#aziraphale notes that the use of 'angel' as a term of endearment is from crowley's gay ass pining through eternity | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mimisempai · 11 months

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My dear love

Summary

After a comment from Nina, Aziraphale wonders if "my dear" isn't too cold, and more importantly, what other terms of endearment he should use on Crowley. After seeking advice from Maggie, he decides to try out some terms on the unsuspecting demon.

Notes

Pick your favorite pet name, I have mine…

Day 28 : Terms of endearment

On Ao3

Rating G - 1452 words

"Well Angel, I'm off or I'll be late! See you!"

Aziraphale, who had followed Crowley to the front door of the bookshop, replied, "Have fun, my dear," and watched as the demon got into the Bentley, which started immediately.

"How cold..."

Aziraphale turned back to Nina, who had just rounded the corner, and asked perplexedly, "What do you mean?"

Nina stopped beside him and replied, "Well, you call him my dear, but he calls you Angel all the time. I think that's a little cold."

Aziraphale replied, "But I'm an ang-"

Nina shook her head, "That has nothing to do with it, I call Maggie Angel too, and she's no angel. Not to mention the tone of his voice when he says it."

Seeing Aziraphale's puzzled look, she continued, "Honestly, I understand better now why it took you so long to get together."

She started to walk toward the coffee shop and added, "Anyway, if that's the way it works for you, that's fine too. Have a nice day."

Aziraphale watched her go, then returned to the bookshop and went about his usual business. But after a few minutes he gave up, unable to concentrate at all as he kept thinking about what Nina had told him.

Would Crowley want him to call him something else?

Was my dear really too cold?

All those times Crowley had called him Angel, hadn't he expected as much in return?

Seeing no point in continuing, he decided to visit the person who had always given him the best advice since he and Crowley had been together.

A few minutes later, he was walking in circles under Maggie's amused gaze, wondering how to broach the subject.

Lost in his thoughts, he hadn't noticed her approach and gasped slightly when she put her hand on his arm and said softly, "Why don't you tell me what you're so anxious to say? I assume it has something to do with Crowley, otherwise you'd be on your way with a new record."

Aziraphale grimaced sheepishly before continuing, "Well, I was just wondering what it was like to... um... call someone a nickname, you know, like..."

"Like how Crowley calls you Angel all the time?"

Aziraphale sighed, "You say that too. Anyway, that's what I mean. Like that."

Maggie smiled back, "Well, there's a lot of choices, but quick, like this, I'd say Darling, Honey, Sweetheart. Or something that makes you think of him, like Nina sometimes calls me Sunshine because I smile all the time." She giggled slightly before continuing, "Think of him, how you see him, what you like about him, what comes naturally to you."

"I see."

Aziraphale nodded slowly and thanked her before leaving the record store.

A few hours later, the sound of the bookshop door opening and closing brought him out of his thoughts as Crowley exclaimed, "It was horrible today. The audience at the planetarium was absolutely unruly. How can anyone disrespect the stars like that, it's unbelievable, I don't..."

Aziraphale gently took the demon's hands and said, "Come and sit down, darling, I'll pour you a little pick-me-up. I think you need it."

He led the demon to the sofa, made him sit down, and walked to the back of the bookstore, not daring to look at Crowley to see his reaction.

So he didn't see the demon's stunned expression as he wondered if he had heard right.

As he opened the bottle of whiskey, the angel told himself that he liked Darling, the way it rolled on his lips, but he shouldn't stop there. He returned with the glass of whiskey he'd just poured and handed it to Crowley before sitting down next to him and listening to him recount his session at the planetarium.

After draining his glass and finishing his story, Crowley, visibly exhausted, more emotionally than physically, lay down on the sofa, his head in Aziraphale's lap. When the angel was sure the demon was asleep, he levitated his current book from his desk to him and began to read.

He was two chapters in when Crowley awoke and straightened to sit beside him.

Aziraphale set his book down next to him and raised his hand, pushing back a lock of red hair that had slipped down Crowley's forehead and taking the opportunity to gently stroke his cheek.

Crowley, still a little sleepy, leaned into the angel's hand before saying, "I'm going to make myself a cup of coffee, angel, shall I get you a cup of tea?"

Aziraphale replied softly, "Yes, thank you, honey."

Crowley's eyes widened and he exclaimed, "What?"

The slightly blushing angel replied, "With a spoonful of honey. My tea. With a spoonful of honey."

Then he picked up his book and pretended to read on, just to keep a straight face.

Crowley, still not quite awake, scratched his head before getting up to make coffee and tea.

Aziraphale followed him with his eyes and sighed.

Apparently, honey wasn't such a good idea.

Coffee and tea had long since been drunk and Aziraphale was listening to music when his attention was drawn to Muriel and Crowley chatting animatedly around one of the plants.

He turned off the gramophone, but neither of them noticed, and Aziraphale enjoyed just watching them. They clearly disagreed on how to handle this plant, for whatever reason, and even though they were talking animatedly, the angel detected no animosity. From the beginning, Crowley and Muriel had had this kind of sibling relationship, which meant they often bickered, but the affection between them was undeniable. Crowley had already admitted to Aziraphale that he'd had a soft spot for the other angel ever since he'd seen the way they'd been treated in heaven, and that it hadn't dampened their enthusiasm and cheerfulness.

Aziraphale rose and approached them.

He grabbed the demon's arm and said softly, "Mon amour, let Muriel take care of this plant, you've already seen how good they are with it."

Taking advantage of the demon's surprised expression, he led him away, winking at Muriel, who gave him a thumbs up.

They were heading for the sofa when Aziraphale continued, "Would you like to have dinner tonight, mon amour? I think-"

He paused as Crowley stopped abruptly. The angel turned to him and saw the demon blush slightly.

He asked him softly, "Crowley, what's wrong?"

Crowley said in a somewhat irritated tone, "What's wrong? What's wrong? I should be asking you that. Darling, honey, mon amour, what's gotten into you all of a sudden?"

Aziraphale's face fell and he sheepishly replied, "I'm sorry, it's because..."

He told Crowley all about his conversation with NIna that morning, and when he was finished, the demon sighed, "Oh, Angel..."

He took the angel's hands and this time it was he who pulled him to the sofa where they both sat.

Still holding Aziraphale's hands, he said softly, "Angel, let me ask you a question. Is there anyone else to whom you say these exact words? My dear?"

Aziraphale didn't think twice and shook his head vigorously.

Crowley smiled and replied, "You see...those words are special for me. I have nothing against other tender pet names, if you want to call me darling, honey, my love, mon amour because you feel like it, then yes, do, although for mon amour, let me get used to it first, you really surprised me with that one."

"You don't like it?"

"That's just it, angel, I love it very much."

He leaned over and planted a light kiss on the angel's lips before continuing, "But in the end, it's the intention behind it that counts. The emotion you put into it. When I hear someone say 'My dear' on the street, I don't react, but when it's you... it's a different story, Angel. It gives me a feeling of belonging. It's like a secret language between you and me."

Aziraphale nodded and said, "I think I understand."

Crowley replied, "Use this," he pointed to the angel's chest and continued, "Instead of this," he pointed to his head.

Aziraphale chuckled softly and grabbed the demon's finger before bringing his face close to Crowley's, "I'll do that, mon amour."

Crowley murmured, "Angel..." as he blushed again.

Aziraphale brought his face even closer and continued, "But you said you loved it, mon amour."

"Angel."

"Oui, mon amour?"

"Shut up..."

"You, make me shut up... mon amour."

He barely had time to finish before Crowley had closed the tiny distance between them and was pressing his lips to his, because after all, it was still the best way to shut him up.

Not that Aziraphale was complaining.

He would never complain about receiving a tender kiss from his dear love.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story 🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable Growing Love series : here (After season 2)

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here (Before season 2)

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

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lady-divine-writes · 5 years

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Respect the Journey, Enjoy the Destination (Rated M)

Summary: Aziraphale has scars that Crowley deeply regrets. But Crowley has one that Aziraphale regrets, too. It takes 6000 years for two enemies turned lovers - and now fiances - to come to terms with them. (1501 words)

Notes: This is the second of two presents I wrote for the amazing @whiteleyfoster as a thank you for their Prince of Omens series. I held on to it till now because it makes a reference revealed in today's update and I didn't want to give anything away. This takes place after the previous epilogue I wrote - When an End is Really a Beginning - that takes place after the events of the Good Omens mini-series, but includes the Prince of Omens version of the characters and references to their time in Egypt.

Read on AO3.

“Is this all right, angel?” Crowley asks, fingertips dancing down Aziraphale’s sides, circling around to his back.

“Yes …” Aziraphale sighs, arching up to receive the touch, but also moving closer, stretching his neck to give Crowley more skin to kiss. “Yes, it’s all right. It’s more than all right.”

Crowley shivers at Aziraphale’s praise, and Aziraphale adores it. Adores how much a few kind and honest words turn Crowley on. In Aziraphale’s eyes, it’s the purest form of foreplay. But something deeper dwells beneath his trembling. Something more. Crowley is always the tiniest bit nervous, Aziraphale notices, when they start to make love. Before the Apoca-didn’t, he assumed it was out of fear of getting caught.

Maybe it still is, even though there’s no need.

Old habits die hard after all.

Aziraphale doesn’t mention it. He doesn’t want to make Crowley self-conscious in any way. But Aziraphale can’t help being curious.

They’ve made love hundreds of times. They’ve both taken the lead. This time will prove to be just as miraculous as every other. If Crowley isn’t afraid of getting caught, why the nerves?

Aziraphale may never know.

Regardless, Aziraphale finds it endearing.

“What do you want, angel?” Crowley whispers, and fire shoots straight from those kisses to Aziraphale’s toes.

“I want you, my dear.”

Crowley grins against Aziraphale’s neck. “You always say that.”

“Well, it’s all I want.”

“How do you want me?”

Aziraphale kisses Crowley’s bicep, eyes flicking coyly up to meet his. “You choose. Surprise me.”

“All right.” Crowley swallows hard, chews his lower lip. Thoughts Aziraphale can’t decipher swim through the liquid amber of Crowley’s eyes, whose serpent gold has bled into the white, filling them from rim to rim with lust. But the furrow of his brow battles against the passion of his eyes.

Aziraphale wishes he’d tell him what’s on his mind.

Crowley puts a hand to Aziraphale’s shoulder, starts turning him over. “Like this … i-if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t. I love you this way, too,” Aziraphale reassures him, trying to iron-out the wrinkles in Crowley’s confidence. Crowley helps Aziraphale onto his stomach. The moment he’s there, Crowley kisses him again, lips blazing a trail down the angel’s spine, moving over his skin with murmurs Aziraphale can feel but can’t hear.

But the longer those murmurs continue, the clearer they become.

Aziraphale concentrates on them, the bittersweet way they tingle, until he can determine what they are.

Apologies.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, angel. I’m so sorry …”

“Sorry for what, Crowley?” Aziraphale peeks over his shoulder. He sees his demon but can’t catch his eyes - his head bowed, chin pressed to his neck as he retreats.

“Sorry for what, love?” Aziraphale asks again.

Crowley doesn’t answer. He sits back on his heels, gulps a few times, but he doesn’t speak.

A second later, Aziraphale feels a tear fall onto his skin.

“My dear!” Aziraphale flips over and takes Crowley’s hands in his. “What in the world is wrong!?”

“You kept them,” Crowley says, almost to himself. It’s not a revelation. Crowley knew they were there. “To remind you never to trust a demon. Never to trust me.”

They’re scars - horrid, angry whip marks littering Aziraphale’s back, made in Egypt when Aziraphale was mistaken for a lazy slave. Scars from a punishment Aziraphale wouldn’t have had to endure if not for Crowley’s conceit.

His ignorance.

His cowardice.

And when he thinks about the morning after, the horrible things he said in an attempt to push Aziraphale away, get him to leave Egypt and go somewhere he’d be safe …

… in his head, he’s discorporated himself for it, over and over, in the vilest of ways.

“It’s … it’s not that simple.” Aziraphale pleads, needing Crowley to understand as he realizes this is where those nervous tremors stem from.

Crowley seeing these marks.

Being reminded.

The torture it brings.

“It’s what I think every time I look at them.”

“I didn’t keep them to hurt you. And I don’t wear them as armor against you,” Aziraphale explains. “Scars are simply a road. They’re a part of our story. They tell us where we’ve been, remind us of something important.”

“And what’s that?” Crowley sniffs.

“That we’re stronger than the things that try to break us. Back in Egypt, so many things tried to do that, tried to keep us apart. But in the end, here we are - you and I.” Aziraphale puts his left hand over Crowley’s, his serpent ring resting over Crowley’s angel one. “Together. And for the rest of our lives.”

Crowley nods. His eyelids flutter closed. He takes a deep breath in, digests those words. A tear slips down his cheek. Aziraphale follows the path of that tear as it rolls. It lingers on his jawbone, then breaks free, landing on his chest and continuing from there. Another follows, merges with the first, pushes it along. It skirts his flank and settles on his stomach, absorbing into his skin. That journey draws Aziraphale’s gaze to Crowley’s side and the faint, silvery remains of a fiery gash. Aziraphale reaches for it, fingertips hovering over, tracing its outline in the air.

“This scar,” he says. “You chose to keep it. Why?”

Crowley shrugs. Without opening his eyes, he puts a hand over Aziraphale’s and holds it tight, presses it to the spectre of the wound. “I wanted a souvenir from being struck by a holy sword. Doesn’t happen every day, you know. I thought it would look cool. Maybe give me clout down in Hell.” He chuckles lightly. “It sure made Hastur jealous as all get out.”

“I did this to you,” Aziraphale says sadly.

Crowley’s eyes snap open. “No, you didn’t,” he says to the regret on Aziraphale’s face. “Pharaoh did.”

“With my sword. The one I lost track of. You said so yourself.”

“Angel …” Crowley shakes his head “… you can’t blame yourself for this.”

“He couldn’t have touched you without it. Doesn’t it stand to reason that if I hadn’t given it away he’d never have been able to hurt you?”

“He … he could have found a way,” Crowley says lamely. “Besides, you had good reasons for giving it away.”

“He could have destroyed you! Which means I would have destroyed you!” Aziraphale cries, a rage born of grief hardening his voice, and Crowley discovers a truth he’d never considered.

Aziraphale has never forgiven himself for this, even though there’s nothing to forgive.

“You saved me! In a thousand ways, you saved me!”

Aziraphale’s watery gaze meets Crowley’s concerned one. “I know what you did to the man who beat me. What you sentenced him to.”

Crowley’s eyes go wide - wider than Aziraphale has ever seen. “What? H-how?”

"The Archangels. They keep tabs on the prisoners in the bottomless pit. I read their report.”

“O-oh,” Crowley says, mildly ashamed, but only that Aziraphale didn’t hear the news from him directly. He didn’t tell him at the time because he didn’t want to sound like he was bragging. Of course, he didn’t want Aziraphale to try and stop him, either. “I forgot about that.”

“He’ll suffer far more than Pharaoh.”

“Pharaoh burns in the fires of eternal torment. You know that.”

“I know. But sometimes I think …” Aziraphale’s voice cracks, splinters away. When it returns, it’s sad and low and terrifying all at once “… it’s not enough.”

“F-for what he did to the slaves?”

“And you. He threatened you. Took you prisoner.” Aziraphale raises a hand, cards it through Crowley’s hair, winds the cool strands around his fingers and gives them a possessive squeeze. “He … he cut your hair,” Aziraphale stutters, on the verge of tears. “I wasn’t there, but when I close my eyes, I can see it. I see him wrapping his hand around it, pulling it … I see the tears in your eyes, the look on your face - the humiliation, the pain, the fear. And I see him inflicting all of it with my sword! I can’t exact revenge the way you can. But sometimes I wish …”

“No, you don’t! Aziraphale?” Crowley leans forward, takes Aziraphale’s face in his hands, rests their foreheads together. “No, you don’t! You’re an angel!”

Aziraphale sniffles. “Perhaps I’m not a very good angel.”

“You’re the best angel I know.” Crowley kisses Aziraphale’s tears when they start to fall. “That’s why I want to spend forever with you.”

Aziraphale sighs, the sadness in that single breath enough to crush Crowley. Had he only known! Had he a single clue! Maybe he could have relieved Aziraphale of his agony a long time ago. But Aziraphale is a master at keeping his cards close to his chest.

They both are.

“Forever is a long time, my dear,” Aziraphale says.

“I know.” Crowley rushes forward and kisses his angel on the mouth, revels in kissing his angel, glories in the fact that he’s the only one who can. “And thank God for that.”

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #prince of omens #ineffable husbands #anthony j crowley #aziraphale #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley

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thinkingisadangerouspastime · 5 years

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flustered

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One day, he got lucky.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But still!"

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

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

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

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

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

"Crowley!"

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

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

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

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

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

"I know what you're thinking."

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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readingwritingcrying · 5 years

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A good omens prompt? Crowleys a snake, and snakes dont sweat/are cold blooded. No way to internally regulate temperature. So maybe something about that? Overheating in the gardens or something?

nonnie, this prompt was absolutely galaxy brain of you. I’ve read several about him being too cold, but I haven’t seen any with him overheating and it was so much fun to write! Thank you so much, and I hope you enjoy!

Similar to how angels and demons don’t need to eat or sleep, they also don’t need to sweat. They don’t need many things a human might, as their grace (or equivalent demonic energy), was. However, there were still limitations. Their bodies could be killed, causing rather inconvenient discorperation. They could change physique depending on lifestyle, most things very similar to a human unless miracled to be otherwise.

Angels, however, tended to fit in better, at least in terms of appearances. Demons tended to have more animal-like features. Crowley was no exception. His eyes, his tongue, even the way he walked was reminiscent of the beast he was cursed to be. He always hurt some in a human form, and most importantly to this moment: he had absolutely no internal temperature regulation.

Sure, when Crowley’s flat was chilly, what was a little demonic miracle to warm it up? But when the whole of London felt like it was fucking melting, there just wasn’t much he could get away with.

Especially not now.

Since the not-apocalypse, he and Aziraphale had to keep it light on the miracles. Little things, sure, after all, they weren’t hiding, just trying their best not to give Heaven or Hell any new reasons to be upset with them. So Crowley couldn’t just get rid of the heatwave, no matter how much he wanted to.

It caused a whole lot of grumbling from him, at first. Crowley’s flat had air conditioning and heating because he knew it was necessary for himself. He may not have mentioned as much to Aziraphale when they had decided to move in together (a decision made after the second week where Crowley had refused to leave the angel’s side other than to tend his plants). He was a demon for- for Someone’s sake. It seemed silly to need such a thing.

He only regretted it this morning. Crowley’s eyes blinked opened slowly, squinting at the bright light that shone through the window. Normally, he would be content to bask in its warmth. But the whole blessed house felt like an oven. He groaned and sat up lethargically. The black silk of his bed was cool to the touch, and for a moment, Crowley was tempted to simply nap the rest of the day. But a breeze and the rustle of leaves reminded him of more pressing matters: his garden.

Crowley squirmed his way out of bed, dressing with a quick demonic miracle. Black leather pants with a black shirt to match - he had quite sensibly forgone the jacket today. It was worth it, with how hilariously flustered his angel would get whenever he showed a bit more skin than usual (really, Aziraphale’s sensibilities hadn’t changed in decades).

As Crowley sauntered through the cottage, he realized Aziraphale wasn’t there. He froze quickly, horror flooding like ice through his veins. His slitted eyes darted around the cottage to check for any signs of danger until he spotted it.

A little yellow note stuck to the door. It wasn’t actually a sticky-note, it was just a square of paper, but since Aziraphale thought it was, the paper found itself not minding being hung from the wooden door.

‘Someone e-mailed about a misprint bible I’ve been just dying to get my hands on! I went to go meet them, and, well, I wasn’t sure if I should wake you up, you really did look quite peaceful my dear. I’m not even sure if you’ll wake up before I’m back since I won't be very long, I’ll be home for dinner, but just in case.

-Aziraphale’

Crowley’s face relaxed into an easy grin as he read the note. He could hear the words in his head as if the angel were saying them himself - even in a short note, he managed to have the same rambling quality to the way he said things. If Crowley were being particularly truthful, he would admit that he found it rather endearing.

Letting the pleasant feeling sink into his chest, Crowley was soon out the door. He kept a sizable outdoor garden as well as the smaller one they had in an extension to their cottage. It was odd, modern, and not at all fitting to the homey style of the cottage. As well, it was quite ugly. But it was a decent sunroom, and nearly all the smaller houses seemed to have one.

But since they ate in there, Aziraphale spoilt them absolutely rotten. It was a lost cause.

Crowley walked slowly through the garden; face neutral. He glanced casually at the plants, inspecting them from afar with a carefully practiced disinterest as he decided on what he would need to do. Each plant would need careful watering, he could carefully snip at a bush here or a tree branch there, and with a furious hiss, he spotted a patch of weeds that had dared to grow in his garden.

Those he would destroy carefully, slowly, and painfully. Make an example of them.

Decided, Crowley got to it. He was utterly absorbed in it, as he usually was. The sun beating down on his back as he worked was almost forgotten. Each plant was meticulously tended to, checked for spots or for sagging leaves, or pests as the sun rose higher in the sky.

He didn’t even begin to notice something was wrong until he stretched up with sheers in his hands only to drop them as pain seized his muscles.

He recoiled with a grimace as his muscles cramped, trying to move or breath in a way that didn’t flood his senses with a sharp stab of pain. Eventually, in what felt like hours but couldn’t have been much more than a minute, his body began to relax.

If his body was that determined to be a snake, it would have to damn well wait, Crowley grumbled in his mind. Pain wasn’t unusual for him, but it usually wasn’t like that. As if he would let that from stopping him, of course.

He was rather busy at the moment, and couldn’t very well garden without arms. He wanted to finish, have Aziraphale come home, have dinner with his angel, and be some semblance of normal or at least of right.

And that was that Crowley pushed forward. The cramping didn’t stop. He was hot, and his muscles seemed to groan and tense with every small movement. And he was tired. It was something that shouldn’t really be possible. He hadn’t used great amounts of demonic power, and he had even slept the night before.

It really should be concerning. He was just too tired to be concerned. As another cramp shot through his stomach, Crowley knelt down in the grass. His skin was a burning shade of reddish-pink, his face was flushed, and his lips were dry.

Crowley considered calling it a day and retreating to the shade of the indoors. Maybe he could take a cool bath, even. The thought was tempting enough after several minutes of feeling miserable on the ground, he decided to go along with it. A soak might help the cramps, even.

He wasn’t expecting the wave of dizziness when he stood. Crowley groaned a soft noise of discomfort, and steadied himself against the nearest tree. He waited for the odd spell to pass, but his head was still spinning, tilting, pulling his insides along with it. Everything was twisted all around in circles, making a mess out of his vision.

Cooling off in the shade would… well, it would have to do, he decided. Crowley let himself slide down, propping his back against the small trunk of the tree. An apple tree, of course. He growled in frustration as his limbs shook from the motion.

It was so hot and Crowley felt so… weak.

Letting lethargy overtake him, Crowley let his eyes shut against the bright sun. He was breathing much too heavily, his heart feeling like it was starting to pound right out of his chest. He could barely hear himself think, and even if he could, it hurt his head too much to.

All too quickly he found even if he wanted too, he couldn’t move.

…

When Aziraphale returned from his outing, he could immediately tell that something was off. At this point, he had become rather familiar with the demon Crowley’s presence. Now that they were finally allowed to be together officially, they had hardly spent much time apart. Not that Aziraphale minded - he very much liked their current situation. He found the freedom to express his affections... well, quite honestly nervewracking at first. But aside from the lingering fear he would somehow mess things up, it was nothing short of heavenly.

He, of course, noticed Crowley’s sudden clinginess as well. And Aziraphale knew that when his - friend? Lover? Crowley seemed so much more than just that - felt like it, he would let him know why. And until then, he was completely happy to indulge him. Actually, he always would be happy to indulge him.

All of this is to say, Aziraphale was very much attuned to Crowley’s specific demonic presence. So when he arrived at their cottage, he was instantly worried.

It was still there, but it was so much weaker than it should be. He dropped his bag containing the book he had acquired and rushed inside the front door. “Crowley? Crowley, dear, are you alright?” His voice broke into a bit of a tremble. He wasn’t there. Aziraphale checked their bedroom, but there was no sign of him.

At least the bed was messy, sheets pushed out in a way that confirmed at least Crowley had gotten up of his own volition.

Aziraphale wrung his hands anxiously. Heaven and Hell couldn’t possibly have come for them yet, could they? Surely not in any organized manner, but if a stray demon ran across them, he feared it might be stupid enough to try and attack them. He needed to find Crowley.

After confirming that he was not in the house, even in another form, Aziraphale walked back outside to check the backyard.

Seeing Crowley was both relieving and even more worrying.

He was awake, his eyes open only just, glasses slid down until they were hanging off his long nose to the point of being useless to actually conceal his eyes. They were all a golden-yellow that Aziraphale adored, but they stared out of focus, not yet seeming to register that Aziraphale was there. His skin was red and flushed, and even from here he could hear Crowley’s labored breathing.

Without a second thought, Aziraphle rushed to his side, kneeling down next to him. “Oh, Crowley, what happened, dear boy? Are you injured?”

The demon only gave a small “Mn,” in response, and he couldn’t tell if it was a negative or positive answer. Feeling for himself, he was relieved not to find even a scratch on Crowley.

“You’re burning up,” he observed softly. His hands found their way to Crowley’s forehead, which should have been slick with sweat but it was completely dry. Snake, Aziraphale remembered. While Crowley had never mentioned it before, it was very much possible that he had no way of cooling down.

Crowley turned his head to the side, seeming to try and escape Aziraphale’s touch, muttering something incoherently. His eyes were clenched with fear, and with a start,, Aziraphle realized that he must not even recognize him yet.

If he was that disorientated, it couldn’t be a good sign. He could discorporate, even. Aziraphale had to cool him down, quickly. If he didn’t… well, there was no way in hell, literally, they were going to give him back.

“I’m going to get you inside, but I’m afraid I’ll have to pick you up,” Aziraphale explained to the dazed demon. Crowley turned slightly, hearing him, but gave no answer.

With a determined sigh, he braced himself, scooping up Crowley in his arms. Aziraphale’s heart broke a little at the panicked hiss he let out but held firm as he walked inside. His struggles were weak, and no match for the angel’s hold, but the fact Crowley was fighting him at all stung and worried him to no end.

He would be okay. He had to be.

Aziraphale hurried back inside, making sure the temperature was suitably cooler in the cottage than outside. They were in the middle of a heatwave so different from the usual summers in England, and most of the houses didn’t come with any air conditioning. Most houses didn’t have an angel, and really, either could work the same if it wanted to.

Gently, he sets Crowley down on the couch. Its brown leather was cool, and Aziraphale hoped that it would provide even a bit of relief.

He managed to find a thermometer (which they had gotten once they realized under unfortunate circumstances that Crowley, and most likely himself as well, could fall ill) and pressed the device to Crowley’s lips.

They remained stubbornly closed.

“Please open your mouth, dear. I won't hurt you, I promise,” he tried to reassure. Crowley’s gaze- his glasses had fallen off completely after Aziraphale had picked him up - was still clouded, but relaxed ever so slightly. Someone else might not have even been able to tell the difference. But knowing someone 6,000 or so years had its advantages.

He was able to coax the thermometer into Crowley’s mouth, tutting when he read the final temperature. 40.7 degrees, entirely too high for his mortal form.

Heatstroke, most definitely. He couldn’t let Crowley stay in those clothes - all tight, and entirely too warm, especially the leather pants he was so insistent on wearing. Even during a damn heatwave.

Aziraphale took off Crowley’s shirt first. He felt his heartbeat through his fingertips. It was fast, rapid, and weak.

“Zziraphale…” Crowley whined in a panic.

“Shh, I’m here,” he reassured him carefully. He spoke in warm tones, trying to keep Crowley from too much stress when his temperature was clearly too high for him to be anything but delirious. Eventually, the shirt was off. The tight leather pants were next.

It was a bit more of a struggle, with a much less willing Crowley. But at the very least the only Effort that was there was the effort Aziraphle had in maneuvering the leather atrocities off of him.

Finally, Crowley’s skin was bare, pressing into the cool couch. His skin was still red with heat, and if he had been human, Aziraphale imagined he would be blistered with sunburns.

Aziraphale was impatient. He simply couldn’t stand to see Crowley in such a poor state, still so defenseless and confused by his surroundings. An idea struck him. If he ran a cool bath - not freezing cold, he didn’t want to shock the poor demon and make the situation worse - it might do more good.

That, and draw less attention than constantly performing miracles to keep the heat down in their cottage.

With that in mind, Aziraphale quickly drew a bath up in their bathroom (which they really only had in case of human guests, and mostly because Aziraphlae really enjoyed the clever invention humans called bath bombs). After checking the temperature to make sure it was suitable, he went to retrieve Crowley.

He was lying on his side, curled up and looking dreadful. “Crowley, may I pick you up again?” Aziraphale lay his hands on Crowley’s back, encouraged by the fact he seemed to press into his hands instead of flinching away.

Crowley murmured something that sounded nearly like a “sure,” and the slight nod confirmed this. Gingerly, Aziraphale scooped him up. He was muttering something that Aziraphale couldn’t quite make sense of, but that was really no surprise given his current state.

His plan was going rather well until they actually made it to the bathroom. When Crowley’s eyes blinked open, they stayed that way, staring at the water. Not noticing, Aziraphale tried to set Crowley in the bath.

Before he could think about what was happening, Crowley was struggling again, letting out a pained yell, hitting, scratching, whatever he could manage. “‘Ziraphale! Aziraphale! Angel!” he cried, his voice not managing to be loud even as he called for help.

A wave of guilt crashed through Aziraphale as quickly as he realized what Crowley must have thought he was doing. He thought it was holy water, he didn’t realize it was Aziraphale and thought he was going to be killed. The cries of his love brought tears to his own eyes, although it shamed him to admit it. Too emotional.

He set Crowley on the edge of the bath, safely dry. “Crowley, dearest, I’m here. You’re safe. Please, nothing will hurt you,” he said, repeating similar things until his desperate escape attempts settled, and finally, Crowley’s eyes seemed to actually settle on the angel’s, seeing him.

“Will you get into the bath please?” Crowley shuddered, his eyes closing with a shake of his head. How many times had Crowley been threatened with this, or whatever else hell had up it’s sleeve before the Trial that Aziraphale had gone to? He had been so caught up in his own fear of consequences, Aziraphale hadn’t realized how much it must have affected him.

To Aziraphale Crowley seemed much more careless, always showing up when he wanted him, and saying things that were far too dangerous, too fast.

Only with his guard forcibly down could he see how he had been wrong. “You must trust me. Please, Crowley,” he all but begged.

A beat, and then, “Anything,” Crowley agreed.

With a great sigh of relief, Aziraphale helped Crowly into the bath.

…

Crowley caught sight of the bath with the water, and his mind froze with fear. Whoever had him they. They must have found them. They must have found out, about their lie, and he was too dizzy and disoriented to properly fight, but damn if he wouldn’t try.

He thrashed about, calling for his angel, hoping by some miracle he would be heard, that they would make it out of this. His limbs ached and his head spun, but he couldn’t just submit.

Please, please. I can’t leave him. I can’t leave him alone.

They seemed to relent, hold relinquished, and the water at a safe distance away. It must be holy water, he could feel… he felt awful. But he could at least tell there was a holy presence and nothing in hell felt like that, so it must be holy water.

“...dearest, I’m here,” Crowley heard, his heart lightening with a bit of hope. “You’re safe, nothing will hurt you.”

Aziraphale. He came.

“Will you get into the bath please?” Crowley’s mind felt fractured with confusion. Why would he ask him that? The angel was safe, he couldn’t want him to go into the holy water. That couldn’t possibly happen.

He couldn’t find the voice to explain it to Aziraphale though, his throat too dry, so he just shook his head, trying to ignore the way it made him feel the world spin.

“You must trust me. Please, Crowley.” And that was so unfair. He couldn’t say no when Aziraphale used that tone of voice, and he knew that but why…?

Whatever the reason, Crowley could never refuse his angel, and in his feverish mind, not even this. “Anything,” he said, betrayal and confusion comforted only slightly by how soft and pleasingly cool Aziraphale’s hands were as he helped him into the water.

Crowley shuttered, letting out a low wine as he first touched the water, fully expecting to start sizzling away.

He didn’t.

In fact, he was laying down, half-submerged, and he wasn’t dead.

It hurt to try and think about at first, but Aziraphale waited patiently beside him, comforting him with low voices and hums, and the occasional rubbing of his right shoulder with soft hands.

Eventually, he had cooled down enough to think properly. Or at least, think, instead of bursts of realizations powered by blind instinct and emotion.

“Angel,” he said, voice rough and dry.

“Oh! Crowley, are you feeling much better?” asked Aziraphale, starting at the demon’s sudden inturruption.

“Nngh. Could be worse. What…?” He trailed off, making a gesture, splashing a bit of water, to reference his current pradiciment.

Aziraphale huffed. “You gave me quite a scare, you know. You were nearly passed out in the garden, and don’t you know not to work in such heat? And with black leather, too. You’ve been practically delirious for a good bit.” Although he tries to sound annoyed, Crowley can easily see through the weak front to his obvious worry and care.

He might feel bad for making Aziraphale worry, but that’ll have to wait until he stops feeling so bad himself. “Nn- uh, yeah,” he agreed, wincing at the sound of his own voice. Too damn loud, it is. His head is still pounding.

“Is there anything you need?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley thinks about it.

“Water?” He realized it seemed like a silly thing to ask for, considering he was in a tub full of it. “A cup. For, uh, drinking. Throat hurts,” he quickly explained. Aziraphale looks at him a little strangely, but before he can think, there’s a cup of deliciously cool water being pressed into his hands.

He takes a long, indulgent sip, savoring how it soothed his dry throat. He could feel the cold as it traveled down to his stomach, making him feel just a bit better. “No need for a miracle, really,” he chastized Aziraphale, voice more tender than biting.

Aziraphale chuckled self-consciously. “I hate seeing you this way, you know.” And Crowley does know. For mostly immortal beings, death isn’t a concept they deal with often, not for themselves. There’s always the assumption of tomorrow, and thousands of more tomorrows because they weren't really meant to end.

And Crowley knew that when you had to consider it, it was more frightening and painful than he’d like to remember. He wanted to explain it, but that might’ve meant having to say some rather difficult things, and he was too tired for rather difficult things. “Sorry,” he offered instead, which might have been the easiest sign he still felt a little like shit warmed over.

Aziraphale gave him a tender smile. “How about we get you to bed? I’m sure you’re tired.”

Crowley nodded and stood up. As he stepped out of the bath, he leaned heavily on Aziraphale. The water got the idea and got out of the way, not wanting to bother to two with any residual dampness.

With his help, Crowley managed to stagger to their bedroom. He flopped on the bed, a small sound of comfort escaping his lips. “Commere, ‘ngel,” he said, voice muffled by the pillow.

“I wouldn’t want to make you any warmer,” Aziraphale hesitated, luckily versed in Crowley-speak, with or without most levels of distortion.

Crowley lifted his head from its comfortable spot and shot him a Look. He might not be able to resist any ask of Aziraphale, but Aziraphale had to surrender to the Look, so it was only a matter of time until a soft, shirtless angel was available for cuddling.

Crowley let the exaustion finally take its natural course, and he was soon asleep, possibly even followed by Aziraphale.

#good omens #Ineffable Husbands #otp: ineffable #good omens fic #good omens whump #Crowley whump #good omens fanfiction #gomens #whump #Aziraphale #crowley #sick crowley #sick fic #i mean kinda

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almaasi · 5 years

Text

reaction post typed while watching Good Omens (ALL OF IT)

my favourite novel is now my favourite mini-series and IT’S SO BEAUTIFUL

under the cut: a very long, spoilery six-episode reaction to MY NEW FAVOURITE THING EVER

may 31st 07:36pm nz

i posted my episode 1 reaction a couple hours ago but that got ZERO NOTES so i assume people are either avoiding spoilers or aren’t interested, which is fine, but i’m just gonna put all my reactions in one big post so anyone who IS interested doesn’t have to read 6 separate posts c:

edit june 1st 04:08am: btw i watched using a free trial on amazon prime, which i’m pretty sure is worldwide. soooo if yOU WANT TO WATCH THIS, YOU CAN, FOR FREE

EPISODE 1: In the Beginning

04:03pm

idk how much i’m gonna type, whether i’ll post a reaction to the entire thing in one post....... or how much i’ll end up watching right now

kinda want to spread it out and save it as a treat for after i’ve done some writing

but right now i wanna watch before writing

so maybe i’ll do one ep, write something, then return to this?

edit: aahhaha that didn’t happen

04:04pm

I’M SO EXCITED

I’VE BEEN WAITING SO LONG

well... since 2011 when i first read the book

but regardless it’S BEEN 84 YEARS

04:05

okay first off i did not know amazon prime did adverts at the start of their videos. so i was like SINCE WHEN WAS CHILDISH GAMBINO/DONALD GLOVER IN GOOD OMENS

and then

yeah

either way i thought it was a good opening

W A R

NING

cool cool cool cool cool

omg i’m used to where the netflix full-screen button is, and on amazon prime that’s the “next episode” button so i gotta be real careful

dear god my video quality is TERRIBLE

i.......... i might torrent this show and watch it offline

this is horrendous i can’t see a damn thing

i have never seen pixels this big

04:11

okay the quality calmed down after a minute

i loooove the intro, i love that it’s basically word for word from the book

i feel like i’d find it funnier if i hadn’t read the book 3 months ago

also? god is a woman? yes

04:13

is it just me or does the snek have a slightly david tennant-esque quality about it

i’m so happy adam and eve are black

04:17

omfg. aziraphale said “ineffable” and now CRAWLEY’S CHECKING HIM OUT TRYING TO SEE IF HE HAS ANY JUNK

WOW

...or y’know, looking for a flaming sword. SAME FUCKING THING.

also i looove how FLUFFY azi is

azi: “do hope i didn’t do the wrong thing”

i fucking love them both uhrgughhhuhuhughuhhh

04:21

small sob for cuteness

umbella wings

04:23

in the opening titles, crowley just stopped a spaceship and aziraphale turned it into fish

i feel like that was a douglas adams reference and i’m on board

04:25

the entire time i read the book, up until i saw video promos of this show, i thought “crowley” was said the same way as spn’s “crowley”, as in “crahwlee”

not “crOhwlee”

i definitely like that they’re different though

both probably named after aleister crowley tbh. all of whom are queer.

THOSE SWAYING HIPS

i haven’t found david tennant attractive in about 9 years but WHOOOP HELLO AGAIN

somehow attractive for entirely different reasons than before. like. my taste changed but tHEN

i’m on crowley’s side, taking down a cellphone network is VERY ANNOYING

04:35

crowley: shitshitshitshithsit

i can’t wait for aziraphale’s big swear

04:37

i miss eating sushi

sushi was great