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esthermitchell-author · 7 months

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[Part 6 of 6] "Rescue Me": Being the Story of an Angel, a Demon, and the Second Coming (Fan fiction based on Good Omens, by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett)

Part VI: The Truth About Forgiveness

AZ Fell and Co Bookshop, Soho, London -- The Day the World Didn't End

Aziraphale had miracled away all the books and such stacked in the small flat on the second floor of the bookshop before he and Crowley even cleared the bookshop doorway. Since an angel didn't actually need to sleep -- though Aziraphale himself had become familiar with the practice over the millennia and knew Crowley was quite fond of it -- the small living space hadn't been used since Jim -- pardon, Gabriel -- left for parts unknown with Beelzebub, just a little over six months ago. Now, with the space cleared, he tightened his grip on Crowley's forearm and hip, helping his injured love into the room and over to the bed. Crowley groaned in pain as Aziraphale helped him recline on the bed, immediately drawing the angel's attention.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, my love," he murmured, miracling a bowl of clean water and a cloth to the table beside the bed. Lifting the soaked cloth from the bowl, he wrung it out and smoothed the fresh, earthly water over Crowley's injury, washing away the remnants of holy water clinging to his wound and keeping his injury from healing. The whole time, Aziraphale kept up a running murmur of soothing words. "I'm here, Anthony. I love you, and I'm right here."

"A-angel?" Crowley's voice was weak -- weaker than Aziraphale had ever heard it before -- and tore at the angel's heart with the plea in it.

"I'm here, love." He clasped Crowley's flailing hand, bringing it to his lips before pressing it back to Crowley's abdomen with a small pat. "I'm right here."

Crowley's eyes flickered open, the beautiful golden color nearly swamped by midnight slits of his pupils. His hand sought Aziraphale's again, clasping onto his wrist and bringing the captive hand to his face, nuzzling against it as he hoarsely muttered, "Y-you forgave me."

"Hush, my dear," Aziraphale soothed, sliding his hand up to thread through the soft strands of Crowley's red hair. "I was wrong to do that. You, my love, have done nothing in need of forgiving."

"And yours, angel," Crowley nearly purred, arching his neck to get closer to Aziraphale's touch, his voice growing stronger with every pass of the angel's stroking hand, "is the only forgiveness I've ever craved. I'm so sorry I pushed it away. I was foolish, and so afraid..."

Aziraphale leaned in to brush a kiss against Crowley's brow as the demon's voice faded off. "Sleep, now, love. Rest and heal. I will be just downstairs, if you need me."

He started to rise, but Crowley's long fingers wrapped around his wrist, stopping him. Pausing, he looked back down at his demon, to find Crowley's golden eyes fixed on him.

"Stay," Crowley rasped, his voice still hoarse and painful. "Just until I fall asleep?"

Aziraphale's heart clenched, and he regained his seat on the edge of the bed, reaching out to trail his fingers over Crowley's face. "Of course, dear one."

He stayed where he was, lightly stroking Crowley's face and humming a comforting, angelic lullaby, until Crowley's eyes closed and his body relaxed into the grasp of healing sleep. Once he was sure Crowley was asleep, he rose carefully from the edge of the bed and moved quietly about the room, seeing to his demon's comfort before he left, pulling the door carefully shut behind him. Crowley would sleep for a while, now, but he would heal.

Aziraphale smiled to himself as he drew a breath of familiar air, untainted by the machinations that had kept Crowley and himself apart for so long.

"Never again, my sweet Anthony," he murmured to the closed door, then made his way down the winding wrought-iron stairs to the ground floor, where his desk was no doubt overrunning with tasks needing done.

******

Crowley came awake with the sense of having slept long and deeply. How long, and how deeply, he had no idea. After all, he'd once slept an entire century away, simply because he could. His eyes flickered open, and he stared in confusion at the deeply golden-yellow walls and ceiling. For a moment, he had no idea where he was, except that it certainly wasn't his flat in Mayfair.

Slowly, recognition dawned on him. He was in the upstairs flat of the bookshop. Why he was there, he still hadn't quite put his finger on, but he expected it'd come back to him eventually. He recalled having strange dreams, the likes of which he hadn't had since his imbibing of laudanum back in 1827. Drying out in Hell had been beyond terrifying, but the poison-induced trips up until that point had been even worse.

Had he taken laudanum again? Nah. He'd definitely remember if he had, mostly because he swore to himself he never would again.

Puzzling over the fleeting memories of watching Uriel turn to ash in his grip, of snaking his hellfire along that bastard Metatron's body, of Michael's scream that felt so real but had to be just a dream, he swung his feet over the side of the bed. He stared down at his feet in confusion, then over at the boots he was no longer wearing, sitting neatly on the floor beside the bed. He couldn't remember taking them off.

Shaking his head, he moved to rise, and stumbled, falling back to the edge of the bed as dull pain sliced through his right side. Glancing down, he realized he was trussed up in bandages -- ones that had been expertly applied, as if by a healer's hand...

"Angel," the word sighed from him, and he shook his head, easing more carefully from the bed and padding across the floor toward the door. He snagged the white shirt -- several sizes larger than his sparse frame and completely the wrong color for him -- hung carefully over the back of an old-fashioned rocking chair in the corner and donned it. Then, with a grimace of distaste, he snapped his fingers, the material turning instantly black and shrinking as close to his body as he dared with the bandaging.

Much better.

He still had to figure out what happened. Only trickles and flashes of it came to him as he wound his way down the circular wrought-iron staircase to the ground floor. Somewhere in amidst these books, his angel was no doubt buried in a book.

Sure enough, as he cleared the nearest row of shelves -- surreptitiously rearranging a few of the books as he went, just because his angel's reaction to books out of place always amused him -- he found Aziraphale seated at his desk beneath the eastern window, his attention on a stack of loose papers scattered about him as he made notes on the pages. A slow smirk crept over Crowley's face, and he propped himself against one of the nearby pillars, legs crossed at the ankles, and just watched for long moments.

"You should be resting." Aziraphale's voice pierced the quiet, though he spoke softly and never looked up from his task. "Your injury is still mending."

"What the Heaven happened, angel?"

Aziraphale slowly put down his pen and turned toward Crowley, looking at him over the top of his reading spectacles. The concern on his angel's face dug around under Crowley's breastbone. He didn't like the feeling of worrying his angel. "You really don't recall?"

Crowley made his way across the space between them, easing himself to sit on the arm of Aziraphale's chair, soaking in the warmth of his angel's body against his side and hip. "I had what I thought were hallucinations. Guessing they weren't. Fighting in Heaven?"

"Most assuredly not hallucinations," Aziraphale agreed, turning himself slightly and lifting one hand to rest it on Crowley's knee. The demon practically purred. How long had he been craving these simple touches? Too bloody long. He intended to soak them up for as long as he possibly could.

"So I did hear God talking to you?"

His angel stirred uneasily, a light flush crawling up his neck. "Might have done."

"And you telling Her where She could stick any attempt to stop you from healing me? Did I imagine that?"

He delighted in watching his angel flush to the roots of his pale blond hair, even as Aziraphale glanced away. "Ah, yes, well..."

"Angel," he dropped the pretense and all kidding, now that he knew without a doubt he hadn't dreamt a moment of what happened. He skimmed his fingers along one flush cheek, urging Aziraphale to look up at him. "I can't even begin to thank you. For all of it."

"No need to thank me at all, dear one," Aziraphale murmured gently, meeting his unshaded gaze in the way no other being in all of existence had ever done -- head-on and unafraid. "None whatsoever."

Sensing Aziraphale still needed time to come to grips with what he'd done in Heaven, Crowley stroked his cheek one last time, then moved his hand to cover his angel's where it still rested on his knee and glanced around the bookshop. "Seems the shop weathered everything okay. Everyone all right?"

"Far as I can tell," Aziraphale noted with a smile. "Not certain Sergeant Shadwell will ever be the same, this time around. From what I've been told, his mind might have snapped. Still, only time will tell."

"How sad," Crowley deadpanned.

"Crowley," Aziraphale admonished. "Behave yourself."

"I'm a demon, angel," he pressed a swift kiss to the top of Aziraphale's head and eased back to his feet. "I don't know how."

"I don't believe you."

Crowley flashed him a wicked grin and tossed him back his own words from six months before. "Wait and see."

With a glance out at the street -- wonder of wonders, the Bentley appeared unscathed, as well, though there was a three-wheeled car on its roof a short distance away, looking like a dead, light blue turtle -- Crowley sauntered toward the front door to peek outside at the street corner. Nothing much looked destroyed, though he wasn't sure he wanted to know what the inky smears decorating the alleyway across from the shop, on the corner of the café, were. Looked a lot like something that had once been demonic. He still had a stain very like that -- named Ligur -- in the carpet of his flat.

As he moved to step away from the door, a folded slip of paper in the mail slot caught his eye. Freeing it, he unfolded the page and scanned its contents. "Hey, angel?"

"Hmm?"

"You're not planning to go back to Heaven any time soon, are you?"

"Never," Aziraphale called, his voice tinged with gentle humor. "I thought you heard my conversation with the Almighty."

"So who's running things up there, then?"

"Saraqael, technically. Level-headed, and I daresay they learned a thing or two, in recent days. Muriel, too -- they're going to be a regular envoy between Earth and Heaven, in case they need my help. I think Heaven's in good hands, at last."

Crowley suppressed the clutch of relief in his chest just to hear Aziraphale wasn't leaving again. He sauntered back over to sprawl carelessly -- albeit with a flinch as his wounded side protested -- on the settee. He didn't ask about Hell. He couldn't care less what went on down there, so long as they stayed away from him and his angel. Not like Aziraphale was likely to know much about Hell, anyway. He watched his angel silently for a long moment, just soaking in the peace, before he ventured another question.

"How long was I asleep?"

Aziraphale peered over the edge of his reading spectacles at him. "Not nearly long enough. About a week." The angel's gaze focused on the paper Crowley held, next. "What do you have there?"

"Found it in the mail slot. Maggie has terrible spelling." A smirk played at his lips and he waggled his eyebrows playfully at his angel. "The company you keep, angel."

Aziraphale ignored him. "Oh? What's the matter, now?"

"She and Nina have invited us, along with the others, to a 'Not the End of the World' party. Can't imagine whose idea that was." Crowley levered himself off the settee and crossed the space between them, to drop the note onto the pile of papers already littering the angel's desk. He flicked his gaze over them, and tsk-ed lightly. "Agnes Nutter? Don't tell me you're still set on playing with fire, angel."

"Not a bit," Aziraphale tensed slightly. "I was merely curious if these predictions ended up as true as before."

"And?" Crowley swung around to settle himself against the edge of Aziraphale's desk, facing his angel.

"That woman must have been touched by the Almighty, Herself. Speaking of... I assume it wasn't lost on you, what She said about you... about us."

Crowley dropped forward, planting his hands on either arm of the chair, trapping his angel in as he leaned further in, until their foreheads touched as he slowly enunciated, "Not. A. Word."

And, with that, he closed the final distance, until their lips met in the slow, sweet kiss he'd waited an eternity to know. For the first time since he fell, Crowley felt truly redeemed.

THE END

NOTE FROM ESTHER:

Thank you all for taking the time to read my fanfic! I appreciate it. Looking forward to a Season 3, and seeing just how far off I was, with this. (won't change anything... I loved every minute of writing this!)

Thank you to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett both for giving us all something capable of inspiring so much!

For anyone who found this at random and isn't already part of the GOfandom, and wants to know more, you can head on over to Amazon.com and search "Good Omens" to find the book (in several different formats -- my favorite at the moment is the full-cast reading of the book. Best of both worlds! :)...) and the Amazon Original series for Good Omens.

#good omens 3 #good omens fandom #azicrow #aziraphale #ineffable spouses #go2 #aziraphale x crowley #aziracrow #good omens s2 #ineffable husbands #crowley #ace romance fanfic

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runnerfivestillalive · 8 months

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Worse

angsty one-shot

Crowley is still processing what happened.

—————

It took him about a month to realize how badly he’d fucked up.

About a month to process what had actually happened with Aziraphale.

About a month to realize what their relationship had really been, all this time.

They’d been kids left unsupervised. They’d been teens running around their neighborhood while their parents weren’t looking. That was all. Heaven and Hell weren’t watching, and so they’d gotten daring, and half-convinced themselves they were free.

Half. Crowley had convinced himself. Aziraphale hadn’t forgotten.

He’d been an idiot. Aziraphale had been smiling so hard and saying they could go back to Heaven, and Crowley knew better! He should have known better! But he’d enjoyed their game of freedom so much. It had been easier to blame Aziraphale for leaving than to admit the game had never been real.

Angels didn’t have free will.

That was it. That was the very important detail Crowley had refused to acknowledge for a month. Look at Gabriel! Fucking Gabriel! He’d had to hide his consciousness inside a fly and sneak it out past Heaven’s security systems to escape! Angels couldn’t just leave!

Aziraphale couldn’t have left. And Crowley had known it.

And it was Crowley’s fault.

Aziraphale had been trying to get free of Heaven since Eden. Maybe longer. He saw it, now. Saw it, and hated himself for being so stupid, for missing it!

Aziraphale had failed to guard the apple tree. Had given away his sword. Left on Earth, he’d immediately taken up with a demon. He’d lied to the archangels, given his word as an angel, and then waited for Crowley, and said he was ready to go to Hell. He’d spent his entire time on Earth getting away with as much trouble as he could possibly keep out of Heaven’s view, including trading jobs off with Crowley so he could do demonic work, and spent his free time learning human arts of sleight of hand and deception so he could get away with more.

He’d called himself Mr. Fell, for FUCK’S sake! He’d been living out his fantasy of having fallen and escaped. Crowley didn’t know how the angel could have been any clearer with his desire for freedom.

And how many times? How many times had Aziraphale tried to fall, only to have Crowley stop him? It had happened over and over again in their six thousand years. Aziraphale would start doing something that would really piss Heaven off, and Crowley would rush in to do the dirty work before he could get in trouble.

He didn’t want his angel in Hell. He couldn’t see his angel in Hell. They would hurt him, in Hell! Aziraphale had seemed to understand. For millennia now, he made sure Crowley was watching before he made any attempts at falling, and Crowley always stopped him.

But he’d kept trying. Perhaps he’d hoped one day Crowley would have allowed it. Perhaps he’d hoped Crowley would one day, finally, let him join him.

Crowley hadn’t even realized. He’d thought his angel was simply too passionate about doing good to notice how close to the edge he was getting. But it all rewrote itself like fire in Crowley’s memory.

Aziraphale had wanted to escape. He’d been desperate to escape. He hadn’t escaped only because Crowley insisted Hell would be worse.

And then Heaven had sent the Metatron himself. It didn’t matter how much freedom they’d had while alone. Angels had no free will. In the face of the Metatron, nearly the highest authority, Aziraphale had had no choice but to obey. Worse, he had had no choice about being happy about it!

Crowley remembered that. In Heaven, an angel couldn’t even feel their own emotions, if a high enough authority decided they shouldn’t. He remembered going to complain about the universe, his beautiful star factory, being allowed to only run six thousand years. He remembered being ordered to let go of it, and accept the decision. He remembered walking away from that meeting, mind scrambling, desperately trying to hold on to the love he’d felt for his creation, and knowing it was already gone.

Aziraphale hadn’t wanted to go back to Heaven. But he’d invited Crowley, because time and time again, Crowley had insisted Hell was worse.

Crowley hadn’t gone. He’d told himself he was angry Aziraphale was leaving. He told himself Aziraphale was free, he could choose to stay, if he wanted to stay. He’d told himself…

He’d told himself a lot of things, this past month.

But the truth had made its way through his denial at last. The truth wound its way through his brain and refused to leave, as he lay in bed, clinging to his mattress like he might fall off, regretting every choice he’d made.

He hadn’t gone because he was afraid of Heaven. He hadn’t gone because Heaven was worse than Hell. Heaven was much, much worse than Hell.

He hadn’t gone.

And now Aziraphale was trapped there.

Alone.

#good omens #my fic #ficlet #angst #crowley #aziraphale #I always find myself writing from Crowley’s perspective #so I guess it makes sense that I am firmly of the belief that Aziraphale did nothing wrong ever in his life

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artsyitzy · 9 months

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I am not okay, after completing S2 of Gomens. I can't believe another one of my gays who just simply want to run away from the world and just be them. Once again get a unhappy ending at the end of the show.

However, I do feel like there is a possibility of things not seeming as they appear. It was weird that Metatron immediately had Aziraphale take the coffee. Some people on X have already pointed out that he (Metatron) must have tempered with the coffee, to easily persuade Az. to accept his deal on replacing Gabriel. And to have Aziraphale and Crowley cut ties.

Metatron clearly gives a watchful and hatred look at Crowley while he lures Az. way from him, with ominous music plays, clearly putting in subtext that something isn't right. Music does play an important role in the show. Like the soft romantic violin playing in the background as Crowley tidies up Aziraphale beloved bookshop, doing it out of love for his angel. Which is the same song that plays when Crowley saved the books Aziraphale needed while he protected them from the boom that landed on the church. Indicating Aziraphale falling for him. And clearly Crowley sensed something was wrong as he waited for them to return.

* also want to take the time to appreciate that emotional scene David and Michael did for the confession scene. Clearly, Crowley pushed what he felt for years, I'm sure, and now that he is getting the chance to finally voice how much he loves the Angel he meet all those years ago. It's so fucking hard to finally say it, especially for something you've kept hidden for so long. He starts to break.*

And at this point, Aziraphale truly wishes to be able to be at peace and be able to know Crowley is safe and see him happy once more , like how he was when creating the universe. And at this point Aziraphale is not himself. He is back to "heaven suckass" again. Brainwashed into the whole "oh heaven good guys, demons bad". And also being finally recognized by Heaven must feel so good to him. Finally being acknowledged and being given such high praises must do something to him. Especially for the countless of times heaven never once appreciating him. And they're getting him at his weak spot to set whatever plan in motion.

I believe Metatron must believe Aziraphale can surely help be a part of the "second coming" because of what he did with Crowley. And Metatron clearly made Muriel stay and watch the book shop for a reason. To keep watch and maintain the distance of the Angel and Demon. Because I'm sure he knows he'll lose Aziraphale if they rekindle their relationship once more. Possibly Crowley will be able to know/figure out that something is wrong and needs to save his angel once more with the help from Muriel. And it will be a very emotional season.

And the whole kiss thing, I feel like Crowley definitely kissed out of rage and hope that Aziraphale will do something in return. Reciprocate the kiss, for how long he kept their lips together to see if he would do anything. And when he realizes Az. just wasn't doing anything he lets go of him and just leaves. And Aziraphale does feel something, he does want it but I feel like he just goes back under whatever Metatron did to him. And he clearly did reminisce on the contact but went back to "no this is not right/what am I thinking" mindset and they go off their own ways.

Anyways, that's all I wanted to rant about S2 of Good Omens.

#good omens #gomens #good omens season 2 #neil gaiman YOU LYING BITCH #i'm not okay #why cant the gays ever get a happy ending #good omens s2 #thank you for coming to my ted talk

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sonnetnumber23 · 9 months

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Good Omens 2 Rewatch. Episode 4 (Now, this one seems to be even more impressionistic than the previous three. Anyway) *

I really can’t make up my mind whether Aziraphale can lie or not. It seems to me that maybe he actually can when it’s about something important.

We all remember him being very convincing as Crowley in the bath of holy water. He also was very calm while dealing with Furfur. In the Job’s story he was still very young, it was only his second lie. He seems nervous, but he does a pretty good job anyway. Then he somehow manages to keep the Arrangement a secret for millennia. Surely, the angels are dumb, but how dumb are they exactly?? Gabriel in the first season actually believed that Crowley “hasn’t spotted” Aziraphale yet. Demons are dumb too, but even they suspected that Crowley and Aziraphale “were an item”.

So Aziraphale must have been very good at pretending.

And he kept doing that during the Apocalypse while he had to report more often, apparently.

He’s really bad at lying to the archangels though – both in S1 and here – about his “boyfriend in dark glasses” and about Gabriel.

He’s not very convincing here, in ep.4 when he’s talking to Shax. Shax knows he’s lying.

You know when else he’s bad at lying? When he’s lying to Crowley. On the phone and in the Bandstand about the Antichrist. About not liking Crowley. And so on.

So his bad lying might come from his nervousness. Or maybe he’s a bad liar when he wants to be found out. You know, even in that moment with the archangels: deep down he’s just felt really pleased that someone called Crowley his boyfriend, even though it’s dangerous and all. Who wouldn’t secretly want to be pulled out of the closet?

Anyway, I think Shax chose a really good technique here to get what she wanted from Aziraphale.

(I don’t know what this all means in terms of “Aziraphale Lied” theory and its plausibility. I still don’t think it’s very possible, but if somebody wanted to they could find proof. I wish they did, but…)

***

Lol, I love it that it’s Crowley who’s done the voice for Hell’s greetings. He’s a star down there. :D I hope they’ve kept it after he resigned because no one can do a better recording, and they’re too lazy to renew it, but they’re all constantly annoyed anyway. XD

“We’d like to apologize but we won’t” is my new favourite line next to Phoebe’s “I wish I could but I don’t want to.”

***

Aziraphale is so happy while driving through burning London, *facepalm*. And Crowley acts like he’s just remembered that he’s supposed to be angry with Aziraphale for the Holy Water incident. I love it, especially after he’s offered a lift home himself.

Crowley could have just as well miracled the whiskey bottles back together or something, he really didn’t need Aziraphale to replace the magician (and I’m not even saying that Crowley should be okay with Mrs H. and her girls being miserable, if he were a proper demon, you know, because, of course, he couldn’t be).

I mean he’s just so straightforwardly allowing Aziraphale to do something that makes him happy – again! I wonder if he is fully aware that Aziraphale enjoys it twice more because he thinks he’s doing it for Crowley? I don’t think he’d be catching a bullet for West-End alone, do you?

Crowley is so composed again when they are in the shop.

A: “Oh, there’s no need to thank me. That’s what…” (Pause, he looks at Crowley, Crowley looks away.) “…friends are for.” (Aziraphale’s smile fades).

God, I bet he’s remembering their last meeting here. (Serves him right too!) The way he called it then – “fraternizing”. And good for Crowley to not immediately show him that he’s forgiven. The way he averts his eyes and changes the topic… He hasn’t got over the fact that Aziraphale refused to help him that one time that mattered…

***

Is there any meta on the significance of nuts in this season? I mean they come up twice in the coffee orders, and here we’ve got Aziraphale’s spell “with a dash of nutmeg” (which is repeated twice as if we should notice it) – that comes very closely to Metatron’s coffee order. I feel like I’m being shown all the evidence but can’t figure out who’s done it.

May it be that the whole Metatron’s order is something of a spell? To do what exactly? Aziraphale make’s a farthing disappear. Metatron makes Aziraphale disappear from Earth, but is there more to it? I bet there is, but I have no idea what it is.

(Not a fan of the whole “Coffee Theory”, but I bet it’s important somehow anyway.)

***

I love how Crowley immediately slips into “we” in this whole magic business: “We need something new, something dramatic. Is there anywhere we can buy tricks?”

It’s the same as with the Nina/Maggie situation. He is so easily involved in Aziraphale’s ideas and plans – even when they might seem silly. He takes them so seriously, god bless him.

***

[“My Nefertiti fooling fellow” – love-love-love the alliteration. <3 I am immediately teleported for a moment into 2017 when DT was doing Don Juan in Soho, that alliteration feast.]

***

I must say, I greatly dislike the zombie-Nazi storyline, it’s just beyond unpleasant for me for some reason. But at the same time I simply adore Crowley and Aziraphale in this minisode. They are both so much Them here, and they are so wonderfully in love.

The way Crowley is clearly torn between supporting Aziraphale in his hobby and being concerned for his safety! Or how he keeps the façade of his annoying demonic self, taking money from Aziraphale’s wallet to pay for the rifle, but at the same time it’s extremely soft because he’s making a statement: He can do it!

And how Aziraphale is clearly intoxicated by Crowley’s attention and support. He doesn’t drop his “holier-than-thou” exterior either: “As a demon you must have fired many guns”, – but only because he is sure that Crowley has, and he doesn’t want to look weaker or less cool. He talks about his firearms license and the gun in the book so casually, because he thinks it’s something ordinary, something that cool people do, and Crowley is definitely the coolest of them all.

Also I am obsessed with the fact that Aziraphale can fire a gun and Crowley can’t. I mean they both don’t need to, and Crowley must be just lazier and has more common sense (and doesn’t read romantic and adventure novels). But it’s still so symbolic. And that’s one of those characteristics which I think the fans of the original book might especially like. I mean, it looked as something very much like book!Aziraphale and book!Crowley to me.

God, Aziraphale is such a romantic! The way he’s all excited when he says he has “a perfect man for the job”, “a 100% reliable marksman”. He is so willing to show Crowley how much he trusts him. And then, the next second he loses his confidence (“At least I think I have”) – not in Crowley being reliable, but in Crowley willing to help.

This whole episode is (as many others) a miniature image of their relationship. They trust each other with their lives but they still don’t believe in each other’s feelings.

The way Aziraphale shakes Crowley’s hand with both hands warms my heart. He is so happy to touch Crowley, and so happy that Crowley’s initiated this – the whole thing really, starting with the church.

I feel like in this episode Aziraphale is so happy to have Crowley back after the holy water incident and to see him act as if he still wants to be around – it makes Aziraphale feel giddy.

The way he acts, the way he looks, and the things he says are all showing that.

And poor Crowley, he’s so deep in worrying that he even forgets to raise his hand when Aziraphale asks for a volunteer. And the way he’s then franticly reading the brochure! At the very last moment he’s shaking his head to Aziraphale as if asking: “Shall we stop this?” But Aziraphale even though he’s very nervous, scared even, wouldn’t back off. He said he trusts Crowley, and he does – even without miracles. And without miracles it makes this trust even more real. And Crowley is determined to trust him too, even though his hand is shaking horribly.

They’ve done this thing so many times before and after: like when Aziraphale gives Crowley the holy water he really has to trust him a great deal not to “go unscrewing the cap”. During the body swap they both endanger themselves to save each other, which required complete trust.

It’s interesting that they trust each other so much even though they both have a history of lying/withholding information from each other.

I wonder how much of it is that they know they can rely on each other more than on anyone in the universe and how much is that they just want it to be true because they both know that they would do anything for this one person.

This is the problem with acting instead of talking. When you act you think that your intentions are very clear, but the other person acts too and they are thinking about their actions and intentions and don’t necessarily read your actions correctly. Crowley and Aziraphale have both been so busy acting and trying to show something that they didn’t look and understand each other properly.

That’s why they so easily misunderstand each other in the Final Fifteen: they’re not used to talking and listening. They’re used to acting and hiding. They’re so used to this traumatic way of life that it will take more than one conversation with two humans to change it.

***

The whole scene with Furfur is hilarious! I saw wonderful meta about Crowley and his problems with memory which might be due to Heaven’s intervention. But really, it’s just so funny if Crowley simply didn’t care enough about Furfur to remember him. XD Or maybe he’s even saying that to annoy him – it would be quite in character too. :)

***

Now. Their conversation over the bottle of wine. Oh, the way Aziraphale says: “I knew you would come through for me. You always do.” And then after Crowley’s “You said ‘trust me’” – “And you did.” So soft and full of admiration. It’s like he really wants this talk here. He wants Crowley to admit what he feels. But Crowley isn’t fast enough this time. For him speaking about feelings doesn’t change anything (yet). So Aziraphale never gets the acknowledgment he needs to act on his feelings and Crowley can’t allow himself to acknowledge anything while he isn’t sure how Aziraphale feels about him (“fraternizing” and all that) and isn’t sure they would be safe if he even did.

I love them so much, if I think too much about them, I’m gonna expload.

***

Some less serious speculations.

Many people mentioned that in the first episode Aziraphale says that he did the “I was wrong” dance in 1941, but we never saw it.

So, what I think happened was: they went on drinking, and at some point Crowley, very drunk, started to lose control, dropped his cool mask and all the tension, the fear and nervousness of the past day caught up with him.

Aziraphale was shocked to see Anthony J. Crowley sobbing on the floor and repeating: “What if I’d missed? What if I’d shot you??”

The angel probably had to do the dance just to distract him and get him out of the spiral. Also he did feel a bit guilty (for feeling so happy about the fact that Crowley cared). Just kidding. Or not. Somebody, write a fanfic, pls, or I’ll have to do it myself.

#good omens 2 #good omens 2 spoilers #good omens 2 meta #good omens 2 rewatch #ineffable husbands

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whatsseobb · 7 months

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Angel's Kiss (Aziraphale x Crowley) - One Shot

AO3 Link

[A/N: Hi, so I’m back with a new fandom. I'm quite new to this but I just missed writing so much and I was inspired to write this. I couldn't move on just yet so, yeah.

Also, thanks to my fave co-author for conceptualizing this with me though we weren't able to write together... yet (hopefully). So, enjoy!

If you like to comment on it, I would deeply appreciate for you to come to AO3 using the link above or just message me here so we could talk about Good Omens some more.. Thank you!]

Synopsis:

An exasperated sigh escaped Crowley’s lips as they fixed their sunglasses over their eyes, hiding the frustrated tears building up on the corner. “I just… I’m getting lost. Oh fuck, fuck hell.”

Their eyebrows soften as the angel took their hand, his thumb gently rubbing against the top of their hand. “Oh Crowley, I wish there’s a miracle I could do to help you.” A smile broke into the demon’s lips as they heard those words. “I’d do anything for you, you know that right?”

Angel's Kiss

(Aziraphale x Crowley Oneshot)

“Just one final touch.” In a flick of his hand, Aziraphale’s face glistened in delight as he watched the couch move to the corner of the room and the newly-installed lights brighten the room. His eyes moved around the tidied area, contented with how he finished his task as he awaited for his roommate’s arrival. Aziraphale knew the other would be ecstatic to see the apartment cleaned up. Okay, he lied. They wouldn’t be that ecstatic but Aziraphale wanted to keep his hopes up. Afterall, even if the demon did not show it, he knew they would still appreciate the effort he had done.

This time was the longest they have not seen each other in the last century. Sure, they had some days or a few weeks when they were apart yet this time, it was longer than that. The uncertainty of their return added to the apprehension he was feeling. For Aziraphale, it was his hell on earth. He counted the days, although he didn’t exactly know when they were supposed to come back. He just counted, anticipating their return. That was why he was all worked up, breathlessly waiting for their arrival. He wanted to create and show them that he was patiently waiting on Earth, looking forward to the moment they would be together once more.

Just as he was about to exit the room, the sound of the rustling leaves echoed. His eyes furrowed in a bit of a worry while a small smile broke into his lips as he faced the lovely house plants Crowley kept on the balcony. “Oh deary, how could I forget about you?”

Aziraphale took the green spray bottle from the side and started spritzing some water to the tall, leafy plants. “You know, you shall not fear your Master Crowley. I wouldn’t allow them to talk to you like that. See? When I’m the one taking care of you, you’re all doing such a wonderful job!” He exclaimed in a cheery voice, clasping his hands together in amusement.

Soon after, the angel headed to the kitchen to prepare for his dinner. He had done several things from his list, cheerfully humming to himself in satisfaction due to all the work he had finished. He wanted to do something for Crowley, just a small gesture that would show them that he was thinking about the demon while they were gone. That they, even though far away, had been kept close to him and had continuously running through his mind. He wouldn’t say it out loud anyway, so the least he could do was show it through the work he had done over the past few months.

As he was cutting up some vegetables, he heard the front door shut loudly. Aziraphale immediately halted his cooking, turning the stove on low heat as he quickly went to the living room. “My dear, is everything alright?”

“What th- Just- For Hell’s sake, damnit,” Crowley grunted as they plopped themself onto the couch. There was no need for Aziraphale to see the emotion in their eyes to know that they were furious about what happened, whatever it might have been.

“How are you? Are you alright?”

“It’s just… Ugh.” They turned their head toward the ground, as if talking to someone who wasn’t there. “Whatever, Shax! I am not taking any orders from you!”

Aziraphale kept quiet as he continued listening to the demon’s grievances. He sat himself on the other side of the couch, putting their feet on his lap. Much to his surprise, they scooted over to lay their head on his lap instead. As if driven by a magnetic force, his hands immediately found their way towards their well-kept red hair, stroking it with his fingers.

An exasperated sigh escaped Crowley’s lips as they fixed their sunglasses over their eyes, hiding the frustrated tears building up on the corner. “I just… I’m getting lost. I don’t know what else they want from me. Oh fuck, fuck the system, fuck hell.”

Their eyebrows soften as the angel took their hand, his thumb gently rubbing against the top of their hand. “Oh Crowley, I wish there’s a miracle I could do to help you. You know how much I want to just snippity-snap and fix all of this for you.” A smile broke into the demon’s lips as they heard those words. “I’d do anything for you, you know that right?”

All Crowley could do was nod. Over the sunglasses, their eyes landed on the angel, watching in adoration as he continued to rub their palm, moving further to their wrist. Crowley noticed that Aziraphale paused on a mark on their forearm, his eyebrows knitted in concern. They said in defense, “It’s nothing.”

“Crowley,” the angel gently pulled their arm closer when he felt they were yanking it away, examining the scar left behind on their skin. “What happened here? Did they do this to you down there? Did they hurt you?”

“No, Angel, they were such a delight. They gave me treats and all my favorite things.”

“Crowley.”

“Don’t you worry about it. It’s not new. I’ve had it for maybe, a hundred years already? I don’t know.”

Aziraphale took the other’s left arm and pushed up their sleeves, seeing more scars left behind by what’s down under. His eyebrows continued to furrow even more, his eyes looking back and forth from Crowley’s face to the marks on his skin. “May I?” He waited for their approval before he touched the lesions on the demon’s arm, his thumb grazing softly on them. “Are these as old as the first one?”

“I don’t remember.”

“How about this one?” Aziraphale asked as he referred to a longer one near their elbow.

“Quite new.”

“And this?” He felt the demon yanked their arm back, startling him.

“Are you seriously going to ask me all about my scars because we would need eternity for me to discuss every single one of them.”

“Apologies. But we actually have eternity to discuss.” Aziraphale let out a soft chuckle as he took Crowley’s arm again, quietly staring into the scars while his fingers caress over them. Seeing those scars on the demon’s skin left an ache in his stomach. He couldn’t fathom how much pain it might have felt and the pain of seeing those permanent marks on their skin, always getting reminded of how worse it was there. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

“I… I wish…” A cheerless sound escaped his lips. “It pains me to see you like this.”

“I’ve been like this since, you know, the fall. Have you only noticed them now?”

“No. What I mean is-“

“I know what you mean. But I’m certainly okay. Don’t you worry about me, angel.” Aziraphale reciprocated their words with a small smile.

His hands slowly guided the hand towards his face. A feeling crept into his stomach as his lips slowly touched the scar. Aziraphale was reminded of the kiss they once shared that one afternoon just outside the Ritz, and how he felt when Crowley’s lips were on his. The warm sensation parading on his senses, the comforting feeling shooting waves around his body as the demon held onto his face when they shared a moment. He wanted to do the same for Crowley, to reciprocate the feeling of solace and reassurance they made him feel. In his mind, that was how humans shared relief and comfort with one another. He wanted Crowley to feel that he was there for them, that the scars were just marks left by the past and that they cannot hurt them anymore after all.

Aziraphale’s pale smile disappeared when he felt the demon flinch on contact. “Oh no. What’s wrong? Did I do something wrong? I am deeply sorry.”

Upon contact, Crowley’s skin felt a little tinge of burn as Aziraphale placed a kiss on their scar. It was nothing of sorts compared to what the demon had felt before but it just came as a surprise. It was different when they touched the angel’s lips before. Maybe it was the burn of hell that came in contact with an angel that caused this but for Crowley, it was nothing to be wary of. Seeing the angel’s smile was much more priceless than any pain they might have felt with his kisses. They wanted him to continue, watching him over his sunglasses while fighting a smile about to break on their lips. “No, no. I’m okay.”

“Am I hurting you?”

“No, you aren’t.” Quite the opposite of that, they thought.

Crowley’s eyes met with Aziraphale’s as they removed their sunglasses, the angel continued placing soft kisses on their skin. “There’s nothing to worry now, Crowley. I am here, my dear.”

“Hm?”

“They don’t hurt you now, do they? They can’t hurt you. I won’t allow that to happen. Tell me if they are hurting you. I will… I will…”

“What? Gonna file a complaint to heaven about a demon being tortured? I’m pretty sure they would even be pleased.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes as he placed another peck on the demon’s elbow.

“Are there more… here?” He teasingly lifted their top, revealing some healed lacerations on their waist. He winced at the sight before him, a frown appearing on his mouth. “My my, I have not seen this before. Did it hurt? Well, of course it did. Silly of me to even ask.”

“That… It came from the time they found out I was conspiring with an angel and they just wanted to punish me for doing an awful job as a fallen one. It’s like ‘Why are you working with the enemy? Why are you bla bla bla. I didn’t listen to the rest of them, angel. Didn’t care for any of it all. I mean, I worked with an angel, what’s the big deal? We just stopped another horrible event they were about to cause.” Aziraphale giggled along to the story, looking down at the almost faded scar before turning his eyes to the demon only to see them grinning.

There it was, the excited smile he anticipated to see. A slight flush of warmth crept on his chest as his eyes fell on the curved lips of the demon, feeling successful on his mission to keep them distracted from their melancholic thoughts. His lips failed to hide the smile reappearing as he took a few moments to take in Crowley’s gleeful expression. Throughout the six thousand years he has spent roaming around the world and looking at the marvelous creation through history, they were all incomparable to the sight before him. They barely smiled but when they did, it was unparalleled. Not even the magnificent mountains and vast seas, nor the most beautiful gardens can match up to a happy Crowley. As cliché as it would sound, the demon’s smile was Aziraphale’s favourite view and he promised himself that he would do anything again just to catch a glimpse of it.

For Crowley, seeing the angel’s genuine smile felt like a warm hot chocolate, or vodka in their case, on a cold winter day. It brought him joy, a comfortable and cozy feeling that he had longed for. At that moment, they made the decision of claiming him as their sanctuary, the light that kept every darkness away. Being around Aziraphale was something they looked forward to, even after millennia of being each other’s companion. There was just something ineffable about the angel and the aura surrounding him that radiated even the darkest of Crowley’s heart. They were still a demon but being with the angel, sharing lovely moments such as this was their heaven.

The comfortable silence occupied the room for quite some time before the angel spoke again, laying a hand out for them. “Have you eaten? May I tempt you to a spectacular dinner?” Just as the demon was about to say something, he continued, “I know, I know temptation is your job but I like to do it now.”

The low chuckle of amusement that Crowley exhaled made Aziraphale beam. With a smirk on their face, they replied, “You can tempt me into whatever and you know I’ll always say yes to you, my angel.”

— THE END —

#aziracrow #aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #good omens #good omens fic #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #hurt/comfort #romance #fluff #oneshot #good omens oneshot

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jac-is-procrastinating-again · 7 months

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Aziraphale is heading upwards in the lift with the Metatron and he's having some Big Thoughts.

Second chapter of the fanfic! I've posted a few more and it's written to the end in first draft, am just a bit crap at updating Tumblr. XD

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Chapter 2: Aziraphale

Aziraphale was awash with emotion, and keeping his face straight in the lift was almost beyond him. He was grateful the Metatron didn’t try to engage him in conversation. As the lift whooshed him up and away from everything he held dear, he shifted his weight to face slightly away from his companion. He needed to make sense of everything that had happened before they arrived at their destination and he had to face anyone else.

He couldn't immediately bring himself to go back to thinking about the way Crowley had kissed him; that maelstrom of emotions threatened to drown him, so he let his thoughts shy away from that to Gabriel and Beelzebub. Their revelation had come as a complete shock to him. I’m not the only angel to love a demon! He could hardly believe it, but it was true.

Is it possible that it could really work out? The idea was electrifying. Of course he loved Crowley. He had for a long time, and he could feel perfectly well that Crowley loved him; it had just never occurred to him that it might be in anything other than the unspecific manner of the angels. But that Crowley was in love with him? The revelation had left him speechless, and the kiss… He glanced at the lift wall, willing his eyes not to water. It shouldn’t have been like that.

It hadn’t been like that for Gabriel and Beelzebub. The soft joy in their eyes as their hands had touched…his heart beat faster. His bookshop always did have a soft glow of love about it these days, but when Gabriel’s hand had touched Beelzebub’s, the feeling had intensified as if the sun had come right into the room. Aziraphale hadn’t realised he’d reached out to Crowley until his hand tightened on the demon’s arm.

When Gabriel had said “Where Beelzebub is is my Heaven,” tears had come into Aziraphale’s eyes; how well he knew that feeling, and to hear it from someone else made him feel like perhaps it was not as blasphemous as he’d feared.

They had left together, to do who knew what? Crowley had suggested they go to Alpha Centauri. He’d said he’d always wanted to go; as had Aziraphale, ever since he’d first seen that glorious wash of colours leap into life. Aziraphale had always thought that when they had a moment, he and the demon would just visit, but Michael had shot down that dream with one stark statement: “If you leave, you can’t come back.”

His face softened. He didn’t want to leave the Earth. He and Crowley had looked after it for so long, like two gardeners carefully tending a garden. Perhaps once in a while humanity came and spoiled part of it, but the two of them could usually avert the worst excesses and, on occasion, help to fix things.

… Crowley.

His head throbbed with the effort of not thinking about the kiss while he was standing so close to the Metatron, not reacting, not… not bursting into tears. There was no love to be felt in Heaven, and Aziraphale was daunted at the thought of getting into whatever this was without Crowley at his back. But it was the only way.

The lift slowed to a stop and the doors opened. Michael and Uriel were whispering by the stairs. Metatron walked out, Aziraphale in his wake, and the angels straightened, falling quiet.

“Have you brought the traitor back for trial?” Michael strode over to join them, raking him with their gaze.

Aziraphale picked a stray thread from his sleeve, acutely aware that the velvet of his waistcoat was worn bare in places and the Metatron’s oatmilk latte had dripped from the cap, leaving a stain on the sleeve of his coat.

“Not at all, Michael.” The Metatron’s voice was as cold as Michael’s. “He’s far too useful an asset for that and we need an angel with his peculiar talents to spearhead the Second Coming. Aziraphale has graciously agreed to take over from Gabriel for us.”

“From Gabriel ?” There was a long silence. “May I speak with you privately, Lord?” They drew aside a little way, but Michael didn’t bother to lower their voice by much. “I am the ranking officer here, Lord Metatron. It is my right to command his armies; it’s far too complicated a job for a bumpkin Principality who’s been physically incorporated on a rock for the past six millennia. This suggestion concerns me greatly.” Michael’s stare would have put a basilisk to shame. “Come the war, we’ll need our best people to lead; we can’t afford another embarrassing episode like the last one, for which, I may point out, Aziraphale here and his… partner … were responsible.”

Aziraphale raised his chin defiantly, but he felt his cheeks redden. In Michael’s mouth the word sounded shameful, not the beautiful connection it was.

“Those are valid concerns, Michael, and I’m glad you raised them.” The Metatron set off again, and they all hurried after him. “The commanding of the hosts is indeed a very complex affair, which is why you, Uriel and Saraqael will put yourselves at Aziraphale’s disposal.”

“We will…?!” Michael pursed their mouth but bowed “As you command, Lord.”

Aziraphale had caught up, and the Metatron turned to him. “Lord Aziraphale, Michael will take you to your throne now. I’ll arrange with them to put together a programme of files so you can get up to date, and we’ll give you a few days to settle in. Once you’re confident that you have the basics, we can run you through the rest and bring you up to date with the plans for the Second Coming, and you can advise us how to proceed. Does that sound acceptable?”

“It does.” Aziraphale nodded graciously. It sounded completely daunting, if he was entirely honest, but if he was in charge of the armies, maybe he could redirect them to the moon or a desert or some place where there were no people to be harmed and plenty of space for the legions. Besides, what he really needed right now was a little time to think and work out what he was going to do.

“Very well.” The Metatron turned to Michael. “You may report back to me on his progress later. You may go.”

“Thank you, Lord.” Michael’s tone was more waspish than a picnic in July. ”Lord Aziraphale, please follow me. We'll set you up over here.”

Aziraphale followed, feeling rather dizzy; everything was going so fast, he could hardly keep up. He’d hardly had time to breathe since the Whickber Street Traders’ meeting had started. It had quickly descended into chaos despite all his planning, and then all Hell had been let loose, or at least about a 25th of a legion had. Then Gabriel and Beelzebub, and it had all got even crazier from there. And Crowley had kissed him.

Michael ushered him into a corner office. There was no door; it was just a screened off area with chair and not much else. They clicked their fingers, and it turned into a grandiose throne with red velvet and heavy gold ornamentation. “You may change it to whatever suits you best. Unlimited miracles up here of course; we’ll arrange to have your halo upgraded as soon as the new one is ready. Oh, and let me help you with that.” They went behind him and helped him off with his stained coat.

Aziraphale hadn’t particularly intended to take the coat off. “Oh, very kind. Thank you.” It was true that the coat which fitted so well into his shabby, chaotic bookshop looked drab and dirty here amid the gleaming white corridors; on the plus side, the Archangel would be able to clean it so much better than Aziraphale would. He smiled, trying to raise his eyebrows in a carefree manner, but he was not feeling carefree; far from it.

The actual Metatron giving him coffee was almost the most surreal part of it. When the old man had turned up in the shop, Aziraphale had paid little attention; in all fairness, it had been a tense sort of moment. Michael had been threatening to erase his very existence, and having been caught aiding and abetting demons and renegade angels, Aziraphale had been in a sticky position indeed.

Crowley hadn’t been much help. Usually up front and centre, yelling, he was instead lolling in Aziraphale’s chair in the corner as if he was just waiting for everyone to go home so he could crack open that Chateauneuf du Pape he’d hidden by the cunning expedient of filing it under C between Chambers Dictionary and Collins. At least it had been correctly alphabetised; Crowley knew he hated things being out of place.

Abruptly he felt straight-jacketed; Michael had clicked their fingers and he found himself clothed in a stylish, very tight suit.

“Interesting choice,” Michael drawled. “Doesn’t look much your style. Would you like to try again? Something less... Demonic perhaps?”

Less like Crowley’s favourite jacket. “Oh! I mean, yes. Yes please. You have to try new things, of course, but I think perhaps this one’s not for me.” Aziraphale was gabbling and he knew it. “Maybe… Maybe just something similar to the old one, after all.” He’d had that jacket for nearly two centuries, mostly because Crowley had kept miracling it back into shape for him. It was his favourite.

Michael snapped her fingers and the stifling constriction was gone, replaced by a flowing angelic robe, heavy with gold lace at wrist and neck. “That was yours, I believe? Much more suitable for Gabriel’s replacement.”

“Oh; that’s not what I meant. I’d like my old coat and waistcoat back please.” Something about the robe made Aziraphale anxious, but he couldn’t tell what. And in all fairness, it did look good on him.

“Of course you could have the old one back, Lord.” Michael cocked an eyebrow. “But I should probably tell you that there’s a smell of Evil about it, and it reeks of humanity too. Not even a miracle can clean that off. You might be better with this one. And it does look very fine.” She gestured and a mirror appeared.

“Oh. Yes. A smell of… Of course.” And he couldn’t blame it on the Jeffrey Archers now. He just wanted to catch his breath but she was waiting; he hurried to the mirror to look at himself as if he cared at all. The robe still gave him a bad feeling, but it was fine for now.

“Well. I’ll leave you to it, shall I?” Michael smirked. “There’s a little catch-up reading for you there. Call me when it’s done and I’ll give you the next chapter.” A huge pile of datafiles flowed down from nowhere and sat glimmering on the sleek white desk which materialised under them.

Aziraphale hurried back and picked one up cautiously. There was a snowstorm of pictures and dates and what looked a lot like cinematographic films. “You’ve upgraded since I left, I see.” Dismay filled him.

“We’ve upgraded many things, Lord.”

He drew a finger through the images and they flew about wildly. Michael tutted, and Aziraphale had had enough. “I think that perhaps these are one of the things we should downgrade again.”

“I beg your pardon?” Michael’s eyebrows shot up as they took half a step back. The surprise on their face was comical, and he was tired of being treated like a child.

Straightening his shoulders under the robe which was, admittedly, starting to feel more familiar, he gestured at the desk. “I prefer the previous format. Bring all these to me on paper please. Books, preferably the ones with the illuminated initials. There’s no reason a file shouldn’t be beautiful as well as useful, and we could do with a little colour around this place.”

They didn’t like that, not one bit, but they had to nod as if it were a pleasure. “Of course, Lord. I’ll have someone bring them up.” A gesture made the rest of the data disappear and bowing stiffly, Michael stalked off, their shoes tick-tacking over the bland white floor tiles.

“Ha! That told them!” He’d enjoy telling that one to Crowley over dinner tonight–

Ohhhh. The sense-memory took him entirely unawares. For a second he was back there in the bookshop, with Crowley’s hands clenched in his lapels, the demon’s lips hard against his own. His heart leapt; faltered; and cracked wide open.

He slumped back onto the hard chair and hid his face in his hands. He had dreamed about Crowley admitting his love for him for centuries, never really believing that it would happen. But Crowley had pinned him in place and kissed him angrily, and it had been… Aziraphale swallowed hard, holding the tears at bay. It had been such a shock from the being he loved, who could be so gentle and deft.

What if that was his demonic side coming out? Aziraphale had no answers; the only thing he knew was that it had been all wrong.

Blinking furiously, he forced his mind away from the scent of leather and oakmoss, patchouli and vanilla, and the sheer desperation he’d felt in every muscle of Crowley’s body as the demon held him, so close and yet separated from him by a gulf that encompassed the whole of time. It shouldn’t have been like that….

But what if it hadn’t? If it had been slow and tender and loving? If Crowley had taken him in his arms tenderly–just the idea took his breath away–if that heady proximity between them had been more loving, would he have perhaps even enjoyed the softness of Crowley’s lips on his own?

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The rest of the chapter can be found on AO3 - link below!

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#good omens #ineffable idiots #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #good omens 2 #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #To love the stars too fondly #yeah I should've posted this a week back #a few more chapters to post now #sorry for the spam (not sorry)#season 2 fixit #i had to

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vulpinesaint · 8 months

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bracken i hardly go there re: gomens but i’m so excited for the aro crowley fic <333 srsly so awesome can’t wait to readdd

literally my influence (has said absolutely nothing about the content of the fic except to declare that i'm losing my mind)

no it's gonna be so good though. gonna be my pride and joy. my doctoral thesis in fandom. all the excatholic girlies are gonna be obsessed with it all the aspec good omens fans are gonna be delighted. i'll start posting excerpts on here at some point and not just dming them to people haha. just for you <3

genuinely though so funny how i went "yeah quick fic! he's so aro haha" and wrote a little vignette about his plan with the rain and now i've covered adam and eve and cain and abel and gender roles within romance (<— barely scraped the surface so far. much more yet to say) and transgenderism in shakespeare and the difference between the way that god loves and the way that humans love and an angel's implicit capacity (or lack thereof) to love and what the central conflict and nature of aziraphale and crowley's relationship really is and i haven't even talked about them as nanny ashtoreth and brother francis yet. which. talk about gender roles.

anywayyyyy it's 5k already. so. only up from here <3

little excerpt for you my darling my dear my most beloved:

“Do you think we’re capable of love, Angel?” he asks Aziraphale, on another of his ill-advised nights. The alcohol makes a good excuse for nights like these. “Not just you and me, but all the angels, and the ones who…” he waves a nonspecific hand. “Were. Before.” “Demons, you mean?” Aziraphale has an uneasy tilt to his words. “That. God loves, and humans love, but… were… we? Built for that?” And he’s edging too close to the things they don’t talk about, asking questions like these. Calling them a we. He’s practically got a foot over their unspoken wall already. He redirects as best he can. “Do you think you have love?” Aziraphale looks at him oddly, and a strange aspect comes over his expression, a wash of pity that immediately has Crowley tense and edging away. He doesn’t like being pitied. Doesn’t think it’s good for him. Aziraphale looks at him, pitying, perplexed, and asks, “Do you think you might have lost it?” Crowley presses his mouth closed, as if his jaw were a snake’s again and his tongue a mouse, and sobers up. He stands. He leaves. They don’t see each other again for a good while.

He can’t explain why he’s feeling… scratch that. Scratch it out completely, with claws and teeth and black ink and whatever might suffice. He can’t explain what he’s feeling. Something roils around in his brain at that thought: that maybe he had a love before, something like God’s, or the humans’, or something entirely different, and he lost it as he fell. He practically falls in front of a mirror, splaying his hands on either side of it to keep him upright, and he can’t tell if the image in front of him is swirling and swaying because his form has once again taken on the state of his mind, or because there’s something like moisture in his eyes. Not tears. He wipes them savagely on his sleeves. He throws an empty clay pot at the wall. The shatter is satisfying, but it doesn’t stop the feeling that’s clawing around the edges of his chest and squeezing at everything inside it. It’s the feeling that’s unbearable. He can’t stand feeling. Things are so much easier when he doesn’t. And, the feeling whispers, traitorous and echoing sinister in his ears, sounding like his own snake-voice, is it easier if you don’t feel love? Have you driven off this feeling, too?

status update:

#ALL ROUGH DRAFT WORK! normally i'm pretty good with my writing on the first pass but i am so desperately trying to get ideas #on the page right now. that it is truly a rough draft. and i'm going to have to do a lot of polishing and editing work after i'm finished #which is to say that this writing is fine but just know that it will be even better :)#my metaphor game is fucking awesome rn though. by the way.#anyway jules i love you sooooo much i'm kissing you rn <3 #ask #aro crowley fic #it has its own tag now. i think it deserves it.#i don't see an end to the unhinged posting in the near future i have to be so honest #fanfic

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ripoffyourhalo · 9 months

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I think Aziraphale got "arrested" to become Heaven's puppet.

Basically anything Metatron says sounds like a load of BS. Aziraphale does not make any more sense to be the Commander than any other angel. He's an outlaw. He lies. The qualities Metatron assigns him sound either vague or more like Crowley. Gabriel did not come to Aziraphale because of those qualities as he didn't even know Aziraphale at the time. (I'd say it's more of a you're the only familiar aura on this plane because you're also an angel in love with a demon kinda thing.)

Aziraphale has stopped an end of the world before, so maybe now Heaven is trying a different approach. If you can't keep them in check by killing them or taking away their rights, pacify them by giving them a false sense of being in control. Why the hell else would Heaven want to put Aziraphale in charge of ending the world if not to take him out of the way of the end of the world.

The "you can take Crowley with you" part is a total sham. Metatron knew Crowley wouldn't go. The comments he makes about Crowley are so fucking condenscending considering how Crowley is possibly the most intelligent being we know of. It was a scheme to separate them.

When Aziraphale returns to the bookshop, Crowley very extensively asks him to let him speak first, emphasizing that it's about something important. Aziraphale interrupts him and immediately condradicts his request by asking him to "Hold that thought" and speaking himself. The off-note here is even further emphasized by Aziraphale taking a second to remind himself what the expression is, even though he's already interrupted Crowley. This exchange just seems grating as for them, who tend to mold themselves to the other like warm butter.

"What's that lovely human expression". Huh. Dude, you've been on Earth for eons, you eat food, you do all the human things. Crowley even sleeps. Is it normal for him to say "human expression"?

When he's speaking, he's not excited. He's nervous. He's only truly excited when he's talking about making Crowley an angel. He only pulled out the "I could make a difference" card because he didn't expect Crowley to refuse.

The puppet part starts being more visible when Metatron enters the bookshop. It's like whenever Aziraphale looks towards Metatron, he's going under his influence. Whenever he looks towards Crowley, he partially regains his own will. Think of Metatron and Crowley as magnets battling for magnet-Aziraphale.

When Metatron asks Aziraphale if he can think of anything to take with him, the "Ah" sounds as if he'd already known the answer. Then Aziraphale looks towards the window and wants to change his mind but as soon as he takes a few steps closer to Metatron, he hesitates and it's "nothing". Now, normally I'd chalk the smile up to "fake it 'til you make it" but the little laugh after that? Could still be Aziraphale forcing himself to appear calm and content but ?? if so, then that could have been presented in so many different ways. But the little laugh seems almost as if it came out of him naturally, while we know he sure as hell isn't in a jolly mood. It creeps me out.

When Metatron says "the Second Calling" the sound effect when Aziraphale stops smiling sounds like some invisible power stops working. It makes me think of old computer games with spells and mana. Aziraphale regains his wits and maybe even knows something's wrong. The close-up on Metatron afterwards is his power spiking up the control on Aziraphale, that's why Zira smiles and very stiffly turns to Crowley. Maybe he already knows he's in big trouble. Maybe he wants Crowley to come save him. But Crowley is far away and his Metatron's influence wins over.

Now whatever psychodelic-smiley-murderous-delight is going on with Aziraphale during the credits... Lord save us. Especially since we have Crowley's wanna reclaim my flat and fall flat onto the first flat surface I find for the next 100 years behavior for comparison.

As for why I said it was an "arrest" – well, according to this theory Aziraphale didn't go willingly, is still and outlaw (who just commited another crime of sheltering Gabriel), and couldn't be delt with with Heaven's usual methods. Crowley did say an angel could say blahblahblahblahblah (which can be understood as using nonsensical reasoning) to arrest somebody. Those two scenes could be parallels, all the more so they're using the same elevator to get to Heaven.

#may I add Lesi the bentley misses Aziraphale already #if it could speak Ineffable Husbands would've gone on vacation to Alpha Centauri already #s2 is 5 and a half big plates of dessert that you thought was free and then being presented with a hefty bill and an angst tax #good omens s2 spoilers #good omens 2 spoilers #good omens s2 #good omens #if there are mistakes in this too bad I'm too tired and emotionally strained to proof and edit ;-;

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whats-a-reading · 7 months

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So... Aziraphale's character bingo. Thanks @angomay for prompting this!

Hoo boy. This is show Aziraphale bc he's the one most present in my mind.

Stuff that's easiest to explain:

Parent issues - all angels and demons are probably fucked up a little bit bc of God. God's gender is as Ineffable as the rest of Them so I ticked both

Didn't tick 'hey do you want to hear...' because I wouldn't do this unprompted. I just... think about Aziraphale quietly.

And... okay, I ran out of shit. So, I love Aziraphale, but I'm going to borrow a phrase my family used for me. "I don't know if I want to admire you or strangle you". Obviously the final 15 is so devastating, and honestly I'm still dissecting him under a microscope because I've been quietly reading so much good omens meta in an attempt to piece together my personal understanding.

He's so precious and Michael Sheen really gives his all into making Aziraphale such a marshmallow when he's happy. I love his delight and his dumbass damsel act in 1793. I love how bitchy and snarky he can get at times. I love how he's so passionate and the fact that he learned French the human way.

But also, I'm so attached to the Bentley and Crowley's aesthetic that I wanted to strangle him when it turned yellow (though that could just be the Bentley so really, I might want to strangle Crowley). And I was extra disappointed in him during the mind control ball. First for the mind control and second for not listening to Crowley having a mental breakdown at the demons outside.

But, he's so charming that I can't help but love him so much. Beloved bastard angel who never backs down.

Luckily, I haven't seen much Aziraphale hate on my dash (though most of that is because I have the gomens posts on my dashboard be filtered by only following a few people ik with good taste), but dear god I hate coffee theory so much.

From my point of view, one thing jumped out immediately as a reason why Aziraphale, who didn't seem inclined to accept, was so enthusiastic with telling Crowley after the Metatron said Crowley could come with. He's [Aziraphale] securing their future together. It's like how religious family members aren't okay with their agnostic/atheist relatives and keep trying to bring them back. It comes from a fear that they'll be forever separated, and their relative will suffer for eternity. Though I hate that IRL as an ex-Catholic, it's far more sympathetic and understandable here, where it's proven true that Heaven and Hell exist, Revelations is a prophetic work, and Hell is utterly fucked come Judgement Day.

'Nothing lasts forever' is about earthly pleasure. Worldly things. He's saving things for Heaven by giving them up or something along those lines. Not their relationship. Absolutely not the love they have for each other. Aziraphale chose Crowley over himself. Over his own peaceful, fragile existence with books and cocoa and records.

Besides, Aziraphale knows from the Arrangement that 'angel' and 'demon' are just job descriptions (while also simultaneously believing that 'angel' and 'demon' are fundamental opposites, because he's complicated like that). He's not trying to change Crowley. He's trying to change Crowley's employer to a better option.

I'm kind of undecided on the 'I forgive you', but it probably contains multitudes like every single thing said ever by these two. There's the coded 'I love you', there's the indignant 'how dare you try to tempt me away from this now of all times', there's his desperate last-ditch attempt in response to crowley's last ditch attempt 'I will prove you wrong on your entire self-concept, because look I'm forgiving you; you're forgivable, come with me'. And probably others. But I am out of thoughts, and the meta people can probably analyze every microsecond of this show and come up with more. I'm just an enjoyer.

He still goes to Heaven in the end because ah shit the second coming. And one of them needs to have intel. (And he can make his envisioned policy changes while he's at it.*) Just like in s1, where Crowley was the one with the intel, and Aziraphale gleaned knowledge from Earthly sources (the book). I think s3 will be that in reverse.

*I don't think the system would let him. That's just a motivation for him going.

God... Aziraphale... I can't even call what he did a mistake because if I were in his shoes, I don't know if I'd have the strength to just let my partner die eventually when I can prevent that.

the ask game this is from

#j rambles #angomay #THE post I have on aziraphale #good omens s2 #long post #aziraphale

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 3 years

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Fever Dream

(Written for @sicktember prompt #1 - Fever! I finished it in time for the first but didn't have the energy to edit.)

Angels didn’t get sick, precisely

They didn’t have bodies that were, strictly speaking, physical, and therefore couldn’t harbor any of the illnesses that plagued mankind and other earthly creatures.

An angel could, however, burn through enough of his own grace that his corporation began to malfunction.

He would then, as it were, fall ill.

This happened to Aziraphale far more often than to other angels.

A weak constitution was the general explanation; too much time mucking about on the strange old planet, not enough time bathing in the glorious healing light of the celestial sphere.

When he was down on Earth, he was always prying, poking, trying new things, many of which had never been approved, could have any manner of ill effects. He knew he should show some proper restraint, withdraw a bit more from the world, but he couldn’t help himself.

And when he did return to huddle miserably in a recovery ward, waiting for the chills to pass and his temperature to stabilize, Gabriel would always visit, dropping broad hints about the pressures of fieldwork and the under appreciated glory of a solid administrative career. Offering all kinds of advice as to what, exactly, a proper angel would cut out of his life if he wished to better focus on his ordained duties.

And so, when the symptoms next came upon him—muscle aches, irritability, sweat and chills until he didn’t know if he was hot or cold—Aziraphale decided to wait it out on Earth. It would only take a few days to recover and, anyway, he had business to attend to. Important business that could not wait.

“Angel, are you sure you’re alright?” Crowley demanded, a glint of gold just visible between black lenses and furrowed brow.

“Yes, I’m perf—” he turned his head to cough lightly, but an odd spasm came over his throat, transforming it into something deep and hacking that left his ribs aching and his brow dripping with sweat. “…tickety-boo,” he muttered, turning back to his mug.

“Keep it down,” hissed the demon, glancing around the common room of the inn. Perhaps one or two people had glanced over, but nothing out of the ordinary. “People will think you have the plague.” The last two words he barely mouthed.

“My dear fellow, do be serious. I have hardly any symptoms of the plague.” Only the last part sounded more like sybtobs otha blayyyg.

He cleared his throat and tried to sniff, which started a complicated chain reaction that ended with a mouthful of what he hoped was spit.

As Aziraphale’s eyes went wide with alarm, Crowley quickly pulled out a deep red handkerchief, which the angel gratefully spat into. Unsure what to do next, Aziraphale folded it over and offered it back, but Crowley leaned away, face contorted in horror.

“Oh, ah… thank you, then?” He took a quick glance inside and immediately wished he hadn’t, grimacing at the color of what his body had produced.

“Just… just eat your soup,” Crowley muttered, waving a hand at the bowl he’d been toying with until it was hardly above room temperature.

Aziraphale had ordered it thinking a bit of warmth would be lovely, as he’d been shivering fit for midwinter morning. But after one mouthful, he’d found himself sweating, tugging at his collar to relieve some of the heat. Now he could feel the shivers coming on again, but he couldn’t warm it back up. Until the illness passed, any miracles would just make it worse.

“Right,” Crowley said as Aziraphale poked at something that might have been a parsnip. “I’m going to be out of town for the next few weeks. Temptations all up and down the continent. Might take the rest of the season. Unless…” Using that lilting voice that suggested a coin flip might be imminent.

“Mmmh.” Aziraphale looked mournfully into his beer, finally hazarding another sip. The taste of hops struck him at the back of the throat and he quickly expelled the rest back into the mug. “Sorry, m’dear. Not this time. I got…” he waved his hand, waiting for the rest of the words. They didn’t appear to be forthcoming. “Things,” he finally said. “In the city. Until at least…” He rubbed his forehead, but it was hard to think when it was so cold. He pulled his heavy coat back on, bundling up.

“Oh, well. Things. Obviously can’t take you away from things.” Aziraphale nodded miserably, trying to focus on his bowl. “Angel, look,” and as Crowley leaned close, there was something new in his voice, something that sounded rather like concern. “You sure you’re alright? I mean, there’s nothing… nobody…”

Aziraphale blinked, his eyes feeling… sticky. What was Crowley getting at? He should really be more direct, clever Serpent, it was hard enough to think in all this heat. He struggled out of his coat, dabbing uselessly at the sweat on his forehead.

“Oh for Satan’s—are you cursed?” He hissed the last word even softer than he’d said plague.

“No,” the angel said, resting his head on his hand until his neck recovered enough strength to hold it up again. “M’not. S’just… things!”

In his attempt to gesture with both hands, Aziraphale forgot one was already occupied and very nearly wound up face-first in the soup.

“Azir—!” Crowley rounded the table in an instant, tugging him upright again. “What has come over you?”

“S’rry. People staring? S’not… not… proper.”

“Angel, you’re—you’re burning up!”

“Not. S’cold.” Then an icy hand touched his forehead and cheek, and Aziraphale groaned, trying to pull away.

“What the Heaven is going on?”

“Toldya. Things. Illness. From… from…” he tried to gesture with one arm, but it weighed too much to lift. “Being a… bad angel…”

A heavy sigh. “C’mere, you.” Crowley hauled him to his feet.

Aziraphale was pleased to find he could stand, just that his spinning head and aching limbs made it unpleasant. He couldn’t remember where he was supposed to go, but there was something solid nearby to lean on and a hand on his waist, guiding him forward.

It wasn’t until they reached the stairs that he realized something wasn’t right. “Crowley! This is—we—we can’t—where—what are you—”

“I’ve got a room upstairs.”

Aziraphale squinted dimly towards the upper floor. “Yes…?”

“Yes. And you, Angel, are in need of a bed.”

But.

But it was improper! Scandalous, even, talking of rooms, and beds, or rooms andbeds, or any combination thereof, particularly in the singular form. What if someone saw? An angel and a demon, bad enough, but two allegedly respectable gentlemen?

Or, wait, was one of them currently presenting as a woman? Likely not Aziraphale, though he sometimes lost track, but Crowley, well, that could also be hard to tell, but he seemed to have a good amount of jewelry and no facial hair, so there was a chance.

Still, male or female, angel or human, there would be rumor, gossip, talk about the town! It would get back to Heaven! This was worse than being thought weak and improper, Gabriel would think him some sort of reprobate!

Crowley paused, one hand on a door. “This is me. Um. I’ll go back down if it makes you feel better.”

What? And have all the rumor with none of the satisfaction? The shame of spending a night in a demon’s bed without the pleasures—oh, he knew what Crowley got up to. One of the Seven Sins that was, and Aziraphale would not be tempted into joining. No, not he!

“Right. Nh. Going to help you out of some of these layers, then I’ll go.”

Go? Go?After Aziraphale had come all this way, come so very close? No, he’d spent centuries imagining how it would be, and he’d never be truly satisfied until he had a reality to compare it to. Aziraphale very much wanted to know what Crowley looked like while he slept.

Yes, Crowley, Sloth is one of the Seven Sins, a demon should know these things.

And while Aziraphale had the general idea clear enough, he still had questions. Did Crowley snore, or did he breathe softly? He certainly would sleep on his side, curled up, but how heavy would his head be, pillowed on Aziraphale’s chest? If they talked, would his words become slurred as he drifted off, or would he listen quietly while Aziraphale spoke, running his fingers through bright red hair?

Come to that, how did his hair feel, or his cheek, or his lips? Aziraphale hadn’t thought much about lips, generally, but now that Crowley was always hiding his eyes, well, they had become the focus of his face, and that presented fascinating possibilities, ones that Gabriel certainly wouldn’t approve of, but he’d always been too curious for his own good. And really, what was a harmless little experiment between—

Oh, good Lord, was Aziraphale talking out loud?

He clapped his hand over his mouth, eyes wide with horror.

But Crowley chuckled, resting a hand on his shoulder; in only his undershirt, he could feel it so clearly—ice cold, but not unpleasantly so. “Your secrets are safe, Angel. Lay down.”

Too embarrassed to object, Aziraphale crawled into the bed and let Crowley pull a blanket over him. “Keep that on, yeah?”

“S’hot,” the angel whined. His voice sounded very odd, slurred, weak. Perhaps that meant Crowley hadn’t understood his rambling before.

“I know. Just try.” Something cool and damp wiped his face and Aziraphale sighed with relief. “Has this happened before?”

“Mmmh. Over an’over an’over.” In Heaven, they would assign him a recovery room, to sit alone and reflect on what he’d done to earn himself the illness, on what he could do to better serve in the future. Gabriel always had good suggestions.

The being alone. That was the worst part. Hated that.

Crowley was talking. Something would be right there, beside the bed. That was probably important, but the angel was already asleep.

In Aziraphale’s dream, Gabriel told him over and over that he’d failed again, that this was his own fault, that he was a terrible angel who didn’t deserve… something.

Possibly anything.Again and again, the Archangel took everything he valued—his books, his sweets, his day at the theater, the beauty of the sunrise, the way humans smiled at each other after many days apart, and something else, something far more important, but the name was forbidden—

Again, something cool pressed to his forehead, his chest. Fingers raked through his hair, helping the sweat to evaporate. “See?” A voice murmured. “Better already.” But everything was getting grey and distant again.

Now Aziraphale was in a room, an enormous room, empty but somehow still cluttered. All the things he loved were here, hidden, and Gabriel ordered him to find them all or they’d be destroyed. He searched frantically, among endless piles of brown packages, and found most of them—books and smiles and sunrises—mixed in with kettles, mittens and (for some reason) cat whiskers. But the last thing, the final thing, the important thing was still missing, and the room grew hotter and hotter—

“Try this now.” Something supported Aziraphale’s back as he sat up, leaning against… a thing… a thing that meant warmth and safety. A mug pressed to his lips. He wasn’t sure what he drank, but it felt good. “Now let’s get you settled again.”

He didn’t go down easily, though, reaching and writhing, somehow grasping the safe thing, pulling it close. If he let it get away, Gabriel would destroy it.

“I see. Alright. You stay there.” Fingers through his hair again, more resting lightly on his shoulder. “I got you. Nothing’s going to—”

Reality tumbled away and he was falling, possibly Falling, the voices of Gabriel and Michael and Uriel all around him, insulting him, taunting him, asking him why he hadn’t filed form HX-3 in triplicate. He clung desperately to the thing he needed as the temperature rose, more voices joining in, every voice. The Hellfire licked at him, even as he trembled and shook uncontrollably. This was the end, he would die here, he’d never said—

“Crowley!” He called, desperate. “Crowley don’t—don’t leave me!”

The thing he held shifted, and now there were arms wrapped around him, protecting him. “There we are. Not going to leave.”

It was too hot to bear, but still he burrowed closer. “Crowley, please. I can’t—I—I need you!”

“Not going anywhere, Angel. Not ever.”

“Crowley!” The Hellfire burst within him, a flash of heat up and down his body, his limbs, his soul—

And then he was… exhausted.

The shaking faded, the heat and cold gone, though he still found himself covered in sweat. Nothing remained but a strange sense of calm.

Still clinging to his lifeline, Aziraphale drifted off into a proper restful sleep.

He opened his eyes to find the late evening sun slanting through an open window. The blanket was largely twisted around his legs and the bed below him was oddly hard and lumpy, even if it was nice—

“You’re looking better.”

Aziraphale scrambled up in horror to find that the thing he’d been laying on—clinging to for dear life—was six feet of rumpled, uncomfortable-looking demon. A demon he vaguely recalled saying some very revealing things to…

“Oh, good Lord.” Aziraphale’s face burned again, but not from fever. He covered, his eyes turning away. “Crowley—you—you—how—”

“Gah! M’sorry!” He heard Crowley push himself upright, sliding away. “I—I—I shouldn’t have—didn’t mean—”

No of course not. It wasn’t as though Crowley shared his strange desires, his secret obsessions, his awful curiosity. Crowley was a—a perfectly normal demon who would have no interest in prolonged contact, particularly with a most clingy, damaged angel…

“What must you think of me?” he moaned.

“Stupid, stupid demon,” Crowley grumbled. “I saw you panicking but I didn’t know—shouldn’t have assumed—”

“What is wrong with me?”

“Crossed a line, and—and now look—”

“I’m a terrible, foolish, needy…”

“Didn’t want to take advantage—I’m sorry!”

“I’m sorry! Wait…” That wasn’t right. Aziraphale cautiously lowered his hands to see Crowley sitting frozen with the glasses halfway to his face. “You’re sorry?”

“Mnh. Yeah. Cuz… cuz I’m the one who…” his eyes dropped. “You seemed upset. Scared. I just… I made it worse, didn’t I? Shoulda known you wouldn’t want…”

“But…” Aziraphale swallowed, trying to recall anything clearly. “I… I seem to remember… propositioning you. Repeatedly.”

Crowley’s face turned red, but he smiled. Not his confident swaggering smirk, but something awkward and genuine that Aziraphale hadn’t seen since Eden. “Not… repeatedly. N’I’d hardly call it… besides it was… you know. But!” His fingers twisted on the metal frames of his glasses. “But, look—I don’t—you aren’t responsible for—for the things you say when you’re sick, ‘specially things you don’t mean—and I—s’my responsibility not to—” He ducked his head even further. “Just wanted to help. Shouldn’t have assumed… that you meant… what I wanted…”

“What…” Aziraphale reached out but couldn’t quite touch him. “What you want?”

“Um.” Golden eyes flicked up. “You’re… not the only one who wondered about… the sleeping stuff. Who doesn’t like to be… alone.” He cleared his throat. “Or, at least, I thought—”

“I believe I told you I needed you.” His hand hovered over Crowley’s shoulder. “I meant that. Precisely the way you took it. I—I meant most of it.”

Crowley’s eyes blinked, very slowly.

And the next moment, they were swept into each other’s arms, Aziraphale once again clinging to his friend like a lifeline. “I don’t think you’re stupid,” he managed.

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale pressed closer. “Thank you for staying.”

When they broke apart, Crowley was as bright red as Aziraphale had felt at the height of his fever, glasses back in place, staring fixedly at his own legs. “So. Mmmmh. Now what?”

Aziraphale considered that question more carefully than he’d ever considered anything.

“I think… I’m recovering…”

“S’good.” Crowley shifted as if to stand.

“…but still very tired. I should probably rest another night?”

“Yeah. Um. Yeah. Do you—I can go?”

“Do you have somewhere to be?” His heart started to fall, until Crowley shrugged.

“I do, but… not urgently.”

“If you have the time there’s… there’s something I’m curious about.”

“Well. Big fan of knowledge, me.”

Aziraphale carefully lay down again, keeping his arms wide. A moment later, Crowley took a deep breath, set aside his glasses and joined him.

It turned out that Crowley’s head on his chest was the perfect weight. That he did indeed curl up, though in the most convoluted ways. That in his sleep, Crowley’s breaths were gentle and soft, much like his hair, and he tried very much to keep talking on the edge of consciousness even when he didn’t have much to say.

As for the kissing, well—certain observations did not need to be made public.

(AO3 link later today...)

#good omens #good omens fanfic #sicktember #ineffable husbands #hurt comfort #sick aziraphale #cuddles #fever #protective crowley #soft crowley #there was only one bed #aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale and crowley #my writing #prompt challenge

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stardustacefics · 2 years

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On Our Side

Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley

Summary: Aziraphale wants to make love, and he’s not sure how Crowley will react.

W/c: 1.1k

“Crowley, I have a proposition.”

“Alright, what is it?” Crowley answered, setting his coffee down on the side table, sitting up taller in his chair.

Aziraphale sat in the chair next to him, silent.

“What’s wrong?” Crowley asked, worry growing in his eyes.

“Nothing, nothing is wrong,” he said. “I’m just not quite sure how to say it.”

Crowley sat back in his chair. “Well, I think you’re forgetting that I know you well. After all, we’ve only known each other for a few thousand years,” Crowley smirked.

“Your point?”

“My point is,” Crowley said, leaning closer, “I know those eyes. Those are the eyes you use when you want to ask for something you want, and you feel guilty because you don’t want to be an inconvenience.”

Aziraphale laughed shyly. “I don’t know about that, Crowley.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow, almost mockingly. “Come on, angel,” and in a softer voice, he asked, “What are you thinking?”

“I want to make… love.”

Crowley’s eyes widened involuntarily. “O-oh.”

“Not sex, no, of course not. You know me, you just said it. Of course, I don’t want to have sex. What I want is… to be with you, intimately.”

Crowley’s expression immediately melted with the understanding of Aziraphale’s words. “Oh,” he smiled, blushing slightly. “I… I’d like that.”

Aziraphale’s eyes lit up. “You would?”

Crowley nodded eagerly. “I really would,” he whispered.

Aziraphale leaned closer to him and gently took his hand. Crowley could feel Aziraphale’s heart found in through them.

“What… would you like to do?” Crowley whispered, looking down at their hands.

“I…” Aziraphale whispered with uncertainty, not quite sure how to start. He saw the kind expression on Crowley’s face and immediately knew that he could say anything, even if he was nervous, even if he was embarrassed. “I want to… be naked with you.”

Crowley blushed deeply as he smiled. His eyes were sparkling, and it swept all of Aziraphale’s anxiety away in an instant.

“I want that too,” Crowley whispered shyly. Aziraphale had never seen him shy before, not like this.

“You do?” Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley slowly rose from his chair and moved to sit on the arm of Aziraphale’s, inching closer to Aziraphale’s face. He cupped one side of Aziraphale’s face, and Aziraphale placed his hand on top of Crowley’s, giving it a soft squeeze.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, tucking Crowley’s hair behind his ear. “Oh, Crowley, you’re so beautiful.”

Crowley rested his forehead against Aziraphale’s, and they breathed together, both cradling each other’s face.

In a quick moment of certainty, Aziraphale leaned up and pressed a light kiss to Crowley’s lips, silently asking him to come closer, to keep going.

One kiss became two, which became three, and then they lost themselves in each other. They stumbled to Aziraphale’s bedroom, giggling as they backed into walls and corners on the way. Once they made it to the bedroom, Crowley fell back on the bed while Aziraphale fumbled for the light switch. Crowley reached up to Aziraphale and took his hands, pulling him into bed and kissing him deeply, wrapping his arms tightly around him.

They laid facing each other, side by side, and caressed each other’s faces as they kissed. Their legs tangled together, and their chests were pressed flush against each other, hands wandering anywhere they wished.

“My gorgeous angel,” Crowley whispered, brushing his nose against Aziraphale’s.

They slowly took off each other’s clothes, one piece at a time, gauging each other’s comfort. Crowley kept asking Aziraphale if he was alright, and it made his heart melt a little bit each time. “I’m more than alright,” was his answer every time.

Once all their clothes were removed, they looked shyly each other and blushed for a long while. Aziraphale let his hands wander along Crowley’s spine, and he pressed another kiss to his lips. “Please, can you hold me? Just for a little while longer?”

Crowley moved as close to Aziraphale as he possible could, until seemingly every part of their bodies was touching, so much so that if they moved any closer, they would become one being.

They closed their eyes and rested their foreheads together once again. Crowley reveled in the gentle sound of Aziraphale’s breathing. Even in such a passionate moment, he sounded so sweet and pure.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley whispered.

“Yes, my love?”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Of course,” he responded softly.

“I mean, the rest of you?” Crowley said quietly, his secret shyness shining through once again.

Aziraphale captured his lips in a deep kiss and smiled as soon as their lips parted. “Of course,” he said again

Crawley placed his hand delicately on a Aziraphale’s chest, resting just above his heart. He could feel the rapid pounding of Aziraphale’s heart through his fingertips.

“It would be my pleasure,” Crowley hummed.

Crowley’s hands tenderly caressed every inch of Aziraphale’s body, memorizing every curve and freckle. He whispered “You’re stunning” over and over again as he placed gentle kisses across Aziraphale’s skin. He adored the feeling of Aziraphale pressed so close to him. He’d never experienced anything quite like it, and he couldn’t imagine anything more beautiful than this moment.

Eventually, Aziraphale sat up and pulled Crowley to sit on his lap, his legs straddling his hips. “My dear Crawley,” Aziraphale whispered, placing tender kisses on Crowley’s cheekbones and jaw. “What did I ever do to deserve you?” Aziraphale had always been an honest man, yet Crowley had never seen such sincerity in his eyes. The look made Crowley melt on the spot.

“I love you,” Crowley whispered, pressing his nose to Aziraphale’s cheek. “I love you so much.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered. “I love you. I love you more than you can possibly know.”

A few hours later, Crowley and Aziraphale were still lying in bed together, both naked, Crowley’s arm draped under Aziraphale’s neck.

“This is so nice,” Aziraphale mumbled with a soft smile, looking up at Crowley.

“It is. It really is,” Crowley answered, reaching over to run his fingers though Aziraphale’s hair. He suddenly giggled, “You have no idea how long I’ve been hoping for this.”

“Oh, as have I,” Aziraphale said. “Who knew it would be so beautiful.”

“I never imagined that I would enjoy this so much,” Crowley thought aloud. “At least, not before we became close.”

“Nor I,” Aziraphale said. “Granted, what we did wasn’t sex.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Crowley snorted. Then, he leaned over and pressed a sweet kiss to Aziraphale’s forehead, brushing his hair to the side afterwards. “It was better. Much better.”

“I wholeheartedly agree.”

Aziraphale snuggled into Crowley’s chest, resting his ear just above his heart.

Crowley carded his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair and sighed, “I love you, angel.”

“And I love you,” Aziraphale hummed, pressing a gentle kiss to the center of Crowley’s chest in return.

#fanfic #fanfiction #good omens #Aziraphale #ace!aziraphale #crowley #ace!crowley #aziraphale/crowley #boyfriends #lgbtq #fluff #asexual #asexuality

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holycatsandrabbits · 3 years

Text

Love’s Endless Light: A Good Omens serial romance

READ FROM THE BEGINNING

Chapter 6: Dark Descends

1611, North American Arctic

Crowley was cold. That was not a surprise, given that there was a blizzard going on outside the ship. The walls around him were black with smoke, and the smell of unwashed bodies was overpowering.

Crowley had been ordered to visit Henry Hudson’s ship, the Discovery, on its search for the Northwest Passage. Just stir up some trouble. You’re good at that. And Crowley was. But there were countless ways to injure yourself on a ship in the arctic winter, and Crowley was not a trained sailor. He’d managed to incur serious rope burns on his hands, and they were taking far longer than they should have to heal. Crowley felt weak and dizzy and colder than he’d ever been before.

When Aziraphale appeared, Crowley assumed that he was hallucinating. This hellhole was no place for an angel, and besides, Aziraphale looked ridiculous in his fluffy white furs, moving about a dirty ship. It wasn’t until other people started to interact with Aziraphale that Crowley realized he was really there.

It was hard for Crowley to keep his eyes open, but when they were, he could see Aziraphale talking and laughing with the sailors, passing out medicine and food, giving blessings. He spared not a glance for Crowley, and so Crowley began to wonder in the back of his mind if maybe he was the one who wasn’t there. Perhaps someone on the ship had dreamed up a demon? It didn’t make sense, but then, nothing really did at the moment. It did Crowley some good just to see Aziraphale, though, and that was a sort of happy thought to fall asleep to.

Crowley woke because he was warm. It was such a strange sensation that he wasn’t sure how to process it at first. Then he realized he was glowing, and startled so much that Aziraphale nearly dropped him. Because— because Aziraphale was carrying him through the ship, and up onto the deck. The blizzard was still raging, but Aziraphale seemed not to care. He pulled the confused demon close against his chest and with his next step, they landed in Aziraphale’s quarters in Cairo.

Crowley was not the one glowing, he realized. It was Aziraphale’s aura surrounding him. The angel knelt on the floor with Crowley still in his arms, and Crowley felt warm and more awake than he had for some time.

“Hold still,” Aziraphale scolded. “You’re injured and you’re very ill. You ridiculous serpent. Why didn’t you come to me for help?”

The silver-shivering angelic energy washing over Crowley was both painful and comforting at once, warm and cold, safe and dangerous. “I’m a demon,” he managed to say. “You’re not supposed to—”

“I’ve healed you before.”

“But you’re not supposed to.” Crowley looked at his hands, healthy and whole now. He took in a deep breath, and realized he hadn’t been able to do that for a while.

“I’m not going to let you discorporate,” Aziraphale said, sounding exasperated. “Hell only knows how long it would take for you to get a new body. And don’t be worried about me. I convinced Heaven that the men on the ship needed blessing. No one will know I was there for you.”

Crowley was in far better condition now than he had been for some time, but things still seemed a bit surreal. The main thing was that he was really and truly in Aziraphale’s arms. That hadn’t happened since Gaul in the first century AD. They touched sometimes, by accident or by design or, on Crowley’s part, by design that was meant to look like an accident, but it was rare. Crowley had dreamt of Aziraphale’s embrace while asleep and awake, and to have it outside of a dream was devastating.

It felt right. Which was clearly wrong. They were opposites, hereditary enemies. Angelic healing was not meant for demons. Nor was angelic kindness or friendship or even the bantering back and forth that they did, which was warmer than any argument had the right to be. Aziraphale truly cared about him, Crowley realized. And as for Crowley— it was clear in this moment that he was utterly and uselessly in love.

This thought had been in the back of Crowley’s mind for a while, giving off little warning signals that he’d been able to ignore up to this point. Even when he’d gone so far overboard with Hamlet ten years ago, in response to Aziraphale’s single hopeful glance, he’d been able to keep lying to himself about why. This love was an uninvited feeling, unwise, undemonic, yet completely unstoppable. Crowley wasn’t sure if a demon’s love for an angel might be meant as reward or punishment, or if it was just that things tended to go haywire after God stopped paying attention. Whatever the reason, it was the strongest thing Crowley had ever felt. He had not known he could feel anything so purely.

Aziraphale was not in love, though. Crowley focused on this cold fact to keep himself from putting his own arms around Aziraphale and damaging everything with a kiss or a confession. Aziraphale was an angel, a guard. He shouldn’t have been healing a demon, but that was just Aziraphale’s way. He hated to see any suffering. This impulse didn’t come from love but from misguided duty.

Or it might even have been guilt. Aziraphale hated to talk about the War in Heaven, about what he’d done there, but Crowley had gleaned enough over the years to know that Aziraphale had attacked demons, that he’d probably killed some. And being the ridiculous person that he was, he probably felt terribly guilty about it. This embrace was no more than a confused angel seeking redemption for having done his job.

Crowley carefully slid himself off of Aziraphale’s lap and out of his arms. As soon as he had moved away, Aziraphale’s glow vanished, seeming to collapse in on itself. He looked almost human then, with clumsy fingers unbuttoning a white fur coat, downcast eyes, and a wobbly frown. Crowley wanted to go back to his arms immediately, both for his sake and for Aziraphale’s. He was such a lonely angel.

Crowley smiled reassuringly. “Feeling a bit cold still. Got anything to drink?”

Aziraphale brightened visibly. “How about some tea? I don’t want you drinking alcohol so soon after being ill.”

Crowley gave him an aggrieved look. “What, you can’t drink after angelic healing? Or did you just not heal me well enough?”

“Crowley, honestly,” Aziraphale muttered, but he was fighting a smile. He disappeared into a side room and came out with a dusty bottle and two glasses. “Happy?” he asked.

Crowley flopped down into one of Aziraphale’s chairs. The angel never had a bed in his quarters, but always two chairs. “Perfectly,” Crowley said.

***********

READ FROM THE BEGINNING

NEXT: The Bastille scene!

Read on Ao3

Updates Fridays on Ao3 and Tumblr.

Want to create fic, art, or other works based on this series? Please do! Just dm or tag me.

My previous Good Omens serial: Mr. Fell’s Bookshop

My Carrd

*********

Image text: Love’s Endless Light by Dannye Chase (HolyCatsAndRabbits) Chapter 6

As Aziraphale and Crowley slowly fall in love over the millennia, Crowley discovers that Aziraphale is keeping a very dangerous secret.

#Dannye writes #good omens #Love's Endless Light #good omens fanfic

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elsajeni · 4 years

Text

serpent, serpent-bearer

“Good morning, dear.”

“Mnng,” Crowley says, which is about as coherent as he gets before ten in the morning. He wanders past Aziraphale into the kitchenette, and back out again a moment later with a steaming mug, and then stops short, frowning blearily down at the table. “What’re you reading?”

“Hmm? Oh--” Aziraphale grabs his breakfast plate and shifts it over, covering a corner of the newspaper, and says brightly, “Just starting on the crossword!”

Crowley raises an eyebrow and looks at the plate, which obligingly slides back to where it was, exposing...

“The horoscope?” Crowley’s eyebrows climb higher, and he doesn’t even try to hide the disbelieving laugh in his voice. “Angel. Really? How can you read your horoscope?”

Aziraphale sits up straighter in his chair, lips pursing. “If you’re going to make fun--”

“I’m not,” Crowley starts to protest, and then corrects himself, “All right, maybe I am. But that’s-- I mean actually, literally, how? You’re older than constellations. You’re older than-- than day and night, never mind the modern calendar. You have certainly not got a star sign.”

“I may not,” Aziraphale says, “but A. Z. Fell has. You have to have a birthday these days, you know, humans absolutely don’t know what to do with you if you don’t.”

“Right,” Crowley says, the teasing grin on his face softening into something fonder, more understanding. Because isn’t this, after all, what got them where they are? All the little human habits they’ve picked up, all the silly human things they’ve come to care about. The theater, the Bentley, a good earthy red wine. Sushi. Feeding ducks. Falling in love.

And now, apparently, horoscopes. He sets down his coffee and takes up his position behind Aziraphale, leaning down to drape himself over the angel’s shoulders, and says, “Go on, then. What’s your sign?”

“That’s a pickup line, you know,” Aziraphale says absently, and then, while Crowley is struggling to absorb the information that Aziraphale knows the phrase ‘pickup line’ at all, let alone recognizes one when he hears it, answers the actual question, “Virgo.”

Crowley tries, poorly, to disguise his snort as a cough. Aziraphale gives him a warning look over the top of his reading glasses and says, “Don’t.”

“I didn’t say a word,” he protests.

“Hm,” Aziraphale says. “Well. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“What’s yours? Anthony Crowley’s, I mean. He must have a birthday on record.”

“Sixth of June,” Crowley says promptly.

“Of course it is,” Aziraphale murmurs, and gives him an indulgent look. “Let’s see... Gemini, then? Oh dear.”

“What?”

“Well, it does rather suit you. Quick wit, changeable nature. Open with your emotions. All your better traits, really.” Aziraphale glances over at him again, clearly fighting a smile. “Only I’m afraid the stars suggest we’re terribly incompatible.”

“What,” Crowley says again, indignantly. “The stars? Oh, the stars suggest--”

“Near perfect opposites.” Aziraphale’s voice vibrates with suppressed laughter. “An absolutely disastrous match, romantically speaking.”

“Stars,” Crowley sputters, seeing what Aziraphale expects of him and playing up to the role, “what-- as if they know-- I made some of those, how dare they--”

Aziraphale cracks at that, turning his head to bury a laugh in the side of Crowley’s neck. Crowley, pleased with himself, gives one last scornful, “Stars,” and then gestures at the paper, the text shifting beneath his hand. “There,” he says. “Look at it now, there’s yours and mine. Proper ones, not some made-up rubbish about our made-up birthdays.”

Aziraphale composes himself and leans over to look, resettling his glasses on his nose. “Shall I assume Serpens is yours?”

“Good classic constellation, Serpens. Got a very nice nebula in it, too.”

“It sounds just your style, my dear. Oh, and I see it suggests a quiet day in today, with perhaps a drive in the countryside later on.”

“Does it?” Crowley says, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Fancy that. That’s exactly what I had planned.”

“A remarkable coincidence,” Aziraphale agrees, giving him another fond look. “Then this one is mine? Ophiuchus, let’s see, Ὄφις is ‘serpent’ and...”

He trails off, and when he turns to look at Crowley again, he looks less amused and more softly worried than Crowley had hoped. “Darling,” he says, his voice very gentle. “You do know you’re not any sort of burden to be borne.”

Crowley makes a pained sort of noise and protests, “That’s not what I meant.” (It was, a little. A joke, mostly a joke, setting Aziraphale up to tease him a bit about how much trouble he is, that’s all. Count on Aziraphale to see through him, spot the core of truth in it and ruin the fun.)

“What, then?”

“It’s. Ngh.” Crowley shuts his eyes against the onslaught of tenderness, feeling his ears go pink. He would really have preferred the teasing. “They’re connected. Almost the same constellation, really. Neither makes sense without the other.”

“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale says, one soft hand coming up to cup Crowley’s cheek. Crowley risks opening one eye, and almost immediately shuts it again-- Aziraphale’s face is a bare inch away, and the full force of his affection at this range is a lot-- but he goes along when Aziraphale tugs him closer, catches him by the elbow and guides him around the back of the chair and down into his lap. “You really are a romantic, aren’t you? It sounds as if they suit us very well.”

Crowley leans into his shoulder. “Serpens especially,” he says, unable to stop himself. “Just a bunch of disconnected snakey bits. Wouldn’t be anything at all without Ophiuchus.”

Aziraphale hushes him, kisses him. “But the other half’s just as important,” he says when they break apart, low and close. “There’d be no purpose to Ophiuchus without his serpent. You know that.”

Crowley makes a choked-off noise and leans in for another kiss. This time Aziraphale keeps him there, arms around him, the kiss turning long and slow and sweet-- slowly the nervous tension drains out of him, shoulders loosening, hands coming up to tangle in Aziraphale’s hair.

He does break away, eventually, to complain, “You didn’t even read the actual horoscope.”

“My dear,” Aziraphale says, laughing and pulling him back in, “if this isn’t how it says to spend my day, then I’m giving up on astrology altogether.”

#good omens #good omens tinyfics #ineffable husbands #someone else made reference to ophiuchus in a fic and i had several feelings about it and this is the result #self indulgent birthday blogging #tinyfics endorsed by my mom

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perhapsitmaybedragons · 4 years

Text

A Little Nudge

The world is garbage and I’m writing fluff so I don’t have to think about it. Good Omens one shot. Fluff. Very dialogue heavy, because I like writing Dialogue.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26556994

Or you can keep reading below:

Crowley drummed his nails against the kitchen table as he watched Adam do his homework, periodically wondering which one of them was more bored and whether homework was an invention of Heaven or Hell. Crowley hadn't had a hand in it, that was all he was certain of. Seemed like something Aziraphale would approve of, though.

This had been a new Arrangement, and one Crowley had no designs in. But both he and the angel were certain Adam had retained some, if not all, of his powers. And both were convinced their sides were still up to something, so it made sense to keep an eye on the boy. But it hadn't been intended to be so closely. Just a little while after Crowley had started watching him, he started getting phone calls to come baby sit. Aziraphale, on the other hand, just came by every once in a while pretending to need to talk to the Youngs about mundane things like the weather.

Which just further proved Adam's powers were still there. How else had Mr. Young gotten Crowley's phone number? And how else could anyone explain that both Mr. and Mrs. Young always looked wary around Crowley, but still allowed him to watch their kid? Or that they both got a glazed over, bored look whenever they so much as caught sight of Aziraphale, but still always answered the door when they saw it was him?

Crowley could be patient when he needed to be, and he was wondering when the kid would break and admit why exactly he wanted Crowley to look after him. Especially when his parents had previously left him to his own devices. Adding in an authority figure didn't seem like the kind of thing Adam would decide to do.

But today he kept glancing up from his homework, apparently stealing himself for the favor he was about to ask. Crowley made a point of leaning back in his chair, trying to look relaxed. He was curious and also wanted to get it over with. His mind had gone over all the possibilities for why Crowley had been the one selected for babysitting duty, and none of the options seemed good.

It was unlikely, for example, that Adam wanted to know about his father – he made it very clear that Mr. Young was his father, and the biological one could go back right to where he came from, thank you very much. Possibly he wanted to know what hell was like. Or what the limits of his power were. Or how much trouble he could get into with his powers plus the help of a demon.

But what Crowley wasn't expecting was for Adam to put down his pencil, sit up straight, look Crowley in the eye and ask “Why aren't you and Mr. Aziraphale married yet?”

He folded his hands like he was a business man giving a performance review. Crowley crossed his arms. “And why would we be?”

“It isn't proper,” Adam insisted, “Mum says people in love get married. That's you two, and you've been in love for a while. Is it cause you're both blokes?” before Crowley could respond “I mean, you both look like guys but that's legal, and my dad says,” And here he adopted a gruffer voice, trying to mimic his dad, “'well, it's uh...it's not for me and I don't understand it but there's uh...there's nothing wrong with it'. And Pepper's mum says it's perfectly natural and ok for two guys to get married if that's what they want,” He paused for a moment and added, almost like an afterthought “Or two ladies. That's alright, too.”

“We're not technically male,” Crowley pointed out. “We're not human. Marriage is a human thing.”

Adam brushed it off, “But you're looking like us and acting like us. Wouldn't it help you blend in more?”

“I don't care if I blend in or not,” as though to make the point, Crowley whipped off his sunglasses so Adam could see his eyes. Adam had seen it before, but he always reacted the same way every time.

“Man, I wish my eyes looked like that,” he grumbled. And just like the last few times, his eyes would take on a snake like pupil for just a moment before flicking back to normal. “But you're trying to 'vade the question.”

“Evade?” Crowley suggested helpfully.

“Yeah, that. It's not right to be in love and not do anything about it when you can.”

“Why does a young boy like you care so much about what an old demon and angel are getting up to? Why do you want us to get married so badly?”

“Weddings can be all right. Wensleydale got to be a groomsmen in his cousin's wedding and he said he got a really big slice of a nice cake afterward.”

“You want us to get married so you can have cake?”

“No,” Adam said, pouting now, “I want you to get married because you love each other. And I want you to let me pick out the cake.”

Crowley chuckled in spite of himself. “That angel would probably never let you pick, he cares a lot about food. Probably already knows who the best caterer is in town for this sort of thing.”

“If you're not going to do it just say so.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you love him or not? Cause I thought when two people love each other they get married. And you're talking about everything else except whether you love him or not. And when Mr. Aziraphale came to trade gardening tips with mum he looked worried and I think he thinks your side's going to attack soon.”

“You want us to get married to take his mind off of Apocalypse 2.0?”

“Ugh, no,” Adam was getting frustrated. To him, it was the most obvious thing in the world – if you're an adult and you love another adult, you get married. Unless you were married to other people, like in that show his mum watched sometimes. Apparently, then you murdered one of the spouses together and then ran off to Mexico.

But Aziraphale and Crowley weren't married to anyone, and Adam had thought it was obvious that they were in love. At first, he thought maybe it was that part of him that just knew things – the part that had lead to that scary day not that long ago where the world had almost ended. But then Pepper had asked him about them, and Brian and Wensleydale had backed her up. It seemed ludicrous that with everything that had happened, they would all end up focusing on the love lives of the demon and angel involved but well, here they were.

“And have you talked about this with the ang-- with Mr. Aziraphale?”

“No,” Adam said simply, “I think he wants you to make the first move.”

Crowley arched an eyebrow. Here some part of him thought he'd been doing nothing but making moves on that angel for the last few centuries. “You are aware we're not a couple, right? Even for humans, you usually don't go from being associates straight to getting married.”

“I think you are a couple.”

“Those weren't the terms of our Arrangement,” Crowley muttered.

“Doesn't matter. Everyone already can see it.”

“You do know that just because people want other people to be together doesn't make it so, right?” Crowley thought for a moment of calling Aziraphale and making him deal with this, but at the same time he wanted to see where this conversation would go. “And that even if we are in love, the way you seem to think we are, we wouldn't have to get married? Even if we were human, humans don't always get married.”

“Not always, but the tax benefits alone usually make it the better choice than just living together,” Adam said with the authority of a child who had overheard that exact argument said by an adult once and was now repeating it with only the slightest glimmer of understanding. “He does know you're in love with him, right?”

“I thought you said we both loved each other,” Crowley was annoyed by how irritated his voice sounded – there was a twinge of longing there that he would like to have been better at hiding.

“Yeah, but I think he needs you to spell it out for him. He knows, but he doesn't know that he knows.”

“I think your parents let you watch too much tv, you know that? I think I should tell them not to let you watch so much of it, and to keep an eye on what you're watching.”

Adam shrugged. “You can try. But I'll still ask you about when you're going to ask Mr. Aziraphale to marry you. I bet you could propose to him with a book – I don't think he'd like a ring. But maybe he would, cause it could match his halo.”

“So you want me to tell him I'm in love with him and then immediately propose to him? That's the long and short of it there, right?”

Adam nodded. “Dog can be your ring bearer. I think I saw that in a movie once. But the dog ran away with the ring and everyone got upset-”

“You just told me not to get him a ring, why would we need a ring bearer if we haven't got a ring?”

Adam thought it over for a moment, cocking his head to the side as he thought. “Ok. So he could be one of the groomsmen with me. And it's not fair to let Wensleydale be one, 'cause he got to be one this year already. But he can be one of those guys who shows people to their seats. And if you ask Pepper to be a flower girl she's going to think I told you to do it and then she's going to punch me, so maybe ask her to be a groomsperson, too?”

“Have you planned out my entire wedding?”

Adam gave a guilty smile that told Crowley everything. “I will take your concerns under advisement,” Crowley had invented so called 'office speak' and this, along with 'per my last e-mail' was one of his favorite responses. It didn't really promise any action, but people responded as though it did.

“You should probably do it now, cause he's on his way over.”

“For what? Your parents won't be back from the movies this soon and he always checked in with them.”

“I told him she'd need help today at 4 o'clock,” he jerked a thumb in the direction of the clock on the wall. It was almost 4 and Aziraphale would either be a little early or exactly on time.

“You lied to an angel. You realize that, right? Literal being from heaven and you lied right to his face.”

“Did not,” Adam shook his head, “I lied to him on the telephone. It's not as bad.”

While Crowley was pretty curious about that particular leap in logic, he didn't have time to get into it with Adam. Aziraphale was knocking at the front door and Adam had jumped up to answer it.

“Hello, Mr. Aziraphale! Crowley's here, too.” Crowley couldn't help notice that Aziraphale always got a “Mr” in front of his name from Adam, but he was always just “Crowley”. He wasn't sure which way he preferred it, to be honest.

“Oh, hello,” Aziraphale greeted him, but then immediately began to look about for the Youngs. “Adam, where are your parents? I thought your mother needed help with something in the house?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“But that's why you called me,” Aziraphale frowned. “Did you lie to me?”

“Yep!” Adam nodded enthusiastically. “I'm sorry.”

“Doesn't look sorry to me,” Crowley muttered.

“Well, dear boy, you're forgiven, but can I ask why you lied?”

“Needed you to come over so you could talk to Crowley!” Adam admitted, ushering Aziraphale in and practically throwing him into a chair at the kitchen table. The one right next to Crowley. Adam shut the front door.

“Crowley and I talk to each other all the time,” Aziraphale only looked more puzzled now. He gave a small wave of his hand and his coat moved from being on him to being hung up neatly on a coat rack (that hadn't been there when he came in).

“Adam has gotten it into his head that,” And here Crowley stopped. He wasn't embarrassed by the thought that he and Aziraphale were in love. Crowley knew exactly how he felt about that angel. But the idea he had been so obvious that a child had picked up on it was making him uncomfortable. And despite Adam's insistence, he wasn't completely certain where Aziraphale stood on the topic.

“Yes?” Aziraphale prompted Crowley to continue.

“I could leave?” Adam suggested. “Give you two alone time?”

“In your parents' house?” Crowley didn't say it, but he wanted to point out that it wasn't the most romantic of locales.

“I could go up to my room or something.”

“No, no,” Aziraphale shook his head, “It's your house and if it's so important to you that we both be here, we should discuss it. Is this, perhaps, about your uh...non-earthly father?”

Adam pulled a face. “That guy's not my dad.”

“True, very true,” The angel nodded his approval. “But then what did you want us both here for?” He shifted his attention back to Crowley. “I'm sure we'd both try to help, whatever it is. We're both in that unique predicament of no longer being on the side of who sent us, so the three of us are ..ship mates, if you will.”

“Mating's got something to do with it,” Crowley muttered so low that neither of them heard him.

“You're an angel, right?” Adam demanded.

“Well, yes, but-”

“So you're supposed to tell the truth, right?”

“I don't know what you're-”

“And you're in love with Crowley,” Adam finished, his eyes boring straight into Aziraphale's.

“I'm not certain this is an appropriate conversation for us to be having,” Aziraphale sat up, ram rod straight and started dusting at his already spotless pants. “Is there something else I could help with?”

“No,” Adam said stubbornly. “If you're an angel then you should do it right. You have to be honest – do you love him?”

Crowley's breath caught in his throat. It had never occurred to him to press Aziraphale in this manner, though he was pretty certain he wouldn't have, even if he had thought of it. Aziraphale was resolutely looking away from both of them, staring at the floor. He looked like he was having an internal debate with himself. After what felt like an eternity of silence, he finally spoke up.

“Yes,” he said softly.

“Wait,” Crowley jumped out of his seat and flung his glasses off so that he could look Aziraphale in the eye. “You're in love with me?”

“Well, yes...” he admitted. “But aren't you in love with me, too? I had thought you were. Did I misunderstand?”

“Did you misunderstand?! Did you misunderstand?” Crowley paced back and forth in the kitchen. Adam and Aziraphale exchanged glances, both confused about what was going through the demon's mind now. “I didn't bloody think you felt the same! This whole time! How long, angel?” he demanded.

“At least since Germany...possibly further back. I don't know.”

“And this isn't one of those things where you mean like a friend, right?”

“No. I mean, at first, yes, I loved you like a friend and then it ...it became more.”

“And you knew how I felt and you didn't say anything?!”

“I didn't think I needed to,” he shifted. “I thought you knew and that we didn't do anything because of ...well, you come from there and I come from the other side so I didn't see how it could possibly work.”

“And now?”

“Now what?”

“Now what, he says!” Crowley threw up his hands and looked at Adam, giving a 'do you see what I've been dealing with all this time' look. “Now neither of us is with our original sides – heaven tried to kill you, hell tried to kill me and we were both tossed back here. Aziraphale,” Crowley put his hands on the other man's shoulders, “There is nothing holding us back anymore.”

“There's nothing holding us back,” Aziraphale repeated in wonder. “We could ...I could...”

Crowley pulled him up from his seat and immediately went in for the kiss. Adam looked away, trying not to intrude on their moment.

Aziraphale pulled away first. “There's a child present.”

“It's just a kiss,” Crowley muttered, “That kid's seen way worse on tv.”

“That's true, I have,” Adam admitted. “Neither of you has any secret spouse you're going to have to kill, right? I like you two, I don't want you to have to go off to Mexico.”

“What is he talking about?”

“No idea, angel,” Crowley had his arm around Aziraphale's shoulder and seemed intent not to move it.

“So are you going to get married now?” Adam persisted. “Now that you know he feels the same?”

“But we aren't human-”

“Don't even start with him, it's a lost cause, trust me. Look, Adam, we are not getting married. ….at least not yet.”

“Do you think we should?” Aziraphale looked thoughtful. “If we end up moving in together it would seem more proper, don't you think?”

“And it will save you money on taxes,” Adam offered helpfully.

“We'll revisit the question,” Crowley insisted. “You and I have a lot of catching up to do. You'll be all right then, Adam?”

“Yeah, my homework's done. Will you still come sit with me sometimes?”

“Do I even have a choice in the matter?” Crowley pointed out. Adam gave a crooked half grin in response.

“We all have a choice. You just needed a little nudge this time.”

#Good Omens #Good Omens fanfic #Ineffable Husbands #Aziraphale #crowley #adam young #fluff #also there are some jokes

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