#least of all aziraphale who finds it endearing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

quillyfied · 4 years

Text

Mega Good Omens Fic Rec Post 5

What up, it’s back!

77 carefully-curated titles for your perusal today! As always, the fics are broken into the following categories: Jaunts through History/Canon, South Downs, Post-Apocalypse, Bus Ride/The Night Before/Heaven and Hell, AU/UA, Just Soft, Touch-Starved/Body Worship/Wings, Bonus, and H/C /Whump/BAMF. I don’t read smut fics but sometimes there are sexual elements to the stories and sometimes you get invested and then suddenly the author drops a smut chapter, so warnings where applicable.

Mega GOmens Fic Rec Post MASTER

LET ME KNOW IF A LINK IS BROKEN OR MISATTRIBUTED AND I WILL FIX IT RIGHT AWAY.

JAUNTS THROUGH HISTORY/CANON

1. Get Thee To A Nunnery – Owenjones (T, the one where Aziraphale is put in a nunnery and needs a bit of a rescue. More or less Ineffable Wives time, but warnings for Aziraphale being forced into a female corporation against his will, that’s pretty icky (three guesses for who the offending Archangel is). Crowley is posing as a little lady known as Julie D’Aubigny, which, if that rings no bells, you should Google her immediately and then go into this fic cackling like I did. Very sweet, a fun little adventure!)

2. Bibliophilia – @wingedspirit (G, the one where Aziraphale has a book nemesis and Crowley always seems to have the perfect book as a gift, what a coincidence. This is so funny, you guys, seriously. We stan ONE (1) oblivious angel in this house. And when Aziraphale finally catches on, it’s so cute, I can’t even. I cannot EVEN. Go read it right now immediately.)

3. The Heart Goes To Heaven, The Head Goes To Hell – Dekkles (T, the one where Crowley has intentions of making an angel Fall and it kinda…backfires. Guys fair warning, this one’s version of Hell is really gross, if you’re squeamish tread very carefully bc WOW it can get a bit graphic. Y’know what’s also gross? The PINING (obviously not gross in the same way but the pining is awfully feelsy and part of it does happen in Hell). Watching this Crawly go from an honestly nauseating portrayal of Hell to watching Aziraphale and kinda awkwardly twitching in his light is so delightful and I hope for more in the future (though maybe less visions of Hell, I will be so glad if and when the fic leaves that place because yikes).)

4. i like this place (it feels spooky) – @asideofourown (G, the one where Warlock manages to convince Nanny and Brother Francis to take him to a haunted house and it’s so cute. You guys. It’s SO cute. You really get a feel for little Warlock’s personality and how he sees things (and he sees ALL). Just a really cute “family” outing, really, and someone gets spooked at the end and it’s not who you think!)

5. Doubt the Stars are Fire – LilithReisender (T, the one where Aziraphale bails Crowley out of prison and they spend time together in an Italian villa. This one has cool history bits, really fun banter, and Crowley actively on the job while trying to pretend he isn’t on the job. It’s a delight, and it’s just getting started! Jump on this bandwagon, folks, it’s great!)

6. The Hellfire Club – @amarguerite (NR, the one where greater measures are taken to make sure Aziraphale isn’t promoted back upstairs. This one is so hilarious, you guys, I can’t even tell you which bit is my favorite. And the cherry on top? Wing grooming! (I can also tell you that something highly unpleasant happens to Sandalphon, if that sweetens the pot for anyone.) If you have a Thing for Crowley and Aziraphale being melodramatic and overacting, then stay put, friends. Also continue reading this list, there’s a few more that’ll catch your eye later on.)

7. The Immortal Look – MickyRC (G, the one where Crowley puts Aziraphale in some kohl and it’s awesome. A written entry for the Prince of Omens DTIYS, and even independent from Prince of Omens this fic is a winner, in my book. Crowley going dewy-eyed over Aziraphale’s looks in any capacity is always My Jam and this fic really goes for it.)

8. Merry & Bright – @peppervl (G, the one where Aziraphale and Crowley go undercover as a married couple in the Regency. You like fem!Aziraphale but don’t see it often enough? SIT DOWN, FRIENDO. Not only does this have a lovely Miss Fell for us to fawn over, but it’s a Miss Fell in possession of a fortune and surely in want of a husband, according to prim-and-proper London, and who better to help her out than one Mr. Crowley who happens to need some help on a temptation? Fun, romantic, and with a cute little twist at the end I shan’t spoil but you should really stick around for.)

9. Putting the Endearment in Dear – @joyandotherstories (G, the one where Aziraphale starts calling everyone “dear” just so he can also call Crowley by endearments. This one is sweet and a little sad and has the softest possible ending, y’all don’t even know. Read it, the point in time where Aziraphale doesn’t have to hold back his mountain of endearments anymore is a sight to behold.)

10. Between the Lines – cyankelpie (G, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale’s feelings are known but not spoken, at least not directly. This one is a historical jaunt where they have a lot of double-meaning conversations (and Crowley is very rightly lost through a lot of it, poor dear), and it aches, you guys, it just hurts. Not finished yet as of this review but WHEN IT’S DONE—I’m sure it’ll be worth it. Hot dang.)

11. No Matter How the Stars Align (They Make Me Think of You) – silentsonata (G, the one that covers stars that Crowley and Aziraphale have met under. Every once in a while there’ll come along a fic that shakes the ground as it walks. I understand the Big Bang events usually churn these out, and there are quite a few on this list, but this fic here? A masterpiece. Pitch-perfect in every way, just a stunner. I want to tell y’all to pay special attention to certain chapters but they all took my breath utterly away and it would be unfair to single any out over the rest, the whole work is a monument. Just beautiful.)

12. Too Wise to Woo Peaceably – purewanderlust (T, the one that’s five times they see “Much Ado About Nothing” throughout history. I love me some “Much Ado,” personally, and this fic knows what it’s on about. Wonderfully romantic and ends with the single most perfect conversation, I swear 2 someone. Hits right in the feels.)

13. Just Another Sword Fight – DemonicGeek (NR, the one that’s a 5+1 about Crowley swordfighting. If you’re here because Aziraphale taking on the role of the swooning maiden to Crowley’s dashing hero makes you, in fact, be the one swooning, say hello to your new best friend. If you like to follow all that up with Aziraphale taking charge when needed, I might suggest building a home here, because ABSOLUTELY that’s what you’re getting.)

14. A Few More Rescues – @poetic----nonsense (T, the one with, predictably, a few more rescues. If the previous fic had you reeling and begging for more, welcome to the buffet, children. These are some really fun rescues by Crowley on behalf of Aziraphale, and they’re unconventional and historical AF (especially the bit with the dragon) (you bet your sweet keister there’s a bit with a dragon). This fic is so much fun and I thoroughly enjoyed reading it.)

15. Floriography – Frenchmeister (T, the one where Crowley doesn’t get flower language. The premise is, Crowley slept through a large chunk of the Victorian era, so he doesn’t know what Aziraphale keeps trying to say as they work at the Dowlings’ estate raising Warlock. He does know that the philodendron is a menace, no matter what it’s supposed to mean. Funny and nerve-wracking and so, so sweet.)

16. The Interplay of Illusion and Magic – SoulJelly (T, the one where Aziraphale tries to join a magicians’ society. This one has some delightful history and Aziraphale trying to perform sleight of hand magic to get in a secret magicians club and a surprising twist near the middle, all told; it’s a lot more exciting than I initially thought it was going to be (I was just expecting some fluff and that was not all I got; it’s always a good day when Crowley has to come to the rescue).)

SOUTH DOWNS

17. There goes the neighborhood – @bestoftheseekwill (G, the one where Crowley’s retirement peace is threatened by construction. If you’re here for Crowley wiles, anti-capitalism, and flashes of protective Aziraphale, get ready to take a load off because this is primo.)

18. Teatime Revelations – Cardinal_Daughter (T, the one where God invites Herself over for tea. This one is strained and it’s emotional and it’s all the softer for it. Aziraphale being quiet and protective while Crowley has a come-apart in the face of God is iconic, tbh; pretty sure this fic inspired a lot of my own portrayals of the GOmens God, looking back on it. A wonderful and light-hearted take.)

POST-APOCALYPSE

19. Lose a Kraken, Gain an Angel – MistressKat (T, the one where Hastur has an expected friendship. This fic has everything—Hastur being a sympathetic character, the Kraken, Crowley pining after Aziraphale, the Antichrist, and is hilarious from start to finish. A fun and tonally accurate diversion, please read.)

20. Something Old, Something New – shippityshipship (G, the series where Crowley and Aziraphale are involved in weddings. Short and hasn’t updated in a while but still excellent reading, I find; great characterization, some fun OCs, lovely atmosphere, oblivious pining while everyone else thinks they’re dating, it’s amazing.)

21. The difficulty with disposable demons – @areyougonnabe (T, the one where Eric the disposable demon shows up and it’s a madhouse in Crowley’s apartment. This is a really funny take on what happens to the disposable demons and why they are the way they are, and with the added bonus of driving Crowley up the wall and some mild miscommunications with Aziraphale that are all sorted out in the end.)

22. Care and Keeping – @arcafira (M, T, the series where Crowley is shedding and Aziraphale tries to help. Not rated M for anything violent or sexual, really more of a T than an M but there is a bath scene and a lot of self-loathing. There’s a lot of convincing Crowley to let Aziraphale care for him and a lot of working through Fall-related issues, but it leaves off in a wonderfully hopeful place.)

23. The Clockwork Days – redwinehouse (T, the one where the world’s ending again. There are many fics that have tackled possible sequels to Good Omens and this is one of the more tonally accurate ones, I feel; it’s very tongue-in-cheek and matter-of-fact, and the little twist at the end was a genuine surprise to me. Whack in plenty of mutual pining and a Bentley that has had it up to HERE with these idiots and you’ve got a recipe for a good little story.)

24. don’t leave me here alone – Elvendork (T, the one where Crowley asks for holy water again. This one is a tense argument, right up until it isn’t, and absolutely delectable, really. If you’re a fan of Aziraphale bringing up hellfire to go toe to toe with Crowley on the issue, BUCKLE UP BUTTERCUP, this one is dunking itself into Soft Town with that accelerant to really drive it home.)

25. The Next Time We Wed – seashadows (T, the one where a mix-up leads to marriage. If drunken mistakes and their aftermath is what you’re after, welcome to the party, folks, because this one’s a whopper. Can people pine while being married to each other? The answer is yes. Can it have a soft ending? Also yes. Can it include the mothers of such characters as Anathema and Newt being wonderful characters in their own right? The answer, incredibly, is yes.)

26. You Can’t Un-See A Dog – @holycatsandrabbits (T, the one where Crowley is summoned and there’s shenanigans afoot. I won’t talk too much about the plot of this one bc I don’t want to spoil it but suffice it to say that this one is hilarious and has some especially gratifying Ineffable Husband silent communication at play. If your entire reason for existence, like Crowley’s, is seeing Bastard!Aziraphale at work, then bunk down here, friendos, you’ve arrived.)

BUS RIDE/NIGHT BEFORE/HEAVEN AND HELL

27. Crowley, Big Bad Demon, Can Keep His Cool Around His Crush – @edennovik (T, the one where Crowley…well, see title, and then immediately disregard. Crowley cannot, in fact, keep his cool around his crush. Crowley is doing the opposite of keeping his cool around his crush. Crowley is a ball of anxiety and screaming pining gooey mess and Aziraphale might just like him anyway.)

AU/UA

28. If Not Now, When – @ineffablefool (T, the one where trans café worker Crowley strikes up a conversation with fat pretty Aziraphale. Listen. Y’all know ineffablefool. Y’all know he is a force that cannot be stopped or reckoned with, when it comes to Soft Fat-Postive Asexual Romance. So I do not say this lightly when I say that this is possibly his masterwork. There is a lot of good, good content in his catalogue but the emotional work put into this makes the whole thing stand straight up and resonate. It’s tender and respectful and handles conflicts of gender and sexuality with grace and gentleness and oh no I’m tearing up pls send help I’m DROWNING—).

29. Trip the Light – @summerofspock (M, the one where Aziraphale falls in love first. M for a sex scene near the end of the fic, second half of Chapter 17, so keep an eye out for that if you’re sensitive to it. Oh, y’all. This one goes through canon and a few scenes outside of it and the recontextualizing of those scenes as Aziraphale hopelessly in love and Crowley as oblivious is amazing. Even more amazing: once Crowley finally catches on and then it becomes Aziraphale once again in his role of holding back. Guys. Y’all. My DUDES. I am in the throes of agony. It’s so good.)

30. one love (only for you) – @weatheredlaw (M, the one that’s a vague Snow White AU. It’s truly unfair how poetic and romantic this one is, how lovely. It has fantasy elements and ridiculous vengeful brothers and soft, soft boys in love. A sweet little way to spend an afternoon, tbh.)

31. in the house we remain – @commodorecliche (M, the one where Crowley’s a ghost in the house Aziraphale has bought. M for masturbation, weird ghost sex, and a harrowing backstory for Crowley; if you’re squeamish about sexual things and not good at gauging how to skip them, or if you can’t stand abuse stories, I would pass this one up. Y’all. Y’ALL. So thoroughly upsetting, this one; the horror elements are real but so is the romance and it’s a beautiful balance of the two. What’s wild is how believable it is; it could easily have been a story about Aziraphale just becoming obsessed with and romanticizing a dead person who used to live in his house but it feels like an actual love story, with Crowley learning how to trust Aziraphale, as well, despite their planar incompatibility. The ending is so unbelievably sweet. And there’s art now! There wasn’t, when I first added it to the list! Huzzah!)

32. pop! goes my heart – @areyougonnabe (E, the one that’s a Music and Lyrics AU. E for a sex scene near the end of Chapter 6 that’s a bit difficult to skip, since there’s a couple of relevant paragraphs after it that set up the next chapter, but if you’re up for the challenge, godspeed. First things first: this fic has ORIGINAL MUSIC RECORDED BY THE AUTHOR AND IT’S AMAZING. Music and Lyrics is one of my personal favorite romcoms, and what’s been done with it is not only accurate to the actual music industry, but accurate to the characters, as well. It’s such a fun story, adapted well, and the writing style is just charming. Fantastic!)

33. For the First Time in Forever – @nicnacsnonsense (T, the one that’s a Frozen AU. I am excited for this one, y’all. The adaptation is already so much fun and it’s only going to get funner. Aziraphale as Elsa and Crowley in an Anna-adjacent role (but not actually bc no incest) is amazing, the Olaf stand-in outshines the original, and the emotional toll is already pretty high. Absolutely worth a read.)

34. Sailor’s Omens – NeverNooitNiet (G, the one where Crowley’s a pirate and Aziraphale is his prisoner. There’s a touch of historical homophobia but that doesn’t matter much out at sea, really. If the boys being clever and bickering and also one-upping beloved series antagonists is something you enjoy, welcome to the party, friends. It’s a good old-fashioned piracy romp that’s sure to satisfy.)

35. Pomegranate Seeds – @nicnacsnonsense (G, the one that’s a Persephone and Hades AU with Aziraphale as Hades and Crowley as Persephone. This one has a unique tone and is also romantic as all get-out; throw in genderfluid Crowley, love at first sight, and Aziraphale being a sweetie, it’s a story well worth its salt, imo.)

36. Laws of Gravity – @brightwanderer (T, the one where Aziraphale invents pining for Raphael. Listen. I think we all know at this point that brightwanderer, or Atalan on ao3, has earned her clout as a GOmens fanfic heavyweight. She didn’t NEED to write an awkward and earnest Raphael trying to go incognito as Crowley into the Garden of Eden. She didn’t NEED to write about how incredibly awkward Aziraphale is while heels over halo in love. She didn’t NEED to have an engaging plot and a wonderful twist on the Temptation of Eve and also the most awkward and obvious besotted angels in the universe. But she did. And we are blessed. So go partake.)

37. Incubus!Crowley – GenericUsername01 (G, T, the series where Crowley is a sex demon and we get to see what that means. This fic threads the very specific needle I personally enjoy where sex is an element of the story and has bearing on it, but the story doesn’t have any actual sex scenes in it. I love this writer’s style and where they take Crowley and Aziraphale’s relationship; I love the view of Hell in the first bit; I love all of it, really. A+++.)

38. Everyone But You – @summerofspock (M, the one where Crowley is hired to seduce an angel. M for some saucy makeouts and some post-coital afterglow but nothing explicit. If y’all like stories where a conman is hired to do a job and starts to have complicated feelings about it, especially if those feelings are falling in love with his mark, then here you go. It’s amazing as all heck and hilarious to boot; Crowley learning what falling in love is like is always a treat but omg. Poor Aziraphale. And the most DELIGHTFUL resolution, my goodness.)

39. In Mixed Company, or the Corporate Retreat of Heaven and Hell – @theoldaquarian (M, the one where Heaven and Hell have a joint corporate retreat every so often and Crowley and Aziraphale are doomed. M for some adult themes but nothing explicit. Y’all. TheOldAquarian must be stopped. They cannot continue to be so funny and engaging. They cannot continue to have the most corporate and hilariously mundane depiction of Heaven and Hell. They are a MENACE who, in the space of one fic, has packed all the pining of the ages in so tightly that when it finally bursts free, my shoulders physically relaxed and my spine uncoiled. This fic in particular is too much and too wonderful. I really must protest.)

40. Loosely Ballroom – marginalia_device, @mortifyingideal (T, the one where Aziraphale is a professional dancer and Crowley is a contestant on a show with him (for American viewers, think Dancing With the Stars). This fic is so good and so funny and so achingly in-character. I love Crowley as the washed-up old star trying to kick his career back up, I love Aziraphale as the put-upon dancer on his last legs, and I love that they’re both the victim of a studio gimmick and then decide that malicious compliance is their best bet. It’s still early in the fic (…at over 40k words wow it’s gonna be a monster and I’m ready), but it’s going to be so good already, I can just tell. There’s already some art for it floating around by naniiebimworks for the interested.)

JUST SOFT

41. Repeat the Sounding Joy – @allonsy-gabriel (G, the one where they decorate a Christmas tree. This is a short and sweet look at what the holidays are like for an angel and a demon post-apocalypse and it’s so adorable, you guys. Crowley having FEELINGS and Aziraphale being fussy about his decorating, it’s just a treat.)

42. The Nesting Habits of Angelus Principalum – @obaewankenope (NR, the one where Aziraphale nests and is gently protective. This fic is quiet and understated and so unbelievably romantic without being over the top about it; it’s a quiet coming together that creeps up on you, much like how the realization of Aziraphale’s nesting habits creeps up on Crowley. A lovely little thing.)

43. we’ll get there fast and then we’ll take it slow – @tonyhawksmovingcastle (E, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale wind up faking a relationship on a couple’s cruise. E for Chapter 7, which is completely skippable without ruining any plot. This one gets a double whammy for both engaging plot and wonderful OCs that add to rather than distract from the story. Fake dating is fun enough but when you’re fake dating and also being wingmanned by well-meaning possibly supernatural sapphics, while also having fun in the tropics, it’s a recipe for a good time all around (at least for the audience). So lovely and sweet and that moment when Crowley and Aziraphale finally get together is magic.)

44. Road Trip Games and Love – rgfalso (T, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale go on a road trip together. This one almost takes place in real time, and has the most intense and emotional back-and-forth while these poor saps try to work out the Thing between them without actually talking about it for as long as inhumanly possible. Of course there are lots of road trip games, and of course those road trip games are a vehicle of conveyance for what they’re actually trying to say, and cue all the misunderstandings in the world. It’s frustrating and cathartic and amazing and the end especially is so, so sweet.)

45. The Most Stylish Wedding of AZ Fell and AJ Crowley – @leapoffaith1489 (T, the one where Aziraphale is determined to discard tartan for the wedding. Y’all. Omg. If relatively low-stakes cute wedding shenanigans are your thing, welcome home. If Aziraphale being pleasantly surprised is your thing, welcome home. If Aziraphale working through minor insecurities is your thing, welcome, truly, home. Featuring a lovely cast of side characters and a soft-as-butter plot.)

46. The Newlywed Game (Not What You’d Think) – @heavenslittlehellion (NR, the one where a game of drunken truth-telling goes a little farther than anticipated. Hello, welcome to the emotional gut-punch fic, you’ve arrived. The only thing that saves this from dunking into the last category on this list with the other h/c and whump fics is how low-stakes it is and how soft it is when they get past the unpleasant bit. People who love theories on what the Fall felt like, welcome to the table.)

47. On the Road to Love – Mizmak (G, the one where Crowley enters a motor rally race with the Bentley, with Aziraphale as navigator. While there’s great fun in Crowley and Aziraphale needling each other, there’s greater joy in their friendship and tenderness towards the other (and asexual bed-sharing fans, rejoice). It’s a fun concept all around and definitely worth the read.)

48. Mr. Fell’s Bookshop ficlets – @holycatsandrabbits (G, T, the series where Mr. Fell has regular customers and they love the place as much as they love its weird and eldritch owner. For folks who love seeing the Ineffable Duo through others’ eyes, this is a fun series to scratch that particular itch, and has spawned a number of spin-off fics, unless I’m mistaken. It’s a relatively low-stakes series, for people wanting something like that these days, too.)

49. Quiet Reflection – @shinyopals (T, the one where they have to duck into a church to avoid demons. If the phrase “spicy Jesus crackers” holds any appeal whatsoever, go read this fic immediately. It’s heartfelt and hilarious and really that’s all you can ask for in a good fluff fic. Also Crowley being held. Really, that’s all any of us want from life.)

50. Deck the Halls – forthegreatergood (G, the one where mistletoe should really not be this hard to get a hold of. Y’all you simply MUST stick around for the hijinks in this one. They are manifold and hilarious. Does it end in makeouts? Possibly. You’ll just have to read it, won’t you?)

51. The Secret Dress – GlitterSkullFairy (G, the one where Crowley has a secret wedding dress. This one is very dramatic and sad…and then Aziraphale pops in. Like with all things concerning these two, it immediately takes a turn from there. If putting Crowley in pretty dresses is a thing you enjoy, have a seat and enjoy the show, it’s a softy.)

52. Well…That’s New – @almaasi (G, the one where Crowley doesn’t realize he’s in love. If oblivious Crowley is more to your taste, this is the one for you. Takes the concept “what if Crowley was in love but didn’t realize it” and runs with it for all it’s worth. Hilarious and sweet and wonderful.)

53. serpent, serpent-bearer – @elsajeni (G, the one that’s about horoscopes. I realize the Soft section of the rec list is for things that are Soft but hhnnngkk you guys. This one is so cute. My heart can’t take it. They’re so gosh darned precious, with their newspaper and their horoscopes and their welcome invasion of each other’s personal space.)

54. If Only You Were Mine – @somethingscarlet13 (G, the one where Crowley gets so drunk he can’t remember who Aziraphale’s husband is, just that he’s married. This is a little sugar shot for your day, folks—short, sweet, silly, and did I mention sweet? It is so worth having a giggle at drunk Crowley’s expense, please do read it.)

55. Cupboard Love – @copperplatebeech (T, the one where Crowley is a cranky snek. I would also highly recommend this for folks who enjoy Madam Tracy, especially Madam Tracy being utterly unaffected by being face-to-face with the supernatural and cooing over things like the wonderful lady she is. Fun and a little silly and a lot adorable.)

56. affirmation, appreciation – pearlwaldorf (G, the one where Aziraphale helps someone in need a little differently than expected. This one has Aziraphale taking on the persona of an interested male party looking to pick up the spirits of a woman on the tail end of a messy divorce and Crowley understanding but still getting a little jealous. It’s so sweet and so lovely, both what Aziraphale and Crowley do for this poor woman and how Aziraphale reassures Crowley afterwards. Top notch.)

57. Forget-Me-Not – @dietraumerei (T, the one where Crowley gets amnesia. Not as dramatic as others, he just loses 200 years and it’s temporary, but it’s ever so sweet, watching Crowley fall back in love with the modern world and be gobsmacked that he and Aziraphale are finally together. There’s a lot of reassurance and tender sweet nothings thrown about and I’m pretty sure I developed a heart condition just from reading this, it’s too good.)

58. They Shake The Mountains When They Dance – @copperbadge (T, the one where Crowley finds Aziraphale’s scar. Operating on the theory that Aziraphale was injured in the War in Heaven and that’s why he clutches his leg and limps when he’s discorporated, this is the sappiest, sweetest rumination on the subject I have ever read. Crowley gets so protective and defensive, and Aziraphale is so gentle in talking him down. On the whole, it’s just wonderful and so, so cute. Omg.)

59. Familiar Care – ginger_mosaic (G, the one where the Ineffable Dads have to take their snabies in for medical help. This comes from the Wiggleverse, which on the whole I cannot strongly recommend enough, but this fic in particular centers around the most delightful OC veterinarian who handles Crowley and Aziraphale’s strange family very well. There’s also a fun twist at the end, so absolutely keep reading to find out what that is. And also, immerse yourself in adorable snake baby shenanigans, because they are the best sort.)

TOUCH-STARVED/BODY WORSHIP/WINGS

60. Rituals (or the Seven Layer Bean Dip Approach to Sex) – SleepySelfLoathing (T, the one where no seriously metaphysical angel/demon sex is super weird. Fans of truly esoteric ethereal/occult mating rituals rejoice, for this is your new home. It’s abstract but no less beautiful for it, I think; the imagery and emotional accompaniment are all lovely, even if they don’t meet conventional human romance standards. You can really tell that it means a lot to Crowley and Aziraphale, the ways they show how much they love each other. A weird and delectable little dish, by all accounts.)

61. Under Pressure – @copperplatebeech (M, the one where Crowley steals kisses. M for sensuality and body worship but nothing too explicit; also could be construed as dubcon kissing, for those of you sensitive to that. Hhhgkk y’all. Crowley thinks he’s being sly getting away with smooching Aziraphale throughout history while they’re both drunk off their rockers but does not count on Aziraphale actually remembering, and then once the Apocalypse is done with and they’re On Their Own Side and Can Aknowledge These Things…well. They do. Crowley is a mess and Aziraphale is a mess and they love each other so much. The writing is so tender and I’m CRYING.)

62. London Calling – forthegreatergood (G, the one with slow-burn wing grooming. There’s so much crammed into this bad boy and it balances it admirably—Crowley’s relationship with Aziraphale, Crowley’s relationship with Hell, Crowley thinking about retirement, Crowley getting preemptively banned from a certain European country for being a pest outside of its consulate, Crowley losing his cool over getting to touch Aziraphale’s wings. Humor, aching tenderness, the kind of longing that feels like a high, quavering violin note, tension and release. A beautiful piece.)

63. Elmie’s Ineffable Fireplace Fics – @almaasi (G, M, M, the series that is completely unrelated except for the physical and also figurative appearances of warm fireplaces. M for sensuality but nothing explicit. The first two are mainly short fluff; the third is a long Regency-esque AU with some gender and sexuality shenanigans on top of Real Danger and Intrigue. True to the writer’s promise, all three fics are pretty comfortable and warm, even if the third has some action and tension. They’re absolutely lovely, imo.)

64. The Hands Applauded (And This Was No Sin) – @ticketybye (G, the one where Crowley as a preoccupation with Aziraphale’s hands. Deals with both touch-starvation and touch-aversity in the same fic and weirdly enough it works. The fic is heartbreaking but it has a good resolution and that’s important.)

65. Moult – @sameoldsorceress (T, the one where Aziraphale molts and Crowley doesn’t. This is typical wing-grooming fare…right up until it isn’t. I won’t spoil the twist but rest assured that there is absolutely a twist. Other than that, it’s supportive and sweet and lovely and lord knows we all could use some of that right now.)

66. never get to heaven on a night like this – RestlessWanderings (G, the series where the Ineffable Wives are touch-starved and pining. The only reason this fic goes here instead of in Jaunts Through History is because especially in Crowley’s side of the story, the touch starvation is so horrifically visceral I very nearly bought myself a weighted blanket out of sympathy stress. They are both so afraid and so desperate for a bit of connection, the pining is absolutely ridiculous. And it helps that there’s worldbuilding there that’s both thematically appropriate and interesting to read. Engendered by lesbianism and catholic guilt, I believe the author said, and in this case what a delicious combination with an absolutely amazing ending.)

67. Strength in Modesty – flandersmare (T, the one where Aziraphale has a secret wardrobe. Y’all. I have a special love-hate relationship with clothes and my body and this fic somehow felt very soothing on both of those fronts. Corsetry is front and center, and it’s all very well-researched and well-presented. The story is so quiet and understated and is really told through excellent sensory details. The ending about broke my heart for tenderness. It’s a double love letter to Aziraphale and to fashion throughout history and I love it.)

BONUS

68. Tales of the Them – @lyricwritesprose (G, the series where Crowley and Aziraphale are the Them’s godparents, too. This is such a fun series, with a lot of stories that are not just funny in bits, but also meaningful. For fans of the Them and people who like stories about children that aren’t dumbed-down or grimdark.)

69. Stans in High Places – @doomed-spectacles (G, the one where there’s someone in the Earth Observation department keeping an eye on Crowley and Aziraphale. Another take on the angel(s) in charge of Earth Observation, this time featuring a singular angel called Grigori, and boy is he a cutie. His friendship with fellow angel Pravuil is also blossoming and sweet throughout, and the amount of innocent cuteness throughout is just spectacular. What an adorable story.)

70. Anthony J Crowley, Retired Demon and AirBnB Superhost – @theoldaquarian (G, the one where Crowley turns his flat into an AirBnB. Told as if reading a comment section, it is hilarious and paints a horrid picture of what interacting with Crowley—and Aziraphale!—is like for normal humans. I can’t give you any more details than that, you are just going to have to read it and laugh your head off about it like I did.)

71. A Guide to Fame for the Enterprising Demon – @asideofourown (T, the one where Crowley writes a book and accidentally becomes a queer icon. This is…so funny. And so sweet. And like most fics where human bystanders try to piece together what’s happening and come away with completely wrong conclusions, it’s utterly charming. You almost start rooting for the internet conspiracy theorists trying to unearth what exactly Crowley is from his (presumably) evasive or strange answers to interview questions.)

72. Hell Of An Angel – WaitingToBeBroken (T, the one where everyone thinks Crowley is a mafia family. This one is funny in a dramatic irony way; the way that every narrator in this is CONVINCED that Crowley is A. a family of redheads that all look eerily similar, and B. extremely dangerous, is entertaining all on its own. It helps that the writing is smooth and the characters are all fairly engaging, too. A fun little diversion for your day.)

H/C /WHUMP/BAMF

73. the only one i want – @qorktrees (T, the one where Crowley needs some convincing. The hurt in this one is real, folks. But so is the comfort. At last steps are taken to assure Crowley of how much he is wanted, of how much his love is cherished and his touch desired. If you cry while reading this, congrats and welcome to the club, we are all miserable touch-starved fools here.)

74. Always One More Time – boughofawillowtree (T, the one where Aziraphale has remaining psychological scars from Heaven. This one is tough, y’all, real tough. Aziraphale has a couple of abusive flashbacks and intrusive thoughts and his anxiety flaring up is a constant, so people sensitive to that should take heed. That said, this is a very healing fic, with a lot of underlying hurt that floats to the surface. But throughout Crowley does his best to be patient and understanding and even with a disagreement, it remains gentle and loving throughout.)

75. Smote and smitten – @nohaijiachi (G, the one where Aziraphale is a badass and we are ALL here for it. Screaming Hastur, briefly-sentient flaming swords, Aziraphale being amazing, and starry-eyed Crowley are all the ingredients chosen to make a wonderful little fic, and we are all grateful for it. What a guy, that Aziraphale.)

76. Nearly Romeo and Juliet – bisexual_dumbass (T, the one where Crowley’s hiding his panic attacks. This one hurts, friends. This one has miscommunications and fear and boundary communication, all while being so tense even the gentlest touch will snap something. It’s got learning to take care of yourself and value yourself and live FOR yourself. It is very important and I hope a lot of you read it because gosh dang.)

77. Pigeon Girlfriends With A Long Preamble – SleepySelfLoathing (T, the one that’s exactly what it says on the tin. This fic has it all: humor! Torture! Terrible humans! Wrathful Aziraphale! Pain and suffering! Tenderness and care! Pigeon girlfriends! The Hurt and the Comfort are present in about equal measure, but fair warning that what Crowley is made to do just before his rescue is more than a little disturbing, both to readers and especially to Crowley.)

#good omens #good omens fic recs #mega gomens fic rec list #mega fic rec list #whoof #probably take a break for a bit #then start work on six and seven's reviews #and maybe start on compiling eight #why do y'all write so much fic #why is it all so good

149 notes · View notes

the-ineffable-demon-crowley · 4 years

Text

The Sweetest Wrath

Your romantic dinner with Crowley goes pear-shaped when Aziraphale unceremoniously interrupts. As your attention is captured by the angel, Crowley finds he has to use more creative means to remind the two of you just who you belong to.

Pairing: Anthony J. Crowley x reader (ft. Aziraphale)

Warnings: Exhibitionism, little bit of voyeurism, praise kink, fingering, rough sex, dirty talk, hair pulling, car sex

Length: 4.2k

Cross-posted to AO3 here

This work is a commission for @mollyplier

⋘ ⋙

Despite what you might think, demons had very busy schedules. Well, someone had to go around tempting people into their insidious desires, spreading hate and unrest within the population. Whether that be by blocking off all the main roads with untimely construction work that never seemed to be completed, pulling down all the major phone networks on a Friday evening, or by crashing the entirety of the public library’s database during finals season, Crowley had a long to-do list. Never mind the collection of souls for the Dark Lord, a back-breaking tasks in of itself.

Of course, that never stopped him from using his tempting charms as a means for his own good. There were a few souls that had caught his eye over the centuries, but they were far too special to be sacrificed to the Dark Lord. No, these were just for him. You were one of his finest achievements, but it didn’t take much to ensnare you. His charming walk, his easy grin, and his simple one-liners. Who could resist? It’d almost felt like you knew him for centuries, but that was just how comfortable you were with Crowley, and how much of an old soul he really was beyond the sarcastic, sniggering snake he could be sometimes.

Still, he worked hard, even if he didn’t want to. Which is why you loved Aziraphale, a cheeky but posh cherubic principality who was Crowley’s colleague, friend, confidante, everything. Though Aziraphale didn’t like it, he understood how useless it was to cancel each other’s work out, and would sometimes come to an agreement with Crowley over the heavenly state of the souls of some town’s population. Usually, Crowley won the coin-toss. Aziraphale never thought to ponder how Crowley was always so lucky.

But on the off-chance that Crowley lost, Aziraphale would keep you company. He was a delightful companion, and the two of you always spent your time talking books, plants, and the bureaucracy of Heaven. Aziraphale had much to say regarding that. But now, with Crowley off unveiling the worst in people, you were sat at home alone, planning. Conniving, he would call it, and then boast about how he had done well in corrupting you. If only he knew.

You’d made a reservation for two at the RItz for you and Crowley for that very evening. It was technically Aziraphale’s favourite place, but you knew Crowley was fond of it as well, having been dragged there for drinks and crêpes since its inception in 1906. You planned the whole thing out; for dinner, a sumptuous 4-course feast, and for dessert, well... You had several decadent selections in mind, each sure to make him more insatiable than the last.

Your instructions to Crowley were simple as you typed them out on your phone. Dinner, tonight. Pick me up at 8. Stay hungry, my demon.

His reply was swift. Ravenous already. See you tonight.

Crowley wasn’t often known for punctuality, but because you hadn’t been able to spend much time together since he was busy at... work, you supposed it was, he was outside your flat, leaning against his Bentley waiting for you at 8 on the dot. You smirked at the sight of him, black blazer, black trousers, per usual. Red hair swiped upwards, black sunglasses framing his sharp features. He was angular, positively fiendish, and he was here for your soul.

⋘ ⋙

As expected, the Ritz was beautiful, the vintage building’s peaks soaring into the backdrop of the starry night sky, and its patrons dripping in glamour. Guests came dressed with their savings on their sleeves, with even the most casually dressed of diners boasting expensive loungewear. You thought you fit right in on the arm of your demon, bedecked in black, and you, clad in a tasteful dress that brought out your eyes. As you made your way up towards the entrance, your arm brushed against Crowley’s, and you nearly flushed, as though this was your first date all over again. He just had that kind of effect on you.

Despite the fact that Crowley wasn’t often one for affection, you could feel his long, strong arm slipping around your waist as he escorted you into the dining room, a quiet din of the other diners filling your ears. You sat down onto the white upholstered chair, and smiled at Crowley as a waiter came to take preliminary drink orders. Minutes later, drinks and the first course had arrived.

“This is absolutely glorious, angel, thank you.” Crowley murmured as he tipped the mixed alcoholic concoction into his mouth. His tongue darted out to collect a stray droplet, and you watched it with fascination at its snapping movement.

“It’ll get even better once you start eating instead of just drinking.” You quipped, lifting a forkful of your dinner to your mouth. Crowley grinned.

“All in good time.” He raised his hand, fingers long and neatly manicured, and gestured to the waiter for another round.

“Have Hastur and Ligur been giving you much trouble?”

“Ngk.” Crowley responded, this time taking your advice and swallowing whole his bites of dinner. However, he remained a perfect gentleman, and you couldn’t help but stare at him outfitted in his jacket and trousers. He didn’t necessarily fit in among the glitzy crowd of the Ritz dining room, but damn if he didn’t look every bit as expensive as everybody else in there, right down to the shining black gunmetal of his sunglasses. “Nothing I can’t handle. They’re attempting to delegate the planning of the next recession and stock-market crash to me, but I told them they can stick it right-”

“Oh!” A sudden soft gasp, otherwise masked by the din of the room, caught Crowley’s ear. Mostly because he’d heard it for centuries; mainly when a particularly cute creature was in view. His partner in.... something, Aziraphale. You noticed him noticing it, and turned your head to see what had caught his attention.

“Crowley! Y/N! How lovely to see you both here!” Aziraphale was positively gleaming as he approached the dinner table, a ray of sunshine in direct opposition to Crowley’s black void. You couldn’t help but smile at the angel, appreciative at his endless enthusiasm.

“Aziraphale, what a surprise!” You returned.

“Oh, my dear, I have been holed up in my shop for what feels like hours. I had to get out and have a nice cuppa. Speaking of which, have you read that novel I gave you yet? You simply must, I could not put it down for the life of me.”

“Oh, I’ve gotten about halfway, and I was so shocked when one of the twins died, and- oh, please, sit down.” You hadn’t expected this interruption, but now that he was here, you simply couldn’t resist a quick chat. You were about to ask a nearby diner if you could borrow one of the chairs at their table, but one miracled itself right in front of your eyes. You glanced around at the others, the magical appearance of the chair apparently unnoticed, then at Crowley, seemingly as indifferent as ever, continuing to sip at his drink.

“Thank you, Y/N. Now, tell me what you think of the heroine.” Aziraphale happily on the chair.

You gushed about the novel with Aziraphale for a few more minutes, admittedly completely neglecting Crowley during that time. But every time you glanced at him, he seemed to at least be paying attention, albeit drinking all the while. You had counted three or four empty glasses before the waiter came to collect them, bringing a fresh one shortly afterwards. A demon’s tolerance was essentially bottomless, so Crowley wouldn’t be anywhere near drunk yet, but it could be soon at the rate Aziraphale was talking, and Crowley with no other way to entertain himself.

“Oh, have you finished eating? Then I believe it’s time for dessert- garçon! Three of your finest strawberry crêpes, s’il vous plaît.”

“Oh, angel, I think Y/N had planned for-” but Crowley was quickly cut off, and he sat back in the chair, raising a brow to you. You signalled to give it another minute, and you would start to shoo Aziraphale off.

“Don’t be silly, Crowley, company as lovely as YN here deserves nothing but the best- and the crêpes here are the best.” This seemed to shut Crowley up for the moment, but you could tell he was getting a little territorial over your attention, with his boot beginning to slowly trace itself against your ankle. You cleared your throat to focus, but your leg did not move, eager for a piece of Crowley during this interrupted dinner. Still, it was simply impossible to be rude to the angel, and Crowley, for whom it was somehow an endearing trait, was seemingly refusing to help. “Oh, Y/N, that reminds me, I have taken your advice and have taken up a spot of painting.”

“Oh, that’ll be fun. What medium?”

“Oil paints, I should think. I dabbled in it before, of course, tried a hand at some neoimpressionism, but I should think the classical styles are more my type, the nude portraits and the like. Positively divine.” Crowley snorted, the first indication that he hadn’t petrified and turned to stone since Aziraphale’s arrival.

“Bit biased there, aren’t you?” He drawled smugly.

Aziraphale glanced at Crowley from the corner of his eye pettily, then looked back at you. Then as if to spite him, or perhaps out of a naive desire to simply catch your beauty on canvas, he blurted out, “You’d pose for me, wouldn’t you, Y/N? You’d make a beautiful model for a nude study.”

Your eyes flashed and your mouth fell open slightly, lips parting in surprise. It wasn’t necessarily the request, but the fact that Crowley was right there-

“Oh, yes, I could see it now. Bedecked in honeysuckle and lavender, in your hair, against your lovely skin, you’d be heavenly. What do you think, Crowley?”

You laughed, a bit taken aback. “I’m flattered, really! But I-”

“Oh, I should think she would be- Y/N.” Crowley leaned forward, placing his elbows onto the table. “Get your coat, sweet.”

Aziraphale seemed genuinely confused, bless him, turning to look at the demon. In the meantime, you stood from your chair and scooped up your jacket, trying not to think about how Crowley’s darkened voice sent shivers up your spine. You knew this was coming from the moment Aziraphale even mentioned nude portraits, could almost see how his features were shadowed by lust at the thought of you. Aziraphale’s voice remained strong, but innocent. “But the crêpes haven’t arrived yet-”

“Oh, come on, Aziraphale.” He cajoled. “Let’s have a bit of a walk, hm?” Crowley inclined his head towards the exit, his red hair catching the light of the chandeliers. You smirked as the angel, still babbling, stood up and reluctantly agreed, leaving the promise of his dessert behind.

With Aziraphale in front of you, Crowley’s arm slid possessively around your waist a little tighter this time, pulling you to him, against him as you walked between the tables. You could feel the power in his body with every step, and though you knew you were in for it now, the thought of Crowley claiming you as his was as delicious a dessert as you could ever have suggested. Despite his intimidation, you knew he was secretly enjoying this; he had found the perfect excuse to shut Aziraphale up, and finish the the night off exactly the way he wanted to- with your legs spread.

The night air was cool but not unpleasant as a breeze traced across your skin. Your senses felt sharpened, each of his touches sending you into a frenzy as he led you towards the car. Aziraphale followed behind, one of his hands holding the other in front of him like a poised debutante.

“Y/N, sit in the back for a moment, please.” You heard the subtle growl in his voice, and you obliged, popping open the door of the big, black Bentley and slipping inside onto the cool leather. The angel and the demon got in in front of you, and you stared at their beautiful silhouettes. Crowley, a lean, shadowy, sinful figure, and Aziraphale, a vision of purity and light even in the nighttime, even in the face of Crowley’s wrath.

The car was silent for a beat before anybody spoke.

“My two angels,” Crowley murmured, turning back to look at you in the backseat. “You’ve both been naughty, haven’t you?” His gaze turned to Aziraphale with a slight turn of his head. Even behind the impenetrable sunglasses that perched on his nose, his gaze was heavy, dangerous. You scarcely felt yourself breathe. You were in trouble now.

“Crowley, it’s my fault, Aziraphale was just-” You began to reach forward for him. He turned his head towards you, and your mouth closed. You sat back against the backseat of the Bentley quietly, the leather creaking underneath you. It was the only noise in the car for a long moment.

“I know what he was doing, love. Like to have a bit of a look? Bit of a flirt?” He looked at Aziraphale. “And you-” You bit your lip, eyes lifting slowly to look at him. “You know.”

God, did you ever. Crowley had never been that much of the jealous type, but for you to have been fawning over Aziraphale like that, during a dinner meant for him to relax? It was enough to trigger the most hellish side of the demon, and you were in for it now. Heat flooded your core, and you pressed your knees together. You saw Crowley raise a brow behind his glasses, a smirk adorning his lips. He saw.

“You’re enjoying this. Would you enjoy bouncing on my cock while Aziraphale watches, then? I think it’s what you both deserve after tonight.” He inclined his head towards the angel, who began sputtering in shock.

“Crowley, I say!” But you saw his cheeks flush pink, painting the perfect picture of a cherub. You weren’t going to lie, making Aziraphale watch was one of the hottest things you’d ever heard, and you had never expected Crowley to go that far. It was clear things were going to be played by his rules tonight.

“What d’ya say, angel?” His smirk grew wicked, and you grew hot beneath your clothing. Your reply was a whisper, but you knew he heard it, and he knew you meant it.

“Yes, Crowley.”

It took him precisely half a second to materialize in the backseat with you. It was a mess of limbs, his long and lean, and yours tangled up with him. His hands gripped your hips, and his lips found yours in a searing kiss. You moaned into his mouth at the feeling of his strong, nimble fingers beginning to trail up and down your sides, one slipping underneath your shirt to palm at your breast. His thumb rolled circles over your nipple, and you groaned your pleasure against him.

“Eyes on me, angel.” He growled in your ear. You blinked, and looked up at the man overing over you. His sharp features were illuminated only by the orange glow of the streetlights outside, and whatever scarce cars drove by. You knew they couldn’t see anything; the car was probably magicked to invisibility. Crowley wouldn’t be that careless. He was lithe, but heavy, a comforting weight between your legs, and his hair already a mess from the way your fingers had been running through it. He stared down at you with black eyes, his sunglasses still on his face. “Both of you.” He barked, lifting his head to look at Aziraphale. The angel, looking quite unsettled, turned his head to look at you. Crowley’s hands made quick work of your shirt and your bra, exposing your breasts to the night air.

You felt like you were being ravished in front of God himself, a demon laying snugly between your thighs. Crowley seemed to agree, as he bucked his hips against you, his hard erection pressing into your clothed centre.

“Fuck, Crowley, please.”

“So needy, angel, even with an audience. You’re greedy, little one.”

His large hand snaked down to between your thighs, his fingers beginning to rub you against your trousers. You keened at the feeling, head rolling against the car door, hips squirming. He held you fast, his weight keeping you pinned down beneath him. You felt absolutely at his mercy, without even Aziraphale to dare help you now. Crowley’s fingers then found the button and zipper of your jeans, at which point he began to yank them down.

“Crowley, is this really-” You heard him start, but your moan swallowed his words in the darkness of the car.

“That feel good? My long fingers inside of you?”

Precisely two of his long fingers were now buried deep inside of you, thumb on your lit, and palm slapping against your pussy. Your hands snapped forward, gripping his forearms. You felt the power beneath the corded muscles that flexed underneath his thin black blazer. The smell of smoke and leather overwhelmed you, eyes shutting tightly as his fingers increased their pace.

“Look at me. Look at me, or I won’t let you cum.” He hissed, and your eyes popped open, so desperate were you for release.

“-Yes, Aziraphale,” He addressed the angel calmly, though his eyes remained on you. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To see her splayed out, desperate, needy, begging? ‘Cept of course, it’s my cock that she’ll be bouncing on, isn’t it, love?” His thumb rolled over your clit harshly, and your hips bucked. Aziraphale couldn’t help but keep his eyes trained on you, so clearly in the throes of pleasure. He wasn’t proud of himself, and yet...

“Yes! God, yes...”

“You like him watching, don’t you?” He purred in your ear, and your ankles hooked around his hips, an attempt to bring him closer. No part of him touched you except his hand, buried in your soaking cunt. “Say it.”

“I-I... I like it! I like it- please, let me... cum.”

“Alright, I’ll allow it. Cum.”

Stars sparked behind your eyelids, and fire tore through your insides. Your juices soaked his hand, fingers still fucking in and out of you, and you heard him groan at the sight of it. You could also feel him rubbing against your thigh in search of a bit of friction, but still, he kept his composure. A sheen of sweat covered your forehead, hair sticking to your cheeks. Aziraphale cleared his throat quietly; you’d nearly forgotten he was there at all.

“Are you satisfied, Crowley?” He muttered.

Crowley grinned. “Not nearly.”

In the blink of eye, you were on top of the demon, jeans abandoned, and his cock free of his tight leather trousers. He folded his hands behind his head, mirroring your previous position, and yet it was clear he was the one in charge here. His sunglasses were also gone at this point, and the sight of his snake eyes filled you with desire. There was something so wrong about it all, being fucked by a demon with an angel staring right at you. You had no hopes of explaining this one to the Almighty.

You could barely keep yourself upright as you straddled him, limbs still weak from your orgasm. Crowley did not care.

“Turn around, Y/N.”

You raised a brow, and his eyes narrowed, challenging you. You quickly changed positions, with the help of Crowley sitting up a bit in the back. You were now sitting atop of him, staring directly in the face of Aziraphale, sitting in the passenger seat. If he had looked uncomfortable before, he was positively faint at this point. It was clear he wanted to look away, and yet, if either by some wicked temptation or by Crowley’s clear commands, he did not. Not for a second.

Not even when your eyes rolled to the back of your head as the tip of Crowley’s cock rubbed against your folds. Instantly, you felt desire electrify your insides, and you wanted nothing more than to sink down onto him. But you needed his permission first. He rubbed the pre-cum against you, and you felt your juices slowly dripping down your thighs. You shuddered, hips bowing down to try to take him in. He chuckled.

“You still want my cock, love? Right in front of Aziraphale?”

You lifted your eyes to the actual angel’s, and he gave you a slight smile as if to assure you. Angel or not, he couldn’t have not been enjoying this display.

“Yes, I want your cock always, Crowley, please, please fuck me.”

“Whatever my angel so desires. Keep your eyes on him and I might let you cum again.”

With one hand on your hip pulling you towards him, he used the other to guide himself into you. Thick, long, and hard, he filled you entirely, and you felt stuffed as you seated him inside of you right to the hilt. You heard Crowley growl underneath you, the only time he had lost his composure during this entire affair. His hand pushed against your hip, encouraging you- pushing you to build up your rhythm. You gyrated your hips against him as hard and fast as you could, but it didn’t feel like enough to Crowley.

You bounced against his cock, tits bouncing in front of Aziraphale, hands reaching for the headrest to steady yourself. Crowley’s hips, powerful and strong, fucked up into you as his cock filled your walls. You felt him shift slightly, and the instant he hit that special spot, your back arched.

“There, is it?” Crowley’s voice was rough, and his grip, his pace, was rougher. “Look at you, being fucked right here in the backseat, absolutely soaking wet for my cock, even with someone watching. You are a little minx, aren’t you?”

His dirty words spurred you on, bouncing as quick as you could, chasing your high. You knew Crowley’s permission wouldn’t come easily this time, and you had to make it count.

“Aziraphale, isn’t she lovely?”

Your eyes flitted to the angel’s, then fell, and he swallowed, clearly affected by the sight of you. “Positively decadent.”

“And she belongs to me.”

His fingers wrapped around a handful of your hair, bending your neck back. You felt his teeth scrape against the exposed skin, and you cried out at the feeling of the pleasure and pain mixing. “Look at him while you try to cum.”

One of his hands traveled between your legs, and his fingers pinched your clit. You nearly sobbed, and you wanted nothing more than to collapse, but still, he kept you going. Your release was coming, and coming hard. Crowley could feel it by the way your hips began to stutter, your pace slowing as your limbs grew weak from the exhaustion.

“Don’t you stop.” He yanked your hair harder, and you moaned in response, the stinging sensation in your scalp a delicious addition to the pounding between your legs. His cock, hot and hard, was hitting you over and over again in the your most sensitive of places. But you were so close, so close.

“Please le-let... me cum!” You begged, his fingers gripping your hair and your neck bending as you stared into Aziraphale’s eyes. Crowley’s fingers began to tweak at your clit, but his permission didn’t come. You cried at the feeling, continuing to fuck yourself against his cock without any sign of release in sight.

“Tell me who you belong to.” You could hear his voice becoming ragged as he fought the urge to cum himself, eyes fixated on the way your ass bounced against his hips, his cock disappearing in and out of you.

“You! You, Crowley, only you... Please!”

“Cum.”

With one single word, you fell to pieces. You fell forward as his hand released your hair, his hands now gripping your hips harshly as he sought his own release. You moaned at the feeling of letting him use you for his own pleasure as your cum soaked his cock, your thighs, and the leather of the Bentley beneath you. Your fingers slipped against the plastic interior of the car door, trying to no avail to get a grip on your surroundings. He thrusted in and out of you a handful of times again before cumming, hot spurts of cum filling you up inside, then slowly beginning to trickle out.

Crowley’s hands, no longer harsh, but strong, moved to disengage himself from you, and reached for some napkins to help you clean up. You reached for your shirt and jeans, and began to dress yourself as awkwardly as you could in the small space. Crowley’s hair was mussed, and his perfect skin glowed with sweat. You felt your hair sticking to you, and the heat of Crowley’s cum still inside you. Limbs weak, you allowed yourself to be collected in Crowley’s arms.

Aziraphale cleared his throat quietly.

“Yes, well... that was-”

“Divine? Tempting enough to immortalize on canvas?” Crowley finished with a grin. You felt him chuckle beneath you, and you snuggled in close to his chest.

“No! Goodness, no, I, uh... get the message.”

“Glad to hear it. You alright, love?”

“Yes, Crowley.”

“Good. Shall we get some dessert?”

You saw Aziraphale’s gaze light up, and you knew that his eyes were never meant for you. Only Crowley’s.

#Anthony Crowley #anthony j crowley #anthony j crowley x reader #anthony crowley x reader #anthony j crowley smut #good omens smut #good omens au #good omens smut au #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #commission #fanfic commission #mollyplier

179 notes · View notes

sk3tchid · 4 years

Text

Snektember Day 03: Ducks

Aziraphale felt the miracle go through the air and watched with amusement, as another child hooked three marked ducks in a row, winning their choice of any stuffed prize. The game operator scratched at his head but shrugged. He had already moved past flustered, and now sat somewhere between resigned and acclimatised. He gestured with an arm to the large wall behind him with the winner’s options and waited for further direction. The young girl studiously looked them all over to make her choice as Aziraphale watched from his spot in front of the Strongman’s Tent.

“You know my dear, helping children win carnival games hardly seems like a demonic thing to do.” A hiss sounded from the being wrapped over his shoulders and Aziraphale chuckled.

“M’not helping them! M’instilling future anger and greed. It’s a long con, angel.” Aziraphale laughed, shifting his barbell to one hand in order to produce a pocket square to dab his brow.

“Come now,” he said, hoisting the weight above his head still one-handed and bowing to a passing group of children who cheered, “do you not think I saw it too?” He set the bar down and clapped the chalk dust off his hands.

The girl by the booth was still debating, her fingers twisting uncomfortably in front of her little body. The action was familiar to Aziraphale, an anxious tic that spoke volumes about his eternal struggle regarding what he wanted and what he had been told he should want, and how reconciling those two voices made him feel so fractured. The small motion was the only break in his composure he allowed himself to have when talking with his superiors upstairs.

Done behind his back where they couldn’t see… of course.

On the girl, however, the action only served to highlight the overwhelming amount of trepidation that surrounded her. Not just in the way of her energy, but in the way she flinched when loud screams came from rides, or balloons popped nearby. She was not someone who was used to having a choice in the matter, to think things through and pick what worked for her. No, it would appear she was used to simply reacting to whatever ‘choices’ were made for her.

“Then you ssssaw that arsehole?” Aziraphale hummed in agreement, hand coming up to absentmindedly stroke along Crowley’s scales. He had seen the arsehole, as Crowley called him. The man who had the same eyes as the girl, who had told her to stay out of trouble or he would call her mother. The same man who had thrown a five pound note at the girl’s feet before skiving off to find himself a drink.

“She should have a good time, at the very least for today.” Aziraphale, ever endeared to his husband, smiled.

“Right you are dear. And dare I say, perhaps a worthy prize to remind her of today, in the future.” He felt Crowley extend himself to meet Aziraphale’s eye, but Aziraphale kept looking straight ahead as he snapped his fingers.

“Oh, you have GOT to be kidding me. Really angel?” Aziraphale’s grin only widened as he heard the fond exasperation roll off of Crowley’s tongue.

“It felt right. She deserves to know not every creature is dangerous, even if they might look it at first appearance. Kindness can always be found. Things can get better.”

In front of them, the girl’s posture straightened as her eyes fell on a stuffed animal she must have missed during her first glance through. It was perfectly huggable, and soft looking, and had several sequins glittering brightly on it’s belly. Wordlessly she pointed up to it, and after a double take, the man behind the counter shrugged again, pulling the stuffed black and red snake plushie he’d never seen before, down. He handed it over and she immediately held it close, smiling to herself as she thanked the man and walked off to see what else she could see at the carnival.

Another snap from Aziraphale made sure her new friend would age well for her, and never go missing. Always there when she might need it most. Crowley let out a small hiss, the sound of which had the audible equivalency of shaking one’s head.

“You’re something else angel,” he said softly, almost reverently, and wrapped back around Aziraphale’s neck presumably to doze off.

“Says the demon who thinks I don’t notice when children keep winning rigged carnival games.”

“Tch,” he replied with a yawn, “only the ducks.”

#snektember #day three #and on time!#I have the other two days as well #but they need work #Strong!Aziraphale #Snake!Crowley #Carnival games #Good Omens #Fanfic #Might throw on Ao3 at some point #my writing #Enjoy?#also this is very rough #soooo #*shrugs*#tw: implied child neglect #<-that's the phrase I couldn't remember #thanks Syl

33 notes · View notes

flowerfan2 · 4 years

Text

All Vows

A/N: Given that this is the second year in a row I’ve been inspired (compelled?) to write a Good Omens fic on Yom Kippur, I’m inclined to think there’s something to it. But who knows.

See below for more info and author’s notes. L’shana tova, everyone.

All Vows, A03

It's Yom Kippur again, and Crowley can't stop watching you tube videos of the Kol Nidrei service. It's hard to know where he fits, but Aziraphale is there to help.

Crowley hit pause on the video he was watching and shifted on the couch, pulling out his earbuds when it became clear that Aziraphale was talking to him (he could hear him either way, of course, but Aziraphale said it was rude to keep them in during a conversation).

“Are you still listening to Kol Nidrei services?” Aziraphale asked. “I don’t think you’re actually required to do it multiple times.” There was a soft smile tugging at his face, but Crowley didn’t mind the gentle teasing. He knew he was being a little, well, obsessive.

“I’m not required to do it at all,” he reminded Aziraphale. Demons didn’t need to go to temple. Crowley was aiming for a casual tone, but he kind of ruined it by swiping at his eyes, which were leaking rather annoyingly. Traitors.

“Being able to remotely watch Yom Kippur services from all over the world is a silver-”

“Do not say that again, Aziraphale,” Crowley grumbled, returning to more familiar territory. Aziraphale continued to find the “silver lining” in the COVID disaster in everything from less crowded roads to the months and months he’d had to try out different variations on his macaron recipe (Crowley had drawn the line at lobster maracons with buttercream and crabmeat filling), and every time, it grated on his nerves. No “rain bow” was going to make up for this disaster.

“I’m sorry, dear,” Aziraphale said, sliding over and taking Crowley’s hand. “I don’t mean to downplay your concern. But it is long past sundown here, and presumably in…” Aziraphale craned his neck to see what Crowley had been watching on his tablet, “New York City, and I think you can take a break now.”

Crowley let out a long breath, and laid his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Kol Nidrei means ‘all vows’ in Aramaic,” he said.

“Hmm, yes,” Aziraphale agreed.

“Do you remember, then – when it got started… medieval times, all those persecuted Jews, forced to convert to other religions, wanted to return to their own community.” …”

“But they were worried that the oath they had sworn to God to follow another religion would get in the way. So the congregations developed the Kol Nidrei prayer to absolve them of the oaths they had made.”

Crowley digs his chin into Aziraphale’s warm shoulder, and Aziraphale gives his hand a squeeze. Of course Aziraphale knows all about it, they were both there, bearing witness to the many ways humans have wronged each other year after year in the name of religion. But something about this particular religious ritual, a legal formula recited every fall to address each person’s own relationship with their god, has hit him hard tonight.

“D’ya think it worksss for me?” Crowley asked quietly, his voice rebelling against him as surely as his eyes had earlier. “Can I be forgiven, for the vows I sssshouldn’t have made? Or does it not work, since She threw me out in the first place?” Was it still a vow against God if God pretty much forced him into it?

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, unclasping his hand from Crowley’s and enveloping him in a tight hug instead. “It works for everyone. Vah-yoe-mare Adonai, sah-lach-tee kid’vorecha.”

“And Adonai said, ‘I have pardoned them as you have asked,’” Crowley repeated, roughly translating the end of the prayer he had heard so many times.

They sat there in silence for a few minutes, Aziraphale adjusting his hold on Crowley to something more comfortable. Crowley snuggled against Aziraphale’s chest, rubbing his cheek along the worn velvet of Aziraphale’s waistcoat, a feeling of safety and warmth spreading through his body.

“So, which one was your favorite?” Aziraphale asked after a while, shifting so that he could reclaim his tea from where he had abandoned it at the other end of the couch. It was still at the perfect temperature, of course, despite the fact that he hadn’t taken a sip of it for quite a while.

“My favorite…?”

“Your favorite service. You must have watched a dozen of them tonight.”

It had been more than that, actually, if you counted all of the ones Crowley just checked out on you tube for a few minutes and then noped out of if it wasn’t particularly interesting.

“I always found that fancy congregation in Manhattan a bit too stuffy,” Aziraphale said, referring to the last one Crowley had viewed, and Crowley huffed out a laugh. Anything too stuffy for Aziraphale was, let’s say, more than a bit behind the times.

“Newt and Anathema had a good service in their backyard, actually,” Crowley said, grabbing his phone and swiping around until he found what he was looking for, then playing a snippet of the recording for Aziraphale. There were less traditional instruments playing along with the traditional prayers, and Aziraphale smiled as they heard what sounded like a ukulele.

“Anathema will really do anything for Newt, won’t she?” Aziraphale murmured approvingly. Anathema wasn’t Jewish, at least not by birth.

“Well, she thinks the cantor might be under some sort of spell, given how long she can hold out those high notes without breathing, so she’s taking a professional interest.”

Crowley showed Aziraphale a few pictures Anathema had sent him that afternoon, of Newt and Anathema’s yard, set up for a small group of neighbors with chairs spread out at least six feet apart. Their guests were all bringing their own prayer books, or using their phones to access the texts. Even some communities who usually wouldn’t allow the use of technology on the holidays had made exceptions for a variety of practices given the need to stay safe during the pandemic, although Crowley was pretty sure Newt and Anathema weren’t so conservative in their observance anyway.

“Things really are different this year,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley nodded. “Yup. Tomorrow someone is coming by to play the shofar for them. Apparently the guy is just going to go from house to house, if you want him to come play it for you, you just have to let him know and he’ll stop by. Home-delivery shofar blowing. But,” Crowley broke off, swiping until he found another photograph, and then turning his phone so Aziraphale could see the image of the long, curved ram’s horn with a mask somehow attached to the end, “it has to wear a mask too. It could be a super-spreader.”

Aziraphale stared at the photo of the shofar with a mask on it and started to giggle. Crowley harrumphed, but then Aziraphale did that little wiggle that meant he was truly endeared, and Crowley started giggling too.

“Humans are endlessly creative,” Aziraphale said into Crowley’s neck, when the giggles had subsided and they were once more curled up around each other. “They will rise to this challenge, as they have before.”

“Do you really think so, angel?” Crowley asked.

“I do, Crowley. I really do. And we’ll be here to watch them.”

“Together,” Crowley said shyly, hiding his blush in the soft fluff of Aziraphale’s hair. Because no matter what vows Crowley had made, no matter what heaven or hell had required of him, somehow, Aziraphale was still here.

“Yes, of course, dear boy,” Aziraphale replied, nuzzling a delicate kiss into the spot just behind Crowley’s ear, fond and steady and true. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

_____

Note: Here I am again, for some crazy reason, writing another Yom Kippur fic. Yom Kippur is the traditional Jewish day of atonement, and the Kol Nidrei prayer is thought to have originated as a result of Jews being forced to convert to Christianity or Islam upon pain of death. Afterwards, many of the forced converts wanted to return to Judaism, but this was complicated by the fact that they had been forced to swear vows to another religion. The Kol Nidrei legal formula was developed to enable them to return, and is recited each year at the beginning of Yom Kippur to absolve them of their vows to God made under duress. The melody of the Kol Nidrei prayer, which became standardized in the 1800’s, is particularly haunting. To hear and see the Kol Nidrei sung by Cantor Angela Buchdahl, the first Asian-American to be ordained as a rabbi and cantor and an amazing person, go here.

Jewish communities around the world, large and small, have been conducting remotely accessible services this year, and finding numerous ways to allow people to come together for high holiday observance in one form or another while still following social distancing guidelines and keeping each other safe. As just one of many examples, Temple Emanu-El of New York has made its high holiday services available online to everyone; you can find the Kol Nidrei service here. (As described on Wikipedia,Temple Emanu-El is the first Reform Jewish congregation in New York City and, because of its size and prominence, has served as a flagship congregation in the Reform branch of Judaism since its founding in 1845. Its landmark Romanesque Revival building on Fifth Avenue is one of the largest synagogues in the world. I was there once for a wedding - it blew me away, and honestly, most Jewish synagogues don’t look anything like it, but it is a very lovely place to have visited).

#Good Omens #Jewish Good Omens #Good Omens fic #Aziraphale #Crowley #ineffable husbands

26 notes · View notes

mygalfriday · 5 years

Note

#i just realized crowley thought those were the last words#he ever said to aziraphale#and now i want to die um i need you to write this now please

Um, I sort of did ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

{ao3}

we’re not out of the tunnel, i bet you though there’s an end

“And when I’m off in the stars, I won’t even think about you.”

The words repeat on a loop in his head, like a CD left in the Bentley too long - warped and twisted to play only one thing. It’s been the one constant in his mind since he sat amidst the flames of a burning bookshop, gripping Agnes Nutter’s prophecies in his shaking hands. Dripping wet and desperately broken, Crowley’s very last words to his best friend in all the world had reverberated around him like his own personal hell.

I won’t even think about you.

All the things he could have said and he’d chosen that. Not I’ve been mooning after you since Eden and if you don’t come with me then what’s the point of leaving at all. Not I’m terrified of what they’ll do to you if you stay here. Not please for the love of Somebody, choose me over Them just this once. No, Crowley - in his infinite wisdom cultivated over six thousand years - had chosen the selfish thing. The thing he thought would leave a mark. And it certainly had, but like all the bad things Crowley has ever done, it returns like a boomerang to hit him where it hurts most. This time, it had struck him right over his stupidly human heart.

He can still remember the heat of the flames, the water dripping into his eyes, the cavern yawning wide and hollow in his chest as the realization settled over him. Aziraphale was dead - not discorporated, not temporarily in heaven for one of those team retreats he’d always hated - but gone forever and the last words he’d ever heard Crowley say to him were

won’t

even

think

about

you

Even now, sitting in the newly restored bookshop with Aziraphale safe and close by, muttering to himself as he peruses his shelves, it’s all Crowley can hear. He swallows the last of his third glass of Aziraphale’s very expensive, very old brandy and feels it settle unpleasantly alongside the champagne in his system. As he reaches for the bottle and pours himself another glass anyway, he listens to the excited murmuring behind him as Aziraphale discovers yet another first edition he didn’t have before Adam’s grand restoration.

The sound of his voice, soft and pleased, soothes Crowley in places he hadn’t even realized needed to be soothed in the first place. He closes his eyes and feels his fingers loosen their white-knuckled grip on his glass. He sinks into the worn cushions of the settee and releases a breath he doesn’t even need. With it, words come tumbling off his drunken tongue he never meant to say at all.

“I didn’t mean it, you know.”

The confession is low enough that for a moment after it bursts unbidden past his lips, he hopes maybe Aziraphale hadn’t even heard it. But the quietly delighted inventory taking place behind him has stopped and he can no longer hear the soft tap of Oxfords moving across the floorboards. He can almost picture Aziraphale paused uncertainly at one of his shelves, his hand on the binding of a Hemingway as he frowns at the back of Crowley’s head. After a beat of silence, he asks, “Didn’t mean what, my dear?”

Crowley grimaces, at both the question and the endearment. He is not a dear. He has never been anyone’s dear. But for Aziraphale, who had said it for the first time over dessert this afternoon, beaming as though he’s wanted to say it for centuries but had worried the wrong people might overhear, Crowley will endure it. Might even like it a bit. Not that he’d ever admit it even to God Herself.

Staring hard at the half-empty bottle of brandy on the coffee table, resting beside his abandoned glasses, Crowley admits stiffly, “What I said before.” He swallows, sensing Aziraphale’s continued bafflement even from across the room. Gritting his teeth, he forces out, “That I wouldn’t think about you.”

Aziraphale makes a soft noise of surprise and Crowley listens with apprehension to the tap-tap of his Oxfords as he moves closer. He doesn’t dare look up, not even when he feels the angel perch carefully on the cushion beside him. “Well of course you didn’t,” he says, and the sheer amount of certainty, of belief, in his voice makes Crowley’s eyes sting. He tips his head back and stares hard at the ceiling. “I knew that.”

“Did you? Because I thought - and then you were gone and - all I could think was-”

He stops trying to explain himself, terrified the lump in his throat will give him away. He grits his teeth in an effort to will away the traitorous wetness in his eyes and refuses to utter another word. He doesn’t need to. Beside him, Aziraphale breathes in sharply with realization.

“You thought those were your last words to me.” The cushions shift and suddenly the warmth of Aziraphale feels so much closer than before - like Crowley is standing in front of the sun. “Oh, Crowley.”

He flinches. “Don’t. It’s nothing. I just didn’t want you to think-” He sighs, glaring at nothing in particular and hating himself for even bringing it up at all. “I would have thought about you, all right? That’s all I wanted to say.”

Beside him, he can sense Aziraphale beaming at him. He doesn’t dare look but the angelic glow of him is nearly blinding. If he doesn’t turn it down a few notches, Crowley worries he might wind up a smoking crater on the settee - accidentally smote by the holiness of a purely angelic grin. As far as ways to go, it isn’t a bad one, so he keeps his concerns to himself. He waits instead for Aziraphale to say something that’ll make him recoil. That’s very nice of you, Crowley or what a lovely thing to say, Crowley or I knew you were secretly a good person, Crowley but Aziraphale only presses a soft hand to his knee and squeezes gently.

It startles him so badly he nearly jolts off the settee and lands in a heap on the floor. He lifts his head from staring at the ceiling so fast he hears something in his neck crack. Aziraphale doesn’t do this sort of deliberate touch, never has. It’s always an accident - or at least he likes to make it look like one. Brushing his fingers when handing him a cup of tea. His foot glancing against Crowley’s leg beneath a table at the Ritz. And now here he is, stroking his thumb over Crowley’s knee and there isn’t anything accidental about it at all.

Crowley turns his head, staring at him in bewilderment. “Angel?”

Watching him with those blue eyes, his cheeks pink with the self-consciousness that Crowley finds both endearing and maddening, Aziraphale admits, “I would have missed you. If you had gone.”

He looks away and straightens his bowtie, still blushing, like he thinks he’s said too much. Crowley wishes he could tell him that after six thousand years of carefully avoiding acknowledging what they mean to each other, he’d listen to Aziraphale say things like that for the next century and still shudder with the newness of it. “Yeah, I know the feeling,” he says instead. “S’why I didn’t go.”

Aziraphale looks hopeful, eyes brightening. Like he craves the same words Crowley does. And Christ - Satan - Somebody, how had he never realized they’re both so hungry for the same thing? If he’d known, he’d have told Hell to go fuck itself millennia ago. “Really?”

“Couldn’t,” he says, throat suddenly dry. “Not without you.”

Smiling that soft, secret smile and darting a shy glance at Crowley out of the corner of his eye, Aziraphale murmurs, “I’m glad.”

Transfixed by the sight of him, utterly becoming in the soft light of the bookshop - blond curls fuzzy from the evening rain and his face still a bit pink-cheeked - it takes Crowley longer than it should to realize Aziraphale’s hand is still on his knee. Still drawing absent patterns with his thumb. His palm is warm even through Crowley’s jeans and the soft tickle of his caress makes him want to melt into the settee cushions and bask in the new freedom of glorious, blessed touch.

Following Crowley’s stare, Aziraphale seems to realize he’s still touching Crowley at the same moment Crowley silently admits he never wants him to stop. He draws his hand away, curling his fingers into his palm, and the loss of his warmth makes Crowley bite his lip against a whimper. “So sorry,” Aziraphale says, blushing again. “I should get back to the books-”

And he could, Crowley knows. He could wander away back to his inventory right now and nothing at all would change between them. They’d still go to dinner, still feed the ducks, still drink too much and steal the occasional fleeting touch. And that would all be fine. But Crowley didn’t go to the trouble of trying save this world for just fine.

“Stay.”

Aziraphale stills. “What?”

Steeling himself, Crowley reaches out and takes his hand. The warmth of his soft palm nearly undoes him but he bites back a hiss and carefully places Aziraphale’s hand back on his knee. Aziraphale doesn’t protest, watching in fascination as his hand seems to curl possessively at Crowley’s knee without his permission. He breathes in, his eyes glassy and captivated.

Crowley strokes a gentle fingertip over his knuckles and when Aziraphale shudders and leans in closer, hungry for moremoremore just like Crowley, he says roughly, “Stay with me, angel.”

They’re not perfect, as last words go. But as the first words of a brand new beginning? They’ll do.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #my fic #Anonymous

2K notes · View notes

mikaa-mina · 4 years

Text

At Garden’s Edge- Chapter 1: Repeat Offender

“Oh dear.”

Fretfully Aziraphale stared down at the... well. It was a plant, certainly, but he hadn’t the faintest clue what kind of plant it was due to the circumstances in which he had acquired it. (The circumstances Aziraphale had acquired this plant were as follows: Shortly after killing the second plant, he returned to the plant shop thinking it was merely unwell and was promptly thoroughly embarrassed when informed, no, it most certainly was dead. In a bit of a, not-panic, as it were, he got another plant. Not for anything as silly as wanting to prove to the owner that he could in fact keep a plant alive. That would just be silly. All the same, with the embarrassment ringing in his ears, he didn’t quite hear what kind of plant he had scooped up to buy and, theoretically, keep alive.)

All the same, it was green, it grew, and was in a pot. Or. Rather. It had been green and it had been growing, only now it was rather a bit.... brown, and somewhat on the crumbly side. He didn’t think it had been crumbly when he bought it. And that had only been, what, a week ago?

Oh. Plants needed to be watered, didn’t they? Or at least, plants that weren’t catuses did. Catstuses? Cacti? Oh, well, regardless, this was rather leafy, er, had been rather leafy and not covered in spines so, a plant but not a cactus. Thus, it needed watering. Probably.

When was the last time he’d watered it?

....Had he watered it?

Ever?

“Oh dear...” No wonder it was brown. And before it had been just the loveliest shade of green too. Well, at least he knew what the problem was now.

A quick search of his book-laden shop produced no results but in the back room he found one of his many misplaced mugs and filled it with water from the tiny old sink back there.

Making his way back through the maze of books he nearly passed by the spot of crumbling brown. It blended in fairly well with all of his old leather-bound books, quite the opposite of it’s supposed purpose. Or, well, rather the excuse he’d given when buying the poor thing.

‘Just needed a pop of color in the shop’, he’d scrambled to say, ‘it’d liven the place up’, he’d continued on with the lie turned not-quite-a-lie.

He stared down at the plant with a frown. Right. What was it that Crowley fellow did to make his plants so perfect and verdant? A bit unconventional, Aziraphale thought, but then, it did seem to have surprisingly good results. Or maybe it didn’t. Aziraphale wouldn’t know, didn’t know, he knew next to nothing about plants.

He watched the plant, gave it a moment to let the water sink in as was only polite, then adopted his best stern glare. Hands on his hips, lips pursed in displeasure, he looked down at the plant from above.

“Alright.” He said sternly, searching his mind for the right words and a harsh tone, “you’d best... you’d best buck up, you hear? I’m most displeased with all this brown.”

His glare wobbled.

A brown stick- stem?- thing on it crumbled off to join the other dead bits in the pot looking so terribly dejected and unhappy.

The worried frown broke through Aziraphale’s glare and he stepped up closer to the pot feeling absolutely horrid about its poor state. “Oh, oh I’m sorry my dear. I’m sure you’re doing your best.” He hovered over the plant, unsure and twisting his pinky ring around his finger, “why don’t I give you a day, hmm? Let the water soak in and I’m sure you’ll be fit as a fiddle tomorrow! Or, er, fit as a.... as a plant I suppose. A healthy plant!”

He stared at it but alas the plant did nothing.

“Right.” He took a step away but his eyes kept darting back to the plant. He really did not want to show up at Crowley’s flower shop again with a dead plant. Another dead plant. The third dead plant.

He twisted the ring around his pinky finger.

Right.

Okay.

He drew himself up, all five feet and ten inches of himself, and instructed the plant firmly, “I expect you to grow better by tomorrow or I’ll be very displeased.”

A stern nod and then he left it. To hopefully consider his words and, er, buck up, as it were.

Tomorrow came and found Aziraphale properly embarrassed and recounting the whole sordid tale to Crowley, a man who was finding far too much delight in his troubles.

“And I did what you said to try but- well...” he gestured to the brown and crumbling plant as it if was explanation enough.

It was.

“I can’t get it to grow no matter what I do.”

Finally he looked back up at Crowley, the most unusual flower shop owner he had ever met, and found him biting his lip to keep from laughing. At him.

Aziraphale scowled.

“Are you quite through?”

Crowley’s grin only widened, the edges twitching with badly concealed mirth as he fought to keep his laughter back. “Sorry, sorry,” he managed at last, laughter tracing the edges of his entirely unapologetic words like fizz crackling in pop, “it’s just- well- it- it can’t feel shame if it’s dead Aziraphale.”

“Oh.” Meaning shaming it into growing better would do nothing.

A laugh slipped through Crowley’s pursed lips and Aziraphale groaned, “really Crowley? Must you? Whatever is so funny about me killing another plant?”

The man shrugged, unable to keep his amusement off his face. Aziraphale was sure if he could see the man’s eyes that they’d be shining with laughter. “I’ve never seen someone- er, uh, hm,” he seemed to suddenly break off to chew his words in a rather sudden change of mind, “Well, hey, at least this one lasted longer.”

Aziraphale wished he wouldn’t wear those large dark sunglasses all the time, it was rather hard to decipher his expressions with just the rest of his face. Eyes were always so expressive, even with just the way they could crinkle at the edges, darken, or flicker away. They were extremely helpful in reading people in general, giving insight into sudden changes like the one that happened just now.

Crowley’s head dipped down as he looked at the plant before he glanced away only to do a double take. His eyebrows rose slowly as he leaned in towards the plant, hands drifting to settle on either side of the pot.

“How often did you say you watered it again?”

Bugger.

“I didn’t. Say, that is.”

Crowley’s head tilted up to look at him. Aziraphale twisted his ring.

“Aziraphale...” Oh he did not like the way he drew out his name. He drew it out slowly, with a budding hint of fiendish delight, like he’d caught Aziraphale with his hand in the cookie jar which was absurd because they were both adults and furthermore it should not have sent a little shiver through him- “did you even water this plant at all?”

“Of course I did!”

Crowley’s eyebrows rose high above the sunglasses in disbelief as he glanced between Aziraphale and the dead plant. A smirk slithered its way across his lips, his snake bite piercings glinting in the shop lights like a warning, like the flash of fangs before the bite, like-

“Before it was dead?” he challenged knowingly.

Aziraphale pursed his lips and looked elsewhere, refusing to give Crowley the satisfaction of a surrender.

Crowley laughed anyways, a sharp bright thing that startled his heart into skipping a beat. His cheeks flushed in mortification. Three dead plants, really? Three.

“If you’re quite through,” Aziraphale chanced a quick glance at the rather unprofessional shop owner dressed in a black leather jacket and piercings who was apparently still struggling not to laugh further at his customer. In the customer's face! Honestly! It was a wonder he got any business at all with customer service like this; it was probably a good thing he was so endearing or Aziraphale wouldn’t have come back. What with his laugh, sense of humor and-

“How about I suggest a plant for you this time?”

Considering the last three plants were chosen rather spotty criteria, that was probably... for the best. Especially since said criteria had been, at the moment of choosing, the following: 1. Whatever plant was closest to him that was also 2. appealing looking and 3. colorful, as to comply with his first lie as to why he was there.

(Said lie was told in a moment of panic when he had dropped by the flower shop without fully realizing that’s where his feet had taken him to. This wouldn’t have been cause for alarm if not for the fact of their first meeting and also that once asked if there was anything Crowley could help him with he came upon the realization that he had been thinking of him since their first meeting and couldn’t for the life of him think of what to say. He’d meant to say something companionable, like picking up on their conversation about plays, but ended up empty headed and dumbly pointing at the first colorful plant he saw and excusing it as “needing a pop of color in the shop” to “liven it up”. After all, it was a flower shop, so surely it was normal for people to pop by looking for plants? That wouldn’t be odd. Right? Right.)

“Oh alright,” he said, giving in as if he were doing Crowley the favor of letting him choose instead of the other way around.

As a reward he was granted a glimpse at one of those flash-paper grins Crowley seemed to have when he felt particularly victorious. Which was a bit ridiculous given that choosing a plant for Aziraphale had been what spurred it but it was bright and nearly so infectious that Aziraphale was fighting back a grin.

Crowley turned on the spot, spinning slowly and casting appraising eyes across the shop like a general looking for his best soldier. Or at least, the one that could best stand up for the current mission.

Oh dear. The mission was surviving Aziraphale’s care wasn’t it?

“Ah, ones with no pollen if you could, my dear.” The stuff got absolutely everywhere and he-

“Right, don’t want to damage your books, yeah. I remember. Said you ran a book evaluation shop right?” Crowley was still scanning the room looking for the perfect plant so he missed the way Aziraphale lit up at his casual remembrance of his pride and joy.

He knew he rather tended to, ah, “go on and on” about it as it were and that most people found it dreadfully boring. As a result he tended to try and avoid talking about it, so he knows he only brought it up once, maybe twice, in the four times he’s met with Crowley. He hadn’t wanted to bore the first interesting conversational partner he’d had in a while and also having that bored, glazed over, checked out look aimed at his pride and joy stung more than just a bit.

So. That Crowley had bothered to remember and then even bring it up in conversation was... strangely touching.

Crowley glanced at him and at once Aziraphale realized he’s been lost in his head a few moments too long.

“Correct my dear,” he cut himself off out of habit from adding ‘and restoration’ and cleared his throat to rid it of the surprise in his voice only to undo all of that with his next unexpected words, “I’m surprised you remembered honestly.”

Crowley actually tuned all the way around to face him for that, both eyebrows raised dramatically over his sunglasses as to not be missed.

“What? Why not? ‘Course I remember, don’t have that bad of a memory.”

“Well, it’s just,” he fidgeted with his ring, “I’m surprised to care about my owning a bunch of dusty books.”

Crowley made a few interesting, if confusing, noises in the back of his throat before stumbling his way into actual words, “wha- gah- don’t, don’t say that about them Aziraphale, it’s obvious you love them-”

“Love?!” he spluttered flushing in mortification, “I would hardly-”

Crowley stilled from his anxious fluttering about and gave Aziraphale a crooked tilt of a smile. He was surprised to find it a bit... tender.

“Aziraphale. You near light up the room when you talk about your books and your shop.”

“I-”

Firmly, but gently, “you do.” A cough and Crowley turned away but not before Aziraphale caught the pink high on his cheeks. “Anyways, it’s fine. I like seeing you light up- I mean! Uh, smile- ack- i- guh-” his shoulders hunched up a bit, “whatever. Just- talk about it all you want. I get it.”

And standing there, in the middle of a veritable greenhouse sanctuary of plants, of flowers, of things oft thought of as trivial, or pretty but not worth much, of the things Crowley so clearly loved and prided himself on, Aziraphale realized he did get it. And more than just that, more than just sympathizing/empathizing with him, he wanted Aziraphale to talk about his shop, his work, the things he took pride and joy in.

A little stunned, a little touched, awed, the soft “oh” slipped out all on its own.

Crowley grumbled a bit, but with his back to Aziraphale he could see very clearly how the tips of his ears were pinking. “Right. So. Uh. Talk about your books all you want.”

Aziraphale smiled.

“All right.”

Crowley stilled, then chanced turning halfway towards him with a glance before pretending to inspect a nearby plant. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

A blink and you’ll miss it flash of a smile before, “right. Plants then.” And without another word on the subject he stalked off towards his chosen victim across the shop, looking all the word for a predator on a mission. The image was only broken by his constant, lovely, rambling of what kind of plant it was, how to care for it, and how this one should be up to snuff and wouldn’t dare disappoint either of them. Aziraphale politely pretended not to hear his soft hissed threat to the plant of “would it?” but he couldn’t quite hide his smile quick enough before Crowley turned around. They both faltered for a moment, something hovering in the shop, new and fragile; It seemed tight, strung like a tightrope. Tense but not hard.

Crowley spluttered into the ending of his plant ramble before pushing the potted plant into Aziraphale’s hands almost a touch rushed. “Right. Snake plant, remember. Sturdy, beautiful, shouldn’t give you any trouble.” There was a stink eye aimed at the plant of all things, “No direct sunlight, shouldn’t have to water it all that often.” Here the stink eye at the plant morphed into a glint aimed at Aziraphale, Crowley’s mouth doing a crooked slant of a teasing grin as he finished with, “About once every two to three weeks instead of days. That sound doable?”

A nervous return smile and Aziraphale managed a, “yes. Quite.” as he fought to keep the bubble of embarrassment in his chest from popping.

The grin wobbled a touch into smile territory before Crowley coughed and looked elsewhere for a moment. “Right. So. Any questions and you can call me. Er. The shop. Me at the shop.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Sounds jolly good.”

“Jolly good?”

“Oh, don’t make fun.”

“Never,” the grin seemed to slip onto Crowley’s face of it’s own accord, “you just have the oddest way of talking.”

“Crowley.”

“Oh I didn’t mean that as a bad thing, honest!” He held up his hands placatingly, eyes dancing with delight, “It’s very you.”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure whether he was meant to take that as a compliment or insult. He decided it didn’t matter how it was meant and that he’d take it as a compliment regardless. “Well. Thank you I suppose.”

Crowley didn’t laugh, though it seemed to be a near thing as he fought back a grin rather dismally. “Sure thing, Aziraphale.”

Nine Days Later

Crowley stared down at the terribly drooping and definitely dead snake plant with total horrified amazement.

“I-wha.... how?!”

Sheepishly Aziraphale began making his excuses but Crowley wasn’t even listening to him, instead he was muttering under his breath to himself about counting days and how ‘these things practically thrived with neglect! So how?!’

Aziraphale let his excuses trail off, clearly he wasn’t being listened to anyways, and the hot flush of embarrassment climbing up his cheeks was taking all his willpower to keep down anyhow. It had been nine days. A record but still.

“But-i-you-” Crowley’s stuttering stopped suddenly as he peered even closer at the plant, his face nearly in the plant, eyebrows scrunched down while his critical eyes surely picked out the details of the plant’s death. Then his eyebrows shot up in surprise before a low groan escaped the man, a hand reaching up into his hair to run through it but instead stopping to grip it tightly in frustration as he looked at Aziraphale, flabbergasted.

“First you can’t remember to water the plant, ever!- and then- and then I give you a plant you’re not supposed to water for 2 weeks and you-you waterboard it to death!”

“It looked parched!”

“It- it- parched?!” repeated Crowley, incredulous.

“Yes!”

“I-it-gah!” he seemed to be having problems with speaking, stuttering and stumbling over half formed words before finally landing on a slightly helpless, “I don’t even know what to say.”

“Then perhaps,” Aziraphale started primly, “if you can’t think of anything nice to say then you shouldn’t say anything at all.” A pause where Crowley’s mouth fell open in astonishment, filling Aziraphale with a sort of delighted glee, and then he added, “and then perhaps when you’re done with that you can sell me another plant. A... sturdier plant.”

Crowley tilted his head back and laughed, bright and sharp.

“Sturdier he says. Yeah, yeah alright, I can do that.”

He was still grinning when he led the way back through the isles of plants.

You can also read this on Archive of Our Own! :DD

#Good Omens #Good Omens Fanfiction #Crowley #Aziraphale #Ineffable Husbands #Just Ineffable #Human AU #Flower shop AU #Humor #Romance #Comedy #Multi Chapter Fic #At Garden's Edge #My Writing #Good Omens fic #Gomens fic

38 notes · View notes

aziraphales-library · 2 years

Note

Hi!! Looking for any College student or professors (human au) Ineffable Husbands type fics.

Hello! We have some professors fics here and here. I have a couple of professors and a couple of student fics now...

Remember and Repeat by Sani86 (T)

Anthony Crowley is the new history teacher at Tadfield Academy, a stuffy English boarding school. His unorthodox teaching methods and insistence on free thinking endear him to his students, but alienate him from his tradition-bound colleagues. All, that is, except for a certain English teacher.

Ask Questions, Raise Hell by sorrens (T)

Aziraphale is an English teacher resigned to his school’s emphasis on “employability”. Crowley is the aloof guidance counsellor who swoops in and starts stirring up trouble by getting students to question the natural order. It's quite endearing, actually.

love like yours (will surely come my way) by CCs_World (T) (WIP)

Dr Zira Fell is a new professor of theology at St Beryl's University. His first day there he meets the mysterious and enchanting Dr AJ Crowley, an art history professor and a painter. They almost immediately become friends, and spend most of their time getting lunch together, talking, drinking wine, making art, and falling slowly in love with one another.

Featuring cameos of everyone's favorite (and least favorite) characters, gratuitous descriptions of paintings, long text messaging conversations, and one cranky cat.

Convergent Evolution by AppleSeeds (T)

Genetics PhD student Crowley meets Aziraphale at a workshop in the second year of his PhD, and they quickly become incredibly close friends. Crowley longs for there to be something more between them, but as the years go by, they seem destined to spend their careers living at opposite ends of the country. That is, until Aziraphale shows up again in Tadfield, back where their friendship began seventeen years ago, with some very exciting news.

search terms by Vagabond (M)

Aziraphale expects it to be a quiet night working in the university library when a flashy red haired, foul mouthed, panicking student needs to find credible sources for his paper and can't figure out how to use the search. Little does Aziraphale know that meeting Crowley will lead him on a path to self-discovery, and give him the family he didn't realize he needed.

It Was Always You by mltrefry (T)

A chance encounter during one of the worst times of Ezra Fell’s life reunites him with his once best friend and the one who got away. Though, that would imply he ever had him in the first place. Anthony Crowley and his son, Warlock, relocate to the quieter city of Tadfield from that of London. In the process, manages to find again that one person who always made him feel less alone, the one person he was pretty sure he was never going to speak to again. But the road to true love never did run smooth (something that’s been true from their very beginning). Despite the easy way they fall back into each other, their lives don't seem to follow suit, and if it's not one challenge its another. But despite everything they find themselves facing down, the ten years without each other taught them one thing: they’re better together than they are apart.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable partners #human au #professors #students #academia #mod d

104 notes · View notes

why-not-go-with-style · 5 years

Note

Good omen prompt for ineffable husbands. "Elevator AU prompt in which one person doesn't think the other speaks English so talks loudly about him in front of him"

Language mix-ups are up there in my top five of favourite tropes, probably, so thank you so much for the prompt!

Human AU! Props to Anthony J. Crowley for actually having a passable human name in a world full of Aziraphales and Beelzebubs. I mean, really.

For those of you wondering, Aziraphale is he’s discussing buying a book (of course).

———

In Anthony J. Crowley’s defence, it is before sunrise, and he is not the kind of person whose brain functions before sunrise.

He’d need to have been up for at least an hour (two if at all possible) before his cognitive abilities reboot themselves and align with the world around him, agree to process information in that way brains usually should. As it stands that day, however, he has only been up for fifteen minutes, he has barely had time to brush his teeth, and he was trying to string together words in response to whatever Bee was spouting over the phone. It was something along the lines of – You should be here in ten minutes, Crowley, and it’s a half an hour’s drive, one time I ask something of you – so it is no wonder his brain was in a bit of an overdrive.

And now that you know all of his excuses, disregard them, because there are no possible excuses to assuming that Ezra Fell is not British.

The man is the most British person to have ever graced the streets of London with his presence. He looks like he had come straight out of an old Victorian painting, in that suit, in the tartan bowtie and with his hair styled like that. In fact, Ezra Fell, if someone were to ask him, would proudly state that no one had ever taken him for anything other than British.

Until that morning.

(Also in Crowley’s defence – although we have established that any excuses he might have are insignificant – he has never seen this man before in his life. By all accounts he should have – there’s something about living in the same building that tends to make people bump into each other with stubborn regularity – but he has not.)

“Bee, have you ever seen me drive?” Crowley is saying, rubbing his eyes under the lenses of his sunglasses, leaning against the elevator wall as it creeps down from the top floor. “I will be there in ten, don’t test me, I’ll–“

The elevator dings open just one floor down, and he snarls at the doors as they slide open. That snarl does not last long, because the man who walks in is... well.

“Я уверен, мы сможем договориться,” he is saying. “Да, я буду вас ждать. Спасибо. До встречи.”

His phone is propped up with his shoulder, and his hands are full of books, and he is wearing the most ridiculous outfit Crowley has ever seen on a person outside an interactive history museum.

“Bee,” he says, interrupting their rant about his lack of organisation skills, “I’m currently looking at the most gorgeous man I have ever seen, so could you shut up for a blessed second?”

Bee, because they may be an asshole but they’re also a friend, do.

For about a second and a half, actually, so that Crowley never again gets to say that they’ve never done anything for him.

Then:

“And you’re telling me that in front of him? Never knew you had the balls, Crowley.”

“Oh, shush,” Crowley scoffs. “Nah, I’m not– he’s, like, Russian or something. Was that Russian? I think that was Russian.” The last time he heard someone speak Russian was back when he knew that girl – Anastasia, was it? Something royal – so he thinks he can be forgiven for having trouble identifying it at twenty to six in the goddamn morning. “Anyways, he’s fucking beautiful. What the Hell. That’s unfair.”

“Jesus fuck,” Bee mutters under their breath. Crowley bares his teeth and hopes they can perceive it through the phone lines.

“Seriously,” he insists. “He could punch me and I would pay him, Bee. Actual literal human money.”

“So you’re a masochist, what else is new,” Bee fires back, and Crowley thinks that he’s going to be late on purpose now, just for that. “Stop being gay and come pick me up, or I’ll punch you instead, and I guarantee you won’t enjoy it.”

“I’ll stop being gay when you stop being a bitch baby,” Crowley says. Then, to clarify: “Which is never. Because that’s, that’s what you are. A bitch baby. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Bee echoes, sarcastically, but right now that’s suddenly the least of Crowley’s concerns, because the gorgeous man who is no longer on the phone but still trying to balance it precariously between his shoulder and his ear is suddenly giggling under his breath. Which, damn if this isn’t the cutest laugh Crowley has ever heard, but also that’s not the fucking point.

“Actually you know what, Bee, I’ll have to call you back,” he says, and hangs up before they can voice their complaints. Then, looking back at the man: “You speak English, don’t you.”

“In my defence, you did make quite an assumption there,” the man says. His voice is nice, kind of posh and proper, with the most polished British accent Crowley’s ever heard. “Russian – oh my. That’s a new one.”

“Well, I, you, it’s kind of your fault, actually,” Crowley stammers, suddenly glad that he has his shades on, although perfectly aware that they won’t do much to hide the flush rising to his cheeks. “Who speaks Russian? In the middle of London? I mean, I mean, come on!”

“Quite a lot of people, dear,” the man says, and he lets the term of endearment slip so easily that Crowley suddenly wants to fall straight through the elevator floor. “Russian is one of the most spoken languages in the world – and, really, this is London. You’ll find ones far more exotic.”

He is not wrong, but Crowley refuses to acknowledge it, because then he would have to admit to making the most mortifying mistake of his life because it is too early in the morning and he is an idiot.

The elevator dings again, and spits them out into the lobby.

The man hands Crowley his books, and Crowley takes them, largely because his brain is currently operating on autopilot. He steps out of the elevator for much the same reason, blinking wildly at the lazy brushstroke of pink barely visible above the horizon through the glass doors of the building.

“Oh, it’s the morning already!” the man chirps. “Wonderful. Sunrises are beautiful. Although hardly as beautiful as you. Cheers!”

He takes the books back from Crowley, but not before slipping a piece of paper into the top pocket of his jacket, his lips curling into a sly grin. He steps out through the door into the cool of morning mist, and Crowley realises, belatedly, that he actually needs to go one floor down to the parking garage.

He also realises, his brain being jump-started into paying attention, that he doesn’t give a flying fuck.

He just got the phone number of the most gorgeous man in the whole world. Driving can wait.

(Bee can’t, but that’s what they get for being an asshole. In Crowley’s defence.)

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #good omens fic #anthony j crowley #allie scribbles #allie does prompts

1K notes · View notes

thinkingisadangerouspastime · 5 years

Text

flustered

(in which the author finds a dozen synonyms for "blush", while heaven and hell go to war. sort of.)

loosely based off this request by @coffeecakecafe! hopefully it falls at least somewhat in line with what you wanted

~*~

The first time Aziraphale held his hand, Crowley's face turned a shade of red darker than the roses he'd brought to celebrate the anniversary of Armageddon't. The angel, thankfully, had politely ignored the demon's flustered reaction and graciously accepted the flowers, commenting about how lovely they'd look on the windowsill above the sink.

The first time Aziraphale hugged him, Crowley thought he was going to have a heart attack. He instead buried his face into the angel's shoulder to hide his embarrassment. Aziraphale, who truly was a literal and figurative angel, had simply chuckled and allowed the demon to stay that way for a moment before taking his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

They first time they kissed, Crowley was pretty sure he was going to discorporate. Fortunately, he didn't. Unfortunately, he did turn into a snake, which was probably the most humiliated he'd ever been in his life, even if Aziraphale did insist that it was "rather adorable". Apparently pining for 6000 years had done nothing to prepare Crowley for just how overwhelming physical affection could be.

After a while, of course, he got more used to it. In fact, Crowley preferred to be the one to initiate physical affection, though he couldn't deny that he also thoroughly enjoyed when Aziraphale took the lead.

But despite Crowley's adjustment, his angel nonetheless still knew exactly how to make him flustered. The trick was unexpected affection. Or, as Crowley had dubbed it, "surprise attacks".

Sometimes they'd be watching a movie at Crowley's flat, and Aziraphale would rest his head on the demon's shoulder and slip his hand into Crowley's. Crowley, then, would have to pretend that his heart rate hadn't skyrocketed and that his face hadn't reddened like an overripe tomato.

Other times they'd be sitting on a bench in the park, talking about everything and nothing, and Aziraphale would lean over and press a kiss to the demon's temple. Crowley would blush and demand to know what, exactly, the angel thought he was doing, to which Aziraphale would respond with "you look adorable when you're flustered, my dear".

But, no matter what he tried, Crowley could never make Aziraphale flustered. This was not to say he couldn't satisfy the angel, of course. He knew very well that Aziraphale did not mind being pushed up against the wall every so often. Aziraphale was also fond of being on the receiving end of spontaneous acts of affection. (Oftentimes being pushed up against the wall was a spontaneous act of affection.)

But nothing got Aziraphale flustered. Surprise makeout sessions, PDA, whatever - while it was all enjoyable for the both of them - could not get a reaction out of the angel. And really, that was frustrating Crowley to no end.

(He'd even resorted to asking Beelzebub for advice. The two demons had been on much better terms after the Prince of Hell had hooked up with the archangel Gabriel. Despite their similar situations, Beelzebub's advice was virtually useless. If anything, their situations were too similar. Beelzebub also seemed to be the one who got flustered.)

Crowley didn't give up, of course. It was almost ridiculously satisfying to see Aziraphale blush and he'd be damned - again - if he couldn't figure out the trick to getting the angel flustered.

One day, he got lucky.

They were at the Ritz, playing out their usual routine where Aziraphale would eat and ramble aimlessly while Crowley sipped at water or wine and listened. At that moment, the angel was chattering excitedly about how he was going to acquire a limited edition of the The Crucible soon and that he couldn't wait to examine Arthur Miller's notes -

"Oh, I'm sorry, my dear. This must be terribly boring for you."

Crowley chuckled, offering Aziraphale a rare smile. "Not at all. You get this sort of spark in your eyes when you're excited about something. It's... endearing."

Aziraphale blushed. "O-Oh. Well, as long as - as long as you're sure you don't mind."

"Honest, angel. It's fi -" He cut himself off and did a double take of the situation in front of him. Hold the phone, ladies and gents and other respectable folk. "Wait. Are you blushing?"

Aziraphale's face turned a deeper shade of pink. "You simply caught me off guard, that's all. And not to mention we're in public -"

"Oh my Go - Sata - fuck." Crowley ran a hand through his hair, internally cursing his obliviousness. "Compliments! That's it!" Of course it would be compliments that got his angel flustered. Aziraphale was a reader, a writer - words meant everything to him.

Aziraphale frowned, trying and failing to send Crowley an intimidating glare. "I haven't any idea what you're referring to."

"Oh?" Crowley raised an eyebrow, unable to keep a satisfied smirk off his lips. "So you wouldn't care if I said that you were the most good-looking person in this room? That when you slowly lick food off your lips it's so damn enticing? That the way you scrunch your nose up when you think is ridiculously adorable? That -"

"Crowley!" Aziraphale interrupted, his face so red it could have resembled the perfectly ripe apple from Eden. "You're embarrassing me. What if someone overheard you?"

"Then they'd think we're two humans - definitely not supernatural beings - that are in love and enjoying a wonderful evening together."

"But still!"

"Well, I've got some bad news for you, angel." Crowley leaned over the table and whispered, "I love how you cute you look when you're flustered."

Aziraphale buried his face in his hands, muffling his reply. "I hate you."

"Psh," Crowley scoffed. "You love me."

Aziraphale moved his hands away to glare at the demon. "You have no what you've just started."

"Oh, but I think I do." Crowley rested his chin on his hands, grinning. "But if it means I get to see this side of you more often, then I don't think I mind. You're hot when you're angry."

"Crowley!"

The demon chuckled but decided to let his angel off the hook. "Alright, alright. Finish telling me about The Crucible. What kind of notes do you expect Miller's written?"

Aziraphale brightened up immediately, launching into detail about the parallels between the Salem Witch trials and the two Red Scares in America.

Crowley did his best to listen, but his thoughts kept drifting back to his newfound discovery. Compliments! Really, he should have seen that coming. He'd have to start writing down every possible way to flatter the angel. That would be his ammunition for this war.

And really, for better or for worse, Crowley had indeed declared war by pushing the angel as far as he had. Of course, this was a war he intended to win.

Huh. It seemed Heaven and Hell would be going to battle after all.

"I know what you're thinking."

Crowley blinked, Aziraphale's voice pulling him out of his thoughts. "What?"

"You think you're going to defeat me." Aziraphale dabbed his mouth with his napkin before placing his hands on his lap. "I suggest you rid yourself of that foolish notion immediately."

Crowley opened his mouth to counter, but he froze as he felt a hand gently tracing circles on his upper thigh.

"My dear boy." Aziraphale smirked, his blue eyes burning with heat more intense than hellfire. "You don't stand a chance."

~*~

#the first time i tried to post this it didnt work :(#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #anthony j crowley #anthony crowley #good omens fanfiction #good omens fic #amy writes #ineffable bureaucracy #beelzebub #beelzebub good omens #im working on the other request i was given #might have it up by the end of the week #hopefully

842 notes · View notes

i-write-and-therefore-i-am · 4 years

Text

One Monstrous Miracle (Part Four)

Hey guys! I’d meant to get this out earlier today, but I’d also meant for it to be about 3,000 words shorter, so there we are. As always, give this chapter a cheeky little vibe check, and let me know if you find any mistakes! I love you all, enjoy, all those good things. Yay, melatonin! (Pssst! Also, if you’d rather read on Ao3 instead, here it is).

Previous-Next-First

Pairing: Aziraphale/Human!reader

Summary: Tender ANGST. Very angsty, might make you cry, i dunno.

Warnings: Aziraphale says a word that Microsoft Word told me may offend my readers, but other than that, I think we’re good. Let me know if I missed something!

Word Count: A WHOPPING 5295!! They’re getting loooooooonger.

This day, like many days, started off deceptively the same as always. Aziraphale had gotten up on the right side of the bed, the weather was not particularly noteworthy, and there was no string of minor accidents that would lead anyone to believe that this was going to be a Very Bad Day Indeed. Nevertheless, unbeknownst to most parties involved, this day was, in fact, going to be a Very Bad Day Indeed, possibly even The Worst Day Ever.

Aziraphale had been feeling happier than he could remember ever having been in his whole life. After you had shown up in his shop after weeks of not speaking to him, the two of you had spent very little time apart. You had resumed your habit of stopping by after work, much to Aziraphale’s great relief. He had missed you dearly, and he was enormously grateful that you had found it in your heart to forgive him. He shuddered when he thought of that night, remembering how terrified you had looked. Aziraphale had truly never felt quite as angry as he had when Crowley had insulted you, and it brought him right back to his younger days as a fiery agent of the Lord, smiting all who dared to cross Her. He had locked that part of him away, and until that fight with Crowley, he had all but forgotten about it. He’d decided very firmly that you would never again see him like that.

Today, Crowley had demanded that Aziraphale come over to his flat to make what he called an “Apocalypse Plan”. Things were getting rather sticky lately, and their search for the true Antichrist seemed fruitless. It was time, Crowley said, to bring out the “big guns”. What those guns were Aziraphale had no idea, but he could only hope that it wasn’t anything too drastic. He had just bought his new coat, after all. He’d made a quick call to you before closing his shop and heading over to Crowley’s.

“I’m terribly sorry my dear, but I’m afraid I don’t know when I’ll be home. Crowley is rather—”

“Difficult. I know, Azi, it’s okay. Take your time.”

Warmth bloomed over Aziraphale, and he couldn’t help the tender smile that worked its way across his face. You were so full of understanding, something that he’d had precious few encounters with during his time on Earth. As much as he loved humans and all their little quirks and flaws, it sometimes bothered him that for most of his life, he had been completely alone. Sure, there was Crowley, and he was absolutely infuriating but somehow endearing, but he was a demon, after all. There were fundamental things that they just would never understand about each other, no matter how long they’d been friends. You were different. You accepted Aziraphale, never questioning him or teasing him (of course you teased him, but never about his weight, or his obsession with books, or how the noises he made when eating sushi) or making him feel the way that the other angels invariably did. It was one of the many reasons he’d found he loved you for.

“Thank you, Y/N. I will call you if I get back earlier than I expect.”

“Thanks, Aziraphale. Have fun with Crowley! Give him my love.”

That was another thing. Aziraphale had been terrified that after such a disastrous first meeting, you would hate Crowley. Somehow, the exact opposite had happened, and after the two of you had gotten used to each other’s presence, you’d become fast friends. Aziraphale hadn’t realized how close the two of you had gotten until Crowley had yanked him into the back room of his shop one night and given him the sternest dressing-down the demon could probably muster, and promised that Aziraphale would regret ever having been created if he hurt you again. “Aren’t you meant to be on my side, dear boy?” Aziraphale had asked bemusedly, feeling very wrongfooted. “Oh, I am. I’ve already talked to her, she’s good. I just need to make sure that you don’t fuck this up, Angel.” Aziraphale had, through his tears, assured him that he had no intention of intentionally hurting you as long as you would have him (as a friend, of course).

“I will. See you soon, my dear.”

“See you. Bye!”

Aziraphale hung up, already missing the sound of your voice. He shut the lights off and headed out of the shop, locking the door behind him. Although he was a celestial being, and most definitely could make himself appear at Crowley’s door with little more than a thought, he found he enjoyed taking public transport. It was blessedly slower than riding in Crowley’s car, and it allowed him time to sit and watch the people around him. Aziraphale found himself strangely emotional as he looked around him at all the advances humans had made over the thousands of years he had walked among them. All the subtleties, the headphones in a young man’s ears, a little girl reading a book half the size of her head, a woman applying hand sanitizer. All these things made his heart ache with admiration. Yes, despite all the atrocities that humanity had perpetuated, Aziraphale knew that the vast majority of them were worth saving. He shifted in his seat, waiting for his stop.

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

Aziraphale hadn’t expected the absolute destruction that awaited him when Crowley opened his door twenty minutes later. Papers were littered everywhere, plastered on the wall, hanging from bits of string from the ceiling, and covering nearly every surface in the flat, including much of the floor. Aziraphale tilted his head, surveying the inexplicable damage.

“Are you…quite alright, dear boy?” Aziraphale inquired as Crowley shut the door behind him. Crowley came to stand beside him, and Aziraphale took the opportunity to look his friend over.

Crowley had always been obsessed with his appearance, even in the early days when self-grooming hadn’t quite been invented yet. Crowley was even worse than Aziraphale himself was at times, which was truly frightening. Today, however, seemed to be rather a large exception to the rule. Not one item on the demon’s body matched, even down to his feet, the left of which sported a thick, woolly sock, while the other was covered with bright green fabric with miniature snakes all over. “At least he’s wearing trousers,” Aziraphale thought gratefully. Crowley turned his wild and un-sunglassed eyes towards Aziraphale, and he quickly retracted his gratefulness. The day was not over yet.

“Of course! Why wouldn’t I be? I’m perfectly fine, nothing to worry about. Shall we sit?”

Aziraphale stared, feeling the gears turning almost painfully in his head. What on Earth had happened to Crowley? He had never acted this way, even during the chaos of the witch trials of the 16th and 17th centuries. He seemed…unhinged. As most people are no doubt aware, and if not, they can at the very least assume, an unhinged demon is a very dangerous demon. Aziraphale could do nothing but watch his friend as he pranced over to the desk at the center of the room, trying desperately to think of his next course of action. Crowley gestured impatiently at him and Aziraphale had no choice but to acquiesce. He was nearly to the desk when he was distracted by the sound of rustling leaves in the next room. He tilted his head, listening. His lips pursed in response to what he heard.

“Crowley, I’ve told you before that you simply must take better care of these creatures!” Aziraphale gasped, forgetting everything else. Crowley clicked his forked tongue dismissively.

“They’re just plants, Angel, I don’t understand why you’re always so concerned about them. And I don’t see any problems with them, anyway. Look at how green they are!” Aziraphale could tell that he had directed that last part to the plants, because they all gave a collective, terrified shudder. Aziraphale sighed in resignation and turned to the poor things, cooing and soothing their frayed nerves.

“Don’t mind him, my dears. You’re all lovely, no matter what the evil demon says—”

“I can hear you!”

Aziraphale ignored Crowley in favor of sending cool, calming thoughts to the plants. He didn’t leave them until their leaves stopped trembling. Feeling very satisfied with himself, Aziraphale turned back to the desk. He strode over and sat at one of the (significantly less ornate than Crowley’s own “throne”) chairs, shifting uncomfortably. He waited for Crowley to start explaining himself.

“As you know, the Antichrist is…missing—”

“You could, possibly, skip that bit seeing as we both know this part of the problem,” Aziraphale interjected. He was the very epitome of patience at the best of times, but this was decidedly not the best of times, and he was quite eager to fix this mistake that was all Crowley’s fault and had absolutely no connection to Aziraphale whatsoever. The fate of the world as we know it was at stake, after all. Crowley huffed, clearly upset that Aziraphale had cut off his carefully practiced speech, but Aziraphale really couldn’t find it in him to care (This was a lie: Aziraphale cared a great deal).

“Fine.” Crowley hissed. He opened his mouth to say more, but he was interrupted by insistent knocking at the door.

Silence. Neither of them moved a muscle, staring wide-eyed at each other. Nothing happened for a moment, but then the knocks came again, louder than before. Aziraphale barely kept himself from letting out a pathetic whimper, earning him a deathly glare. Aziraphale started bouncing his leg, trying to resist the urge to open the door. As an angel, it was just not in his character to ignore someone, no matter the context. Crowley knew this about him and was trying to ease his anxiety.

“C’mon angel, leave it be. They’ll leave. It’s probably some teenager trying to sell magazine subscriptions.” Crowley thought at the angel. He knew immediately that he had used the wrong words because Aziraphale’s expression turned into one he knew well—it was the exact one he wore when complaining about how Crowley treated his plants. Aziraphale’s eyes were so full of compassion it nearly made the demon gag with its intensity.

“The poor child! They’re probably selling to provide for their family, or the like. Oh, Crowley, you know I can’t leave them out there!”

Before Crowley could stop him, Aziraphale had jumped up from his chair and was rushing towards the door. A feeling of growing doom washed over him as Aziraphale disappeared behind the wall separating the front door from the rest of the flat. Something was horribly wrong.

Perhaps because he hadn’t been paying enough attention, or because his mind had been so preoccupied with the vision of the poor, snotty-nosed, raggedy youth swimming in his mind, but whatever it was, Aziraphale hadn’t picked up on the same ominous feeling as his demonic counterpart. Guileless, Aziraphale turned the doorknob and swung open the door. The sight that greeted him turned his stomach to lead and set his heart beating faster than it had the right to even think about working. He schooled his features into his usual, easy going smile, all the while thinking desperately at Crowley from across the flat.

“It’s angels. Stay quiet.”

“Michael! And Uriel.” There was a flash of diamond-studded teeth, and Aziraphale felt his throat constrict. “And, ah, Sandalphon. What a surprise! W-What brings you here, exactly?”

“We could ask you the same thing, Aziraphale,” Michael responded, a terrifying glint in their eyes. “It is rather odd to find you here, of all places.” Aziraphale had no idea what to do. He had been caught out, finally, after all these millennia, and he was going to be discorporated, or worse, and there was nothing he could do about it. He was finished. He would never eat sushi again, never dance the gavotte, never see Y/N—

“Here? Whatever do you mean?” Aziraphale inquired, trying to look as innocent as a very clearly guilty person could. Sandalphon snarled but Michael silenced him with a look.

“Here as in the known residence of the demon Crowley, the very same Crowley that you have been providing reports on for last 200,000 years. How very interesting that we would find you here, in his home.” Uriel had always had such a knack for quiet intimidation, and she used it now. Aziraphale gulped, shifting from one foot to the other. He had to think of something, and quickly. Sandalphon broke from the group and moved closer to Aziraphale, so close that Aziraphale nearly went cross-eyed looking down his nose at the shorter being. The angel sniffed at his coat, taking one of the worn lapels and rubbing it in between his clawed fingers.

“Hmm. Smells evil.” He stepped back into rank, glaring at Aziraphale. Aziraphale swallowed hard, praying for strength.

“Well, ah, that would be because…” He trailed off, wracking his brain for anything, literally anything, to tell them. As they were essentially Gabriel’s innermost circle of confidantes in Heaven, Aziraphale knew that if he let them leave this place thinking that he had been working with the enemy instead of against, that would be the end of everything.

“What’s going on?” He heard Crowley thinking at him.

“Shut up! And stay that way.” He could feel Crowley’s indignation, but he obeyed.

“’Because’ what, Aziraphale?” Michael demanded. Aziraphale looked between the three angels, and suddenly, out of nowhere, the words flooded into his mind.

“Because I was doing surveillance!” Aziraphale blurted before he’d had the chance to think about it. The angels frowned, skeptical.

“Surveillance?” Uriel repeated, sharing a look with Michael. Aziraphale nodded, feeling his heartrate slow as his anxiety left him.

“Surveillance, my friends. I have been monitoring Crowley’s actions more closely since the birth of the Antichrist. I decided to have a bit of a peek around here to see if he had any…”

“Information?” Sandalphon supplied.

“That’s the ticket! Information. Unfortunately, you arrived not long after I did, so I haven’t been able to find anything of note just yet—”

“Well, then, let us help you, Aziraphale!” Michael interrupted, moving to push past him into the flat. Aziraphale grabbed their arm, keeping them from moving any further. “What in—”

“Crowley can’t sense my presence, with me being but lowly principality in comparison to you. You, being an Archangel, I can imagine that even Crowley would be able to tell if you’d been in his flat. Your imminence.” Aziraphale saw the slight blush that appeared on Michael’s face at his words. They had always been a bit of a narcissist, and the fastest way into their good spirits would always be cheap and simply flattery. They stepped back, straightening their blazer and clearing their throat.

“That is true. Even so low a demon as Crowley would be able to sense my power. Very well, then, Aziraphale, I’ll leave you to it. But know that we” they gestured to their companions. Uriel smirked at him while Sandalphon grinned, showing off his sparkling, sharpened teeth. “are watching you.”

With that, the three of them vanished. Aziraphale was left in corridor alone, still trying to come to terms with what had just happened. Slowly he realized that the taste of miracles lingered in his mouth, dancing on the tip of his tongue. This was no ordinary miracle, however. This miracle tasted of mana, of saltwater taffy and just a hint of last week’s winning lottery numbers. How odd. Aziraphale spun around and raced back into the flat to relay everything to Crowley.

“So your people are onto us. Of course it would happen now, of all times. We’ve just gotta be more careful…Angel? What’s wrong?” Crowley had caught sight of the expression on Aziraphale’s face; one of complete and utter despair, like all his dreams had come crashing down around him all at once. Alarmed, the demon pushed out of his chair and came closer to his friend. “Hey, it’s not that bad, we’ve prepared for this—”

“Y/N.” Aziraphale lifted his head to look Crowley in the eye. “She’s in danger. If they’ve been watching me, then they know about her and if they don’t already, they will know soon enough.” Crowley slumped, knowing it was true. He also knew what Aziraphale was about to do next.

“I can’t see her anymore.” If Crowley had had a heart, it would have broken into a million tiny pieces at the raw despair in the Angel’s voice. He knew how you both felt about each other, and how, after spending all that time apart, having to break off your growing relationship off once again would destroy both of you. He said nothing. “They will kill her, Crowley.”

“I know.” Neither of them said anything after that. Aziraphale took a deep, shuddering breath, opened his mouth as if to talk, but then shut it again. Crowley put a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“But I also know that if you push her away like this, after what happened before, she might not come back,” When Aziraphale met his eyes, he knew that that didn’t matter to the Angel. He loved you so much that keeping you safe meant more to him than being near you. Crowley gave his friend’s shoulder a squeeze and nodded.

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

You were running late, not that it truly mattered. Aziraphale had called you an hour ago to tell you that he had, in fact, gotten home from Crowley’s earlier than expected and that you could come over for a spot of cocoa if you wished. You had spent almost 45 minutes trying to get dressed. For whatever reason, you’d decided to try and look nice for a change, rather than your usual scrubs or wrinkled work clothes. A random idea had popped into your head, making you wonder how Aziraphale would react to seeing you in make up for the first time. So, wearing one of your nicest blouses and skirts with your least favorite pair of achy heels, you were speed walking down Aziraphale’s street. The familiar feeling of butterflies in your belly increased in intensity the closer you got to the shop. Maybe today was the day you would finally tell him how you truly felt about him. Then again, maybe it wasn’t.

You weren’t expecting to see Aziraphale standing in the middle of the main room of the shop. Usually he was off in the back or upstairs even, but it was rare to see him out front. Especially when he wasn’t shelving books, which he definitely wasn’t. You frowned, closing the door behind you and moving to stand in front of him. There was something…off about the man today, something that you couldn’t quite put your finger on, but you knew it was there regardless.

“Azi, wha—”

“Hello, Y/N. May I get you some of that cocoa?” Aziraphale started, as though you’d never opened your mouth. You could tell that something was well and truly wrong now—Aziraphale didn’t have an impolite bone in his body. He would never cut you off when you were trying to speak. Your frown deepened as you tried to look him in the eyes, but he stared resolutely at a point just above your head.

“No, Aziraphale, what’s the matter?” He tilted his head to the side, eyebrows scrunched together as he looked down at you.

“’The matter’? Nothing’s the matter. Everything is fine, my dear.” He paused. You watched as his expression, already more shuttered that you had ever seen it, darken even further, making his face go blank. You were shocked. You had never seen Aziraphale like this, and you had no idea what had happened to make him so…angry? You couldn’t tell. All you could do was wait for him to continue.

A war was raging inside of Aziraphale, as it had been for the last few hours. A million possibilities floated around his mind, each one more ludicrous than the last. He could tell you that he was going on holiday and that you would see him in oooh…never because the world was doomed to end within the year. He could tell you that an old relation had passed away and that he needed to go home to Wales to settle the…whatever it was that humans settled when a loved one died. He could tell you the truth, that he loved you too much to keep you, that he was of the second-highest choir of angels and that some very bad angels were hunting for his golden blood as you spoke. Or he could say nothing, invite you upstairs for some telly and cuddling and continue living in this little bubble that the two of you have lovingly and tenderly created for yourselves. You could go on living in happiness…until, of course, Gabriel found out and smote you quite dead. The thought sent a trail of ice racing down his spine. He shook his head violently. Crowley’s lie it was, then.

“Actually, there is something that I need to speak with you about.” On instinct, your had shot out and reached for his but he pulled his hand back out of your reach. Hurt, you stared at him in shock. What the hell was happening? Was he breaking up with you? Not that the two of you were in a real relationship just yet, but after your talk, after everything, was this the end? Before it had even started? You refused to believe that your Azi could be so cruel.

“I…I can’t. I can’t do this.” Came the harsh nail in the coffin of your dreams. Tears sprang to your eyes but you held them back valiantly. Aziraphale could see them, trembling on your bottom eyelid, threatening to fall and to ruin this whole thing. His next words came out in a hurry, as though he was afraid if he didn’t say them quickly, he wouldn’t say them at all. Perhaps that was true.

“This. Us.” He gestured between the two of you. “Its…superfluous. I’m done with it and I am done with you. You were convenient, naieve and willing at a time when I was bored and lonely. That’s over now, and so is this. You can’t come to the shop anymore. Don’t call me because I won’t answer the phone. We’re done.”

Now, it is important that you know that angels don’t need to breathe. Well, perhaps that is a bit extreme. They do breathe, they have working cardiorespiratory systems that pump their golden blood throughout their bodies, just not with the same frequency as other life forms. In fact, an angel can hold their breath for years, which you may take anyway you wish. But in this moment, Aziraphale struggled to draw breath. As he watched the tears fall down your cheeks, ruining the liner and mascara that you had no doubt spent a great deal of time perfecting, he knew that there was no coming back from this. You would leave him, you would grow to hate him, if you didn’t already. He would never see you again.

But at least he knew you would be safe.

Aziraphale turned, unable to torture himself any further by watching you cry in front of him and not doing anything about it. His fingers itched to take you into his arms and hold you, to take back everything he had just said, but he restrained himself. This was how it had to be. He squared his shoulders, speaking without turning back,

“I’m sure you can show yourself out.” That was it. The last time he would ever lay eyes on you and he couldn’t even bring himself to look you in the eye. Gabriel was right, he had always been right. God had made some terrible mistake, appointing him a Principality. “Angel of the Eastern Gate” his divine bollocks. More like sniveling, fat coward who fails at everything and—

Aziraphale looked down to see your hand, smaller and softer than his own, covering his. He frowned at it, his grief-addled brain taking longer than normal to come up with an explanation. Surely you had stormed out of the shop in angry tears, vowing to hate the thought of him forever. How could your hand be here, slipping its fingers through his and intertwining themselves together as though they belonged that way? He turned his head, seeing that your hand was, in fact, connected to your arm, which was, surprise upon surprise, connected to you. You were still there, blotchy faced and bright-eyed, but still there, standing in his shop, stubbornly refusing to leave even after he had said all those terrible things to you. He raised an eyebrow at you, feeling faint headed.

“Do you hate me?” You asked, feeling very brace. Aziraphale turned around to face you fully, unable to believe what you had just asked him.

“No! Not—”

“Did I do something to offend you? Or to make you angry with me?” Aziraphale shook his head. He had to force you to leave him, but he found that he couldn’t let you leave thinking that he felt those awful things about you.

“Then why are you doing this to me? Is someone forcing you for whatever reason. Just tell me the truth, Azi,” At this, she gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “I will try to understand.”

And it was then, that Aziraphale finally understood. Of course you would . You were kind, and patient, and the most forgiving soul he had ever met on Earth. Of course you would see through his veneer and into his true self, the one that called out to you even as he tried to push you away. He didn’t say anything at first, trying to filter his words and find the right things to say. Being as perfect as you always were, you stood there, eagerly waiting but not pushing. He did not deserve you in his life. He stepped forwards, bringing his free hand to grasp your other hand. He brought them up to his chest, resting over his heart.

“Alright. Alright, I am going to tell you something, but I cannot explain, and I cannot tell you anything more than what I am about to say. You must promise me that you won’t ask any questions until I tell you to.” “When will that be?” Aziraphale cracked a small smile, but it melted away as soon as it had appeared.

“I’m afraid I don’t know, my dear. But you must trust me. Please.” He could see the familiar fire of defiance in your eyes as you hesitated to respond. But once again, he stood in awe as you nodded.

“Yes. Of course I trust you, Azi. Tell me what’s wrong.” He was not able to stop himself from bending his neck to press a grateful kiss to your hands. You gasped quietly but said nothing. He began.

“Thank you. You’ve no idea how much that means to me. I’ll get straight to it: being with me puts you in a very real, very serious sort of danger. Know that I wouldn’t dream of putting you through all of this unless it was so serious. I cannot bear the thought that your life may be in danger because of me.” He paused, watching your face, trying to figure out what you were thinking. He could read your mind, of course, but that would be terribly improper. Instead, he had to deal with this the hard way—difficult conversation.

“So…my life is in danger?”

“When you are with me, yes. I am truly sorry, Y/N. I wish things were different. I find that I…” He trailed off, caught in your beloved gaze, and he found that he could no longer hold back. Not when this was the last time he would be with you. It was now or never, and never was certainly not a legitimate option. “I find that I have fallen in love with you. Yes. I…I love you, Y/N, and that is exactly why I must keep you as far away from me as I can. I need you to be safe, and I would never forgive myself if something happened to you because of me.”

Your face did the most extraordinary thing. For a second, you stared at Aziraphale, understandably overwhelmed with all of this new information he had thrown at you. He waited, as courteous as ever, for you to piece it all together. When you did, your face bloomed into the most radiant smile Aziraphale had ever seen. His heart leapt in his chest at the sight, so wholly unprepared for something so beautiful.

“I understand. I really do understand, Aziraphale.” You said, inexplicably. Aziraphale felt on the verge of tears as he looked at you and saw that you were telling the truth. Hope flooded him, fierce and intense, and for the first time in hours, he thought that maybe he didn’t have to lose you forever. Maybe this wasn’t goodbye. You kept going. “I can’t say that this doesn’t hurt, because it does. Because…I love you too. I have done for months and I’ve always been too afraid to tell you. But I might as well tell you now, so you don’t go moping around without me.” You both chuckled at that. You stayed still for a few moments, drinking in this last bit of time together for the foreseeable future. You knew it couldn’t last, however much you wanted it to, and so eventually, you pulled your hands gently out of his and took a step back.

“So this is goodbye, I suppose?” You asked, already missing his warmth. He nodded, feeling much the same way.

You stood and watched each other, trying to commit the other’s face to memory. Neither of you knew when you would be seeing each other again. Impulsively, you sprung forwards, startling Aziraphale with your sudden movement towards him. He wasn’t sure what you were up to, but he found out almost instantaneously, as he felt your soft lips press a small kiss against his cheeks. Heat rushed through his body, but he was able to control himself—barely. He blinked stupidly as you pulled away, smiling mischievously at him. You were still very close to him, so close that he could see the flecks of gold in your eyes that he adored so much. You fidgeted with his coat, and Aziraphale had to keep himself from wincing at the thought that you were fingering the same place that Sandalphon had earlier. He let you continue, content to watch and wait. You eventually did what you had set out to do, which was straighten his lapels and collar, and you patted his chest in satisfaction. You sighed and looked up at him.

“Come back to me, Azi, okay?” Aziraphale’s hands came up, entirely of their own volition, to grip tightly around her waist in response.

“Of course I will! I promise, my love, I will come back to you once all of this…kerfuffle is over.”

A little while later, you were leaving, turning, walking out of the bookshop and away from Aziraphale.

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

“There she is!”

“Hush, you’ll get us caught!”

“Sorry, I’m just so…”

“I know. One my mark…now!”

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

“Authorities are asking for anyone who has any information about the possible whereabouts of the missing person to please call 999. Can you repeat that information for our listeners, Bob?”

“Of course, Janet. Her name is Y/N L/N, and she is believed to have been kidnapped on her way home late last night. Please, keep both her and her family and friends in your prayers tonight.”

“Thank you, Bob. Now on to the weather. Sue?”

Tag List:

@chelsfic @lordbeezyprinceofhell @bi-andreadyto-cry @petalduck @dreamerkim @stripedbugs @aelin-thefirebreathingbitchqueen @caligirl1992

PLEASE tell me if you want to be added/taken off/have asked before but I’m stupid and I never added you!!!

#mine #aziraphale x reader #Aziraphale #crowley #michael sheen #good omens #One Monstrous Miracle

30 notes · View notes