#compliment. aziraphale helping crowley out and crowley looking at him like 'you'd do that for me?'. crowley not only letting aziraphale

[p4nishers]

ok but the fact that "aziraphale is softening. they haven't spoken in a hundred years: he's realizing they're still friends" and "there's no need to thank me that's what...friends...are for" was in the same night is making me go INSANE

[raz-writes-the-thing]

sir i require

more crowley reader fLUFF

FROM U

please

try this on for size

Paper Boat

Crowley x reader fluff

"My, you do look absolutely ravishing, my dear," Crowley smirks, eyeing you up and down.

You blink, looking down at your ratty slippers and half-worn-to-death robe. "I am?"

Crowley crinkles his nose, yellow snake eyes peeking over the rim of his sunglasses. "Would I... lie... to you?"

You think you'll just skip over the fact that he's a demon who most definitely, by nature, lie to you. You wrap the robe around you a little tighter, suddenly aware of how underdressed you are in comparison. Always slathered in style, Crowley was.

"What do you want, Crowley?"

"Oh, don't be like that, darling-" he rocks back on his heels, eyes sliding back behind the frames. "I can't compliment my favourite mortal?"

You squint your eyes at him as his grin grows wider. When Crowley gives nothing away except a widening of that wicked smile, you plant your hands on your hips.

"Spit it out, Wicked. What do you want?"

Crowley sucks on his teeth for another second before sighing. He always broke for you eventually.

"Ohhh, alright, you minx," he waves his hand at you begrudgingly. "I need you to.. you know."

He was clearly struggling here, but you'd give him no leeway. No help is to be found here. And the longer this went on, the more awkward it was to be, you were sure.

"No, I don't actually." You arched a brow, waiting.

"I need your help," he responds, popping the 'p' exasperatedly. "With..." He waves his hand as if he can't remember the words. You continue to watch this little display. Whatever he wanted, it must be something big.

"Would you spit it out, Crowley. I don't have all day."

This was not in fact true. You had all day for Crowley, but he didn't need to know that. His ego was big enough as it was already. It's barely another second before-

"Just, come here," he yanks you by the hand to pull you into an embrace. You stiffen at the surprise, letting out a little startled yelp.

Crowley was not a physical person. He wasn't someone who hugged people. In fact, you didn't think you'd ever seen Crowley hug anyone. Not even Aziraphale.

Crowley held tight around you, and you thought to yourself how you'd never actually been this close to him before. This close, you were able to smell his cologne. Spicy, old. Must be one of his older favourites from the 1800s or earlier.

You raised your arms up around him and flattened your palms against his back. If you didn't know him so well, you may not have noticed the way he let out an almost imperceptible sigh of relief, nuzzling just a fraction closer into your neck.

You knew better than to ask if he was okay. He'd never tell you anyway. So, you wait another minute or two, holding him tight and waiting for him to let go, not willing to part from him first.

Once he does, he avoids eye contact as you part. You softly touch his chin, bringing his gaze back to your own, hidden as it were behind those shades you liked so much.

"Come sit down, Demon. I'll read to you for a little while." You pause for a second, thinking it over. "Something horrible." He wouldn't care for something joyful. Too unrealistic, he'd say.

Crowley grumbles his ascent and follows you to the chaise, letting you plop down first before he follows, settling down with his head in your lap.

You pick the book up from the side table, flipping back to the front page, hiding the cover from him so it would be a surprise.

"The terror, which would not end for another twenty-eight years—if it ever did end— began, so far as I know or can tell, with a boat made from a sheet of newspaper floating down a gutter swollen with rain..."

[kaylinelizabeth4004]

All This And Heaven Too

Summary : Aziraphale and Crowley go to get coffee and decide to indulge in a little moment of life by dancing in the rain.

Not inspired but some vibes from All This and Heaven Too by Florence and the Machine

"Now why would they do that?"

"The sign!" Crowley said eagerly, waving a hand in the direction. "Oh Angel, it's the - the - the sign, title, shop thing. 'Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death.' Makes you wonder who's asked for death."

"No one, dear. That's a reference to the American colonist Patrick Henry's speech. It's not actually asking for death." Aziraphale explained as the pair crossed the street towards the storefront. He watched in amusement as Crowley scoffed.

"Why would a British shop quote the Americas? Thought the whole point was pissing on each other."

Aziraphale thought for a moment, eyebrows scrunched together as he thought back to their encounter in the 1790s. Of course at the time he was more focused on Crowley saving his life than their luncheon after the fact, but now the fuzzy memories of crepes and the Americas returned.

"You ought to know that."

"Angel I know nothin I don't need to."

"Why, I thought you were responsible for the American revolution, Crowley."

Crowley scoffed again, shoving his hands in his pockets, "ngk, why would you think that?"

"You said so in 1793!"

"Wot?" Crowley's lips curled as he tried to think back. He didn't remember much of the 18th century, it was a bit of a blur of decapitations, fantastic coattails and wine. Oh the wine was good then, but it was hard to come by. He didn't remember anything about the Americas. "Why would I say that?"

"You said you, you prompted the Mayflower to set sail because you knew it would make the British crown quite upset. Then you informed me that you helped hurl some many large quantities of tea into the ocean, a decision I still vehemently disdain." When Crowley let out a deep chuckle at this, Aziraphale clicked his tongue. He adjusted in his coat, his straight tartan collar reminding him to remain upright and correct. "It has been 300 years, I suppose it's all right now. I should forget the fact you helped ruin quite literal tons of delicious tea."

"Yea no that wasn't me, Angel." Crowley said as he opened the door, letting Aziraphale in before he sauntered next to him.

Aziraphale let his mouth drop in a perfect little 'o' shape as he stared in surprise, "you said you'd done it all! That the head office, down - down there was quite proud of the fact. You earned some fancy title for it."

"Didn't happen."

"You lied to me?"

"I'm a demon, Angel. S'my whole thing."

Aziraphale pursed his lips and sat down at one of the tables that miraculously opened up, "you've never been the bad sort of demon."

"There is no good sort." Crowley sniffed, sitting down and sprawling across his chair. One arm strewn across the back of it, a leg precariously left in the aisle. His dark clothing seemed such a contrast to his personality, in Aziraphale's mind. Aziraphale watched him move his foot back and forth slightly, the light reflecting off his snakeskin boots. Crowley was always moving something, even if it was small. A foot swaying, knee bouncing, finger twitching. Sometimes Aziraphale would notice movement on his cheeks like he was rolling his tongue around for the hell - heck, angels don't swear - of it.

"We come from the same sort, you and I. I can't imagine one fall changes much," Aziraphale said with a warm smile.

Crowley shifted a little in his seat, head faced away from the beaming Angel who looked quite fondly at him. Crowley never knew how to accept compliments or ideas of goodness from Aziraphale. He was under the impression Aziraphale had messed up perceptions of him, and was too frightened to ruin what he knew was incorrect. He was no one good, but he wouldn’t tell the best person he knew that. No use trying to make the good out of the bad. But Aziraphale didn't see it that way, he only saw a beautiful, curious man in beautiful, dark clothing and beautiful, yellow eyes. There was nothing evil about him. But, that was a conversation for a different day.

Today was about the rain, the rain neither knew about until it pattered against the window of a silly American themed coffee shop. Crowley glanced at it with a huff, Aziraphale didn’t seem to pay it much mind.

Nina came to the table beside them, set down a croissant for the woman sitting there then turned to face the two unearthly creatures. When she saw Crowley she pursed her lips and pointed to him, “no, no, no.”

Crowley put his hands up in mock defense, staring at Nina as she refused him. “Wot?”

“No six shots of espresso. No, no. Last time I got trapped up in ‘ere.” Nina was frustrated and had an accusatory tone as though her verified truth was going to be argued.

Aziraphale looked at Crowley with questioning and light amusement in his eyes, and Crowley cringed, “yea s’my bad.”

“You can have anything but espresso. No locking me up tonight.”

“Fair ‘nough,” Crowley grumbled. “Anything with caffeine.”

Nina looked at him with distrust but nodded all the same, “and you?”

“Vanilla please. A vanilla latte with, um, a single cinnamon stick, err, if you could.” Aziraphale smiled politely, sitting upright in his seat. However distrustful she was of Crowley, she seemed remarkably comfortable with ‘Mr Fell.’ Nina nodded and walked away.

“Nina is quite taken aback by you.”

“Grr, I s’might have trapped her in her shop. Wasn’t intentional, just happened.”

“Ah, yes. Well. I suppose one does accidentally trap people inside their work places on a regular basis,” Aziraphale said with a little smile. Crowley grumbled at the tease, looking towards the rain with a harrumph.

Aziraphale watched his gaze and found himself staring more at the demon’s face then the gloomy weather. His red hair was so bright against his skin, and Aziraphale did so love the way it curled so elegantly. “Do you like the rain?”

Crowley’s brows raised at the question and he seemed to turn it over in his mind for a few moments before answering, “yes and no. I like the sound, the sky, the smell. I don’t like the cold.”

“Ah, um yes, the cold can be too much for me.”

From their view, they saw a man and a woman dash through the pouring rain. The man lifted his paper above the pair, trying in vain to stop it from messing up her curls. But the paper fell and they ended up outside the flats, her with a playful smile before she kissed him. The unearthly beings watched this encounter, watched their embrace as the rain plastered their clothing to their bodies and their sweet kisses before darting inside the comfort of the indoors. Crowley snickered as the man pinched the woman’s ass as she climbed the stairs before the door closed.

Somewhere along the way of them watching the sweet couple, Crowley found his eyes drifting towards Aziraphale. He watched the Angel watch them, his soft curls were light and wild. His posture straight yet his eyes seemed to strain as he looked for more and more. Aziraphale always wanted to learn, even if he didn’t realize it. He thirsted for all the knowledge he could, yet never wanted to ask for it. It made him a bastard sometimes, but he was a bastard worth knowing.

“They are very sweet, don’t you think?” Aziraphale commented, tilting his head.

“Mm, s’pose.”

“You don’t think they are sweet? They are very affectionate with one another.”

“No, no. It’s sweet and all. Just don’t fancy being s’all … that,” Crowley furrowed his brows, not quite knowing the words to express it. He didn’t mind their affection, he thinks affection is quite nice. And being in a relationship is no fault either. However, all that their actions implied did not appeal to Crowley. But it was hard to explain that sort of thing, wasn’t it?

Aziraphale thought for a moment, “I, err, I believe I know what you mean. And I quite agree. For myself, that is. However, I adore seeing all sorts of love.”

“It’s in your make up as an Angel.”

Aziraphale straightened, “it is. Love comes in all sorts. I like seeing it, it makes me feel as though there is purpose to the world.”

“Angel…” Crowley meant to say more, though he didn’t quite know what. The words fell off his tongue as soon as they formed. So he just said, “Angel.” And watched his Angel smile with a sort of proud shyness few possess.

“Here you are,” Nina said, setting the latte in front of Aziraphale. In front of Crowley she set a small, pathetic little mug full of black tea. With narrowed eyes she walked away, watching Crowley cringe at the drink.

“I don’t care for tea.”

“You what?” Aziraphale scoffed, blinking a few times as though that could help him process the statement.

“I don’t cares for it.”

“My dear, you live in England.”

Crowley lifted his mug to that statement, “and it’s not for the tea.”

Aziraphale sipped his drink, shaking his head in utter disbelief. He might not drink tea on a regular basis like those in this country, but he certainly could not expect to live in a city like this without at least tolerating it. Why even bother to live here if you despised it so? But he didn’t make another comment, just sipped his latte and enjoyed Crowley’s company.

They talked and sipped their drinks as the rain continued to pour, sliding down the windows in sheets. Crowley tried and failed to contain his smile as Aziraphale wiggled in his seat at each sip. Anything he loved he would wiggle just slightly, and Crowley loved to see what little thing could bring him such joy. Aziraphale placed his mug down, sighing.

“Angel, you got - it’s - well you s’need a napkin,” Crowley got out the words, gesturing to his own upper lip. Unbeknownst to Aziraphale, he was now sporting a rather fetching foam mustache of his own cinnamon, vanilla concoction. As charming as it was, Crowley knew Aziraphale would resent the sticky feeling it would give should it stay on long. And it didn’t look the most intelligent, contrary to Aziraphale’s typical desire in presenting himself.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened, they always widened whenever he felt anything really, and he wiped the mustache off with his napkin. “Is it all gone?”

“Yeaaaa,” Crowley drawled, giving him a half hearted thumbs up.

“Well, I suppose we should depart.”

“S’pose so.”

They made to leave, politely setting their mugs on the rack by the register. Crowley left 100 pounds on the table, telling Aziraphale it was compensation for being locked in though they both knew he was too good a person in a too bad a body. It was still raining heavily, and the pair stood beneath the awning.

“This ‘appened in one of my films,” Crowley said. “Couple got stuck under an awning s’while it rained.”

“What happened next?” Aziraphale asked.

“Aw, well, you know humans. Get ‘em wet and near each other, staring into each others eyes and va-voom!” Crowley used his hands to emphasize his point.

“Va… voom?” Aziraphale said slowly, sounding out the made up phrase as though it were of the most complicated language.

And that was saying something, as Aziraphale considered himself well versed in many languages including a master as the French language. Crowley had argued that last point, though he spoke it in fluent French and Aziraphale hadn’t caught a word of it aside from ‘cheese’ and ‘donkey’. Neither of which sounded like likely phrases for the context.

“Don’t say it like that. Slows it down. Sounds silly. Va-voom!”

Aziraphale quirked a brow, “ah yes, because saying it quicker makes it less silly.”

“Oh shut it. It’s no tickety-boo.” The tips of Crowley’s ears grew pink but he didn’t let it show. He gestured towards the rain, “well, Angel? Should we run into the rain?”

Aziraphale’s eyes lit up in an instant, and he grasped Crowley’s hand with such excitement Crowley wondered if there was a magician nearby.

“Let’s dance!”

“Wot?”

Aziraphale adored dancing, though his abilities were severely limited. He rarely got the chance to just dance and enjoy himself, and now seemed the perfect opportunity. With the perfect partner.

He held his hand out to Crowley, palm up and feet tapping the pavement in excitement. Crowley went to protest, as his dance skills were limited, but he saw the look in Aziraphale’s eyes. Before he knew it he was dragged into the pouring rain, letting it sink into his skin as he was spun by Aziraphale.

Aziraphale let out a little giggle as Crowley came back, hands clutching their partners with slippery fingers. Aziraphale bowed playfully and lowered his voice, “a dance, madame?”

“Oh certainly!” Crowley said in a high pitched voice played along, allowing himself to be swept away. Aziraphale placed a hand on Crowley’s waist and held an arm out, and Crowley expertly followed his lead.

They waltzed across the slick steps of London’s streets, their clothes becoming heavy with rain. Aziraphale’s bow tie sagged along his shirt, streaks of rain permanently damaging his expensive coat but he didn’t care. Crowley’s jacket started to drip from the rain, so thoroughly soaked it was practically a mop, but Crowley let it wipe the floor with him for all it mattered. Aziraphale going to dip Crowley only for him to fall onto the pavement. Despite himself Crowley laughed loudly, waving off Aziraphale’s incessant apologies.

“A dance, madame?” Crowley called, switching places and offering his hand.

Aziraphale blushed, turning a bright pink against his pale clothes but accepted Crowley’s hand gracefully. His white curls clung to his head in little ringlets and his cheeks were pink from the cold, the dance, and the present company. But he danced and danced and danced with Crowley, ignoring the weird looks from passerby’s. They were enjoying the moment of dancing in the rain with their partner, laughing and tripping until they were soaking, panting messes at the bookshops entrance.

Aziraphale miracled some towels so they didn’t ruin the hard wood, and lead Crowley to the bedroom where he provided warm, dry clothing for the both of them.

Crowley pattered into the book shop, wearing a dark, silk robe and pouring himself a glass of red wine. The rain had subsided by now, leaving behind a soft rainbow in the sky. He smiled, sipping his wine. Today was a good day.

[starks-hero]

Ugly Christmas Jumpers

Pairing: Crowley x Reader x Aziraphale

Summary: Sometimes love is wearing the ugly Christmas jumper your partner gifted you.

Word Count: 860

Warnings: none!

16 Days of Christmas Masterlist

You didn't have the heart to tell him. The jumpers material made your skin itch and the design that had been knitted to the front was ghastly. But you just didn't have the heart to tell him.

And it was that exact reason that led you to wear it during your latest visit to the bookshop.

Aziraphale had many love languages. In fact, you're fairly certain that he is the only being you've ever met that practices all of them. Yet some he still displayed more than others and gift-giving was certainly one of them. So, when he'd gifted you with a jumper of questionable design to help you wrap up warm for the winter how could you have possibly said no?

He seemed so excited, having watched intently for your reaction and lighting up like a Christmas tree when you slightly bent the truth and told him you loved it. You didn't think you could survive seeing the disappointment that would surely etch itself across his expression if you were honest. You'd swallow your pride and wear the god awful thing if only to make your angel happy.

As you stepped out of the cab that had dropped you to the shop, you spotted the all too familiar Bentley pull up a few feet away, the nearby street lights bouncing off its sleek paint job. A groan of frustration crept past your lips. If anyone was going to find joy in teasing you relentlessly for your current attire it was Crowley.

You watched as he stepped out of the drivers side and your warning to 'not say a word' died on your tongue. He wore a sweater that rivalled yours in hideousness. A snake was knitted to the front, winding the entire way around Crowley's side and up his back, the head reappearing on his shoulder. The whole thing was completed with googly eyes. The snake's forked tongue poked out in a comedically cartoonish fashion.

Crowley spared a single, tired glance down at your own monstrosity of a jumper. “You too?”

You nodded with a sigh, not missing the look Crowley threw you once he'd realised how utterly ridiculous you both looked.

“I think we can both agree that this is a lot less embarrassing when you remember we're doing this for Azira's sake,” you said plainly.

“Of course,” Crowley agreed, doing everything in his power to maintain some shred of dignity. “It's romantic really, when you think about it.”

You both took a moment to get into character, preparing to act as though you adored your current outfits before you entered the bookshop. The bell that sat above the door sounded as you both stepped inside.

“I'm terribly sorry but I'm afraid we're quite closed– oh!” Aziraphale's words fell short as he found both you and Crowley, both of you looking as though you were straight out of a poorly budgeted Christmas flick. “My dears, what a lovely surprise!”

The angels smile only widened at the sight of what you were wearing. “You both look wonderful!”

He laid a gentle hand on either of your cheeks as he continued to shower you both in compliments. Suddenly wearing the horrid jumpers didn't seem so bad if this was the outcome.

“We love them, Azira,” you lied.

“Yep, love them! I haven't taken mine off since you gave it to me.” Crowley joined in on your efforts to sell the lie. And by the way the angel's eyes brightened at your words you assumed you were successful.

“I'm so glad to hear it, I just knew you'd like them. That's precisely why I bought more!”

“You what...”

Confusion, realisation and then utter fear chased each other across your expression as Aziraphale opened a nearby cupboard and produced two more folded piles of woollen Christmas jumpers.

You and Crowley shared a horrified look as the bundle of clothes were handed to you. You tried to be optimistic but something, namely the googly-eyed reindeer knitted to the jumper at the top of your pile, told you that these wouldn't be any better than the monstrosity you were currently wearing.

You fought against the look of disdain that had subconsciously begun to settle on your face. You mustered your best smile as you thanked him for his thoughtfulness.

“Really angel, you're too good to us,” Crowley chimed in, grimacing slightly. He evidently felt bad about lying to his beloved.

“Oh, don't mention it, my dear boy. You look so very dashing in them after all.” Aziraphale said lovingly. His hand gently fell against your shoulder. “The both of you.”

And just like that, you were reminded why you were going through all this trouble. Why you were lying directly to your angel's face. The sight of him so happy filled you with so much joy it rivalled the burning embarrassment you felt each second you spent wearing the ridiculous garments. It was entirely worth it if it meant you got to see your angel smile. And now that he was offering you more with a smile brighter than ever, well, how could you possibly refuse?

tag list: @ask-the-elf-stuff @madgep

Thank you so much for reading!