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sususzasza · 1 year

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The Dreaded Evil Lantern

Title: The Dreaded Evil Lantern Pairing: Aziraphale x Crowley Genre: fluff, fantasy, angel x demon, romantic Word Count: 4 385 Summary: Aziraphale finds a strange lantern on a shelf in his bookstore. The lantern is a work of Hell that imprisons the person who touches it. There is only one way for Aziraphale to escape. Is he ready to face his personal hell?

It happened on a normal, boring Friday morning. It could have happened on Thursday afternoon, however, Aziraphale forgot to dust the bookshelves that day. The angel deviated from his routine because of a certain biscuit plate he received as a gift. This is the reason why that particular incident happened on Friday morning.

Humming softly, Aziraphale swept away the cloud of dust on the spines of the books. The angel enjoyed dusting the bookstore. He was happily lost in his thoughts as his hands moved nimbly through the old books. Aziraphale is a very talented angel, he pays attention to every detail of his work so he can avoid mistakes that would cause him serious remorse for months. However, on this day he was not careful enough.

The vinyl that was spinning on the player suddenly stopped. Alarmed, Aziraphale raised his head from among the dusty books, knocking some of them off the shelf with that momentum. The angel quickly moved to the record player and anxiously examined the worn vinyl. It happened exactly as he thought. The disc grooves are damaged. The angel sadly studied the worn record in the sunlight filtering in through the window when the door to the bookstore burst open and Crowley slammed in. The demon was in his usual annoyed mood. He tossed the glasses that hid his snake eyes onto a shelf then sank into Aziraphale's antique armchair and huffed wordlessly to himself. Sighing, the angel put down the unusable record and adjusted his vest and turned to Crowley.

- Hello, Crowley! I'm glad you stopped by, can I help you with something?

The angel knew that expression on Crowley's face. The demon nervously drew his eyebrows together, pursed his lips and nervously drummed his fingers on the arm of the armchair. Someone or something made him terribly angry so before he committed horrible crimes to relieve his tension he went to the angel instead.

- Maybe some soothing tea? - Aziraphale offered with a cheerful smile.

The angel no longer took Crowley's annoyed mood seriously. The demon's sudden anger came as easily as it left. With a little distraction he already forgot about his gloomy mood.

- I don't need your useless tea - Crowley growled but immediately felt ashamed.

There have been more transfers and changes in Hell. One of the high-profile demon-scribe dared to ask for an old account that Crowley was sure had been settled and forgotten hundreds of years ago. However, the scribe did not expand and upset Crowley's already volatile state of mind in such a way that he turned him into a centipede without thinking.

So Crowley didn't start his Friday well. In addition, on the way to Aziraphale's bookstore he also remembered the faint memory that he had seemingly thrown the said bill aside centuries ago. Maybe he never closed that case in the end? Did he unnecessarily turn that insignificant scribe into a centipede? Crowley had been raging like this since morning. It wasn't enough that he was upset now he might also be remorseful for the rude way he answered the angel. Crowley doesn't really like to care about other people's feelings. He doesn't care what other man, demon or angel thinks. He owes no one kindness or anything. The world is cruel and Crowley has no desire to change it. However, the demon lived with one very important exception. He was really interested in an angel so he didn't want to hurt him.

Aziraphale pursed his lips in disapproval but did not push the idea of the tea any further. He turned back to his books and looked for the duster.

- I think if you feel like grumbling you can do it alone. However, if you want to talk about what pissed you off so much go ahead, I'll listen!

Crowley heaves a long sigh then pours out a long stream of complaints which the angel listens to patiently as he begins to wipe the shelves from the beginning. When he reached the place of the knocked down books he was greeted by an interesting sight. He frowned at the shabby lantern-looking object. Not only does Aziraphale not remember how this item ended up on the shelf the lantern also radiated evil energy. Definitely a demonic item. Aziraphale didn't think but reached to the lantern's ear to get a closer look at the object but as soon as he touched it, he was inhaled by it.

All Crowley could see was Aziraphale standing at the end of the bookshelf one moment then disappearing the next. The demon almost jumped out of the armchair. He had already forgotten his monologue about the underworld bureaucracy. He strode through the store and then came to a lantern lurking completely innocently on the shelf. He recognized it immediately and slapped his hand on the forehead worriedly.

- Aziraphale, I say to Satan’s name, how can I get you out of there? - the demon hissed between his teeth.

Crowley considered two possibilities. One is that Aziraphale, gathering all his miracles, confronts the power of the lantern and breaks out of its captivity, alone. Crowley found the first option problematic because he himself did not know the lantern's true power and what it could do to demonstrate its power over the captured being. The second possibility is that the demon goes after Aziraphale. The second possibility is also really worrying. What guarantees that Crowley will end up in the same place as the angel? What if only one of them is strong enough to break the spell? What happens when they are stuck inside the lantern's prison for their eternal existence?

Crowley's annoyed mood returned but he was forced to act as soon as possible as he didn't like the angel being possessed by such a powerful spell. He stared accusingly at the lantern on the shelf with narrowed snake eyes. If he had kept a closer eye on the angel and not buried himself in his own annoyance he could have prevented the trouble. But it's too late. Now he will have to save Aziraphale. He came to a decision then firmly raised his hand to the lantern and after a few moments of hesitation touched it. He was immediately drawn to the shabby object. Crowley spun around in the vacuum that just pulled him into it. Sometimes he spun in pitch darkness, sometimes he spun in blinding light then in the blink of an eye he fell face down on the ground. The force of the fell made him dizzy but finally he shook his aching head and looked up. He felt as if he had shrunk as small as an ant and entered the inside of the lantern. It was dim and surrounded by cold clay walls. Would that be it? Is this all the dreaded lamprey has in store which reputation holds all of Hell in fear?

- Crowley! - came a certain voice from behind.

Aziraphale helped him off the ground and dusted a little off the shoulders of his dark jacket.

- What are you doing here? The lantern emits a clear evil force! Didn't you notice? What kind of sane demon voluntarily enters here? Don't say you don't know this object because it is clearly the work of Hell!

Crowley whirled around in a daze. He didn't think he could detect any ominous signs. However, the thought that what greeted him in the lantern was only the calm before the storm did not let him rest. He grabbed Aziraphale's arm and pulled him closer.

- Stay close, you have no idea what we're up against! - Crowley growled as he ran his eyes around the inner wall of the lantern.

- So you really know what happened! What's all this? - the angel asked as he dutifully ducked into Crowley's shadow.

As is well known, Aziraphale is indeed a high-ranking, powerful angel whose miracles are almost guaranteed to be fulfilled. However, it is also a known fact that the angel was happy to let Crowley protect him. Of course it wasn't because he thought the demon was expendable, no way! Aziraphale liked to think that it gave Crowley pleasure to protect his friend. Due to the nature of the demon he liked to be the master of event, and as a result he believed that he could protect Aziraphale as well. He didn't constantly come to his defense because he thought he was weak, no way! All he knew was that his instincts led him to the angel's side in any sinister event and he felt an inner urge to protect him to the end.

- Maybe you could provide some explanation? - Aziraphale insisted.

- This lantern is a very famous craft, a demonic object that serves as a prison. It was created to enslave the most ferocious demons. The interior of the lantern completely neutralizes all kinds of miracles. There is only one way to get out.

- Namely? - interrupted the angel with eyes shining with hope.

- I'm sorry to say that I don't know how.

- You don't know the way - muttered Aziraphale brokenly. - What do you mean?

- Just as I said.

Aziraphale was speechless in his amazement. What a folly he committed when he carelessly grabbed the demonic lantern and even Crowley fell victim to his carelessness. A look of horrible shame and worry crossed Aziraphale’s face that Crowley couldn't bear so he tried to gather more information from his memories about the lantern.

- This place is referred to as a personal hell. I suspect that if this is the case then each prisoner will have to free himself from the lantern curse.

- Crowley… - the angel hesitated. - You shouldn't have come after me. Personal hell doesn't sound too promising. In fact! It sounds hideous! You're a fool to come after me!

- Shh, angel! - hushed Crowley.

It doesn't matter what awaits him here. There was no way he wanted Aziraphale to suffer alone what the lantern had in store for him. Crowley was alert for any attack, not knowing the meaning behing the so called personal hell. However, he was suddenly gripped by a strong burning sensation around his shoulder blade where his wings joined his body. In pain, he fell to the ground and began to scratch the bottom of the lantern with his fingers in agony. He couldn't think of anything else but the feeling of living fire burning his wings and the heat spreading through his body and paralyzing his limbs. He began to gasp desperately but the air did not relieve his pain it only increased it. He could still feel Aziraphale trembling, kneeling beside him and turning him on his side. His gaze locked with Crowley's before the demon passed out. Aziraphale's throat tightened then suddenly a sob-like sound left his body which revealed everything about his hopelessness. He couldn't speak and maybe he didn't want to because he was afraid that all his strength would leave him. Then suddenly he felt it too. The burning sensation in his back, the searing pain in his wings. He crouched on the ground next to Crowley. He thought that if he was taken by death now at least Crowley wouldn't be able to see it.

~~~

Crowley woke up in Heaven. The sterile white walls and furniture revealed where he had been. Groaning, the demon sat up. He no longer felt pain but he immediately noticed that Aziraphale was not with him and that he could hear angels chatting around a distant table. Footsteps could be heard from the other end of the hall. A tall angel strode across the snow-white floor, oblivious to Crowley. When she reached the table of the angels she announced aloud that the traitor had been found.

- Bring him here! - Michael's unforgiving voice was heard.

The angels did not notice Crowley. The demon thought that by some miracle he was not perceived. It's like he's not even there. After a few moments an army of angels appeared dragging Aziraphale in front of the archangels. Crowley watched in astonishment as his best friend was brought in as a traitor. Michael measured Aziraphale cruelly then issued the punishment:

- His existence must be erased. A traitor deserves no mercy. The enormity of his sin, however, demands that, in addition to being obliterated he must suffer such in amount that it will accompany him into non-existence.

Crowley saw Aziraphale shake and turn pale then be led astray by the angels and bright handcuffs placed on his wrists.

- Michael, I haven't committed any sin - the angel pleads brokenly but the archangels ignore Aziraphale.

Crowley trembles with rage. How dare they treat his friend like this? Aziraphale doesn't deserve this. Angels surround the figure of Aziraphale. Two of the angels force him to his knees. At Michael’s command, Aziraphale's wings appeared and two other angels fought him and began to tear them off. The scene was cruel and bloody. Crowley couldn't contain his emotions. He jumped up from the floor and ran to the cruel angels who were torturing Aziraphale. Crowley shouted at the top of his voice. After being ignored he tried to throw himself at the angels but his body proved malleable as he fell through the tormentors. He then tried to perform a miracle to end the cruel scene. Nothing used. He heard nothing but Aziraphale's pained voice, saw nothing but the blood and tears of the angel. The demon felt his own blood boil with rage and pain. He was helpless and condemned to watch it all. He suddenly didn't know which one of them being hurt more. Is Aziraphale or Crowley the greater victim? He was unable to intervene. Crowley began to feel dizzy his eyes throbbed from the sight, his heart raced, the air was drained from his lungs and then all his senses turned off at Aziraphale's scream. His body fails him and he falls back into deep sleep.

When he regained consciousness he found himself on the carpet of Aziraphale's bookstore. The sound of an argument was heard from the back of the store. He recognized Azirapahale's voice and then his own. So they were fighting. A few moments later Aziraphale stormed into the foreground. His face was contorted with rage, his skin glowed red with anger and he was almost panting in the heat of the fight. Crowley arrived soon after. The demon saw himself from the outside. He seemed evil, unlovable, unforgiving.

- Get out of here! - the angel scolded him. - I can't even see you!

Crowley's heart sank in his chest. What did he do anyway? He didn't want Aziraphale to hate him. He couldn't bear it. Crouching on the carpet he gripped his jacket exactly where his heart beat.

- Cover up! And never come back! I will never forgive you!

Crowley could hear Aziraphale yelling to his fever dream self. His heart no longer dared to beat excitedly. The air around him froze. What will happen to him without Aziraphale? He can't live without him. And then behind the haze of gnawing despair he suddenly realized. That was what he feared the most. His greatest fear is losing his angel. Aziraphale, who is almost the condition of his existence with whom they have worked together for more than six thousand years, with whom he shared his joy and sorrow, who shared the same with him.

The realization settled on his shoulders with great force but the dream image dissipated and he woke up again between the clay walls of the lantern. His body lay exhausted on the cool ground. Barely an arm's length away lay Aziraphale. His face and whole body were pressed against the floor. Sweat glistened on his forehead and his face sometimes twitched into a painful grimace. He had a restless dream. Crowley crept closer to the angel. He pressed his forehead to Aziraphale's then concentrated hard and tried to enter the angel's dream.

Many angels and demons consider it dishonorable to dwell on other people's thoughts. The angels simply referred to it as an immoral act, however, in the demon world mind reading could easily serve as the basis for selective torture. Crowley didn't want to come across a thought that didn't belong to him and he just focused on getting into Aziraphale's current dream. He searched and avoided the angel's tangled thoughts for a long time before he found what he was looking for.

~~~

Aziraphale woke up on wet concrete. The embarrassing rain fell on his forehead but did not soak him. The rain fell on him and it didn't. He realized that something like this could happen to his being both present and not in this world. But what is this world he has fallen into? Or is he just dreaming? The angel slowly got up from the wet concrete and looked around. He found himself in a small street. He saw a bakery on the right side of the road. And through the raindrop-soaked glass door he saw himself. That is a very similar version of himself. He was, but he wasn't. He wore a simple denim jacket with a gray T-shirt along with matching long denim pants and simple sneakers. In addition to his clothes he was shocked by the fact that he had a beard and curly hair. Involuntarily, he touched his shining golden angelic hair. How does this very human version of himself get here? And why does it look like he's waiting for someone?

Aziraphale heard the sound of a motor from the end of the street. He saw a dark figure slowly stop at the service opposite the bakery. Motor service. Interesting. He couldn't imagine how his version of himself could handle working in such a noisy and dirty environment. Then the dark stranger took off his helmet and Aziraphale's heart skipped a beat. He took a few steps back in shock then moved closer to the human version of Crowley again. The man wore leather pants with motorcycle boots accompanied by an embroidered leather jacket with Satan himself roaring on the back. Crowley had shoulder-length dark brown hair, stubble covering his face, and he also wore a black sunglasses. Aziraphalet was suddenly drenched in sweat. He had expected everything except that he would dream of Crowley like this. He watched the man-demon mesmerized he was curious about every detail from this version of Crowley but he startled himself. The man in the denim jacket ran out of the bakery and stopped next to Crowley's motorcycle. He looked at the leather clad Crowley with a confused smile and an awkward silence settled between them as he looked back at him but said nothing. Crowley was apparently reluctant to talk to him. Aziraphale's face flushed and he felt ashamed even for himself. Why not leave Crowley alone?

- Hello - said the curly haired Aziraphale awkwardly.

Crowley looked at him but also ignored him. The angel put his hand over his mouth in shock. Somehow he wasn't surprised by Crowley's harsh style. However, it seemed that they were not even friends with the demon in this world. The human Crowley slapped his helmet under his arm and began to walk into the service but Aziraphale grabbed his arm and stopped him.

- I made a mistake - he finally said.

Crowley didn't answer just looked at the downed curly head and the hand gripping his arm.

- You were right - Aziraphale in jeans swallowed. - I should have trusted you.

Crowley yanked his hand away and went around his bike to separate him from Aziraphale. He smiled bitterly and said only this:

- But you didn't trust me.

The angel saw the human self wince at Crowley's words. Whatever he did he deeply regretted it. He had made a big mistake and now he was afraid of losing Crowley.

- It's… I… Crowley…- the human Aziraphale hesitated just as the angel would. - Look at me! Don't you see?

Aziraphale did not understand what was happening and had no idea what exactly he was witnessing. His gaze darted between himself and Crowley but the latter looked at him with a completely expressionless face.

- Can't you see how scared I am? - pleaded the now drenched curly haired Aziraphale. - I never had anyone. I could only trust Maggie until now. I've known Maggie since college, you and Crowley... Three crazy long months. I'm afraid to let someone get so close to me in such a short time. Do you understand what I'm saying?

Crowley was silent for a long time then spoke softly:

- What are you afraid of anyway?

Aziraphale sighed in delight that Crowley was even continuing the conversation with him.

- I think I like your company Crowley.

- This is not an answer to the question.

Silence again and only the sound of the rain roared in the angel's ears. What was he afraid of? And the angel knew the answer.

The Aziraphale in denim ran his hands through his hair and smoothed the wet curls back. He pursed his lips and opened his mouth to speak but no sound came out. The angel blew impatiently then shouted to himself even though he knew he couldn't hear:

- Pull yourself together and finally say it! Say it, you idiot!

He shuddered under his soaked clothes. Maybe it was just the cold raindrops or the angelic inspiration but he seemed to be pulling his coat tighter. He let out a breath then looked determinedly into Crowley's eyes.

- I'm afraid that I'll lose you after I let you in. I'm afraid of the pain of losing you. I'm afraid of what it means to be afraid of these things… - Aziraphale's lips trembled but his voice remained strong. - I think I'm most afraid of admitting to you that I love you and you don't love me back.

Aziraphale was astonished by his own courage. The spoken words hit him in the chest and he staggered back from the force of recognition and fell to the ground. He was shivering all over but he couldn't blame on the cold rain. His vision was hazy from the scene before his eyes and he blinked widely to hold back his tears.

- That's the answer – muttered the demon Crowley right next to him.

The angel turned in surprise in the direction of the voice. The demon crouched next to him and looked at their human version with snake eyes. He smiled faintly.

- You... This now... Did you watch this all the way through? - stammered Aziraphale but he didn't dare raise his eyes to Crowley, he just stared ahead.

- I also had to face what I fear the most. The power of the Hell Lantern lies in recognizing your greatest fear and turning it against you. The lantern is a prison that uses your mind to live in your own fear until you face it.

- Crowley... - the angel looks straight ahead but is driven by curiosity. - What is your greatest fear?

Crowley points to himself behind the motorcycle. The man has already taken off his glasses and a mixture of terror and hope can be read from his eyes.

- Look at that fool - he said with a bitter laugh. - He waits in silence and hopes and makes a fool of himself and is afraid that he is doing it all in vain. He is terrified of losing the drenched angel standing in front of him.

Aziraphale did not move. His body was paralyzed by what he heard but his thoughts were chaotic. And he couldn't take it anymore a stray tear rolled down his face.

- I don't know what to do - he confessed in a whisper.

- It's simple - the demon replied. - I'll tell you the steps. Gather your courage. Look at me. And say what you've said before.

The angel took a big swallow. Six thousand years of friendship is not so easy to throw away. However, the lantern saw clearly what his weak point was and he had to face it or he would be stuck here forever. The moment has come for him to speak the truth that his heart hides.

- I shouldn't have started dusting today - Aziraphale moans desperately but looked up at Crowley. - Crowley, you're my best friend.

The demon didn't interrupt him his penetrating yellow eyes searched the angel’s and waited patiently for him to say what he wanted to hear for so long.

- I would like you to never forget how grateful I am for your friendship, but I think...I think it’s not enough anymore. I'm still afraid to admit that I love you. Perhaps for centuries. I don't even know the time anymore. Forgive me if I say something that offends you, but…

Crowley's lips pressed against the angel's. And Aziraphale's heart almost left his body in excitement. The angel wasn't nervous no, he didn't have to keep the secret any longer and he didn't have to fear being found out anymore. He slowly surrendered her entire being to the kiss and closed his eyes to enjoy Crowley's closeness. When he opened his eyes again, he found himself in the bookstore in front of the shelf. Crowley stood beside him and sent the lantern back to Hell with a flick.

- Devilish invention - he grumbled but Aziraphale looked at his face with a softened expression and curled his arm around the demon’s.

- I think we could use a lunch - suggested the angel with raised eyebrows.

Crowley nodded but scratched his chin and asked the angel:

- Then can we take this as a date?

Aziraphale laughed.

- Imagine that an angel in love and supposedly a demon in love go to lunch together.

Crowley put on his glasses.

- That clearly seems like a date to me - agreed Crowley then added as they walked out the door: - The demon is not only supposedly but irrevocably in love.

Aziraphale's smile never left his face that day.

#good omens #crowly x aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale #good omens fanfiction #crowley x aziraphale fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #fantasy #angel x demon #fluff

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knifeforkspooncup · 9 days

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I made this silly little art, and then like a being possessed, wrote 1200 words of pure unadulterated hogwash to go with it (ficlet below the cut)

Duck Duck Goose

Rating: Teen and up

"Shouldn't be feeding them bread." Crowley said, trying and failing to ward off an irate goose with the pointed toe of his boot. "It’s brioche." Aziraphale chided, as if that explained anything. A nattering crowd of ducks was forming at his feet like eager disciples. Crowley didn't ask where he'd gotten the brioche. He'd stuck his chilly hands into Aziraphale's pockets enough times now to know the list of things the angel kept on his person at any given moment was - well, impressive was one word for it. In the way a magpie's hoard of oddities was impressive. A brioche was quite pedestrian, really. "Brioche then.” The goose had moved on to striking repeatedly for his ankles, more pit viper than waterfowl. “Shouldn’t. Feed them. Brioche,” he gritted between defensive maneuvers. He never had gotten the hang of sword fighting. If Aziraphale heard, he pretended not to, ripping off hunks of bread at least double the esophagus diameter of the average mallard duck. One at a time, he tossed them lazily into the fray. The ducks erupted into chattering, nipping each other’s feathers. A shark frenzy had more natural order to it.

The goose took no interest, bloodlust overriding any desire for fine French baked goods. If anything, it doubled its effort to latch onto Crowley’s shin. Had geese always had teeth?

Aziraphale beamed at the chaos, halogen bright. Humming with self satisfaction, he brushed his hands of crumbs, and settled back against the bench. Crowley diverted a sliver of bodily coordination to snake one arm behind him, weaseling into the warm gap left by the angel’s impeccable posture.

This was a thing they did now, apparently. Not watching ducks squabble over bread – that part was old hat. But Aziraphale tucking himself neatly against Crowley's side? For all the world to see. Like he was one of Crowley's wings simply stowing away. Frankly, that hat still had the tag on it. Still had that new hat smell.

This was rapidly becoming their new normal. Embroidery on the familiar weave of their time together. They still did all the things they always had. They still went to the Ritz, where the waiter still assumed Aziraphale was paying for the bill. Crowley still pulled out the angel’s seat like a proper gentledemon.

None of that had changed.

Just now they also held hands on the table between courses, and Aziraphale fed Crowley bites of dessert straight from his spoon. Sometimes they even did exciting things with their feet under the table.

Aziraphale called it canoodling. Crowley was pretty sure that was a fussy type of dog. The kind that wore bows on its head and left the groomer looking like an ornamental hedge.

Whatever it was, it was nice. More than nice.

Take today for example. The clouds were parting, birds singing – the whole production; the sun sparkled just so, really putting the ol’ razzle dazzle on it all.

There went Aziraphale, tipping his head back against Crowley’s shoulder, eyes closing. Lashes sun-gilt and fanning on his rosy cheeks. Straight out of a renaissance painting. A nice, expensive renaissance painting, on with real lapis lazuli pigment for the eyes. The angel really knew when to lay it on thick.

“Oh, that’s quite nice, isn’t it.” Aziraphale sighed, basking in the warmth.

See, nice? It was nice. Five hundred years of coming here, and this moment was the most nice it had ever been. Crowley remembered when this place was a marshy field full of roving geese and snuffling pigs. When the trees that made this nice bench were just scrawny little saplings, runty and wind bitten. Had the bench gotten smaller? It used to feel immense, and not in the luxury Cadillac sense of the word. Used to fit Heaven and Hell between them with room to spare. Back when nice was a four letter –

The goose sunk it’s – definitely toothed – beak into Crowley’s shin, just above the boot.

Satisfied with its grip, it started to flail, giving the impression Crowley was a chewtoy it meant to thrash to death. The small part of Crowley’s brain reserved for humility was starting to believe it would succeed.

"Dinner? How would you feel about a nice, tasty Christmas goose?” Grunted Crowley, shaking his leg and raising his free hand, demonic miracle at the ready. He had just the goose in mind. “With all the trimmings. Could even do some plum sauce on the side if you like,"

Aziraphale frowned, eyes still closed. “…it’s October.”

“That a no, then? Don’t want to get a head start on the festivities?”

Aziraphale looked up just as Crowley managed to dislodge the fowl beast and punt it away like a feathery football. It came right back, tongue stuck out like a rude child and wheezing angrily.

He tsked, mouth thinning. “You’re terrible. Leave the poor thing alone.”

Crowley sputtered. “Wha – ha – me?! I’m not the one biting a boot like a lunatic!” Would that work? Biting it? Maybe the goose would bugger off if Crowley bit it back. Should he bite it back? He should probably bite it, shouldn’t he. Oh, Satan, he was going to get feathers stuck in his teeth.

The infernal creature hissed, undoubtedly reading his mind. Crowley hissed back, tongue forking menacingly if only for the sake of his own ego.

Aziraphale was staring at him and smiling. Well, smirking. Fondly. The corners of his mouth pinching his cheeks, eyes crinkling under a raised eyebrow. He even had a dimple forming on his chin. Ridiculous. Something in the inner workings of Crowley’s chest did its best impression of a snare drum.

“Shall we, my dear?” Said the Very Ridiculous Angel, stirring from Crowley’s side. He stood and straightened his jumper until there were no more wrinkles. Seeing Crowley still engaged in boot-to-beak combat with the feathery fiend, he added tartly: “Before someone gets killed.”

Crowley grumbled something about demonic wrath and taking bets, but slunk to his feet. He flicked his glasses down and shot a final, venomous glare at the goose before sidling up to Aziraphale and offering his arm.

Aziraphale took it, wedging warm hands into the crook of Crowley’s elbow. He made it look habitual, easy as. Just the natural thing to do. Right as rain.

He was faster than Crowley, at this part. At the settling in. He’d taken to it all like geese to psychological warfare.

“You mentioned dinner?” Said Aziraphale brightly, ducks parting obediently at their feet.

“Your turn to pick.” Crowley’s skin was sizzling, water on a hot frying pan.

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment, face thoughtful. He took dinner plans very seriously.

“How about Peking duck? From that lovely place just around the corner, the one with the comfortable chairs.”

Crowley gave him a sharp look, nearly spraining an eyebrow in the process.

The angel was looking resolutely ahead, expression perfectly blank save for the way his mouth twitched at the corners.

I love you, blurted Crowley’s brain.

“Every restaurant has comfortable chairs,” blurted his mouth. It was a fact. Every restaurant did have comfortable chairs. Or else. So far Crowley hadn’t met a chair that cared to find out about the or else – chairs not being very curious by nature.

Crowley would say all the other things later, of course. All the sappy, corny, sweet-nothing things. When they were home. When he could wash the burn down with something whispered and sinfully filthy. Something that would make Aziraphale turn pinker than a summer peach.

Aziraphale was watching him, gaze unspeakably soft. “I know, my dear,” he said.

“I know.”

#I hope you can tell this was made with a truly disgusting amount of love #a cowboy lesbian and his grandpa-core soulmate sit on a bench #if geese have no haters I am dead #good omens #good omens fanart #good omens fanfiction #aziracrow #crowley #aziraphale #good omens art #ineffable husbands #aziraphale x crowley

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