#aziraphale/reader

[cyrddleofstew]

fanfic request

i dont know what to do with this though if its smart or just pure bonkers but a fanfic plot of Aziraphale x reader. Reader and Aziraphale are angels assigned to watch over earth and as a disguise you pretend like a married couple through time, and like being lovely dovey with each other is like second nature cause you have to do it often and did i say they are absolutely in love with each other. I feel like this is just crowley and aziraphale in angel format but please indulge me on this. *Sparkle and doe eyes* 🥺✨🥺✨🥺

[ineffablyruined]

DOES ANYONE ELSE SEE THAT SMILE?!!?

Gif by @stars-bean

It's at the very end. And it's just a split second. A hint.

But I swear it's there.

You all see it, too, right?

His eyes get a little twinkle, the corners of his mouth twitch up. He wants to spend the night before he realizes he shouldn't.

HE WANTS TO SPEND THE NIGHT.

(Someone help me, I'm unwell)

[thebootstrap-paradox]

The necessity to touch your lips when the millennia-long love of your life kissed you but you've to reject him

[book-place-incorrect-quotes]

Y/N: *sneaking in at 3am*

Aziraphale: *dramatically turning around in a swivel chair* Care to tell me where you were?

Y/N: I was with-uh- I was with Crowley!

Crowley: *also dramatically turns around in a swivel chair, but pushed too hard* Care to try aga- *keeps spinning* Angel?! Angel- I can’t stop the chair-

[strangesthirdeye]

We could have been a bus

I 'honk honk' you

Don't 'honk honk'

[mybookstorecarlovinghusbands]

Imagine. . .

You're falling asleep in Aziraphale's bookshop, feeling warm and safe and spread out over a sofa. There's rain gently tapping against the windows, and it's dark outside. The warm glow of the shop's lighting and the smell of old books surround you as you doze off. Aziraphale has a record softly playing in the background as he's lightly stirring his cup of tea while humming to himself. You know he's sitting at his desk even with your eyes closed because you have the layout of the shop already mapped out in your head. You're nearly in dreamland when you feel a blanket being placed gingerly over you, up to your chin, a slender finger accidentally brushes your cheek while tucking you in. Definitely Crowley.

"Have a dream," he mumbles, mostly to himself, because he can't afford to say 'nice' or 'pleasant'.

You're not sure if you imagine it, but you could've sworn you felt a hand gently brushing a hair out of your face before you completely fall asleep, Aziraphale's humming one of the last things you remember before your consciousness slips.

[sabine-smitten-obviously]

Good Omens Fanfiction is like

200 pages of silent pining, tons of inner dialogue and dreaming of "featherlike to the touch-curls, glimpses of collarbones and rosy cupid-bows ...

Then finally - the first kiss! *sigh

And then 300 pages of the most uninhibited, limitless, potent and finest art of ☆uckery smut are set loose.

For closure: there will be a proposal in the epilogue. 🩷

[lokischickadee]

I don't know how y'all do it but for some reason, the people who write in the Authors Note at the beginning of a fic apologizing and saying that english is not their first language, always has the best fics! I just KNOW the fic is about to be the best thing I've ever read when I read that! It doesn't matter if it's on Tumblr, AO3, Wattpad or whatever! It never misses! I love y'all so much!!

[chocourse]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 (𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓈𝓃𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓈 𝒹𝑜)

➶ poly! ineffable husbands x angel! fem!reader ｡˚ °

-ˏ` ✎﹏ The Egyptians built one of the seven wonders of the world, the Greeks discovered philosophy, but make-up was invented by a desperate angel during the construction of the Tower of Babel, when people spoke the same language and wanted to settle in a city after the great flood. That angel was you. And you really needed the make-up when the first bite happened.

➴ genre: fluff, polyamory, falling in love

: ̗̀➛ warnings: references to christian religion & lore, fashion and make-up lore, love bites/hickeys, mentions of snake poison, corruption i think

⌨ :: 2.2K words ♡ ︵ . .

⁀➷ special thanks to @honeytwo for helping me translate this into english, correcting my grammar and other mistakes. thank you for everything! °♡̷•.

⁀➷ a/n: Hi, dears! I am happy that I took the time to publish this story here after Ao3. I wrote it in January when I watched Good Omens and was looking for comfort after bawling my eyes out. Alright, that's all I wanted to say. Go and enjoy your unique history with the ineffable husbands! <3

➳ good omens masterlist

A FAIRLY LONG TIME AGO

As much as possible, you wanted to blend in with the people. You were too attracted by their nature to spend the rest of your time until Armageddon up there, among snow-white washed columns, in empty halls where nothing really interesting happens. You can deliver the reports even if you’re living on Earth and watching the humans work, you reassured yourself.

You've enjoyed watching the mortals ant-like, feverishly at work, creating wonders like the Tower of Babel.

“Upon my word, what a masterly job,” said Aziraphale, when the tower was already very high.

Aziraphale agreed with you about your intentions on earth, and you used to talk about the exciting things people can do and how exciting it will be to learn about their work and future generations.

When you were particularly engrossed in reciting your predictions, and explaining them to each other with sparkling eyes, Crowley would just roll his eyes and do it with relish, as if it was his natural reaction to your enthusiasm. He decided he'd rather be with the two of you instead of in the company of damned souls and stake-ridden demons when there was no one to tempt and lead into sin. It wasn't boring at all, especially with the fairs they held back then, the intoxicating people, the musical instruments, the delicious food. 

His favorite events were the celebrations. When the men working on the tower would take a break from work and gather in town to drink and sing. They fanned his fire, his desire to do something underhanded. Not evil, just something genuinely bad. Like what he did to the apples and Eve at the tree.

He thought deeply about the ways in which he could make others sin. That's when he heard you laugh. You were amazed at what Aziraphale had said. You sipped flushedly into your alcohol jar. You weren't wearing your halo or spreading your wings, but you looked just like an angel. Beautiful, ethereal, uncorrupted, even when you were indulging in human pleasures and getting drunk at an easy pace.

Bingo.

Crowley smiled, his eyes gleaming under his black sunglasses. He headed towards you.

“Did you try everything?” he asked.

“The dates are heavenly ,” Aziraphale agreed, putting another piece in his mouth. “You must try one, Crowley.”

“I will,” the demon promised. “Later. But first, I'm going to taste something that's inviting to my imagination…”

His fingers brushed over your shoulder. His fingertips touched your sensitive skin, then...

“Ow !" you squeaked in surprise as he sank his canines into the exposed skin of your neck. 

When an angel wants to fit in with humans, she can't walk around with a snake-bitten neck like she's fine. So you tried to use a miracle to make it disappear, but as it turns out, miracles don't work on demonic bites, which is kind of unfair, but part of the Incomprehensible Plan, so you had to resort to some other method, without blaming the Almighty for creating the demon bite the way it is.

You used paint to cover it up. It was the first make-up experiment in history. Cleopatra will use your method in dark red, but it will be a long time before then, your injury will heal and heal many times over.

In any case, Crowley grinned as he watched you walk around for weeks, neck covered in paint. He was very pleased with himself, and you often caught him looking at you with his yellow snake eyes, grinning like he was planning to do it again.

When God confused the tongues of men, you were grateful to Him. 

Now, you could send the demon to Hell in countless languages.

IN THE 16TH CENTURY

Garbo.

Garbos everywhere.

Lace, frills, colours, fancy fabrics. You were very fond of the English Renaissance under Queen Elizabeth I. Mainly because of the full turtlenecks, which usually covered your neck magnificently. You could even forgive the low-cut dresses and corsets - although when silk scarves came along, looking back, the wide turtlenecks you once wore would have looked like clown costumes.

It was further satisfying to know that Crowley hated rules by default, let alone about fashion. He really despised the Sumptuary Laws, and cursed that he hadn't invented them, because they were truly demonic. In contrast, Aziraphale, who always put a lot of effort into his appearance, was fine with the expected attire, and always looked elegant with a pleasant smile. 

Sometimes, though, his smile faltered when his turtleneck grazed the bite marks on his neck. You stroked his upper arm sympathetically at such times, and yet: neither of you told Crowley to stop what he was doing on your necks.

You had no problem with early medieval times. The tight, plain dresses were simple and, importantly, the neck was not visible, only the back of the hands and the face, and after marriage, the hair - not that you married, it was just the fashion among married women. On the other hand, the pale ideal of the early Middle Ages, when women had blood drained to make them white as doves, was disappointing. Then came arsenical powders, the cause of many women's deaths. At the time, you were ashamed of inventing make-up, and so women wanted to tamper with their natural beauty with all sorts of talc fads. You have to suffer to be beautiful, they said, and they didn't realize that there was no need for any suffering because they were beautiful from creation.

Your determination was only further strengthened when it was discovered that Elizabeth I died of blood poisoning from using white lead on her face. And you thought the sixteenth century would bring radical changes…

Actually, there has been a radical change, but not in make-up.

Crowley invented the suction mark, which didn't swell up like a snake venom-infused wound and came in a variety of colours depending on how much time Crowley put into creating them. They made him feel like an artist, so he liked to tinker with them. He'd been paying devoted attention to your necks for a very long time, so you're actually used to it, it's become a tradition. 

In fact, you both kind of loved it.

IN THE 19TH CENTURY

The rice powder is made from natural ingredients. We're finally back here, you peacefully acknowledged at every social gathering. Usually you only powdered the back of your neck, but richly. The fashions of the 1800s called for ruffles, corsets, a relatively modest neckline, no turtlenecks or neck-covering. But a thorough, ornate make-up look was something every self-respecting woman had to create, and because you only covered your neck, you were often the victim of gossip.

When Aziraphale opened his bookshop and held a small gathering to celebrate with champagne, snacks and a ball, the ladies whispered a great deal about you, hiding behind their fans. They sized up your clothes, your make-up, yourself. They guessed how much of a goer you must be. It made them angry that even though you don't wear normal makeup, men still seek your company because you're witty and good, not jealous like them.

Crowley was annoyed by the women who belittled you, the men who complimented you, the fact that you had been hiding the fact that you were his for centuries. Just like Aziraphale, only he didn't seem as desperate as you to cover his marks. Although his top hat usually shaded them well, where it was appropriate to remove the headgear, nothing covered them.

Aziraphale looked at Crowley more and more often as if he knew perfectly well what the marks meant, just as he knew that Crowley was a cruel, unrelenting demon and would not say it.

When Crowley asked you to stop covering your neck, he was actually saying it. With his eyes shining mysteriously in the moonlight through the window, when Crowley took off his glasses and all the guests had gone, leaving only the three of you and the empty glasses and the crumbs. 

Tenderness and love. This is what his words would have tasted like if you had eaten them.

It was the same way Aziraphale looked at you when you caught him gazing at you, silent and dreamy, or when you simply spoke to him enthusiastically about something that interested and excited you as people once did when the Tower of Babel was raised, and he listened patiently, as if he had nothing better to do.

When you said all right to Crowley with a smile, that meant you loved him, too. 

Them, too.

NOWADAYS

“Um, are you–” Gabriel furrows his eyebrows and tries to decipher you with a polite smile. “What is this?”

You're wearing the purest white, as befits a visit to Heaven. Obviously Gabriel would not object to that. He wears mostly white, with a faint hint of blue. What he can't make out is the fluffy white scarf wrapped tightly around your neck, right up to your nose. You stand before him like a polar bear with a neck brace. Or an almost completely covered, ethereal mummy. 

Or maybe a spool of toilet paper. 

You pull the material slightly in front of your mouth to answer. 

“I'm cold,” you report with a blush.

“It must be exciting.” Gabriel admits that you've probably spent too much time on Earth, among humans, and its somewhat dulled your angelic senses. He clears his throat. “Well, we can get down to business then, let's not waste each other's precious time.”

You nod. He is absolutely right.

In the empty, snow-white-plastered heavenly hall, a table, a folder and a pen with wings - not a bijou, strictly used for official signatures - appear. Sighing, you take a comfortable seat, and as you take the pen, you give thanks that now women can wear comfortable and practical pants too. 

And, you add with even deeper satisfaction, great scarves.

...

Ignoring the closed sign, you rip open the door and burst into the bookshop.

“Sorry, but we’re closed– Oh, it's you.” Aziraphale smiles a greeting, then notices the upset on your face. “What happened, darling?”

“It was embarrassing to show myself like this in front of Gabriel,” you reply as you begin to unravel the fuzzy covering around your neck.

Aziraphale pats your upper arm piteously, presses a kiss to your temple and promises to bring you a mug of hot chocolate to help you relax.

Long time ago you promised Crowley you wouldn't cover his marks, but when you meet your angelic bosses, it's a different story. If they find out what's between you and him, they'll make hell in heaven. That doesn't impress Crowley, especially not today. Before you left, he had so covered your neck with his special love marks that a simple scarf wouldn't have been enough to cover it. Especially since he's recently returned to biting.

You'll find him on the sofa at the back of the shop. He's got a real proud smile that makes you want to throw a scarf at him. You throw the scarf at him. He catches it easily.

"You little..." you grit your teeth.

“Idiot? Shit? Asshole? The lowest of demons? Bitter of your eternal life?” He's playing with the scarf. He doesn't look up, doesn't admire the colorful patchwork he's created on your neck. Even better. If he would do it, throwing a scarf at him would not be enough.

"Lovely sweet creature," you say in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Bleh.” Crowley scowls. “That's a thousand times worse than you swearing.”

“I know. That's why I do it.” You sit down in the armchair furthest away from him and continue to stare at him harshly.

He sighs.

“My love, you're too beautiful with my marks on your neck. I cannot help it. And every man should know those are mine. Even the angels up there.”

Except Aziraphale. He already knows full well that if the blobs on your skin were to be exhibited as paintings, the artist's name would clearly be Crowley.

And you know what these marks are called these days, and that makes you happy. You ask, a little more lightly, if he knows. Crowley shakes his head.

“Love bites,” you tell him.

“It's only natural that they call it that. I invented it, and for thousands of years you and Aziraphale have been the only ones to get it. What else could it be?” Crowley gets up, comes over to you and squats down in front of you, taking your hand in his. He’s not wearing his sunglasses. His eyes are vivid, the sky glowing yellow behind the black sliver of the moon. "It's not something I give as punishment or temptation. It is exactly what it is called. Humans are smart enough to give it such a good name.”

“Well, well, you're praising the humans.” Aziraphale arrives balancing a tray on the low coffee table next to his open book and a stack of newspapers.

“Have you heard what my creations are called?”

“I don’t think so.”

The demon tells him. The angel blushes and starts passing out mugs. Crowley admires him, then turns to you.

“Will you sit with me?”

Luckily for him, you're not overly resentful. You nod, and you’d be lying if you said you weren't warmed by the sight of his smile and his hand reaching out for yours. You end up on the soft couch, his arm around your shoulders, your hot chocolate in your hand.

And love bites on your neck.

[raz-writes-the-thing]

These Old Things (Gomens Drabble)

Crowley x GN!Reader

Summary: Crowley has a bit of a self-revelation when his wings pop out upon seeing you.

Fic type: romantic fluff.

EVERYTHING: @winchxters

GOMENS: @coffee-and-red-lipstick @quickslvxrr @clarina04 @motionlessindoubt @stevekempscocktails @go-bonkers-go-foolish @peytonpenguin37 @florduarte @complimentary-breadbasket @thekirbishow @jaziona92 @slightlymediocree @strwbrrfd @paper-and-stardust (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Crowley didn't even realise it at first. He was so busy watching you. You- so perfectly human. So perfectly ordinary. You weren't even doing anything super out there either- you were just... out on your balcony watering a plant.

And yet to Crowley, a demon of Hell and a fallen angel, you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. How could you not be, really?

When you turn around, Crowley's worried he's about to get whisked away by some horrifying Hell-beast sent to drag him back down under and no, he doesn't mean Australia. Although sometimes he had to wonder if Australia wasn't some elaborately planned prank to poorly imitate Hell. But that was a different question.

Anyway, where was he? Oh, yes, when you turned around and made eye contact with him, Crowley thought that given the look on your face, maybe Hastur had somehow made a triumphant return. That would have been less than stellar and Crowley wasn't quite sure what to make of the implications of that if it were true.

"Mm- what," Crowley asked, brows creasing in concern as he twisted his rather bendy neck to look behind him. Seeing a swish of black cross over his shoulder, Crowley wondered just what it could- oh. Oh. His- his wings were out. Why were his wings out?

"You- you're-" you stuttered, pansies forgotten and drowning under the water you were still pouring on top of them.

"I am," Crowley replied, just as confused as you.

"God, Crowley," you breathed, setting the watering can down without breaking your gaze away from the feathered appendages stretching and flittering against the breeze in your apartment.

"Mm," Crowley hummed. "Not so much on the first, but go on."

He's nervous, you realise. About your reaction. He's worried you're going to react negatively and he's going to have to leave you. Silly demon. You could never.

"They're gorgeous," you rushed out, stepping towards him, hand outstretched gingerly. "Can I touch one?"

"Sure, I guess," he answered, actually looking rather unsure. He swallowed thickly when you make contact, fingers softly trailing the ridges of a feather. "These old things- had them for ages. Since the dawn of time, really... Almost."

"Where'd they come from?" You asked, ignoring his rambling. "As in- just now?" You clarified quickly. If you didn't, you were sure to receive a deflective answer.

"Not sure, really. Think maybe- because I was thinking about something. 'Bout you."

"About me?" Your eyes darted to his and you immediately understood. You could see it in those slitted eyes. He was in love. With you. Crowley was in love with you. Not that you didn't already know that- what with having been together for a good few months by now, but he had finally really and truly come to the realisation on his own. You were his forever.

"About you," he confirmed, voice soft.

It was a good think he was your forever, too.

[i-am-true-believer]

Hello, my sweet fanfiction readers, the late night scrollers, and the midday day dreamers. I think it's time we do a little check in.

Take a big deep breath for me and let it out slowly. Have you drank water today? Eaten a little snack? I'm so proud of you for waking up today and for keeping going. I know the world is a scary place, and there's so much bad, and I appreciate your willingness to continue to try. I hope your scrolling brings you comfort and peace, I hope you find a safe place to land for a little while.

I'll let you get back to your scrolling soon. What are you looking for today? Enemies to lovers? Found family? Accidental baby acquisitions? Will it be a reader insert or a completely new AU? I'm sure your comfort characters are waiting for you, for your next adventure, or to revisit an old one. Just a small reminder before you go, you are loved, you are wanted, and you matter. Your comfort character would love your every flaw and would love you in all stages of your life. From your best to your worst, they would love you and want you to stay. If you love them in every universe and stage of being, flaws and all, then you can believe they'd love you the same. If there's a million different universes, then there's at least one where you're their favorite comfort character, too, and I promise they're rooting for you every step along the way.

Your comfort character believes in you and so do I, the girl on the other side of the screen who will always be a safe place to land. You are loved, you matter, you are important.

❤️💛 True 💛❤️

[buryustogether]

thinking about the difference between crowley and aziraphale eating you out.

az practically worships you like his god he is so obedient for, murmuring praises against your trembling thighs as he presses gentle kisses to your clit. he caresses your hips like they were made for him, like art he’s spent a century trying to find, and gently coaxes your orgasm out of you like a lullaby through the dark.

crowley, on the other hand, eats you out like hell is coming to drag him back down when he’s done. he devours you. leaves nothing behind. he’ll suck on your clit until he’s got you crying his name. he’ll grip your hips so hard there will be bruised in the shape of his hands. he’ll plunge his forked tongue into you and hum against your cunt, lapping up everything your orgasm gives him — and more, until you’re quite literally pushing his head away from the overstimulation.

and don’t even get me started on the pair of them together.

[inezrable]

[book-place-incorrect-quotes]

Crowley: It just doesn’t make sense!

Child!Y/N: *clearly having spent too much time around him and starting to develop his sarcasm* It would if you were smarter

[strangesthirdeye]

Aziraphale: *runs towards Crowley while holding baby Y/n in his arms* Crowley! Y/n started saying her first word

Crowley: *looks at baby Y/n interestingly* really? let me hear it

Baby Y/n: *squealing happily in Aziraphale's arms* Gro... gro

Aziraphale: aww she wants to say your name Crowley!

Crowley: *big smile* come on say my name.

Baby Y/N: *babbling* Gro-.. grow.. GROW BETTAH!

Crowley:.....

Aziraphale: *blink* well at least we know whose behavior she follows.

[mphistophls]

I NEVER NOTICED THAT. I'M BLIND AND STUPID

Same chair, same destiny ?