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A Congress of Newts and Serpents

Shoutout to cassieoh for the title, which I quite like and never would have thought of on my own.

I really wanted to write Newt getting romance advice from Crowley. It didn’t turn out the way I was expecting it, but I like how it went. It’s quite fluffy and has a very happy ending - one shot only.

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26944687

Or continue reading below:

“The point is,” Anathema continued, “That you had no right to say that!”

“I'm just saying, maybe we should go back home to discuss this?” Newt glanced at Aziraphale and Crowley. Aziraphale looked concerned. Crowley was smirking in that way that meant he thought he was about to get a lot of free entertainment.

“Home?” She was seething. She grabbed his keys off of the table in the entry way. “That sounds like a wonderful idea. I will absolutely see you at home. You can find your own way there.”

She slammed the door behind her and Newt stood there, watching her go. He had some inkling he was meant to chase after her, but another part of his brain was arguing that it was something that one only did in romantic comedies. She would calm down. Eventually. Right?

“What exactly did you do?” Crowley couldn't hide his delight. Sure, he was very kind for a demon, but he was still, at heart, a demon. “I don't think I've ever seen her so mad.”

“It's not like we've known them that long, Crowley,” Aziraphale poked him.

“I just said that I thought it was silly to go around lighting sage in the cottage. She said it would cleanse the air or something, and maybe get rid of demons?” he ran his hand through his already messy hair, somehow making it worse in the process. “I pointed out that might mean Crowley couldn't come around and she said something about well of course it makes exceptions for him he's one of the good guys. And it's just...I believe in science and I don't understand all of this new age stuff. I'm trying, I swear!” He spared a quick glare at the leftovers from tonight's dinner – sage encrusted chicken. It had brought the fight from this morning right back, after he'd thought they'd already worked it out.

“Well, dear boy,” Aziraphale chuckled. “It may be 'new age' to you, but I can assure you it's existed for centuries. Nothing new under the sun, as they say.”

“Who says that? I don't say that,” Crowley shook his head and went to get himself a drink. They were all in his flat. Aziraphale had thought it would be a good idea to get the humans to come around every so often while they all waited to see if Heaven or Hell would make another move. So far, all that had happened was that they'd learned Newt was a lightweight and that Anathema got angry after just one drink (though she never seemed actually drunk ...just ...angry).

“You do have to meet in the middle,” Aziraphale continued as though Crowley hadn't interrupted him. “It's alright if you don't quite believe the same things, but it isn't kind to patronize.”

“I didn't think I was being patronizing...”

“But you may have come across that way, even without intending it. How long have you known Ms. Device?”

“I mean...we met the day we all had to stop Adam from blowing up the world.”

“So just a few weeks, then. It can be hard to build a relationship that quickly.”

Neither one of them could see Crowley rolling his eyes behind his shades. “It was quick,” Newt admitted. “Do you think it means we're wrong for each other?”

“I think, Newton, that you should go home, get some sleep and talk to Anathema in the morning. Perhaps you should sleep on the couch tonight, let her have the bed,” Aziraphale clapped him gently on the back. “Crowley will take you, since she took your car.”

“I'll take him? News to me. Why don't you take him, angel?”

“I couldn't – what would be the point? I don't have a car. He'd have to take the bus and at this hour those can be impossible to come by!”

“You could miracle one up for him-”

“I will not perform a frivolous miracle when you could just take him in your car,” Aziraphale insisted. “It would be much faster than the bus, anyway. The way you drive, so long as you don't get yourselves into an accident, you'll probably be there and back in half an hour.”

“I'm sorry, so long as we don't get into an accident?” Newt repeated.

He was ignored. “Fine!” Crowley threw his hands up. “I'll take him. Are you going home now, then or did you want a ride, too?”

“No, no, I thought I'd stay here until you get back. I have some thoughts I wanted to run by you.”

“Fine,” Crowley said again. “You, awkward human,” Newt frowned but didn't correct him. They both knew that Crowley knew his name. “Let's get going. The sooner we leave the sooner I can get back and take a nap.”

“Haven't you been drinking?”

“He's right, Crowley. Sober up, first.”

Crowley groaned and shook the alcohol from his system. “There? Happy? All back in the bottle for later. Can we please just go?” He flung the apartment door open and gestured for Newt to go out. Newt scurried along, out the door, through the hallway, down the stairs and finally to where the Bentley was parked in all its glory. He'd seen the car before, but he'd never been in it. He didn't know very much about cars, but he knew just enough to know this was expensive and old.

He climbed into the front seat and buckled in. Crowley got in on the driver's side and started the engine.

“Wait, don't you need to turn the headlights on?”

“Ugh...if it will make you feel better,” Crowley nodded and the lights came on. Then he reversed the car and headed off in the direction of Tadfield.

“It's just...” The words poured out of Newt before he could think better of it, “I don't see what the big deal is. I really wasn't trying to upset her or anything. I thought relationships were about sharing your opinions. But ...maybe it's not a great idea to form a relationship based on a book...”

“A book?”

“Yeah. Agnes Nutter. She predicted us together. Apparently marriage as well.”

“Ah.”

“So. Stupid reason, huh?”

“Well, yeah.”

Newt hadn't expected that. “But she got everything right! Agnes predicted every little thing we needed to survive. How can you say that it's stupid?”

“Because you said that it's stupid. I was just agreeing with you. Did you want me to say 'oh, no, you're wrong. Perfectly logical to let an ancient witch decide who you should be with and who you should marry. Most obvious thing in the world, that'?”

“Maybe not,” Newt shrunk into the passenger seat, vaguely aware that he was sulking. “I guess it's not as good as overcoming everything you and Aziraphale have, but you can't really compare us – we're just human. I mean, she's a witch but -”

“I'm sorry, what was that?” Crowley had brought the car to an abrupt stop. Newt's whole body jerked as they went from impossibly fast to standing still. He felt a little fuzzy, but fully aware that had Crowley not cushioned the blow that could have done some serious damage to him.

“She's a witch, literally. I'm not calling her names-”

“Not that, I know about her being a witch,” Crowley was acting funny. His tone of voice was bored, like he didn't want to have the conversation. But Newt knew enough about body language to gather that Crowley was very interested in what Newt had to say right now. “What's that about me and Aziraphale?”

“Well, you're together, aren't you? So I figure you had to fight all of Hell and maybe all of Heaven, too, just to be together.”

“We're not,” Crowley didn't finish his argument. “He and I are friends. I mean...really good friends.”

“Aren't you in love with each other?” And now Newt was absolutely baffled. He'd had best friends before. None of them looked at him the way Crowley looked at Aziraphale. Not that he'd ever seen, anyway. “I thought you were together. Anathema-” now he trailed off, suddenly reminded of the fight. “Look, no matter what you two are to each other, I know you've fought before. How did you deal with it?”

“Probably the same way you dealt with fights with your mates in the past,” Crowley started his car back up again but didn't start driving. They were sitting still, parked on the side of the road. He looked deep in thought.

Newt was many things. Awkward, bad with electronics, maybe a little on the odd side. But he wasn't dumb. “Look, if I fight with friends it's never about anything important. And they get loads of time away from me, so if they're mad at me I don't have to worry about going to bed alone.”

“Those aren't things I have to worry about. I mean, I don't worry about going to bed alone. I do go to bed alone... I just don't worry about it, I mean.” The car started moving, but it wasn't lost on Newt that Crowley was driving the speed limit. He wondered for a moment if it was the first time Crowley had ever obeyed traffic laws.

“Fine. Indulge me. Hypothetical. If you and Aziraphale were in love and you had a fight-”

“Why do you need to bring him into this hypothetical? Why not just say 'if you were in love with someone and had a fight with them'?”

“Fine! If you were in love with someone, anyone, doesn't matter who, and they were very angry at you, what do you do about it? Especially when you never put in the ground work to be together in the first place?”

To his credit, Crowley did seem to be pondering the question sincerely. “Complained to the wrong people, mostly.”

“Complained? Not ...would complain? You're talking like you have been in this situation.”

“Not the part about being fated to be together by someone, obviously. Um...you've heard of the,” Crowley snapped his fingers as he tried to remember the correct phrasing. “The friend zone!” he looked triumphant when the word came to him.

“Yes,” Newt said slowly. He'd used the phrase himself as a teen once, and had been quickly reprimanded by his mother. He had learned to be wary of the kind of people who used it.

“That was mine, but it was an accident, swear it. I was just in a bar complaining to someone, and obviously I'd had a bit too much ...I said to this guy, 'you know, an out and out rejection would be fine, but it's not like I haven't been obvious about the whole thing. I may not have said the words but all my actions were you know...implying, and this person is smart, they can do book analysis and tell you why the curtains were blue or some such so why can't they read between the lines for me?' And this ...this asshole comes up with a story about some girl he was friends with and was being nice to all the time and how she only wanted to be friends and it was obviously the same as my thing, she'd lead him on by being nice to him. And, Newt?”

“Er-yeah?”

“I was just drunk enough and feeling just evil enough to goad him on with that. That was...I want to tell you the seventies – the nineteen seventies, but I can't remember for sure now. It was stupid.”

“So who was it then?”

“I already told you. Some asshole in a bar.”

“Not the friend zone guy! Who were you complaining about not realizing you're in love with them?”

“You know damn well,” Crowley grumbled. “Everyone knows except that idiot. Especially all the other people in bars I've complained to for the last several thousand years. He's so clever but he's so stupid-”

“Are you sure you sobered yourself up all the way?” Newt checked that his seat belt was fully secure.

Crowley ignored him. “The point is, Agnes got everything else right so she's probably right about you two. Do you like Anathema?”

“Of course I do!”

“Then take an interest in her interests. You ever seen something that makes her just,” Crowley clenched one fist for emphasis, the other remaining lazily on the wheel, “Just light up? Something that makes her so excited it's like the rest of the world drops away and maybe it does for you, too, because you're so focused on how happy she looks?”

“Once or twice...”

“And you don't want to do everything you can to make her look like that any chance possible?”

“Yes. ...Yes, I do. But I'm a little surprised you're willing to give advice on this. Or talk about it at all. You don't usually say much to me.”

“I talk when there's something worth saying. ...what do you know about glaciers?”

Newt stared at Crowley like he thought the demon had gone completely mad. “Uh- just that they're melting awfully fast, what with the greenhouse gases and-”

“Remarkably slow things. Used to be, at least. Then global warming and the polar bears dying and – not my point. My point is, the glaciers were here when we got here. Him and me, I mean. Him and I? Me and him? ...right, anyway, there's this big one that's been there the whole time and it's moving really slowly. Like ...snails are out pacing this bastard, right? That thing is going to somehow circumnavigate the globe multiple times before he's going to want to talk about us.”

“Us?”

“Not you and I us, me and him us!”

“Oh, right. Right. So are you admitting-”

“Yes, yes, we're past all that. I'm in love with Aziraphale, big whoop, you figured it out. Again, you're not the first one to say something to me about it.”

“And you've ...told him since then?”

“Not technically. We got kind of close to talking about it once... He says I go too fast for him. So if I go too fast and there's a glacier out pacing him, where do we meet in the middle?”

“Is that where the 'glacial pace' phrase comes from? I never thought about it before,” Newt admitted.

“Sorry. We're supposed to be talking about you and your witch, right? Look...I don't know what to tell you. Other than that she's an angry drinker so I would keep the stronger stuff out of the house. You can't be with a person just because a prophetess says you're meant to be. If you want to be with her, it should be because you want to be with her. But make that clear to her.”

“I was trying. That was part of the argument, really. I was trying to point out that my not believing in everything was a good sign for us, because it meant I wanted to be with her for her and not because of Agnes.”

Crowley frowned, “Well, I do actually see your point on that one. But sometimes it matters how it's said.”

Newt tried to look less astonished than he felt. Somewhere along the line, Crowley had decided to take the conversation seriously and actually offer help. Some part of the back of his brain tried to remind him that this was a demon, one who wasn't above still messing with people (though usually in mostly harmless ways). But he couldn't see if this was a trap or not. It seemed like friendly advice.

Judging by how Crowley sped the car back up to his normal speeds (the speedometer was not at an angle Newt could see, and even if it were, they were now going a lot faster than it could measure), Newt figured the conversation was over. Crowley turned the radio on, which went from classical to “Bohemian Rhapsody” without either of them changing the station.

They both pretended to be focused on the music until the car rolled up to Jasmine Cottage. “You'll be all right. I think you're kind of good for each other. Just make sure you're listening, but also make sure she listens to you. When you got together the world was ending so you had to do it quickly, but it's not ending anymore, all right?”

“Yeah, all right,” Newt got out but left the door to the car open. “Crowley? Um. Thank you. For the advice and for being honest with me about you and - ...about your stuff. I hope all that works out for you. For what it's worth,” He wasn't sure he should continue. Newt was very good at putting his foot in his mouth, and he hoped this wasn't another one of those situations. “I think if you spoke to Aziraphale... he might be ready now. You wouldn't be rushing him or anything, not if you just told him what you want to talk about and then let him decide if he wants to have that conversation. I'm pretty sure...look, you don't see the way he's looking at you some of the times, but everyone else has noticed.”

“Whatever you say,” Crowley had adopted that bored tone again. He flicked his wrist and the car door shut itself, making Newt jump back in surprise. But the window was still open. “You and Bicycle Girl have a good night. Hope things work out.”

“Thanks, I-” But Crowley was already driving away. “Thanks, anyway. Right.” Newt squared up his shoulders and headed into the cottage, ready to talk. But he heard a honking noise and realized Anathema was pulling up in Dick Turpin now.

“How did you beat me home?” she demanded as she got out. “I was just about to turn around and go back for you, but I got this feeling that I shouldn't and-” she shook her head.

“Crowley gave me a ride. Literal speed demon, that guy. Look, I wanted to talk to you..”

“I wanted to talk to you! I've done some reflecting and-”

“Anathema?” He interrupted. “I promise I'm going to listen this time, but can we please go inside first? We're literally in the middle of the road here.”

“Right...right.” She moved the car to its appropriate parking spot before they both went inside. And talked. And listened. And talked some more. They took turns talking and listening for the next several hours before they went outside to watch the sunrise the next day, neither of them having gotten any sleep.

“Think we'll be all right?” He asked, putting an arm around her shoulders and squeezing.

“Yeah, I think we will.”

Crowley had headed back immediately after dropping Newt off. Aziraphale, as he'd promised, was still in the flat where he'd been left. He'd brought a whole collection of books to keep himself occupied. He was curled up in a chair Crowley hadn't had before today (“Heaven's sake, more tartan?! Crowley thought to himself as he saw the plush chair Aziraphale had conjured up). He was reading an ancient looking book, a steaming cup of tea next to him.

“Crowley! How did it go?”

“S'Alright. I got him home in one piece, anyway.”

“Do you think they'll be alright? Human relationships can be so ...fickle.”

“Angel?”

“Hmm?”

“Am I still moving too fast for you?”

The question hung between them momentarily. Aziraphale sat up and put his book down on the floor. He seemed to be carefully considering his options. “I -what brought this on?”

“Does it matter? We've never talked about it. I am asking if you are ready to talk now – and telling you that if you aren't, it's ok.”

“No, I want to talk about it,” Aziraphale wiggled so that he was sitting up straight. “I'm sorry. You've done so much for me all these centuries and at first I thought – ah, well, this must be a trap. Then we had the Arrangement and I thought, well, fine, he just wants some time off from doing this work. But it was never about that, was it?”

“See, I thought I had been astoundingly obvious about it. Too obvious. Like one of those American John Grisham novels-”

“I don't like John Grishams-”

“I know, I know, cause they lack subtlety and all have the same plot. You've told me. But that's my point, isn't it? You were the Enemy, but you were the enemy who gives away a flaming sword God gave him because the humans might need it. I thought you were intriguing.”

“I'm not sure I'm ready yet. Not fully,” Aziraphale admitted. “I think my feelings are obvious enough at this point?” His eyes met Crowley's. “I hope so, at least. And if not...you can consider this a formal declaration.”

“A formal declaration?” Crowley repeated. He tried very hard not to smirk. The smirk won. “So this is your ...declaration of Intent to Begin Woo, then?”

“Ah, yes, exactly!” Aziraphale looked delighted by the idea. All these centuries and he still didn't always get sarcasm. Or he purposely chose to disregard it, in Crowley's case. Crowley could never be certain which one it was.

“And how would that look?”

“It would be slow, but I could start coming around and bringing you flowers and talking to you about your day-”

“Other than the flowers, how is that different from what we're currently doing?”

“Because my intent is stated, of course!” Aziraphale looked affronted. “And now you know I'm not doing it just to be your friend, though I do still quite value your friendship. I rather like this idea...”

“It does let you set the pace,” Crowley admitted. “I want you to be comfortable with this.”

“I am quite comfortable, thank you. Comfortable enough to suggest that I ...sleep over?” A blush crept to his cheeks, but before Crowley could start teasing, he corrected. “I just mean sleep in this chair. It's quite comfortable. Not the bed. You'd take the bed. But it would make it easier for me to begin my wooing of you.”

“All right, then, Angel. You're on. But I expect to be uh...thoroughly woo-ed starting tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow morning, then! It's a date.”

#good omens #my writing #ineffable husbands #crowley #anthony j crowley #aziraphale #newt #newton pulsifer #anathema #anathema device #fluff #romance advice #getting advice from a demon can be surprisingly helpful

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ellenripleysbelieveitornot · 5 years

Text

Aziraphale loved spending mornings with Crowley. He loved those early hours that he got to spend reading in bed with the demon curled up, asleep, by his side. He loved how the sunlight would creep in, setting copper hair aflame with a vast range of oranges and reds. He loved how one amber eye would crack open and a lazy smile would stretch across his lover's face when he found Aziraphale still next to him. He loved how Crowley, his voice still rough with sleep, would murmur good morning and press his face into Aziraphale's side, chasing those few extra moments of sleep.

He loved how Crowley would insist on cooking breakfast, even though it would be faster and easier to just miracle something together. He loved watching Crowley move about the kitchen, so at ease, cracking eggs and chopping vegetables with a grace and serenity he so rarely would let others see. He loved how Crowley would wait for him to take that first bite, eagerly anticipating his reaction. He loved the smile that would break out when Aziraphale would reassure him that it tasted positively divine, just like always, dear.

Aziraphale loved spending afternoons with Crowley. He loved sitting in the greenhouse, on the beige colored couch that Crowley insisted wasn't there for him even though they both knew it was. He loved pretending to read while he actually watched Crowley tend to his plants; despite all the yelling and the threats, there was a gentleness to him then, a softness about him that only Aziraphale and the plants got to see.

He loved later, when they would go inside and Crowley would rest his head on his lap while he actually read and they would stay like that for hours, content just to share in each other's company.

Aziraphale loved evenings spent with Crowley. He loved when they would get in the Bentley and drive through the countryside to some new little restaurant that Aziraphake wanted to try. He loved how Crowley, despite his natural proclivities, would drive slow enough that Aziraphale could take in the view, just so they could spend more time together.

He loved when they'd come back home and share a drink. He loved the wine-drunk blush on Crowley's cheeks, and the way his mind would pick the most random topic and just chase it until Crowley was passionately gesticulating on some topic that he clearly didn't know that much about, but had decided in that moment he cared about with every fiber if his being. He loved when they would sober up and Crowley would yawn, stretching his long limbs in every direction, and beckon him to come to bed, Angel, you can read whatever that is up there.

Aziraphale loved nights spent with Crowley. In the dark, there was a side of the demon that rarely made an appearance in the light, a side that needed rather than served, that was vulnerable and so open, so soft, and-

"Angel," Crowley interrupted, annoyance evident in his tone.

Aziraphale looked down at the demon in his lap. "Yes, my dear?"

"I asked you what your favorite time of day was."

"Yes?"

"You just described an entire day! That doesn't help me at all!"

"I'm sorry, dearest. It's just any time spent with you is my favorite."

Crowley covered his face with both his hands. "That's disgusting," he mumbled into his palms. "You're disgusting."

Aziraphale chuckled. "You know, after all this time waiting for me to catch up, I would have thought you'd be better prepared to handle affection."

"Shut up." Crowley's voice was still muffled by his hands. "You're the worst. I changed my mind, I'm not going to propose to you, after all."

Aziraphale's heart soared. Is that what this conversation had been about? "That's probably for the best," he said, struggling to keep his voice neutral as he reached into his breast pocket. "Considering I've been wanting to do this for quite a while now."

"Wanting to do wha-" Crowley paused and lifted his hand to study the small, gold band Aziraphale had casually slipped onto his ring finger. "Ngk."

"Is that a yes?"

A nod. "Ngk."

"Fantastic. Why don't we skip the rest of why I like spending afternoons with you and the first part of why I like spending evenings with you and celebrate with a bottle of- oh!"

Crowley may have still been at a loss for words, but that didn't stop him from sitting up and proceeding to thoroughly kiss the sense out of Aziraphale until the angel was as speechless as he was.

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale #anthony j crowley #crowley #ineffable husbands #my fic

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goodomensblog · 5 years

Text

Afterward

A Good Omens Choose Your Own Adventure Fic

Here’s how it works:

I’ll write a chapter.

At the end of each chapter, you’ll be presented with 2-3 options for what the characters will choose to do next.

Comment or reblog to vote for your choice. I’ll count all votes within the first 24 hours after each update is posted.

Read Part 1 Here

Afterward - - Part 2

- - - - - - - -

Dark, acrid mist seeps from the ground, spiraling up, ravenous, as though intent on swallowing up the sun. At it’s center, Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies, rises - born of mist and smoke. And there, Crowley stands, one hand on the bookshop door, his back open and unguarded.

Aziraphale is lunging, ancient instincts buried in his bones, deeper than marrow, driving him to throw up his arms as he leaps in front of Crowley.

Several things, then, happen nearly at once. Even if the surrounding humans weren’t instinctively driven to avert their eyes and attentions from the standoff happening before them, they still would not have been physically capable of registering the speed at which the following exchange occurred.

There is a sharp intake of breath and a garbled noise of panic behind Aziraphale. Where they press together, Crowley is rigid, every angled line of his long body tensed - and Aziraphale can feel his body twisting, splayed fingers grasping at the angel’s shoulder, yanking -

Beelzebub is faster.

A soot-stained boot twists, grinding pavement to dust as the Lord of Flies moves-

Aziraphale throws his hands up.

Crowley’s fingers, white-knuckled and grasping, drag at Aziraphale -

And Beelzebub stumbles, knees buckling as the glow in their eyes flickers and extinguishes.

Aziraphale’s hands, which he’d raised to fend off the demon lord’s attack, catch Beelzebub as they drop.

Beelzebub’s dark mist is dispersing, hissing as it falls away from their body; and Aziraphale holds them in much the same way as one might hold a tranquilized wolverine - that is to say, with care. Aziraphale has an arm gingerly hooked around Beelzebub, supporting beneath their arms. The demon lord’s neck is curved and their head dangles forward, limp.

Crowley’s hands are no longer attempting to drag Aziraphale back to the safety of the shop. The angel can feel Crowley pressing into him, fingers clutching at his arm as the demon peers over his shoulder.

Carefully, carefully Aziraphale extends a hand.

Crowley’s touch reflexively squeezes.

With two fingers, Aziraphale tips back Beelzebub’s head.

Crowley sucks in a breath. “What the bless.”

The mist, which had wrapped Beelzebub like a second skin, has all but faded. Beneath bright sun, four long gashes weep red. The left side of their face is flayed. The gashes, which are deep as they are fresh, run from Beelzebub’s dark hairline to the soft, fleshy underside of their chin.

Aziraphale blinks, and then blinks again. As though it will somehow change the reality before him. When he blinks a third time, and Beelzebub is still inconveniently bleeding out in his arms. Aziraphale heaves a deep sigh.

Licking his lips, he presses a hand up under Beelzebub’s chin. As Aziraphale’s hand glows, the demon lord’s skin bubbles, reacting to the ethereal healing touch. The bleeding does, however, slow.

Crowley is rigid, white knuckled fingers clinging to him like a vice.

“Angel,” he says, voice low and insistent. “Drop Beelzebub. We’ve gotta go.”

“Not that dropping a Lord of Hell isn’t an appealing option, but aren’t you the least bit curious-”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley hisses, and the hand at Aziraphale’s shoulder is pressing him forward, guiding him toward the Bentley.

Aziraphale, who hasn’t let go of Beelzebub, stumbles awkwardly with the demon lord in his arms.

“Crowley, hold on. Wait-”

Crowley spins around. Yanking Beelzebub’s head back again, Crowley flings out a hand, gesturing at the demon’s flayed skin. “Does that look like the work of an angel to you?”

“Well of course it’s not. Look at the shape of them, they were obviously made by-”

“Claws. Something demonic. Yeah.”

“Crowley, I don’t understand. Demons fight - you told me that demons sometimes even-”

Groaning, Crowley paces a tight circle. “Yeah demons fight. Demons, however, don’t nearly do in a Lord of Hell,” Crowley says, and stops, pointing emphatically at Beelzebub. “We. Do. Not. Want to be here when whatever did that to good old Beelz climbs up, looking to finish the job.”

Which begs the question-

“What exactly do you think did this, Crowley?”

Raking a hand through his hair, Crowley twitches, and shifts, shaking his head. “I-”

“Satan,” Beelzebub croaks.

Aziraphale, despite his earlier protests, nearly drops the demon in his surprise.

Crowley stills, hands loose and dangling at his sides.

And when the word registers, Aziraphale, despite six thousand years of practice, finds he’s quite forgotten how to breathe.

“Sorry,” he manages, and clears his throat. “What was that?”

Beelzebub’s lip curls. Squinting blearily up, they whisper, “I said, Satan did it.” And then their eyelids flutter. Their pale skin wrinkles as their brows draw together. “He - uh - something’s wrong with him.”

Breath returns without Aziraphale’s permission, and promptly leaves him in a gust of nervous laughter.

“Well yes, I should think there is something wrong with him-”

“No, you idiot,” Beelzebub says, coughing, “There’s something really wrong with him. It’s...different this time. Says he’s going to destroy it. And I believe him.”

“...destroy what?”

Aziraphale watches, out of the corner of his eyes, as Crowley circles them.

“Everything.”

At his back, Crowley hisses a curse.

“I…,” Beelzebub wheezes, and heaves a fortifying breath, “I think...I think I’ve got an idea...of how to stop him. But he’s -” they halt, teeth clenching as they groan, “he’s - gah, he’s coming for me.”

Behind him, Crowley gasps.

Aziraphale turns to see Crowley bracing a hand on the Bentley. His shoulders are hunched, head dipped forward.

“Crowley-”

“We’ve gotta go, angel. We have to hide. Now.”

And then Aziraphale feels it - a dark, malignant energy, pulsing - rising.

“Beelzebub-”

“Yeah, I know. We might need them,” Crowley says with obvious distaste. “Bring them along. Just for someone’s sake, hurry!”

By the time Aziraphale has tossed Beelzebub in the back seat and flung himself into the passenger side, Crowley is trembling, bent over the wheel.

“Can you-”

“Course,” Crowley snaps, and throws the car into drive. It growls, leaping into motion. “The Bentley can get us anywhere we need to go, but we’re gonna have to find a damn good place to hide.”

Aziraphale stammers, bracing a hand on the dash as the car roars, accelerating. “There’s Adam Young, of course, in Tadfield. He’s given up his powers, but there might be enough residual…” Aziraphale sucks in a breath as they take a sharp turn, wheels skidding over pavement. “It could be dangerous for him though - for Newton and Anathema as well. We could also go to America. Hide out near where the Dowlings settled. You know the place? There’s enough of a demonic aura there, perhaps, to conceal us - for a little while. At least until-”

From the back seat, Beelzebub groans.

“Gabriel,” they mutter, voice nearly drowned out by the snarling engine.

“Excuse me?” Crowley says, golden eyes flashing over the tops of his glasses.

“Find...Gabriel,” Beelzebub says, and moans, sinking back into unconsciousness.

“Gabriel,” Aziraphale says, and even the name leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

He and Crowley share a glance.

“I can’t imagine Gabriel would be keen on helping us.”

Fingers clenching over the wheel, Crowley shakes his head. “Can’t imagine it either.”

Golden eyes flick up, checking the rear-view mirror.

“Angel, I can get us anywhere. Anywhere in the world - and beyond. Just bloody give me an idea of where to go.”

- - - - - - - - - -

Aziraphale tells Crowley to go to…

Tadfield to enlist the help of Adam, Anathema, and Newton.

Find Gabriel (preferably while armed with a flaming sword) to ask for his aid.

America, near where the Dowlings now live and get unlikely help from… Warlock??

Comment or reblog to vote :)

(And I’m seriously excited about all three of the options and the direction they’d each take the story in. So I can’t wait to see what you all choose)

Read Part 3 Here

#my writing #choose your own adventure #good omens #good omens fic #good omens fanfic #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #ineffable husbands fanfic #ineffable husbands fanfiction #ineffable husbands fic #aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #otp: ineffable #ineffable partners #gomens fanfiction #gomens fanfic

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dragon-kazansky · 5 years

Note

Hiii! Dunno if you do poly ships(?) but if u do. Can I request something with arizaphale x reader x Crowley. Where reader(gender neutral) gets hurt and they both are on it ASAP 💕💕

It was always a comfort to know that when things went wrong you had someone to come to your rescue.

In your case, two people.

Your lovable boyfriends, Aziraphale and Crowley.

Now, you weren’t no damsel who needed saving every other day and were more than capable of of taking care of yourself, but you can bet that if it was needed, those two would come running faster than anything.

Getting hurt wasn’t common for you, but accidents happen.

You had a terrible accident and hurt yourself quite badly. You had injured your leg during a horrible fall, due to being a little clumsy that day, and the pain was almost unbearable.

“Damn it!” You hissed between clenched teeth. You couldn’t apply pressure onto your leg without pain shooting through it.

You fumbled for your phone and instantly called Crowley. You couldn’t bare to tell Aziraphale first for he would only worry and make a fuss. He treasured you dearly and you didn’t want to make him upset.

Crowley answered right away, his voice cheery and cocky. You could hear the grin in his voice.

“My day just got brighter, what can I do for you, love?” He said that a lot when you call him. He liked teasing you.

You rolled your eyes, despite your situation, and hissed down the phone. “I need you. I’ve… fallen.”

“Fallen?” The cocky undertone of his voice seemed to slip away. “How bad?”

Crowley was worried. Very rarely you got hurt, so when you did, it was concerned for your health. He liked knowing you were well and happy when he wasn’t around.

“Very. I hurt my leg and can’t walk properly. I need you to help me, please don’t tell Aziraphale. Hell only make a fuss over me, bless his heart.”

“I can’t keep that from him! I’m on my way. Aziraphale can fix that in a snap of his fingers.”

“Crowley, he’ll be upset with me…”

You could see it now. Aziraphale’s smile would falter and his brow would crease. He want nothing more than to be at your side to help you when in pain. The angel hated the thought of you being hurt, despite how little it ever actually happened.

“He will, but he’ll also forgive you right away. You know how he is, now stay where you are, we’ll be there soon.”

“You don’t even know…” he hung up, “where I am.”

You lowered your phone and tried your very best not to move too much. You cursed yourself for not paying enough attention, but were glad your boys would be here to help.

Gritting your teeth you leaned back and let your mind wander. You needed to get your mind off of the pain.

Your mind decided to focus on your boyfriends.

That made you smile.

Aziraphale panicked a little when Crowley had told him what had happened. He didn’t like the thought of you in any sort of pain and made sure to tell Crowley to hurry up.

The poor angel just wanted to fix up your leg and make you comfortable. Kisses would of course be given to help you.

This was one of the few times Aziraphale didn’t comment on Crowley’s driving.

“Aziraphale, calm down a little bit. She hurt her leg, she wont die from it.” The demon glanced as his lovable angel who had concern written all over his face.

“Still, they are hurt. We must hurry.”

Crowley didn’t like seeing Aziraphale this way. Where as the demon would try to hide his worry and focus on making the situation better, the angel would show his concern and let others know how he was feeling.

It was just one of the things you both loved about the angel.

“I’m going as fast as possible.”

“For once… it’s not fast enough.” The angel sighed and looked out the window with worry. He hoped you were doing alright until they could get to you.

You heard the Bentley coming. You knew the exact sound it made and could always tell when it was near by. It was something you had just learned the more time you spent with the demon.

It parked sharply and in no time at all your two lovable celestial boyfriends climbed out and came over to you. Aziraphale hurried over, while Crowley took his time.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t worried, but he knew you were other wise OK. Aziraphale would be able to take care of the injury for you.

“Oh dear, how did this happen?” Aziraphale hovered his hands over your injured leg, not wanting to make the pain any worse.

“It was an accident, please do something, Aziraphale. It hurts.” You looked at him with big bright eyes.

“No need to worry, I’ll take care of it. Think of something happy and wonderful!” He gave you his angelic smile and kept his hand over your leg.

His very presence was soothing to you. You were grateful he came even though you asked Crowley not to tell him.

Crowley knelt down beside you and wrapped his arms around your torso, pressing a kiss to your head. He watched the angel perform his little miracle and let you rest against him.

You smiled and leaned back into the demon, letting your mind fill with thoughts of your beautiful boys.

Aziraphale waved his hand along the length of your leg and with a jolt of sudden pain, making your flinch, everything soon settled down and was gone.

Crowley made sure to give you a squeeze while Aziraphale performed his miracle.

You opened your eyes and glanced at the angel and then the demon.

“How does it feel?” Aziraphale asked softly.

You looked at your leg and slowly got up, with the help of Crowley. You stood on your leg slowly and carefully, just in case. Though you had no doubt it had worked.

Aziraphale was an expert with miracles.

“All better. It doesn’t hurt any more!” You smiled at the pair.

“Oh, I’m glad! I hate seeing you in pain.” Aziraphale pulled you into a hug and kissed your temple.

“We should go back and rest. Don’t want to jinx this by hurting yourself again.” Crowley teased. He was smirking from behind you.

You scoffed and turned to kiss the demon on the cheek.

“Alright, but only if you stay with me. I need my boys to look after me.”

The pair of them were more than happy to comply.

“How did you find me, anyway? You had no idea where I was.” You looked at Crowley, considering he drove here.

“We always find you.” He winked. You couldn’t see it because of his shades, but you knew he did it.

You chuckled.

Your evening was filled with lots of hugs, kisses and your boys looking after you, even thought you healed now.

You were very proud of your boys for coming to your rescue.

Tags:

@dekahg

#crowley x reader #crowley good omens #crowley #aziraphale x reader #Aziraphale #good omens #request #aziraphale x reader x crowley

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beifongbabey · 5 years

Text

fill my heart, fill my head with these words

Words: 5258

Explicit language

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

first dinner at the Ritz - 1979

“... maybe dine at the Ritz.”

Suggested about a decade ago, the thought had stuck with Crowley through his most recent years-long nap. After getting up and getting with the times, (i.e. haircut, clothing, music; he has to look good, especially tonight), he thought he would surprise Aziraphale. He felt a pull toward him, the urge to just spend some time together. Maybe it was Aziraphale projecting (he hoped), but it was likely Crowley just missing the angel. He would never admit to it though.

He left his flat around 8:30 and drove his way through London. He was going slightly slower than usual, only hitting about 75. Nerves? No, fuck off. Does the angel want to see him? Shut up. Worried Aziraphale is busy? Yep, let’s go with that.

He arrived at the bookshop and, as briskly as he could with his saunter, walked to the front door and opened it.

“Angel?”

“Crowley?” He heard Aziraphale’s voice from a distant, quiet and unsure. As Crowley walked further into the room he heard a book close, a glass being placed down, and footsteps become clearer as the floor creaked slightly. “Crowley,” he said with a gentle smile.

“Hi, Aziraphale, long time.”

“It’s lovely to see you.” Aziraphale kept that smile that made Crowley’s heart beat a little faster. They sat in silence like this for a minute.

Smile fading, the angel finally broke the silence, “what are you doing here?”

“Oh, right, yeah. Want to do dinner?” Breaking that stare and moving on with a real conversation was just slightly difficult.

“Oh! That would be lovely, I actually just heard of this new place down…”

“Actually, I already have a place picked out.” Really he’s had it picked out for the last decade, but Aziraphale doesn’t need to know that.

Aziraphale shot him a look of surprise. He rarely didn’t pick the restaurant, but he was not going to complain. One, so long as it was food he didn’t care. Two, he had missed the demon dearly and was just content to spend a little time with him. So he grabbed his keys, turned off the lights, and made sure the bookshop was locked and safe.

Crowley waited for him outside of the Bentley and made sure to get in at the same time as the angel. Crowley turned on the ignition and music began to play.

The song begins softly, but Crowley recognized it instantly.

I can dim the lights

To the car, hoping he was quiet enough for Aziraphale to not hear, “you’re already on thin fucking ice.”

The Bentley happily continued to play. Crowley, though slowly tightening the steering wheel, stared straight ahead. He wanted to look and see if Aziraphale had noticed or was listening at all, but also feared what he was about to see. So he chanced the smallest side glance, desperate and fearful.

From what he could tell, Aziraphale was sitting as normal. Crowley’s shoulders relaxed slightly, figuring this would continue through the song. He still kept his death grip, promising punishment, and he counted the seconds until the song would end.

The thing was, the song was accurate. He knew that, but Aziraphale shouldn’t bloody know. His Bentley, the car that had been with him for years, was going to pay for this in whatever way an inanimate object could. It didn’t fear Crowley in the way his plants did (which he had just begun “taking care” of). But he’ll find a way.

Be a valentino just for you

What Crowley had missed after his side glance was a twitch of a smirk on Aziraphale’s face. Though he maybe didn’t always understand certain types of music, he loved the poetic lyrics. As he listened, he found the lover boy to be quite endearing. In his mind, hidden behind a mask of serenity, he thought of Crowley.

As the song requested to feel that heartbeat grow faster, faster, Crowley complied. Not on purpose, mind you. His Bentley was maybe a little forceful with its love for the pair. His teeth ground together until…

Dining at the Ritz, we’ll meet at nine

Fuck. Crowley’s eyes went wide under his glasses and he could feel his face becoming just a little hotter than Hell. His gears were churning over how to punish this damn car.

But, both were unconsciously planning on following some of the lyrics; Aziraphale will choose the wine, Crowley will drive them back to the bookshop, and maybe they’ll spend just a little extra time there.

OH, LOVE

On the other side, Aizraphale sat politely on the outside. But thank god it was dark because his face was redder than a tomato. His blush was powerful, but so was Crowley’s. They both remained staring forward, even as their emotions bubbled, twisted, and screamed internally.

As the last note hit and seemed to echo within the pair’s heads, Crowley hissed, “I swear if you play...” But the Bentley simply switched to classical music. It knew the point was made.

Luckily the ride was almost over anyway, but those last few minutes helped relax the blushes and return their hearts to a (hopefully) normal pace. Both beings were deep in their feelings, but neither knew what the other thought. So, they figured if it’s not broke, don’t fix it, and continued on with what their relationship has been like the last few thousand years.

Yes, they were both idiots, but idiots in love. And the Bentley knew that and did what it could to try and change that.

return from Ireland - 1986

They were both sent to Ireland on tasks. One was to encourage a bombing, one was to save a child who would otherwise die from a bombing.

At one of their usual lunches, Aziraphale mentioned needing to travel in a few days for a new miracle.

“Oh, where? ‘M supposed to do a temptation over in Ireland.”

“What a coincidence! That’s where I have to head. What are you doing?”

Crowley hesitated for a second. He didn’t want to do this one. Was planning on making it not happen. He didn’t like the ones where people had to die, especially innocent ones. He enjoyed inconvenience, making people just slightly irritated.

Aziraphale could feel a bit of pain coming off of Crowley.

“What is it?” Aziraphale asked in a low voice.

“Er, I’m supposed to make a bombing occur in the North.” He paused, looked down at his lap. “I wasn’t planning on letting it happen though.”

Aziraphale gave him an empathetic look. He always knew Crowley was a little bit of a good being, but he only showed that side on occasion.

“Well, I’m supposed to go and save a child from a bombing. If we’re going at the same time, likely supposed to be yours...”

Crowley looked up. Heaven was going to let it happen but only save one life? “Well, maybe we can go together. Maybe change a little thing here and a little thing there and make it seem like the humans made the choice.” His voice began to fill with hope. “Maybe we can drive to the coast and take a ferry over. Don’t want to use too many miracles and get in trouble.” The slightest smirk began to grow.

Aziraphale was hesitant at first. He still didn’t like disobeying Heaven, but if he were to save more lives than intended, that cannot go against orders! At this point, he was more used to adjusting his plans. It was for Crowley mainly, but always found a reason that Heaven would approve. Slowly he returned a smile.

“Alright! But we also have to stop by Dublin and meet up with a book collector. She has one of the original book copies of The Picture of Dorian Gray that I have been searching for. When I found out I had to go to Ireland, I figured it was the perfect opportunity. It shouldn’t take too long.”

Crowley was fine with spending a little extra time. Might as well do something that makes Aziraphale happy as well. While not much of a reader himself, he finds himself relaxing and enjoying hearing the angel discuss novels and prophecies.

“Alright, Angel. We can head out tomorrow.”

----

The switch for the bombing was surprisingly easier than they had expected. While they did have to send a few people to sleep for the day, Crowley easily tempted the man in charge to go watch a local boxing match, because it’ll be so much easier. Why not? You can drink, yell, and support your country. No need to be drastic tonight. It’s too rainy anyway, who wants to be out in this?

While Crowley tempted the man into something much calmer, Aziraphale removed the explosives in the Irishman’s flat. Simply made them disappear. Who knows what happened to them? Well, no need to worry now.

The pair made their way to Dublin, quickly coming upon the bookseller’s shop.

“This it?”

“Yes. Though she doesn’t appear to be here.” Aziraphale wrung his hands together, searching through the window to see if there was any movement or light.

Crowley rolled his eyes and leaned against the door frame. Honestly, he was fine with waiting with Aziraphale. But had to keep up appearances, ya know?

About two hours and a thousand little quips later, the bookseller came around the corner.

“Ah, you must be Mr. Fell! Sorry to keep you waiting.” She stated as she walked up the few steps to unlock the door and let them inside.

“It’s no problem at all.” They followed, Crowley looking to Aziraphale and giving him a mocking look.

“No problem at all,” he mimicked Aziraphale’s tone, quietly. In response, Aziraphale shot him a look of do you have to do that right now?

Crowley smiled wide. Aziraphale sighed and walked faster to follow the woman. Crowley liked irritating him.

----

What Crowley thought would be a quick drop-by to pick up the book grew into an afternoon of tea. Crowley sat, not talking, as the two discussed the book and others she had to offer. Aziraphale couldn’t resist the other rare books, ending up with a pile of six to bring back.

Crowley finally got the look across to the angel that they should leave. Aziraphale thanked her for the hospitality and the multiple books. He gave her a little extra money in appreciation and she welcomed him back anytime.

When they were outside and the door was closed, Crowley looked to Aziraphale.

“What?” The angel asked, a little oblivious.

Crowley didn’t say anything. Just shook his head and walked down the steps and into the street.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and slowly followed. He did appreciate him staying as long as he did.

“You know, I have always appreciated your acts and mindset, I think that you really…” Aziraphale said joyously as he caught up to Crowley.

“Don’t say it,” Crowley said, flatly.

Aziraphale’s smile remained. “Really, Crowley. What you did yesterday and…”

Crowley moved and grabbed the front of Aziraphale’s shirt with one hand. The books remained in his hands, Crowley subconsciously making sure they remained intact.

“Will you stop. I can’t be that.” he gritted his teeth as he threw the words at the angel. He let go, Aziraphale falling slightly. Crowley had not realized he lifted him up.

He walked ahead. He had to keep a front on for the sake of Hell, but inside his emotions screamed and sprinted across his mind.

Aziraphale watched him walk away for a second. Part of him wishes he didn’t let go. Part of him loves this little game, but part of him wants all or nothing.

“Come on, Angel. We got a boat to catch.” Crowley yelled from over his shoulder. Aziraphale caught up to him again. They talked and acted like nothing happened.

----

They returned to England’s coast, finding the Bentley within the car park. It was late, but they didn’t have anywhere else to go, so they simply took off.

Once settled in the car, Aziraphale began to read through some of the books he acquired. He became so engrossed in them, lost in a new world. He didn’t notice the stars or the sprawling landscape, and he definitely didn’t notice Crowley looking at him.

Crowley admired. Admired the angel who loved his books so much, who was always willing to help, and who didn’t fear him. He decides not to resist what he feels right now. He’ll simply drive and let his emotions open up a little within him. Maybe it would bring clarity. Maybe he’ll understand why they continue to dance around each other. Maybe he can find peace with that.

Open up your mind and let me step inside

Damn this car. He knows he just opened up but is accompanying music necessary?

Rest your weary head and let your heart decide

Well, it’s unlikely Aziraphale will notice right now, so he accepts the song. And damn if it doesn’t fit his thoughts.

He loves this game, the little chase, and the pining. But he is also desperate for what the angel thinks, feels. He can only hope it’s the same. One thought says yes, he loves you. Another says how could he? He tries to come to a compromise. He may love him, but can’t because of outside forces. Heaven, and all that. Still, he questions his own thoughts. He’ll never know until the angel tells him.

It’s a free world, all you have to do is fall in love

Ugh, Somebody, he wishes it were that easy. Humans were lucky to have complete free will.

Driving me insane

That exactly what his head is doing. All these thoughts, he can barely have one coherent thought because of the entire marathon occurring within his brain.

He just let them all race. No use sorting them out now, nothing was going to happen anyway. Maybe he’ll find a distraction and he’ll forget about it for a while. But damn, his mind always finds a way back to Aziraphale.

Everybody play the game of love

Crowley takes a deep breath and looks to Aziraphale again. Still blissfully unaware of the war within his head. He remains stuck in the fictional world of whatever other books that bookseller convinced him to spend his money on.

He may judge, but it is nice to see him like this. Not so worried, not so cautious. He sits in peace with a book between his hands. Calm, yet passionate about whatever words sit in front of him. Crowley finds his own peace at the sight. His shoulders sit a little lower and his cloud of thoughts clears a little.

They make the rest of the way home in peaceful quiet. The Bentley offers some quiet background noise and Aziraphale pipes up every once in a while to share a line or little fact about the novels in his lap.

Maybe he can stick with this game. It is calm and comfortable. He can always be home with the angel.

after the bandstand - 2019

Aziraphale left first. Crowley was alone, standing in the middle of the bandstand. He watched as Aziraphale walked away, not able to move. Of course, this sort of thing had happened before. Hereditary enemies and we can’t be friends was a typical conversation topic between the two. But this time, with Armageddon about to happen, he felt the dismissal a little more. There was a bit of hope at the beginning, of going off together. But it was lost soon after, as it usually was.

Crowley finally dragged his feet back to the Bentley, fell into the driver’s seat, and laid his head on the wheel as he turned the engine on.

The Bentley was silent at first, as though it was making sure the song fit.

Then those familiar notes hit Crowley’s ears.

He thinks back to a concert, the raw emotion coming from Freddie and Brian as the audience becomes a duet partner. There, he could only think of Aziraphale. Think of the love he had but could never really give the angel. Whether that was because he was a demon or because he feared rejection is still debated. He wants to share himself fully with the angel, but there is always something holding it back.

Love of my life, you’ve hurt me

With his head still down, his eyes slide to the radio. He tries to scowl, but he can’t.

He so wishes he could take off, leave the doomed world behind him. But alone?

He remembers those little smiles, tempting him into helping. He is always aware but can never resist. He thinks of dinners, listening to the passionate monologues about books, food, and the most recent miracle. He tries to ignore the thoughts of magic tricks, but he can’t make the little smile muscles to relax. Every drunken night, every meal he waits, every moment of catching up. He doesn’t want any of these to be just a distant memory.

Don’t take it away from me

He continues to sit in his car, thinking of seemingly every little thing from their life together. While he is in pain now, he never thinks of a painful memory. He remembers every so-called “chance” meeting and souvenir, every weird outfit, and that same hair throughout the six thousand years.

Don’t take it away from me

He forces himself back up and whips out of the parking spot. No need to wallow in the memories, might as well just move on. At least, the exterior can do that. Internally, he’ll continue to overanalyze and think of the past and possible future; so long as the whole ‘end of the world’ doesn’t happen.

I will be there at your side

Well, if this is all going to burn, might as well burn together. And maybe it won’t happen, you can never know with God, and with humans. She may be Almighty, but humans have come up with so many other solutions (and problems); a few of them could figure out how to stop The End. So he takes a sharp turn to make his way to Soho.

Love of my life…

Yeah, he fucking knows. He’s been pining for this long, surely he can make it a few more days (or years, depending). Either way, he knows he can’t leave and won’t ever leave. So, he makes his way to apologize and hopefully figure it out. Whether the “it” is the end of the world or his emotions, well, maybe flip one of Aziraphale’s “magic” coins to find out.

the first night - 2019

Didn’t go down like a lead balloon this time. It was false alarmageddon, and they had survived. Maybe the would die within the next few days for, you know, treason and such. But at least the world hadn’t died for the sake of some stupid war.

Now Crowley was exhausted, the combination of his imagination holding the car together, stopping time, and dealing with Satan’s wrath really did a number on him. Aziraphale also felt that fatigue, but he also contemplated the last prophecy from Agnes Nutter. So the pair simply sat in silence on the way back to London.

Aziraphale had agreed to stay at Crowley’s. Crowley heaved a sigh of relief when he agreed. Aziraphale offered him a small smile, giving Crowley just a bit more energy. They would need to figure out what that prophecy meant and what to do about their sides, but also they needed sleep. They needed a break. The week had been damn long enough.

Crowley may also want to admit to his love, but maybe that can wait.

Arriving in London, they made their way over and up to Crowley’s flat. He opened the door and simply walked in, not thinking about another’s reaction to the place.

“Oh, Crowley. Is this really your place?” Aziraphale asked, concerning consuming his voice.

“Uuh, er, yeah.” He said mindlessly.

“Well, uh, it’s very clean.”

Crowley gave the wall a look at that comment. He didn’t want to direct it at Aziraphale, but he still judged the judgment coming from the angel.

“It just reminds me of somewhere, that’s all.” Aziraphale knew Crowley had a look on his face, it’s the same one he makes when Aziraphale does magic.

Crowley turned, curiosity blooming on his face. “Where, exactly, might I ask?”

“Oh! Ah… Heaven.”

Oh.

Aziraphale made that face he does when he’s hiding his feelings. A little smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. The look that tries to protect someone else’s feelings. But it doesn’t work on Crowley.

“Angel…”

“No, it’s fine. Maybe some tea?”

Crowley points toward the kitchen. There isn’t a lot there, but he has tea; every good British home does. He watches as Aziraphale walks away, trying to figure out a way to make him more comfortable. Maybe at least a couch? That should be simple enough.

He thinks to any couch, maybe one he saw on tv. Ah, yes, that should work. He snaps, a simple black couch appearing on the wall behind the desk. It’s comfortable enough. Should help make this place a little more acceptable.

Aziraphale reappears with two cups of tea. Crowley accepts his and takes a seat on the couch. The angel sits on the other side and they sit in silence for a moment, appreciating the tea and quiet.

Well, Crowley’s thoughts are taking over. Maybe now is the time to say something. What better time? They almost died, they still might die later. The first was a gift, the second is the possibility of losing him. He can’t let go without saying something. What’s the harm? He’s pretty sure he loves him back, but that may be that piece of hope taking the wheel. He knows he can wait longer, he’s gone this long, so why not? Well, no controlling his mouth now. He takes off his glasses, no controlling his body either. If he’s gonna bare himself, might as well go all out.

“Angel, there’s something…”

“Wait.”

Crowley gives him a stunned look, waiting for those next words.

Aziraphale takes a breath and puts his mug down. “After today, I feel that there is something I should tell you.” He pauses, stabilizing himself. “I love you. And not in that all-encompassing way. But in an in-love way. The human way of I’m in love with you and I can’t let go of you. I thought I was going to lose you and I don’t know what I would have done. I know you’re still a demon and I don’t know how it works but I just needed you to know. I love you, and I have for a long time.”

Aziraphale turns his head to look at Crowley. Fear what reaction may come. Anticipate a reciprocation. That may have sounded better in his head, but he can’t really control himself right now. But he also didn’t care, he simply needed him to know.

Crowley maintained a stunned look. All function has stopped within his head and body.

“Crowley?” The angel asked quietly.

Crowley’s face softened for a moment, enough to tell Aziraphale the world.

In a flash, Crowley leaned over and gave him a quick kiss. It was too quick for Aziraphale to react physically, but his mind clawed and screamed for more. Crowley pulled a few inches away, staring into his eyes. A few seconds pass before Aziraphale leans back in. Crowley places a hand on his cheek, guiding him through the constellations of his mind. Every loving thought, every emotion poured into Aziraphale as the kiss deepened. Aziraphale grabs his arms, losing his grip on the real world and slipping into the endless sky. Crowley feels every emotion directed at him.

It is unbelievable. He may have hoped, dreamed for this moment, but even his imagination could not match the real thing. He was given the world and tried to give the rest of the universe back. He loved and was loved. Nothing else mattered. Absolutely nothing else.

After the angel’s words, he could not form his own. He always showed love through acts anyway, and hopefully, this one works just as well.

About to lose their breaths, they pulled only centimeters away. Breath mingled and foreheads connected. Crowley’s hands remained on his face and neck while Aziraphale gently squeezed both of Crowley’s forearms.

They looked to each other, smiles growing.

Crowley took a moment to think of the right words, knowing the angel would want to hear them. He wanted something poetic, something Shakespeare would steal (again). But that would take too long. He just went with his heart.

Just barely above a whisper, “I love you too. More than every star, every year, and every thought I’ve had. I’ve loved you for 6000 years, and I will love you for the rest of time. Even after, I’ll still love.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes, a small tear squeezing out. Crowley gently moved a finger to catch it. He then leaned in to kiss his cheek with the same, painful carefulness.

After a while, intermingled with gentle kisses all over each other’s faces and necks, they moved to Crowley’s bed. Both exhausted, but so grateful to be here, with each other. Crowley cuddled into Aziraphale’s side, wanting to wrap himself around and never letting go. Aziraphale happily complied, mindlessly dragging his fingers across Crowley’s skin like this is where they are always meant to be. But soon, Aziraphale’s mind returned to the future. And he needed a promise.

“They will come for us.”

“I know.”

“Can you promise we’ll find a way?”

Crowley paused, but not because the next line will be a lie. But because he was ready to dedicate himself.

“Yes, angel. I promise.”

He placed a kiss just under Aziraphale’s jaw, calming the bit of tension that had built up.

“But let’s think about that tomorrow.”

----

48 hours later, the promise was kept. They sat side-by-side in each other’s skin.

Crowley couldn’t get the image of Aziraphale dying by hellfire out of his head. Aziraphale thanked and thanked Agnes Nutter for the words. Both couldn’t face the idea of what would have happened.

But here they were, safe. Maybe that safety wouldn’t last long, but it didn’t matter right now.

So they switched back and continued their usual banter, usual routine. It may be a little different now with the love and the promise kept, but Crowley didn’t want to move too fast this time. Simply wanted to enjoy it.

“Can I tempt you to a spot of lunch?”

“Temptation accomplished.” Aziraphale wiggled and the two gladly walked toward the Bentley. Luckily they met at a park near Crowley’s place so they could drive over to the Ritz.

Crowley walked Aziraphale over to his side of the car and opened the door for him. Aziraphale smiled and grazed the hand that was holding the top of the door. Crowley slightly blushed, not sure when he would be used to this life. He walked to the driver’s side, got in, and started up the engine.

I was born to love you

This is the first time Crowley had heard the Bentley play this song. The blush remained, but a smile grew. He could finally begin to accept this love. While the Bentley was still cocky, he finally appreciated a love song in its entirety. After Crowley switched into gear he offered his hand. Aziraphale had a smile on his face and gladly took it. He squeezed, sending Crowley’s heart ablaze.

I’m caught in a dream and my dream’s come true

Crowley lifted their joined hands to his mouth and placed a kiss on the angel’s hand. He didn’t look over, afraid even his imagination couldn’t control the car when his emotions were this strong. But he felt the look of love on Aziraphale’s face.

Every single day of my life

Every single day. Crowley will love and give and give and give. Never take it for granted, never let it go.

With every single beat of my heart

Aziraphale can feel the love radiating. He had felt something before but had felt it through his whole life on Earth he never thought about it. Assumed it was just, there. But now he realized it was directed at him, becoming more clear after sharing. This feeling was his home; he was always more comfortable around Crowley, even when he couldn’t admit it to himself or anyone else. He never wanted it to fade.

They soon arrived at the Ritz and lost contact only to get out of the car. They quickly reconnected, walking happily into the Ritz to the miraculously open table for two.

an anniversary - 2029

They laid side-by-side in the field close to their cottage. Ten years. Ten years since the world almost ended, ten years since their trials, and ten years since they admitted their love. They figured this was the easiest time to celebrate an anniversary, even with the 6000 years behind them and countless more ahead.

They had had a picnic for dinner, something that had become a regular occurrence. But this time they stayed through the sunset and into the night, stargazing.

The pair laid as close as possible, hands holding tightly and legs beginning to mingle and wrap. They had been there for hours but couldn’t fathom the thought of leaving yet.

Crowley would randomly point out a certain constellation or tell a little story about creating the stars. Aziraphale would turn his head to watch him talk so passionately about the sky. Maybe he’d heard that story 20 times by now, but he really didn’t care. He could listen over and over and still love it.

When he’d finish, Aziraphale would lean over and kiss his cheek. Crowley would respond by wrapping himself a little tighter around his angel. He would smile to himself and Aziraphale would feel a little pulse of love.

Crowley had finally gotten to a point of accepting this and fully embracing it (and embracing the angel, almost all the time). While still a little shocked this was his life, this dream he could only hope for, he had realized it was reality. He could love him openly and be loved back. That little piece that said you’re not worthy finally faded and nearly disappeared.

He couldn’t and wouldn’t let go. And he knew his angel would do the same.

Soon, they began to hear a piece of music float through the air towards them. Crowley turned to look at Aziraphale, but he was just as confused. Not wanting to move from their position, they both moved their heads around to try and find the source.

Crowley looked behind him, realizing it was coming from the Bentley.

When Aziraphale realized Crowley stopped moving, he looked and followed his line of sight.

They both stared curiously for a moment, trying to figure out how it was happening. Soon enough, they looked at each other and simply accepted it.

The Bentley had taken to Crowley’s emotions. Tonight, they were just so powerful, both on his own and mixed with the angel’s, that it needed to play something.

It chose the piano version of Forever. Its melody fit within the moment, filling the air with a light but powerful tone.

But the words that accompanied the original fit just perfectly.

Touch my world with your fingertips

And we can have forever

Forever is our today.

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

Guess who tried to put every headcanon and idea about these two I love into one story!! It’s me !!!

Partly inspired by the car art by @ymmish

Inspired by some of my favorite Queen songs, as well as ones that were Too Powerful to put in the show but you Know the Bentley loved to play them.

Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy

Play The Game

Love of my Life

I was Born to Love You - Piano and Vocal version

Forever - Piano version

I hope you enjoyed! Feel free to send any comments my way, I would love to hear anything! I haven’t done fanfiction in a while, but Good Omens has taken over my life too much for me to not write something.

I hope these people don’t mind, but I want to get this out there, especially to the few writers or creators I admire: @in3ffable-husbands @thegoodomensdumpster @goodomensblog

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale

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ineffably-effable · 5 years

Text

so excuse me forgetting

Title: So excuse me forgetting Summary: Crowley finds Aziraphale in the book shop, drugged out of his mind. Word count: 1103 AN: Couldn’t get this idea out of my head, so tried to exorcise it by writing it.

(read on ao3)

excerpt:

Crowley kneels in front of him, summons a demonic miracle to clear Aziraphale’s system but it has no effect, confirming that whatever it is - it’s ethereal.

***

Aziraphale is never late.

Crowley is driving through the streets of London at top speed, bending the laws of physics around him to avoid collisions, because Aziraphale is never late. The angel loathes tardiness, views it as disrespectful.

When he sees the shop (not on fire - it’s not on fire - he’s fine) Crowley banks the wheel hard, switching quickly between the throttle and the brakes to drift the Bentley into a spot that miraculously widens to accommodate it. He hops out, strides towards the door and begins pounding on it.

“Angel, you better have a good excuse for standing me up.”

When there’s no answer he miracles himself inside to find Aziraphale sitting on the couch, pale and shaking, his hands clenching a cushion in a white knuckled grip. His clothes are rumpled. He’s staring off into the distance, hasn’t even noticed Crowley’s there. Around him tables have been upturned, and a bookshelf has been knocked aside.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley waves a hand in front of his face and the angel looks up, dazed. Crowley grabs his chin and pulls his face up to study him.

Aziraphale’s eyes are wide, with pupils blown, his forehead is covered in a sheen of sweat. He looks drugged out of his mind.

Crowley kneels in front of him, summons a demonic miracle to clear Aziraphale’s system but it has no effect, confirming that whatever it is - it’s ethereal. Aziraphale’s head still hasn’t moved from where Crowley guided it up, although he’s blinking now. Crowley leans forward, he places a hand on Aziraphale’s knee and, bringing his other hand up to cup his cheek, forces the angel to look down at him.

“Angel…” Aziraphale’s blue eyes are unfocused, and watery. There’s some recognition there, which Crowley is thankful for, but Crowley has never seen him look this lost. “Angel, what happened?”

Aziraphale’s face crumples, Crowley can tell he’s struggling to make sense of things, the way he glances back and forth around the room.

“Michael ambushed me. She said she figured out why I’d changed, that she knew how to fix it…” his hand shifts to grip the one Crowley is resting on his knee. “She brought others- there were too many- they injected me with… something. I couldn’t move, couldn’t think - not properly.” he shakes his head, as if to clear it, distraught. Crowley rubs his knee, gently, trying to soothe.

“They asked questions- about you, so many things, and I couldn’t stop myself… then they left and…. I- wanted to warn you - they know where you live but I couldn’t remember your address. I told them but I couldn’t recall…” his eyes lock on Crowley’s. “I’m forgetting other things too.”

Crowleys feels his stomach drop, feels like he’d been shot (and he should know, he’s been discorporated that way before). He feels like he’s losing something, as important as blood, but faster than he can do anything about it - and Aziraphale is still shaking. Crowley tries to compartmentalize.

“Angel it’s OK, we’ll work it out. We’ll stop it, or we’ll get it back….“

“But I’m losing it all so fast.” the Angel reaches his other hand up to card his fingers through Crowley’s hair. “Like your hair, when did you cut it? It was longer wasn’t it? I prefer it longer I think.”

Crowley tries to reign in his panic. Whatever this is, it must be possible to undo it. There’s always a way.

Aziraphale continues stroking the side of Crowley’s face. Stares at him with drug-addled wonder.

“My dear, dearest. I love you, so much. They- they asked that. I had to tell them, I couldn’t, I couldn’t lie.. couldn’t seem to stop talking either … I’m sorry….” He tilts his head like he’s belatedly realized the significance of what he’s said. His eyes widen “I’m so sorry… this isn’t how I wanted you to find out.”

“Angel…” Crowley’s voice sounds strangled even to his own ears. This was too much. This was beyond what he was capable of dealing with. He was going to find Michael, he was going to find everyone involved in this - he was going to make them beg for the sweet release of hellfire.

“I love you - loved you, since the ark I think, you know, and you cared so much about the children… I wanted to - I thought you might feel the same but you never said anything - and you had so much more to lose… I wanted to tell you for so long…”

Crowley can’t speak, something (a sob) is caught in his throat and the words aren’t coming.

“It’s OK if you don’t… Did I… Oh dear I cant seem to get anything straight. Everything’s fuzzy and my head hurts, did I get you the holy water? You never ask for anything… but I couldn’t. Crowley, I can’t lose you… I’ll get it for you I promise, just please don’t leave me. You go too fast.”

Crowley takes a deep breath, turns his palm to clasp Aziraphale’s hand, and brings it to his lips. He kisses it, softly, reverently.

“Angel I love you. I’m not going anywhere I promise.”

Aziraphale beams at him. (Crowley’s heart whimpers like a dying animal.)

“You do, darling? Me too.. for such a long time. Oh, I’m so glad. Dearest. Only I’m so tired, and my head hurts.”

Crowley leans forward, up onto his knees, to kiss the angel (chastely) on the lips - earning a soft, bleary-eyed smile for his troubles. Still holding his hand, Crowley moves beside him on the couch, and maneuvers them both until they’re laying down with Aziraphale held tightly in Crowley’s arms.

“Don’t want to forget” Aziraphale murmurs, losing the battle to stay awake. “Don’t want to lose you.”

Crowley is glad the position hides his face from view, he can feel wetness on his cheeks. He hugs Aziraphale tighter, uses his thumbs to stroke his sides it what he hopes is a comforting way.

“Go to sleep, sweetheart, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

The angel’s breathing slowly evens out and Crowley feels him go slack in his arms.

Crowley knows he should get up, should make plans, but he can’t bring himself to move. He worries doing something will make this real. Thinks perhaps if he goes to sleep there’s a chance this might all have been a horrific nightmare.

He closes his eyes.

***

When he opens them again Aziraphale is standing over him, looking confused and a little put out.

“Crawley? What are you doing in my shop? Why do I feel so groggy… Did you do this? Crawley are you crying? Demon’s don’t…oh dear, are you alright? Please don’t. Can I help?”

#good omens #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #ineffable husbands fic #angst #if I have to suffer I'm taking you all with me sorry #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #my writing #crowley/aziraphale #aziraphale/crowley

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somethingjustsouthofbrilliance · 4 years

Text

Too Weak to Fly (chapter 2)

Don’t know if I should be tagging anyone on this or not.🤷‍♀️ All stories are cross-posted on AO3 if you happen to miss anything.

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

“Lucky I taught’ya… t’drive…”

Crowley sits slumped against the passenger side door, head resting against the glass as he watches Aziraphale from under half-lowered eyelids, and Aziraphale tightens his grip on the steering wheel to distract himself from the way those eyelids flutter, struggling to stay open even at half-mast, from the dark stain spreading steadily across the leather upholstery behind the demon’s back, from the pained struggle of each breath, each panted out word…

“Lucky...”

The idea to give Aziraphale driving lessons was blurted out by Crowley one night over the third bottle of Chateauneuf du Pape, two years into their post-Armageddon existence. “It’ll be fun, angel, you’ll see,” he had slurred drunkenly, and Aziraphale was just drunk enough to agree. They did have fun, in fact – once Aziraphale got over his fear of wrapping Crowley’s cherished automobile around the nearest tree (and once Crowely got over his fear of the same), and it turned out to be a rather pleasant bonding experience for the two of them.

He thinks back to Crowley’s sudden boneless weight in his arms, to the sticky wetness of Crowley’s blood on his fingers, to the agonized cry that tore out of the demon’s throat when Aziraphale threw them both into the waiting Bentley, his panicked brain thinking of nothing else but to get them both out of there, now, now, now….

“Not ssssure disss…sscorporating ‘n’a car crash… ssss’any better, angel…”

The carefully disguised tension in the slurred out words cuts off the swirling stream of frenzied thoughts, and he blinks, forcing his attention back to the here and now, to the scenery along the side of the road that’s zooming by much faster than he had intended. Briefly he glances down at the needle of the speedometer, frowning when he finds it pushing well past 100. Perhaps he really should slow down before they crash and find themselves discorporated after all.

He eases his foot slightly off the gas pedal, forces his fingers to relax a fraction from the death grip they have on the steering wheel.

“I’ve seen you go quite a bit faster than that, dear boy,” he deflects primly, keeping his gaze trained on the roadway ahead, careful not to look at Crowley’s pale (so frighteningly pale) face. “And, given our current circumstances, the sooner we get to our destination, the better.”

He can feel Crowley’s gaze on him, silent and scrutinizing, and he wriggles his shoulders, disguising the uncomfortable urge to squirm under the need to shift his grip on the wheel.

“What’ssss the destination?”

The words are quiet, unconcerned, but there’s a tone to them that tells Aziraphale that Crowey knows the answer, or, at least suspects. In any case, there’s no point in hiding it.

“Tadfield,” he murmurs, shooting the demon a furtive, sideways glance.

There’s another beat of silence, then Crowley’s hand reaches for him, ice-cold fingers brushing along his wrist before it falls limply back down to rest on the seat between them.

“Pull over.”

“I rather think not, my dear. We don’t really have time to–”

“Pull… over, angel.” There’s a harshness to Crowley’s voice, an emphatic insistence dampened only slightly by the strained edge of pain that tinges the words.

Aziraphale complies.

“Crowley,” he begins, twisting in his seat to face the demon. And, oh, it’s a mistake, a big, big mistake. Because now he can’t help but note it all – the minute twitches of the jaw muscles tightened almost beyond their limit, the alarming gray of the sweat-dotted skin, the fevered intensity of the pain-glazed, weary gaze. And he can’t help the way his needless heart clenches in fear.

“Ssss’a bad idea.” The demon pauses, bone-dry lips parted as he drags in a breath that seems somehow to require an extraordinary amount of effort. “You know it is.”

“It’s the best option we’ve got, Crowley,” Aziraphale rolls out his argument, hurriedly, trying his best to keep the building panic out of his voice. “Anathema’s a witch, a hereditary one. She has the ability to see energy patterns within living things, and that means she should be able to influence them. She may not be able to heal you outright, but, with my guidance, she might, at least, stop further damage and, perhaps, mend your corporation enough for you to last until we get our powers back.”

There’s a twist to Crowley’s mouth – worried and unhappy, disappointed almost. Disappointed in him, Aziraphale realizes with a start.

“They are human, angel,” he breathes out finally, disappointment spilling into his gaze when he adds a pointed, quieter, “and they have kidssss now.”

Ah, yes, the kids. Twin boys and a girl three years their junior. He and Crowley have been invited down to Tadfield for every significant celebratory occasion involving the newest offspring in the great Nutter line, and Crowley has proudly embraced the title of “unca Cowly” that had been bestowed upon him by the youngest Device during their last visit.

“I have not forgotten,” Aziraphale insists, frowning at the silent reproach in the demon’s stare. And he hasn’t, despite the near-overwhelming panic that has gripped him the moment that Crowley collapsed in his arms in front of the bookshop, and that has only grown since in light of the demon’s rapidly worsening condition.

“I haven’t, my dear. But… well….” He twists in his seat, throwing a worried glance at the road behind them, searching for any sign of their pursuers. The road has been empty so far, but that meant nothing. Those people have already tracked them down before; they will do so again – it’s only a matter of time. Time they can’t afford to waste.

He looks back at Crowley, who has sagged even further into the seat in the few short minutes that they’ve been talking, his paper-thin eyelids drooping down to leave a barely perceptible slit of yellow.

“Do you have another suggestion?” he asks, even though he knows he shouldn’t, that it’s a terrifically bad idea to give a desperate, injured demon a chance to voice a likely equally desperate plan.

He’s right, of course. And when Crowley laboriously raises his gaze back to him, divulging his plan on a rattle of an exhale, Aziraphale feels as though ichor itself has turned ice-cold in his veins.

“You let me out here and you leave.”

He can’t even muster a breath to respond, too numb with the horror and shock of it, before Crowley ploughs on, resolute.

“You leave, angel. Get… get out of London and–”

“And what, Crowley?” Aziraphale snaps, having found his voice again. “What?! I run off and leave you behind to die? That’s your plan?”

“Yesssss.”

There’s a quiet, unruffled certainty in the demon’s voice, a calm acceptance of the doomed that makes the river of cold inside Aziraphale crackle and break, splitting off into a myriad of razor-sharp icicles that spear and stab straight through his heart.

“That’s not going to happen.”

Aziraphale turns away from him, hands clenching once more around the wheel because he’s shaking so hard he feels as if he would come apart if he has nothing to hold on to. He’s surprised his voice was as steady as it had sounded in his ears.

There’s an odd sort of pressure in his chest, like an iron fist squeezing around his corporation’s heart and lungs. Almost as if he’s been shot along with Crowley, although he knows that to not be true. It’s uncomfortable, painful even. It makes it hard for him to take a breath. Makes his eyes water for some inexplicable reason. He gasps, blinking harshly to clear the watery veil that washes out the road in front of them.

“I’m… I’m not–”

“They’re coming, angel. And I can dissstract them.” Cold fingers brush his wrist again, tentative, apologetic almost. “Long enough for you to–”

“NO!”

He rounds on Crowley, trembling with fear and fury. Dimly he thinks that if he still had his powers, the whirlwind of emotions he feels right now would have had him virtually blazing with Grace; that he could have hurt Crowley even more; that his lack of powers was probably a blessing now that he can barely control the extent of his outburst.

He forces himself to breathe, to let go of the steering wheel long enough to grasp Crowley’s hand – his true, his only anchor. His grip is painful, he knows that much. Can see it from the way Crowley flinches minutely, his eyebrows tightening with discomfort. But the demon makes no move to pull away, stays perfectly still beside him, yellow eyes watching him with a knowing sorrow.

“I’m not… leaving you, Crowley,” he says finally, when he feels steady enough to do so. “You can’t ask me that.” He takes another breath, swallows harshly against a threatening prickle of tears. “I will call Anathema, explain the situation to her. They’ll be warned of our coming, they can get the children out of the house, take any other necessary precautions. But Crowley…” His voice trembles again, forcing him to stop. He presses his lips together, his grip on Crowley’s hand tightening involuntarily as he struggles once more to steady himself. “She’s the only chance we’ve got,” he breathes out, his eyes filling once again, “the only chance you’ve got, and I…”

“Angel…”

Crowley’s voice is soft, so, so unbearably soft and regretful, like he’s already accepted this, has given up. It makes Aziraphale want to scream.

He reaches out with his other hand instead, places it reverently against the gaunt pale cheek.

“I’m not letting you die, Crowley,” he tells him with all the fervor he’s capable of. “Not after everything we’ve been through. Not with everything I still want to… to experience with you.” He stumbles once more, his breath hitching. Leans across the seat to press his dry, trembling lips against the demon’s.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispers, desperate, urgent. “Do you understand? I… I can’t…”

There’s a feeble movement against his palm, a nod, a ghost of a breath, “I underssstand.”

---------

Back to Chapter 1

#good omens fanfic #go fic #good omens #sjsob good omens fics #crowley/aziraphale #hurt/comfort #angst

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letmetemptyou19 · 5 years

Text

The Scars We Cannot Heal (A Good Omens Fanfic)

In which Aziraphale takes care of Crowley after his feet are burned in the Church/Blitz Scene. Crowley’s wounds are not the only scars to be confronted in the soft light of the bookshop. Lots of angst and ineffable pining. https://archiveofourown.org/works/20238556

“Lift home?”

The words echoed in Aziraphale’s ears as if they were coming from miles away, travelling through a thick fog to meet him. For thousands of years now, Aziraphale had considered Crowley a useful ally and possibly even a friend. However, Crowley was still a demon, his wily Adversary, and Aziraphale had always kept him at an arm’s length, never convinced that the demon could be fully trusted. Any rare heroic endeavor of Crowley’s was to be treated as an exploit of self-interest and nothing more. But here, in the wreckage that now resembled a house of God only by the loosest of definitions, Crowley had saved more than just the Principality’s life.

Aziraphale had spent years, centuries collecting and preserving the rare prophecy books which he’d unwittingly sacrificed tonight, and Crowley had protected them from the massive explosion without a second thought. There was no ulterior motive, no mischievous ruse to conveniently explain away Crowley’s actions. He had committed an act of kindness, of the purest sort, and Aziraphale was struggling to contain the waves of affection pouring off of him. Perhaps Crowley didn’t love him, but he had committed an unadulterated act of love – something that Aziraphale, until this very moment, hadn’t thought possible for a demon.

“Angel?” Crowley paused near the door. Aziraphale realized that he still hadn’t moved from his place near the altar (well, where the altar had been moments prior) and followed the demon in a stupor, still clutching the smooth leather satchel tightly. It wasn’t until the cold night air flooded his lungs that he began to come back down to earth, as it were.

Aziraphale turned to check for cars before crossing the street only to realize that not a soul would be driving through the area for several weeks at least. All around him, London’s greatest structures now lay at his feet in ruins. He felt rather foolish as he turned to look at Crowley, praying that the demon hadn’t noticed. Crowley coughed and scowled, stepping out into the road without a second glance, but Aziraphale swore he had seen the tiniest smile. He followed the demon and watched as his hips swayed ridiculously in the moonlight. Crowley’s shoulders rolled back theatrically with each step and Aziraphale was reminded of a slinking leopard stalking its prey. Had Aziraphale not been such a dedicated Principality, he might have even found it rather sexy. Not that he would ever tell Crowley that.

Crowley swung open the passenger door of the Bentley. Aziraphale removed the fedora from his head and slid into the seat with a grateful nod. As Crowley shut the door and made his way to the driver’s side, the angel felt his heart beat faster still.

“New car?”

“Mmm… D’you like it?”

“Yes, it’s… very you, Crowley.”

“Still in Soho?”

“Yes. The bookshop. Do you need the address?”

“No, I remember it.”

Crowley turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared awake. They rode in silence as Crowley sped through the streets that weren’t littered with rubble from the raid. The odd brick here and there flew miraculously out of the Bentley’s path as they tore through the city. When they were almost to the bookshop, Crowley hung a sharp left onto a side street only to be instantly met with a towering wall of debris. He slammed on the brakes with full force and a pained cry escaped his throat involuntarily.

“What? What’s the matter?”

Crowley cursed himself under his breath. He’d been doing so well.

“Nothing, angel.”

Aziraphale stared at him with a confused expression before a look of understanding and mild horror passed over his face.

“Oh, Crowley, your feet! I should’ve known.”

“ ‘s fine,” Crowley said dismissively but with a firmness that suggested Aziraphale not push it, and the angel decided that he would not test his luck any further for the time being. Crowley swung back out onto the main road and after several minutes of loud shouting concerning the state of London’s infrastructure – none of which was provided by Aziraphale, and all of which had been Crowley’s attempt to discreetly relieve some of his pain via colorful vocabulary – they arrived at the bookshop.

“Well, angel, here’s where I leave you. Enjoy your evening. You’ve lived to see another day.” Crowley waited for the angel to exit the Bentley but Aziraphale didn’t move. Get out of the fucking car, angel, Crowley thought to himself, biting his tongue to avoid grimacing. Aziraphale scoffed.

“Crowley, don’t be ridiculous. You’re coming inside. I absolutely refuse to let you leave with your feet in such a condition.”

“My feet are fine,” Crowley hissed. He could feel the blisters on his soles adhering themselves to his black socks. He winced as he gingerly oriented himself back towards the wheel.

“Well, then,” Aziraphale prodded, “at least come in for a glass of wine. I’ve got a bottle of pinot noir with your name on it, and I think we could both use a drink after all that.” He flashed Crowley a tempting smile and after a moment of deliberation, the demon sighed, accepting defeat.

“… Fine,” Crowley grumbled. Looking rather pleased with himself, Aziraphale exited the car and ascended the stairs.

“After you,” Aziraphale gestured as he swung open the door to the shop.

Crowley had hardly taken two steps inside when he heard the bag of books clatter to the ground behind him. Before he could turn around, two chubby arms wrapped around his midsection and pinned his arms tightly to his sides. Aziraphale was much stronger than he looked, and while he did not condone the abuse of one’s physical strength, it did come in handy when you needed to overpower a demon who was practically begging for a nasty infection. The two struggled for a moment, grunts and howls peppering the air as Crowley tried to break free. He thrashed wildly in the angel’s arms and Aziraphale toppled back onto the sofa, refusing to relinquish his hold on the demon.

“You leave me no choice, Crowley! I absolutely forbid you to leave this shop without properly addressing your wounds!”

“Lemme go! Alright, I’ll stay, just let me go!” After a moment of hesitation, Aziraphale loosened his grip, only to tighten it again promptly as Crowley attempted to spring up in a mad dash for the door.

“Crowley!”

“Alright, alright, FINE,” the demon shouted, flipping over face-down onto the sofa. His feet did hurt after all, and he had already expended most of his energy earlier in the evening. After a moment, Aziraphale realized he was still holding onto the limp demon (and now probably suffocating him as he lay across his back) and stood up. He gave a little huff and straightened his tie.

“Now, I didn’t want to do that Crowley. I apologize for my brutish behavior. But you must let me tend to your injuries. You don’t want to neglect those burns and –“

“ – Doo fimpf ze foompf kerof by – “

“Crowley, I can’t possibly understand you when you have your face buried in a cushion.” Crowley turned his face towards Aziraphale without looking at him.

“I said, you think they took care of my burns when I Fell? Do you think Beelzebub was there with open arms, ready to catch me? You think Hastur brought me bandages and an aspirin? Tell me angel,” Crowley spat at him, “do all of your lot think Hell lets you have a nice lie down after you Fall from Grace? I know how to take care of myself. I don’t need some pompous angel acting as if I haven’t done it for the last six millennia!”

Crowley cursed his voice for breaking at the end. His eyes begin to water behind the dark sunglasses askew on his face as he thought of those first moments thousands of years ago. It had started with his wings. It always started with the wings. A feather falling here, a feather there. It had only taken two days for his Descent to begin. As he plummeted into the depths of darkness, the only source of light guiding him downwards had been the crackling fire that ate up the plush white wings extending from his back; the only sound filling his ears was the deafening whoosh of flames engulfing his beautiful plumage. He blinked hard and opened his eyes to see Aziraphale staring back in stunned silence before turning his gaze to the floor, looking rather ashamed of himself.

“I’m sure that must’ve been very difficult for you. And you’re right, I’m sorry that I acted as if you hadn’t… but I’m not Beelzebub, Crowley. You shouldn’t have to endure the pain in private or pretend it isn’t there. Please, let me care for you,” Aziraphale pleaded, sinking down to sit on the floor next to the sofa. He tentatively removed the demon’s glasses and looked at him meaningfully. Crowley was surprised to see Aziraphale’s own eyes sparkling with tears as well.

“I want to take care of you.”

Crowley had to admit that he was a little shocked when Aziraphale appeared so remorseful. In the past, the angel had regularly jumped at any chance to remind Crowley that he was on the side of evil, the side Aziraphale detested. This time, when the demon reminded him that he was an unforgivable being, Aziraphale had just looked… well, pitiful. Crowley pushed himself up into a sitting position and grit his teeth as he his kicked off his shoes. Aziraphale blinked at him.

“Well, go ahead. Take care of me.”

Aziraphale nodded and wiped his eyes as he stood and walked into the kitchen. He returned a few minutes later with a large washbasin and matching pitcher, a roll of gauze, a bar of soap, and two towels – a small washcloth and one that was slightly larger. The angel sat them on the ground and hurried back to the kitchen. When he emerged the second time, he held a rocks glass in one hand and a large bottle of single malt scotch in the other. Crowley raised his eyebrows.

“No wine, then?”

“I thought you might want something stronger for the pain. I can fetch the wine instead, if you like. Or I have aspirin, if you prefer it –“

“No, scotch is fine. Scotch is brilliant.” Aziraphale smiled as he handed Crowley the glass and poured a generous amount of scotch. Crowley chuckled, handed the glass back to the angel and reached for the bottle, taking a long pull from it. When he finally withdrew the bottle from his lips with a pop, he grinned at the amused angel.

“Better?”

“Loads.” Crowley leaned back into the sofa, examining the room properly for the first time since he had arrived. Aziraphale sat the glass of scotch on the table and removed his perfectly maintained jacket before moving away from Crowley.

“I know I’ve got a medical book somewhere that has instructions for burn wounds, I’m just not… sure exactly… ah, here it is,” Aziraphale said, plucking a large and very dusty book from one of the shelves. He blew off a significant layer of dust and sat the book down on the table.

“You’ve redecorated.”

“Hmm? Oh,” Aziraphale said, carefully pulling off his waistcoat with one hand while the other fumbled at his bow tie. Crowley hadn’t seen him so casual since Rome. Disheveled, even. It was a refreshing view for the demon. Aziraphale threw the stripped articles of clothing onto an armchair behind him and undid the top button of his shirt. Crowley swallowed hard as he watched the angel roll up his shirtsleeves attentively. “Yes, well, that was decades ago. Though if I remember correctly,” he said, lowering down onto his knees once more, “I did invite you to come visit shortly after.” Aziraphale laid the book on the floor before him and fingered through the index before flipping to the section on second-degree burns, his tongue sticking out in concentration as he skimmed the page. He licked his lips nervously before cautiously lifting Crowley’s left leg by the ankle. “I’m afraid this is going to hurt.”

“I know. Get on with it,” Crowley nodded. “And I was still a bit sour after our last meeting, you know. I’d honestly thought you might- ooh, ack, OW!”

“Sorry,” Aziraphale whimpered, peeling Crowley’s sock off his foot as gingerly as he possibly could. “Oh, Crowley, these blisters are positively terrible. I can’t believe you did this to yourself just to save me from a few Nazis.” Crowley gnashed his teeth as he writhed on the sofa. I would’ve set my entire body on fire if it meant saving you, he thought, but all that came out was a pained “Ngk.” Aziraphale shushed him as he gently leaned him back into the seat. “Don’t worry about talking to me anymore, just drink your scotch. Relax.”

“No, really, ‘Ziraphale, I’m – “

“Crowley,” Aziraphale soothed, “I’m trying to concentrate.”

“Oh,” Crowley mumbled weakly. “Sorry.”

“Quite alright, dear. Now brace yourself, please,” Aziraphale urged as he lifted Crowley’s other ankle.

Crowley bit his tongue to keep from screaming. His right foot had been burned much worse than the other. Aziraphale let out a tiny gasp as he removed the sock, his voice full of worry and affection.

“Oh, Crowley.” Crowley closed his eyes tightly as he leaned his head back and took another long pull of scotch. The pain receded a little bit more. He heard glass scrape against wood as Aziraphale picked up his own scotch and took a large gulp, inhaling sharply as the alcohol burned a lingering trail down his throat. Crowley felt the angel lift his feet carefully into the basin and let out a moan of relief as Aziraphale slowly poured crisp, cool water up to his ankles. The angel picked up the glass of scotch and plopped down into the armchair across from him.

“You just sit there for a little while. I’m drawing the heat out before I – sorry, you know this.”

“I just wish I’d known to do that when my wings were scorched.” Aziraphale choked on his scotch and sputtered incredulously.

“W-what, you… surely, you don’t… scorched?”

“Mm, yes.”

“You never told me about that.”

“Yeah, well,” Crowley shrugged, taking another drink of the scotch, “ ’s not really what you’d call a happy mem’ry, now is it?”

“No, I should think not. But… Crowley, your wings are beautiful. I remember them from Eden.”

“Oh, I’d regrown them by that point. They always grow back, but it’s quite excruciating. ‘Course, I couldn’t really do anything back then except wait.” Crowley looked pensively at the bottle in his hands. “I still have the scars, you know…” He trailed off, staring pensively into space. After a moment, he looked at Aziraphale. “You never want to Fall, angel,” he said sadly. “Every opportunity for happiness, for hope, for love is just ripped out right from under you. All because I was a bit too curious.”

“I don’t know, Crowley, I mean… your curiosity, your imagination, they’re a part of you, angel or not. You were unhappy, and Heaven is no place to catch yourself unhappy. Do you really think you could find fulfillment in a world that would never let you acknowledge your true feelings?”

“Do you?”

Crowley regretted the question as soon as he’d said it. Aziraphale looked as if he’d been punched in the gut.

“Sorry,” Crowley muttered. “ ‘m drunk –“

“I’m perfectly happy with my choices, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered. Crowley decided not to push the matter any further. Aziraphale’s eyes glazed over wistfully as he stared through Crowley. Crowley stared back. After a moment, Aziraphale shook his head and let out a deep sigh.

“Right, er, should be ready to wash now. Might want to hold onto that scotch.” Crowley nodded and took another swig, still examining the somber angel. Aziraphale lifted the empty pitcher and carried it into the kitchen. Crowley waited alone for several minutes. Just when he was thinking maybe he should call out to the angel, Aziraphale returned clutching a full pitcher of water. Aziraphale averted his gaze, but Crowley could see that his eyes were swollen and red from crying.

“Aziraphale, I’m really sor–“

“It’s nothing,” Aziraphale blurted out, shaking his head emphatically as he plastered on a hollow smile. “It never happened.”

Crowley hesitated for a moment, then nodded. Aziraphale sat down on the floor, spread the larger towel onto the ground next to him and lathered a bit of soap into the washcloth. He dipped it into the water as he drew Crowley’s right foot out of the basin.

The significance of an angel washing the feet of a demon was not lost on Aziraphale. He had heard the story on several occasions over the course of history, how Jesus had shown the ultimate sign of love and respect for his disciples on the night of the last supper. He had done so, Gabriel had boasted a number of times, even with the knowledge that one of them would betray him. Prior to tonight, Aziraphale had constantly wondered whether Crowley would betray him one day, too. He had betrayed Heaven, after all. Then again, Crowley had insisted from the beginning that all he ever did was ask too many questions. It didn’t matter now. Perhaps someday Crowley would betray him, but he’d been Aziraphale’s selfless savior tonight. More importantly, he was Aziraphale’s closest, oldest and only friend on Earth.

The significance was not lost on Crowley, either. He had been there when Judas had accepted the silver. Hell hadn’t given him the full story; all they told him was be at the High Priests’ temple at such-and-such time and date to plant the seed of temptation. If he had known what was going to transpire… he tried not to think about that now as he stared down at the divine being before him. The angel gingerly placed the washcloth against his heel. Crowley howled and pulled back sharply in surprise, but Aziraphale held the demon’s leg fast.

“Please, dear, it really must be cleaned,” Aziraphale pleaded encouragingly. When Aziraphale dabbed gently at his sole again, Crowley could practically hear the blisters pop. He pulled back harder this time, and though Crowley was sure Aziraphale could’ve kept him in place, he allowed the demon to retreat.

“Can’t you just miracle it… unburnt or whatever? You’re an angel!”

“Crowley, I can’t just… well… actually…” Aziraphale folded the towel from the floor over Crowley’s foot and gently dried them before sliding the washbasin out of the way. In a state of total concentration, Aziraphale slowly ran his hand over the bottom of the demon’s foot. Crowley watched with bated breath as the bloodied welts that had covered his feet disappeared. In fact, Crowley hadn’t seen his skin so soft and smooth in a very, very long time. A self-satisfied angel beamed at him. “Lovely,” Aziraphale breathed. Crowley nodded. Aziraphale lowered Crowley’s foot and raised the left one, performing the miracle over again. When he was finished, he grabbed Crowley’s knee for support as he lifted himself off the floor, then removed the all of the items (except for the scotch, of course) to the kitchen. He returned and picked up his glass before plopping down into the armchair across from Crowley. He held out an exquisitely manicured hand towards the demon. Looking very confused, Crowley reached out his own hand and took Aziraphale’s, who giggled.

“That’s very sweet, dear, but I was actually asking for the scotch.”

“Oh,” Crowley said in horror as he snatched his hand away, realizing he was still clutching the bottle of liquor tightly to his chest. “Well, you never know with you, angel! Always… bein’… ‘ffectionate ‘n all that…” They passed the bottle between them and Crowley took another long pull and leaned his head over the back of the sofa. Aziraphale took a generous sip of his scotch.

“ ‘M drunk.”

“I can tell. Feet feel better?”

“Yeah. S’pose I should say thank you.”

“Probably best if you don’t. Besides, it was the least I could do. You saved my life. Or, at least, saved me from a very inconvenient discorporation.”

“Yeah, well… I was in the area,” Crowley mumbled dismissively to his shoes. Aziraphale smiled.

“You know, I’d be perfectly willing to examine your back as well. The scars, I mean. If you’d like.”

“They’re scars of damnation, angel. You can’t undo that kind of damage.”

“Would you like me to try?”

“It won’t work, angel.”

“That’s not what I asked, Crowley.”

“Er…” Crowley looked at the man across from him, the soft light of the bookshop glowing around him, enhancing the ethereal presence in Aziraphale. He had never seen the angel with a hair out of place, always concerned with his refined appearance – but here, with his curls damp from sweat and his rumpled shirt, sleeves hiked up around his elbows, Crowley thought he’d never looked more beautiful. He searched the angel’s blue-green eyes and saw nothing but affection pouring out of them.

“Only if you want to.”

“I want to.” Aziraphale drained his glass and transferred himself to the sofa, setting right to work on the buttons of Crowley’s shirt. Crowley sat stiffly at attention, barely breathing. “You can relax, dear.”

“You’re not uncomfortable…?”

“I’m an angel, Crowley, not a prude,” Aziraphale teased. “I was in Eden too, you know.” Crowley nodded and leaned back, feeling rather foolish. And a bit flushed. Aziraphale unfastened the rest of the buttons and slowly guided the sleeves down Crowley’s arms, allowing his hands to linger a bit longer than necessary on Crowley’s biceps. He wasn’t a prude, but he surely wasn’t accustomed to seeing Crowley’s bare chest, either. His eyes traced the sinewy figure of the demon, taking in the stretch of his muscles, the way his ribs were just barely visible under his pectorals. Crowley cleared his throat and shed the fabric pooling around his wrists before twisting his torso so that he was facing towards the door. Aziraphale gasped at the enormous pink scars stretching vertically across the demon’s back. The scars were millennia old, yet appeared to be in only slightly better condition than the fresh burns he’d just healed. Crowley flinched as Aziraphale absentmindedly traced one of the scars with his index finger.

“Are they tender?”

“No.” Aziraphale swallowed hard and placed a flat palm against one of the scars, willing it to heal itself. He slid the hand all the way down, lingering where the scar had puckered around the undamaged skin moments before. He smiled at his work and repeated the motion on the other scar. Crowley let out a deep breath, anxiety flowing off of him.

“There,” Aziraphale said, his hand still resting on the small of Crowley’s back. “All better.” He stood and retrieved Crowley’s shirt from the floor, tossing it to him. Crowley slipped it on and buttoned it deftly as Aziraphale returned to the sofa and poured himself another glass of scotch.

“Aziraphale…”

“Mm?”

“Why do you care for me so?”

Aziraphale fought a deep sigh. Because you are the best thing that has ever happened to me, the angel thought to himself. Because you’re all that I have, all that I’ve ever had, and all that I’ll ever want. Because you care for me. Because you deserve it. Because I love you, Crowley. Because I have feelings of love for you.

“I’m an angel, Crowley. It’s in my nature to care for the needy.”

“But not for a demon.”

“Of course, even for demons,” Aziraphale said dismissively with a tight feeling in his chest. Aziraphale swore he saw Crowley’s face fall ever so slightly.

I can never tell him. They’d destroy him. Fancy an angel, in love with a demon. Heaven and Hell would have a field day.

“Ah. Well, still. I appreciate it, angel.”

“Crowley… why do you insist on calling me that?”

“What? Oh, ‘angel’?”

“Yes. Certainly, you are aware that it’s a human compliment. One that couples use when they’re… fond of one another. Don’t you worry that people will… get the wrong idea about our… Arrangement?” Crowley leaned back in consideration.

“I’m aware of the implication, Aziraphale. But I don’t think it’s an inaccurate description,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Does it bother you?”

“No, I… I find it rather lovely, actually.”

“Y’know, I definitely shouldn’t be telling you this, but I am fond of you, Aziraphale. Deeply fond of you. You’re a good person, and a good friend.” Aziraphale could feel himself blushing as he grinned at Crowley, his eyes darting between the glass of scotch he held in his lap and the demon smirking back at him.

“Yes, well… jolly good,” he squeaked at Crowley, beaming. The both drank from their respective vessel full of scotch, their eyes locked on one another. Crowley pulled off the bottle and wiped his mouth as he leaned back comfortably on the sofa for the first time that night, properly sprawling out. He draped his arm along the back of the couch and kicked a leg up onto the cushion. His eyes continued to probe Aziraphale, practically devouring him. He had a bad habit of staring which often made people uncomfortable, and it was one of his favorite things about himself. He eyed the plump angel hungrily; Aziraphale, however, did not seem at all uneasy. Quite the opposite, in fact. He stared back, his eyes dark with something that Crowley had never seen in them before. Was that… lust? Suddenly, Crowley felt very on display.

“It’s late,” Aziraphale breathed, breaking the silence that hung between them for several minutes. “Do you want to – I mean, do you need to stay?” Crowley felt his heart jump in his chest. I would stay with you for the rest of time, if you let me.

“Nah, I’ll sober up. Hint taken.”

“No, Crowley, it’s not that I don’t want you to stay – I mean… I just w– “

“Angel, ’s fine. ’S not a good idea. I know.” Crowley stood up and concentrated hard for a few moments as the alcohol left his bloodstream. “Spending the night with a demon only leads to trouble.” Crowley winked. Aziraphale gulped.

“I suppose you’re right.”

Crowley picked up his trench coat and threw it over his shoulders before placing his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose. He swept his fedora up off of the floor, nodded at Aziraphale, and placed it back on top of his head as he headed towards the door.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale blurted out with no idea where he was going with the exclamation. Crowley turned, raising an eyebrow expectantly. Hopefully, even.

“Thank you for letting me take care of you this evening. I hope you feel better.” Crowley smiled softly.

“No, Aziraphale, thank you. Been a long time since anyone’s shown me such… grace,” he said meaningfully.

“Always a pleasure. Except when it’s not,” Aziraphale added with a playful wink.

“Until next time, angel.”

“And thank you again, for the books.”

“Don’t mention it, angel.”

Crowley tipped his hat to Aziraphale and pulled the door closed behind him. Aziraphale smiled to himself. He knew it would be a while until he saw the demon again. Perhaps decades. He stood and wobbled for a moment as he got his bearings; he hadn’t realized until Crowley sobered up that the bottle of scotch was completely empty. He was feeling rather lightheaded and a warmth buzzed behind his stomach. He flopped down onto the couch face first and decided not to sober up. He’d berate himself for the bedroom eyes tomorrow. When he finally dozed off that night – something he had only done a few times in all of his years on Earth – he found himself dreaming of that defining moment, when Crowley presented him with tangible evidence of years and years and years of love.

#good omens #good omens fanfic #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale loves crowley #crowley loves aziraphale #hurt!crowley #hurt/comfort #angst #neil gaiman #good omens headcanons #good omens headcanon #AO3 #fanfic #ineffable husbands #Post-Church Scene #london 1941 #crowley saves the books

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ialwayscomewhenyoucall · 5 years

Text

Drive

aziraphale x crowley ~1.2k

“Alright then,” Crowley says, “you were right about the picnic.”

Aziraphale smiles at the bright blue sky, the way the leaves rustle in the trees, the ducks begging in the nearby pond. “Quite nice, isn’t it. Not how I want to eat every day, mind, but it’s good for a change.”

“And the wine was good.”

“I picked it up in Italy...oh, a few years back.”

They pack up the leavings of their lunch, looking more like choreographed dancers than picnickers.

Actually, they look like an angel and a demon who have spent six thousand years dancing around each other, each trying to work the other out. Maybe it is choreography.

Since the not end of the world they’ve fallen into a bit of a pattern: lunch dates (though neither of them dares call what they’re doing “dating”), evenings in Aziraphale’s back room or watching Crowley’s telly (Crowley introduces Aziraphale to a great many movies, and is taken aback by the angel’s overwhelming addiction to Star Wars. “It’s light vs. dark!” he says, eyebrows lifted high.), going places for fun instead of for work (just last week they’d met up in San Francisco, and after sunset Crowley had flicked his wrist and covered the Golden Gate Bridge with a rainbow of colored lights. “It’s not for the pretty decorations,” he insists. “Just think of the electricity that’s using up.” Aziraphale smiles knowingly, mutters “who’s the soft one now?” under his breath.).

Their dance brings them closer to each other every day.

Is it possible for the not quite end of the world to bring a beginning instead?

Back at the car, Aziraphale’s face lights up with sudden inspiration. “Do you think I could, ah, drive?”

Crowley’s face remains unreadable. The sunglasses help with this, of course, but he’s become formidable at schooling his features over the millenia. “Drive?” he repeats. “The Bentley?”

“You always make it look like so much fun. And it’s been such a lovely day…”

Thankful that the sunglasses hide his eyeroll, Crowley says, “Stop, stop. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“With your eyes all wide and impossible to say no to.”

Aziraphale takes a little hop-step toward the car, and then another. “Is that a yes?” He sounds rather like a small child asking if it’s time to cut his birthday cake.

“Slow down, angel. We’re going to find a nice empty car park for you to practice in, alright? I haven’t seen you drive once, and it’s been over a century since the automobile was invented.”

Crestfallen, Aziraphale mumbles, “I drove the motorbike.”

Crowley actually snorts. “That was Madame Tracy driving, and you know it. You just miracled it to go faster.”

Aziraphale looks at his toes. “I know.”

Crowley opens the passenger door and ushers Aziraphale into the car. “Now, come on, don’t pout. You can give it a go. Just, well, not here. Too many trees. And cars.” A duck splashes on the pond. “And ducks.” He shuts the door and saunters around to the other side.

. + . + . + .

He’s trying. He really is trying. But Aziraphale is not helping.

“What does this button do, then?”

“Headlamps. But it’s daylight.”

“Right. And this one?”

“That’s the radio. I think you should just focus on driving and let me deal with the music. Or better yet, we leave it off and minimize your distractions.”

“If you say so.”

“You know that’s the radio, Aziraphale. I’ve seen you work it before.”

“It looks different from over here!”

Crowley groans.

Aziraphale runs his hands over the steering wheel. “Which pedal makes us go again?”

Crowley goes the kind of still you don’t generally find in living things, and Aziraphale titters. “Just a joke.” He looks at his feet. “Mostly.”

Crowley groans.

But then he looks at Aziraphale again. He’s sitting contentedly in the driver’s seat, taking everything in, touching all the levers and buttons, resting his palms on the steering wheel. Crowley is reminded of Aziraphale in his bookshop, occasionally reaching out to touch the spine of a book as he walks by.

So Crowley just watches. He notices the tiny smile on Aziraphale’s face, the way his eyes light up when he holds the steering wheel. The way he peeks in the mirror, then glances at Crowley to see if he’s watching.

He makes no move to actually start the car.

After half an hour of sitting in the car--mostly in comfortable silence, but with a bit of intermittent chatter from Aziraphale: “What about this one?” “My they make these things complicated, don’t they.”--he turns to Crowley. His smile is somewhat embarrassed. But before he says anything Crowley says, “Alright then, angel?”

“Quite,” says Aziraphale, visibly relieved. “I thought it was about the driving, but really it was about, well--” He turns a bit pink.

Crowley’s heart quickens. But hope, he learned long ago, is too painful a thing. Still, his traitorous mouth says, “Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale looks at his lap. “You,” he says softly. “It was about you.”

The air in the car, pleasant and comfortable only moments before, suddenly feels stifling. Suffocating. Crowley doesn’t actually need to breathe, but that’s beside the point.

“For decades now I’ve watched you sit here, slicing through traffic, easing your way through the world. This car, it’s--well, it’s you, Crowley. I can feel you in every switch and button, can feel your palms under mine on the steering wheel. I’m surprised your reflection doesn’t peer back at me from the mirror. And this seat, ah,” He blushes again, and Crowley thinks he might not go on, but then he looks up and says, “It’s almost like a hug, you fiend.”

Crowley has never heard such affection.

After taking a moment to be sure he can trust his voice, he says, “There are other ways to hug, you know. Better ways.”

“Oh?” says Aziraphale. Then, eyebrows raised, “Oh!”

Slow and tentative, Crowley stretches out his arm until his hand is resting, palm up, on Aziraphale’s knee. Aziraphale looks from the inviting palm to Crowley’s face, a question in his eyes. Crowley nods. Without looking away Aziraphale slips his hand into Crowley’s, fingers effortlessly lacing together.

Crowley wants to say something. He wants to tell his best friend that being together like this makes him feel whole in a way he’s been aching for since the dawn of creation. That the feel of their palms pressed together makes him yearn for more, to feel endless skin against his own with nothing getting in the way, especially not any of their angelic or demonic hangups.

But he can’t say any of that. Not yet. If he tries to speak right now he’ll just say something cool, or something that sounds like he’s trying desperately to be cool. Probably the latter.

So he just takes off his sunglasses. Hopefully Aziraphale can see.

He is rewarded with one of Aziraphale’s blinding smiles. It almost hurts his eyes. “I like when you do that,” Aziraphale says. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

#lirael writes #ineffable husbands #aziraphale x crowley #good omens #good omens fic #fluff #post canon #i couldn't help myself #and i know i'm going to do this again

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milkyetoile · 5 years

Text

Lift

Someone shared this amazing fanart by @johanirae and I just couldn't let the idea go. Thank you for giving permission to write this!

Please check out @johanirae‘s art--they’re all beautiful and inspiring! <3

I'll edit and add notes when I post on AO3 sometime this week. So many ideas, so little time!

---

"Lift home?" Crowley asked jauntily. Aziraphale would have replied immediately if he wasn't still feeling his unnecessary heart beating faster in his chest. Crowley probably assumed that he agreed.

But then, as the demon turned around and took a step, he stumbled forward.

“Crowley!”

Aziraphale immediately rushed to catch him, wrapping his arms around the demon’s shoulders and dropping the bag of books in his haste.

“My dear boy, are you quite all right?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowed in worry for his friend. At Crowley’s grunt and weak attempt to stand back up, the angel huffed in exasperation. “What am I saying, of course, you’re not all right. Is it your feet?”

Crowley let out a hiss and suddenly sprang up, once again hopping on one foot then the other. “Forgot, ooh--churchesss--whole lot is consssecrated--ow--”

“Oh, dear.” Aziraphale glanced around, wringing his hands as he considered what he could do--

“Aha!” His eyes lit up as he remembered seeing a couple of humans in the park the other turned around and crouched slightly, leaning forward.

“Hop on my back, dear, let me carry you,” he said.

“What?” Crowley hissed again from behind him but didn’t come close. “Carry me?”

The angel refrained from rolling his eyes at the other’s disbelief, but it was a close thing. “Yes, Crowley, I can carry you until we reach your car. It’s the least I can do after all of your help.” When he heard nothing but the tapping of Crowley’s feet behind him, Aziraphale turned back around to stare at the demon beseechingly. “Please, Crowley. This is my fault--let me make it up to you, dear.”

Crowley threw his head back with a begrudging groan of, “Fine!” He waved a hand at him in a vague shooing motion. “Turn around, angel.”

Aziraphale beamed at him and resumed his previous position. He carefully steadied himself as Crowley unceremoniously draped his body on the angel’s back. The demon wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders and hissed once more as he hitched his legs around the angel’s waist.

“Not too tight, dear,” Aziraphale bid, feeling for a moment like prey being constricted by one of those huge snakes. He miracled the bag of books back into his hand’s grip then carefully hooked his arms under Crowley’s knees. “Just put your weight on me.”

He wondered if he had subconsciously miracled his voice to remain steady with how his heart felt like jumping out of his chest once more. He felt his face flush as he became acutely aware of every point of contact between them. He knew that he really did not need to feel these very human reactions, but they existed nonetheless. It was quite distracting--he had no idea how humans dealt with this in their short lives.

“Right.” He cleared his throat and pointedly ignored the feeling of Crowley slumping against him, his chin settling on Aziraphale's left shoulder. “Shall we?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Crowley grumbled, his warm breath brushing against Aziraphale’s left ear. “You better have some good alcohol ready, angel. I feel like I could drink a whole barrel after this."

"Really, my dear, that would be too much." Aziraphale carefully wove his way around the debris, now concentrating on bringing them away from the area. "But, as a matter of fact, I do have a few bottles of red of Châteaux Mouton-Rothschild. Philippe de Rothschild had this remarkable idea of bottling their own vintage."

Crowley hummed and tilted his head, the brim of his hat hitting the side of Aziraphale's forehead. "Too bad the Germans got their vineyard, huh? I bet you had something to do with him getting released from the Vichy."

"Perhaps I did," the angel said a bit smugly. "He was quite the nice fellow. Pity about his family though, dreadful business with the Germans."

"This whole war'ssss a dreadful businessss you mean."

"Well, quite right."

As they approached the end of the lot, he felt a bit of disappointment--which was as ridiculous as his corporation's reactions to, well, everything related to Crowley right now. He cleared his throat needlessly. "Almost there."

Crowley let out another hum but otherwise didn't respond. He tightened his grip around Aziraphale's shoulders for a moment then relaxed with a sigh.

"Are you alright there, Crowley?" Aziraphale asked, a bit worried. "Are your feet hurting, my dear?"

"Sss'fine," Crowley grumbled, his words beginning to slur. "Ssssleepy…warm…"

Aziraphale felt warmth suffuse his chest, a fond expression crossing his features. "Please don't sleep just yet, Crowley. I'm afraid I have no idea how to drive your car."

"S'fine," the demon repeated, sounding more coherent now but still tired. "I'll ssstay awake."

Aziraphale felt guilty now. Clearly, Crowley exhausted himself already, and his feet were probably aching, if not burnt. He deserved to rest.

"Actually, perhaps if you would permit," the angel began tentatively as they approached the Bentley, which was parked across the street. "I could let it drive itself, so you can take a nap on the way."

Crowley made an affronted noise. "You'd make it drive at five milesss per hour."

"Don't be ridiculous, Crowley." He stopped by the passenger seat and bade it open. "In you go." He gently manoeuvred the demon into the seat. He placed the bag of books on the floor in front of the seat and patted the top.

"Feet on top now, dear boy. You probably have burns on them. I'm afraid I can't heal them with my powers, as you know, injuries from holy objects."

Crowley stared at him in silence, making him want to fidget.

"I hope you'd let me take care of them when we get to the bookshop though," he added with uncertainty, feeling quite exposed for some reason.

"You want me to put my feet up on your precious books?" Crowley asked incredulously, his hissing absent now that he seemed more awake. "The same books I just saved for you?"

Aziraphale felt like his heart jumped to his throat at the reminder, which was quite preposterous. He steeled himself with an indignant huff, hoping to appear firm.

"You are clearly hurt, and I won't have you hurting yourself further by having your feet hitting the carpet."

He stepped back and closed the door, moving to the driver's side. By the time he was settled in the driver's seat, Crowley had already put his feet up as instructed and removed his hat.

"They'll be fine, you know," the demon mumbled, looking down at his feet. "No need to hurt your precious books."

Aziraphale hadn't thought he'd feel more fond of his friend after earlier but he was clearly feeling it now.

"My dear." Very carefully, he placed a hand on Crowley's cheek, startling the demon into looking at him. "Your feet are infinitely more precious than some old books."

He watched as Crowley's jaw dropped, his cheeks unexpectedly turning a lovely shade of red. Aziraphale felt his own face warm at the sight, his heart racing once more.

Confound this human body.

He dropped his hand and looked away, clearing his throat.

"The books are protected by the bag anyway," he said with attempted nonchalance. "Shall we get on then?" He fixed his gaze on the steering wheel even as he heard the other sigh.

"Yeah, sure." Aziraphale glanced back at him, watching him get comfortable for a moment. "Let's get on with it."

"Right." He willed the car to start, bidding it to drive them to the bookshop. "Off we go then."

The Bentley started up, headlights coming on and moving on its own. As it sped through the streets, the radio turned on, filling the car with Vivienne Segal's voice.

"I'm wild again, beguiled again,

A simpering, whimpering child again

Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered am I…"

---

A/N: I know Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered record didn’t come out until the 1950′s even though the song was introduced in the 1940 musical Pal Joey. I’m just gonna say the Bently Does What It Wants. You know, this gives me another idea..........

Will eventually repost this in AO3 with actual notes. Idk I wanna try book format with the notes and I have stuff to add anyway.

Let me know what you guys think! Please feel free to send me ideas or prompts. I’d love to discuss and maybe write them out. This fandom is just so inspiring.

#own fics #good omens fanfiction #good omens #ineffable husbands #otp: ineffable

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 5 years

Text

Blizzard! Broken Thermostat! Only One Bed!

A winter Good Omens story

[A/N: I’ve had this one under my hat for a few weeks, waiting for Snowed-In season to arrive. Well, it turned cold the last few days, it might snow early next week, and my furnace won’t light so you get it now. Enjoy!]

“I don’t think you fully appreciate how lucky we are,” Crowley growled, sauntering down the hallway. The hotel key – a physical key, the building was a big, drafty Victorian manor – dangling from one hand, the other hand shoved as far as he could get it into the pocket of his jeans. “This blizzard came out of nowhere.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale paused to look out the window, watching white flakes drift down into the well-lit parking lot. “Any snowfall the first week of November is quite unexpected, even this far north.”

“Not a snowfall, Angel. A blizzard. I wouldn’t have stopped if these weren’t dangerous driving conditions.”

“Oh, absolutely.” Aziraphale waved one hand in the direction of the roads outside. “Why if it continues to, ah, blizzard at this rate, we could be looking at three, possibly even four inches by morning. Far more dangerous than driving the Bentley through a wall of fire, I’m sure.”

“Perhaps not that dangerous,” Crowley conceded. “But the Bentley’s been through enough this year. I won’t take any chances. We stay the night here, and if the roads are cleared in the morning –” Aziraphale’s throat clearing sounded suspiciously like a laugh – “fine, when the roads are cleared, we can drive the rest of the way back to London.”

“When you put it like that,” Aziraphale turned away from the window, quickly catching up to Crowley, “we were incredibly lucky to find a fine luxury hotel only one minute up the road.”

“And with one room left,” Crowley smirked as they arrived at the door marked 404.

“Sold out on a Thursday, no less.” Even behind dark lenses, Crowley couldn’t even attempt to meet the angel’s eyes. “Many things about this situation are immensely improbable.”

“Yes. Well.” Crowley bent over the lock, hiding his suddenly warm face. “As I said. Lucky.” The door unlatched and he quickly stepped through into the dark room. “And would you look at that – oh.” He fumbled at the wall until he found the light switch. “Would you look at that!”

“I can’t, dear, you’re blocking the door.”

Crowley shuffled to the side, trying to keep up the momentum. “There’s – look – there’s only one bed!”

“Mmm.” Aziraphale walked past, unconcerned, to where two plush chairs flanked a small table. Behind them enormous bay windows extended across the entire wall. “Oh, the view is quite lovely. There’s a duck pond! Pity about the ice.”

“Er, oh, is there?” Crowley crossed the room to take in the scenery, keeping the table between them. A line of lampposts across the grounds lit a brick path that circled the pond, nestled among gentle hills. The snow and mist made little halos around each light. Rectangular shadows hinted at hedges – the gardens were probably impressive in the spring.

“This room comes with breakfast, correct? Did you see a menu? I expect they do room service; I would much prefer to eat here than in the dining room we passed.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley interjected, hoping to get the conversation back on track. “I think you’re ignoring a bigger question.”

“Hmm?” The angel turned away, crossing to study the widescreen TV in the corner with mild distaste.

“The bed, Angel.” Crowley pointed at the room’s central item. King-sized mattress, mounds of fluffy pillows, thick duvet folded back enough to show Egyptian cotton sheets with obscenely high thread counts. “There’s, well, one bed.”

“Yes, I can count.” Aziraphale gave a flat, piercing look that made Crowley squirm where he stood. “I would think that since only one of us sleeps, that is in fact the optimal number of beds.”

“Ah.” Golden eyes hidden by black lenses glanced around the room. “So, you’re just planning…”

“To sit here, enjoy the view, and read a book.” Aziraphale produced one from the pocket of his jacket. “I always carry something to entertain myself in emergencies.”

In a long quiet moment, they both continued to inspect the room. Aziraphale gave a happy hum when he found the kettle and a selection of black and herbal teas. Crowley, meanwhile, was busy with a tamper-proof electronic box on the wall.

“Oh, no!” He finally announced with all the drama picked up from centuries of theatergoing. “The thermostat! It’s broken!”

“Oh, dear.” Aziraphale walked over to look. “Well, I’m sure I can fix it.” He raised his right hand to snap his fingers.

“What? No!” Crowley pushed the hand back down, then realized what he was doing and shoved his own back in his pocket. “You shouldn’t fix it, because, er, the, ah,” he waved his free hand helplessly, wishing an excuse, a word, even a coherent sound, would emerge. Aziraphale, the bastard, just watched him with impassive blue eyes. “The humans might notice. If you fix it wrong.”

The angel waited, as if expecting more. “Well. Can’t have that, I suppose. Should we call down and see if it can be fixed?”

“No. It’s…late. And not that cold. It’s only stuck at, er, 13 degrees. We’ll be fine. Just, you know, chilly.”

“You know, Crowley, I have a wonderful idea.” He finally met Aziraphale’s gaze, and the angel broke into a brilliant smile. “What do you say to some tea? They have provided quite the selection. Chamomile. Rose hip. Orange blossom. Do you have a preference?”

Crowley shrugged, giving letting out a contemplative “hmm,” that turned into an exasperated groan as Aziraphale bustled off to fill the kettle in the bathroom.

“Oh, my dear, the bathtub is simply enormous. Perhaps I should take a soak while you sleep, it would be most refreshing.”

Crowley slammed the back of his head against the wall twice. “That sounds…nice?” He stood up straight and crossed his arms as the angel returned. “You know. Tea isn’t going to help me much. Since I’ll be sleeping. And unable to drink.”

“There are extra blankets in the closet. You know how to put them on the bed, don’t you?”

“Uuunh.” Crowley turned to the closet, bracing both hands on the closed door. There was one thing he hadn’t tried yet, but he didn’t like to use it. “Aziraphale. You know. I’m a snake. Snakes are cold-blooded. If I’m not warm enough when I sleep…I could die.” Every word of it was technically true.

“Crowley. Look at me.” The voice was colder than the air outside. The demon turned to find blue eyes glaring at him without amusement. “This has gone far enough. You will not die from being chilly. I know perfectly well you are not cold-blooded. And you said not two minutes ago this temperature is only a little uncomfortable for you.” Hands clasped behind his back, he took a step closer. “Now. Are you going to keep playing around or are you going to say what’s on your mind?”

“Ngk.” Crowley shuffled his feet, glancing at every inch of space in the room except exactly where Aziraphale stood. “Angel. Aziraphale. Could you…” Removing the glasses, he tried to meet his angel’s eyes. “Would you share the bed with me? Just to keep me company. Til I fall asleep.” His voice got faster and softer as he talked. “Cause I like it. When you’re close to me.”

“My dear, darling Crowley.” Aziraphale walked the last few steps to close the distance between them, placing one hand on the demon’s chin, pressing warm lips to his cheek. “Of course. All you ever had to do was ask.”

The bed really was extremely comfortable. Aziraphale leaned back against the headboard, propped up by several of the softest pillows he had ever felt, sighing happily.

Crowley had ignored the pillows entirely, choosing to rest his head against the angel’s heart, body pressed close, legs in a tangle under the duvet. Aziraphale could hardly see how such an angle could be comfortable but Crowley was fast asleep, a soft smile released across his face that would never have been allowed were he awake.

It was only then, left hand slowly combing through red hair, that Aziraphale realized the thermostat was still broken. He could fix it with a snap of his fingers but, well, they were all entwined with Crowley’s across his stomach, and what if moving like that woke him? That would be too great a tragedy.

Outside the window, wasn’t the snow falling just a little thicker? Could be a blizzard after all.

He shifted his arm gently, pulling Crowley closer, feeling the heat of him pressed into the curve of his side. Watching the smile stretch a little farther across that narrow face.

Yes, he should stay a bit longer. After all, they wouldn’t want to get cold.

[This story isn’t on my AO3 page, but you can find my other Good Omens fics there! Please reblog if you enjoyed!]

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perhapsitmaybedragons · 4 years

Text

God’s A Right Bastard But Then So Am I chapter 6

All right, new chapter

As always, can be read here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26633029/chapters/65460328

or continue below:

Crowley had taken off like a shot from his room and into the Bentley, driving faster than even he usually dared. He darted in and out of traffic, biting his lip so hard he was drawing blood. The whole point of not telling Aziraphale had been to keep the damn angel safe this time, and yet he'd still managed to get drawn in. Crowley mentally damned Gabriel, Hastur, God herself and anyone else he could think to blame for this situation.

He pulled up on the curb and came to a screeching halt before flinging the car door open and running inside the book shop. The smell of apple pie filled the air the moment the door was open. Anathema and Newt were waiting for him in the front of the book shop.

“Has he left, then?”

“No,” Anathema shook her head, then jerked a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the backroom. “They're still baking. Aziraphale insisted on a complex lattice.”

“Of course he did,” Crowley's eyes couldn't be seen behind his glasses, but Anathema would bet good money he was rolling them. “Has Gabriel said anything? Done anything threatening?”

“I mean, he seems pretty nice,” Newt offered, then immediately wished he hadn't. Crowley was glaring at him. “He is an angel, right? Can they really be all that bad? Especially since the world's not going to end anymore?”

“Crowley!” Crowley had to bite back his comment to Newt – Gabriel had come into the front room of the shop. “How good to see you. It's been a while, hasn't it?”

“It's been a few weeks,” Crowley answered flatly. “Since you took Aziraphale and tried to kill him.”

“And we're so sorry about that,” Gabriel said with a beatific smile.

“Oh? You told him you're sorry, did you?”

“It's all water under the bridge. We're making an apple pie.”

“I heard. Seems a bit American for Aziraphale's tastes,” Crowley let his voice get a little louder, trying to summon Aziraphale without being obvious. “Thought he might prefer a ...a uh ...a crumble or something. Lots of different things can be done with-” and now his voice caught as another thought came to him. “Why apple?”

“Just happened to have some,” Gabriel's smile quickly turned to a smirk. “Beautiful ones. I'd let you try one, but just enough for the pie. You know how it is. But I did want to speak to you.”

“I'm sure you do,”

“It's just...that was a neat trick you two pulled,” Gabriel gave an innocent looking shrug. “One might think someone had tipped you both off and you'd prepared for it. I mean, a demon not being harmed by holy water...how did you manage that?”

“Gone native, I guess. Wouldn't hurt a human. I do suppose I've been up here too long.”

“Ah, but hell fire would kill a human. So how do you suppose Aziraphale survived that?”

“Maybe he's just stronger than your lot wants to give him credit for.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale chose the exact worst moment to come out from the backroom. “There you are! We're making a lovely pie, and Adam's been a huge help,” Sure, Gabriel had already seen it, but Crowley hadn't been expecting the pink, frilly 'Kiss the Cook' apron, complete with angel wings on the back where it tied.

“Angel,” He grimaced. “Seriously?”

“Well, I think it will turn out quite well. Pies can be a bit tricky, but the lattice work is lovely. What did you say you needed this for, Gabriel?”

“Ah, well, that is a secret,” Gabriel wagged his finger. “But it's still got what – an hour more to bake?”

“At least,” Aziraphale nodded his agreement.

“Then I would like to have a word with the two of you.”

“I don't think that's a good idea,” Anathema spoke up. “We were there at the end last time. Whatever you have to say to them, you can say to us,” she grabbed Newt's hand and pulled him closer, both of them trying to stand up to their full height. Newt wasn't sure this was a good idea, but he was following her lead.

“No, no. Just the three of us. We're going for a little ride, and we'll be back before the pie burns.” It wouldn't work on Adam, but the tone of voice Gabriel adopted was more than enough to hypnotize a human man and his witch girlfriend. They both froze in their place, eyes blank and wide open. “I'll turn them back to normal after we speak. Now, to my car?”

“Since when do you have a car?” Aziraphale asked, but he hurried along after Gabriel, Crowley following as well. Outside of the shop a white limo had just pulled up. Hastur jumped out of the back and held the door open.

“Get in,” he said gruffly.

“This seems pretty high up on the list of bad ideas,” Aziraphale said softly to Crowley.

“You can get in or we can torch the shop,” Hastur's hand was on fire and he was looking at the book shop lecherously.

“Very well,” Aziraphale climbed in without another word. Crowley followed him, making a mental note of all of the curse words he would like to shout at everyone right now. But this was a chance to put more of the puzzle pieces together, and he couldn't waste the opportunity.

Crowley and Aziraphale scooted along to one side of the limo as Gabriel took a seat on the other side. Hastur lumbered back in and sat next to Gabriel, though both looked uncomfortable with the seating arrangement.

“We have our suspicions on how you two didn't die last time,” Gabriel started, then knocked on the roof to signal the driver. The limo started and pulled away from the shop. “See, the thing is...that doesn't matter. Because things are moving now.”

“You can't want to restart it all!” Aziraphale said incredulously. “The plan is ineffable – it must have been what She wanted the whole time!”

“I really hate that word,” Gabriel echoed the same sentiments Crowley had had more than once. “But no, we have reason to believe the Almighty has been ...compromised. The plan needs to go forward as She originally planned it all those thousands of years ago. She set it down, and there was never any talk of it changing.”

“So why tell us, then?” Crowley asked. “It's not as though either of us are on your side. You planning on ending this ride with killing us?”

Gabriel wagged his finger again. Crowley wanted to bite it off. “No, no. Not yet. See...you boys made a mockery of everything we stand for. We're not going to make it easy for either of you this time,” he leaned towards Aziraphale. “This time, we're going to destroy your demonic boyfriend in front of you. Then we'll take care of you. But before either one of you...you both get to watch the world end. All of that hard work you both put in – poof! Gone, right in front of both of you.”

“And you're not at all concerned we'll manage to stop you again?” Aziraphale asked, but before Gabriel could answer, he added “And back at the shop – you promised our young Adam that you wouldn't bother me or my bookshop again. Gave your word as an angel.”

Crowley stiffened. Aziraphale noted the change and made a mental note to ask him about it later – provided Gabriel really was going to take them back without incident.

“Which is why our side gets to do it,” Hastur finally jumped in, clearly relishing the words. “Their side gets to do in Crowley, our side gets you. This time there won't be any way for you to stop it. Either of you,” His attention was on Crowley now.

Crowley, as usual, was too cool for Hastur's tastes. He didn't seem bothered by the conversation, or even a little worried. It wasn't terribly fun threatening someone who wouldn't get scared.

“Well,” Crowley checked his watch, “As enlightening as a conversation as this was, I suspect the pie might start burning if we don't get back soon.”

“Oh, I think it still has some time-” Aziraphale leaned over to glance and Crowley's watch. “Yes, see, we have-”

“But human ovens aren't the most precise, so wouldn't it be best if we got back to it? Then Gabriel could be on his way with his pie and we could get to...”

“Taking Adam back to Tadfield,” Aziraphale supplied.

Gabriel knocked again on the roof of the limo and it turned itself around, heading back the way it had came. “You'll be glad to know that some of this came from you, Crowley.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Big part of the plan came from one of yours. An original design, I think.” Gabriel waited for his words to sink in. Crowley had already figured this part out, but now Aziraphale's eyes were widening as something dawned on him.

“Gabriel ..um...if you don't mind my asking... where exactly did those apples come from?”

Now Gabriel looked triumphant. He sat up, waved his hands and the pie appeared on his lap. “Seems it's done. We'll just drop you boys off at your shop, eh? Thank you so much for your help with our preparations, Aziraphale. Couldn't have done it without you. Or Crowley, for your inspiration. Thanks again.” An invisible force sent the pair flying out of the limo and onto their butts on the sidewalk in front of the shop.

“Those aren't-” Aziraphale started.

“They are. Bastards must have gone back into Eden for them.”

“But Crowley ...why? Whatever could they do with them?”

“I dunno,” Crowley admitted. “I've got some ideas and all of them are equally terrible.”

“And where have you been lately? You haven't even taken my calls.”

“Angel. We do not have time right now,” Crowley insisted, holding the door open and urging Aziraphale inside. The angel obliged him, but looked irritated.

“So when will we have time?”

“Oi! Where did you two go?” Adam demanded. He had apparently woken Anathema and Newt from their hypnosis. Anathema looked a little dizzy and Newt was hunched over and trying not to vomit. “I woke them up but they seem a little...not right.”

“Odd. Heavenly miracles shouldn't leave them so ...out of sorts. Let me make you some peppermint tea. Or maybe ginger?”

“Peppermint,” Newt asked as he felt his stomach lurch. “Sorry,” he said, looking at the mess he'd just made. “I promise I'll clean it up...soon as I'm...soon as I'm done,” he vomited again.

“Might just be him punishing them for helping last time,” Crowley suggested. “You can't pretend that heaven doesn't hold a grudge,” he gestured at himself for emphasis. He conjured up chairs for them and helped them sit down, then pushed a trash can in front of Newt.

“So they are restarting, then?” Anathema asked and gave a shiver. “Can't give us just a little bit of peace before they want to try again?”

“Hell hath no fury – except it does, and heaven does, too,” Crowley leaned back against a bookshelf, thinking hard. “The good news is they need new riders – I'm not sure why they can't get the old ones, but they mentioned replacements.”

“No they didn't,” Aziraphale came back in holding a silver service tray with a pot of steaming tea and four cups, as well as various additions. “I didn't hear Gabriel or Hastur say anything about needing new riders.”

“It's something I've uncovered,” Crowley admitted, waving away the tea he was being offered.

“Is that why you haven't been coming around?” Adam asked, accepting his own cup of tea and adding a truly heaping spoonful of sugar to it. “Cause you were busy spying?” He smiled his approval when Crowley nodded. “Wicked. I'd have helped if you told me to. I'm pretty good at sneaking around when I have to. My mom can never hide my presents from me.”

“This was a bit higher stakes than that.”

“And you didn't tell me?” Aziraphale looked huffy.

“...sorry. I just – I thought you could use a break this time. I was hoping not to get any of you involved and that maybe I could shut it down early this time.”

“Well, I suppose it's a little too late to get upset. After all,” Aziraphale took a sip of tea, “We all need to focus on what we can do to stop it again. I wonder if there's any chance I can take this up to Head Office...She didn't answer last time but-”

“She won't answer this time, either.”

“Why would you think that, Crowley?”

“Angel, She didn't answer last time, and Gabriel as good as told us – they said they thought She's been compromised. We have to do this without Her. ...Again.”

“I suppose you're right.”

“The riders last time had negative auras,” Anathema offered. “I could try to look around for that again. It'd be hard, but worth a shot, right?”

“Can't hurt,” Crowley agreed. “But our highest need right now is keeping Adam out of their hands – they don't have a way to replace the Anti-Christ. No Anti-Christ, no end of the world.”

“That is true,” Aziraphale agreed. “Adam, do you suppose you could call your parents and ask to spend some time here?”

“I'm sorry, won't most parents think that's kind of dodgy?” Newt was still shivering when he looked up. “I mean, my mom wouldn't have liked me being eleven years old and staying with a much older male friend who wasn't related to us and didn't have kids my age.”

“I think he'll find his parents are very accommodating – though I do see what you're getting at. Adam, you can use the phone over there-”

“No need, I got a cell phone,” Adam dialed and moved to another room to make the call.

“See, Crowley?” Aziraphale smiled softly in Adam's direction. “He doesn't want to do it, he knows right and wrong. There's nothing to worry about. What could possibly change his mind this time?"

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