#crowley x you

[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.

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Bentley Shenanigans (Good Omens)

Crowley x Fem!Reader 18+ ONLY / requests are open and encouraged

Summary: Crowley needs to relieve some frustrations after that shitshow of a birthday party.

CW: vaginal sex, fingering, dirty talk, car sex, vague degradation/humiliation

Good Omens tag list: @coffee-and-red-lipstick @quickslvxrr @clarina04 @motionlessindoubt (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

This was possibly one of the most shocking things you had ever seen. Crowley was wearing white. You’d never seen him in anything other than black and when he’d first come to pick you up after the birthday party, you had known something was different, but couldn’t pick what it was. It had actually taken you at least two solid minutes to realise that it was because he was wearing white. 

“What the fuck- you’re- what are you wearing?” 

Crowley glances at you as he pulls into the parking spot at the lookout trail and turns the car off. Sometimes the two of you came out here just to get away. 

“What- this old thing?” He chuckles, tossing his sunglasses onto the dash before sighing defeatedly. Oh dear, it wasn’t a good sign if he could barely keep his sultry demeanour going.

“I think,” he trailed off. “It is safe to say… that did not go as well as I hoped it would.”

You’re not really sure what to make of that, given that the balance of the world as you knew it hung squarely on Crowley and Aziraphale’s shoulders. Sitting quietly, you wait for Crowley to continue. 

“I mean, really- you wouldn’t have thought it would be that hard, would you? Fucking nuns, Pet. Useless, the lot of them.” 

Crowley pinches his nose and turns toward you, eyeing you up and down. Your dress has ridden up your thighs and you do not fail to notice the way he eyes you appreciatively. 

“Fancy a quick fuck?” He asks casually. You splutter on a response for a moment. Here you were, discussing how the end of the world was fast approaching in less than a week, and Crowley wanted to shag? You blinked at him. That wasn’t to say you weren’t interested, either, mind you. You definitely were, but, it was just a bit out of the blue was all. What did that say about you, you wondered… In the face of the end of the world, you’re thinking about getting fucked one more time. Hmm. On second thoughts, you think it might just mean that you appreciate the fun things in life. 

“Sure,” you say, cheeks pinking at the thought of him in that white coat bending you over and taking out his frustrations on you. “One condition, though.” Crowley’s brow arches, a sultry smirk appearing on his face. “The coat stays.” 

“Your wish is my command, love,” he replied. “Back seat, then?” 

You nod, shocked at the casual nature of this exchange. It wasn’t something you were necessarily unused to, but there was usually a little more pent-up energy and flirting beforehand. However, getting straight to it wasn’t a bad thing either. It was kind of refreshing, actually. 

You get out of the car and go around to the driver's side. Crowley opens the back door for you and promptly bends you over into the back of the car. You gasp, your hands reaching out to steady you on the leather seats. 

Crowley slides his hand up your sundress, exposing your black panties to him. He groans, gripping at your ass before letting go and giving it a rough slap. You jolt forward with the shock. Crowley tuts and grips you by the hips to drag you back towards him. 

His hips ground against your ass roughly, his cock hardening beneath his pants. You bit your lip, enjoying the roughness of his clothes against your almost bare skin. Crowley laughed, reaching down to rip your panties off you. You let out a sound of protest, though Crowley shushed you. 

“Fix ‘em later, promise,” he assured you before tossing the ripped remains of your underwear over your head and into the other door. Any further protests died before they even formed thought as his fingers slid down over the curve of your ass and sunk themselves into your tight, wet heat. 

You moaned, thighs twitching as he fingered you open. If you weren’t wet before, you definitely were now. 

Crowley removed the fingers once he thought you were wet enough and presented them to you to clean off. You did so without complaint or question, sucking his fingers into your mouth, tongue swirling over the digits to clean them of your slick. 

Crowley grunted, the other hand undoing his pants and removing his cock from its confines. Once he was free, he pulled his fingers from your mouth, giving your cheek a little pat. The feel of the saliva cooling on your skin- the dirtiness of it- had you clenching. 

“Look at that,” he groaned, pressing his head against your entrance. “Sopping for me, aren’t you? Filthy thing, you are, Pet.” 

You nodded, pressing back against him. His head slipped inside, causing you both to groan. You with impatience, and he with pleasure. Crowley’s fingers gripped at your hips harshly as he slowly sunk inside you. Once he was finally inside you, you were finally able to relax. Feeling so full up on his cock felt like your version of Heaven. 

God, Crowley made you so cock-drunk that it was ridiculous.

Then, your Demon started to move, hips snapping back and forth with fervour. It wasn’t long before Crowley was bent over you, yanking your hips into his own with every thrust. You were scrabbling at the leather, cheek sticking to the seat with the sweat. Loud moans and sharp grunts could be heard coming from the car, and you hoped that no one was on this particular walking trail today. 

Then again, maybe you’d like an audience. The thought had you biting your lip to stifle the groan, and you clenched around the Demon, who straightened up and wrapped a hand into your hair. 

“Fuck, that’s it-” he growled, fucking into you harder. “Reach down there and play with that pretty clit for me, Pet. Mm- like that.” 

Your fingers reached your clit, rubbing tight circles. You could feel the push and pull of his cock from within you, could feel as your slick creamed around him. You cried out in sharp pleasure as he slapped your ass cheek again. 

“Are you going to cum already, Pet? Huh?” 

You nodded, the motion pulling at your hair just that little bit more. Crowley laughed loudly, fucking into you harder. 

“Better do it then,” he warned. “Come on, cum for me, Pet.” 

Your fingers were lightning quick on your clit. Your thighs were twitching and struggling to keep yourself up from Crowley’s punishing thrusts. With a loud drawn-out moan, you came. 

Crashing waves of chaotic pleasure roiled inside you. Your fingers crushed themselves into the leather as you felt your release roll through your muscles. Your clit felt like it was on fire as you forced yourself to concentrate hard enough to rub yourself through it, contracting around Crowley hard enough to make him cum. 

He grunted from above you, hips stuttering- and then you felt it. His release coating your walls. You whined, grinding yourself back against him as he started to slow. Crowley gave your hip a warning squeeze, but you ground yourself back on him, pressing him in as far as you could to make sure not a drop of his seed escaped you. 

You sighed with relief, fingers slowing to a stop on your clit. Crowley was hunched over you, panting with exertion. 

You laughed, the endorphins starting to kick in. Crowley chuckled breathily against your back and pressed a kiss to the fabric of your dress. 

“That was fun,” you said, unsticking your cheek from the seat. 

“Mm-” Crowley grunted in response. “Aziraphale will be jealous.” 

You don’t think you’re wrong in thinking he doesn’t seem all that upset about making the Angel jealous. 

“I think you’re right,” you pant back, slowly starting to catch your breath now. 

“Alright, come on,” he says, picking himself up and slowly pulling out of you, shushing you comfortingly when you whimper at the loss. “I know, Pet. Come on, let’s get you back to the Shop, eh? The Angel will be missing us by now.” 

You groan and force yourself to stand up. Your walls clench to keep Crowley’s seed inside. 

“Don’t miracle it away,” you say, knowing that Crowley was planning to do so for your ease of comfort. “You know how Zira likes his seconds.” 

Crowley tutted at you, a smirk playing across his lips. 

“Naughty thing, you are. Whatever are we going to do with you?” 

You hop into the passenger side again, your muscles thanking you for the relief. 

“Guess we’ll have to find out, won’t we?” 

“Guess so, love.”

[denaliwrites]

Road to Hell

Crowley x GN!Reader

Summary: Of all the subjects Crowley thought he might walk in on you researching in the bookshop, demonology was probably at the bottom of the list.

Requests: Open!

Warnings: Crowley is a dick (affectionate).

"What're you reading today?" Crowley asked, towering over you with a contemplative look. You lifted the book for him to see and in return he offered a shocked choking sound in the back of his throat. "Demonology, huh? What... inspired you to read that?"

He hadn't told you anything about him and Aziraphale being a demon and an angel, respectively. As far as he knew, Aziraphale hadn't broached the topic with you, either. To him, there was absolutely no reason for you to be reading about anything even remotely connected to his or Aziraphale's status as supernatural beings.

Yet here you were.

Reading a book on demonology.

You shrugged in response to his question, bringing the book back down to your lap to read comfortably. "I'd never checked out the occult section before, so I decided to read something from there and this was the most interesting looking book on the whole shelf."

"Ah, right." That did, to Crowley's immense relief, make sense. You'd read at least one book from nearly every section in the bookshop -- why wouldn't you, at some point, venture into the occult?

"Can't help but wonder how accurate it is, though," you mused aloud. "Pretty sure we've all collectively decided that demonic possessions are all just mentally ill people being misunderstood and abused by the church, right? Or I guess sometimes maybe people seeking attention? So how much of this is, like... considered true, I guess?"

"Do you... believe in demons?" Crowley asked carefully.

"Not really. I mean, I feel like if they were real, we'd have more evidence than just... the church saying so? Like, surely atheists and Satanists would've met a ton of demons by now, but I don't see any atheists or Satanists ever talking about meeting demons."

Crowley had to admit that was a fair cop. Maybe a little... small-minded, at least cosmically speaking, but you were but a human. That could be excused.

"What if they were real?" he asked, coming to sit on the arm of the chair you occupied. "What if you met a demon? Knew a demon, even?"

You made a sound at the back of your throat that sounded an awful lot like the one he made. "I'd have a lot of things I needed to reconsider, for starters."

"Oh? Like what?"

"Well," you started, closing the book and turning so that you were facing him. "If demons were real, then I think the next logical step would be that angels were real, and if angels were real then the next step from that point would be that God's real."

He rocked back slightly to better look at you, clicking his tongue curiously. "Is that so bad, really?"

You sighed dramatically. It was a sound he loved -- it usually came before something remarkably human. Something remarkably You. "Anthony Janthony Cranthony," you lamented, "I cannot ever, under any circumstances, let my parents know that I regret not going to church more."

Anthony Janthony Cranthony? Why had you called him that? Of all things, to go with Anthony Janthony Cranthony...

He supposed that wasn't really the point to what you were saying. Something about your parents and church, though, that was the point.

"Not sure why they'd have to know," he said casually with a shrug.

Your eyes widened in shocked realization. "Oh, fuck, you're right! They'd never have to know. You're brilliant," you said, to him -- you'd called him brilliant! He beamed at that. "Going to Hell anyway, if all that were real, may as well add 'disrespecting my parents' to my list of sins."

Oh.

"Why do you think you'd go to Hell, darling?"

"It's not like I've been living a pious life, y'know?" you said, blinking up at him. "I curse, I've fucked out of wedlock, I'm reading all about demons and witchcraft and shit. I don't believe in God? I'm pretty sure that's one of the big no-nos."

It was his turn to blink, but his was followed up with a laugh. "Oh, love, God does not care about any of those things. Trust me."

"Oh, God, are you a Christian? Have you been this whole time? I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to offend--"

"No, no, nothing like that. I..."

How did he tell you? Should he even tell you? He was sure Aziraphale might have something to say on the matter, but right now he couldn't be fucked, because you were here, looking up at him so innocently, so adoringly.

"What is it, Crowley?" And you sounded so concerned, so ready to take him into your arms and comfort him and apologize for a crime you hadn't even committed.

"I'm a demon."

The words tumbled forth from his lips before he could stop himself, and they hovered in the air for several silent and tense moments after, where all you did was stare at him.

And then you laughed -- and he wished he could laugh too. Hell, he wished he could hear even a trace of joy in your laugh. But it was all nerves and fear, like you weren't sure if this was some sick joke or if he was delusional.

When his expression didn't change, when he didn't yell out "sike!" or "gotcha!," your laugh died and then you just looked scared of him.

It nearly broke him, because if this was how you reacted before proof, how would you react when he showed you the truth?

But you didn't run away, so he carefully removed his glasses and blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light. Yours were locked onto the yellow irises, the slitted pupils that contracted and dilated at will.

He could tell you wanted to deny the reality of them -- that you wanted to write them off as contacts, but they wouldn't let you, because contacts couldn't dilate.

The only other things he could do -- well, within the confines of the bookshop, were show you his wings or turn into a snake. He wasn't huge on the latter option, at least not right now -- it definitely put him at a disadvantage, made him easier to discorporate.

So, instead, he moved to a stand. And his wings fanned out as you watched, and then, he figured, you'd run out the door screaming, never to be seen again. He hoped you lived well. He closed his eyes so that he didn't have to watch you walk away.

You got up -- he could hear the rustling of fabric, the relieved groan of the chair, the book falling onto the cushion. He expected the little bell above the door to signal your departure at any moment.

Instead, he felt your hands on his face, pulling him nearer to you. His eyes opened, stared into yours. The fear had gone, replaced by unabashed curiosity and deep, untamed love.

He expected many things to come out of that lovely mouth of yours. So God is real? Am I going to Hell? I don't want to go to Hell! What did I do to deserve going to Hell???

(You weren't going to Hell -- but after the initial question, people tended to panic and vomit the others out uncontrollably.)

He expected those questions. A handful of a select few others. He did not anticipate what you actually asked --

"Do you have a cool demon name?"

"A... Sorry, a what?"

"You know... Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Lucifer, Belial. What's your demon name?"

"O-oh... No... no 'cool' demon name, I'm afraid. Just... Just Crowley..."

He hadn't expected to be embarrassed and doubly hadn't expected to see a beaming smile on your face.

"I think Crowley's the coolest demon name, personally."

He could see in your eyes that you meant it -- and that made him smile.

"Isn't it just?" he asked with a relieved laugh.

"Now I gotta know what all you've done as a demon. I mean -- how old are you?"

"Old as the universe, darling."

He could see the moment your brain started trying to process that unfathomable information, and he could also see the moment it gave up. You moved on as if nothing happened, but Crowley took a moment to appreciate he wouldn't have to miracle your memories away before your brain went into nuclear meltdown.

"Why aren't you in Hell?"

"It's dreadfully boring."

"Why are you here?"

"I just think humans are neat... and your lot is very good at making booze."

"Have you done anything cool as a demon?"

"I met Shakespeare, I stopped some Nazi spies, I tempted Eve, I stopped Armageddon..."

"You what!?"

"Oh, yeah..." He made that sound in his throat. You copied it, seemingly from instinct. He wasn't even sure you noticed that you did it. "Long story, but Aziraphale and I convinced the Antichrist to just... not do the whole ending the world thing."

"Who's Aziraphale?"

"Oh. Right. Mr. Fell."

"... Mr. Fell? This Mr. Fell?" You motioned to the bookshop at large and Crowley nodded. "Is he a demon too?"

Crowley laughed -- an uproarious, barking laugh, that lasted much longer than was strictly necessary.

"Oh, you better not let him hear that," he said once he'd calmed down.

"... So he's not a demon?" you mumbled, and Crowley realized he'd accidentally made you feel bad.

He took one of your hands in his and guided it away from his face so that he could kiss the palm. "No, darling, he's not." He kissed your palm again. "He's an angel."

"I'm sorry -- he's a what?"

"An angel, of course. Really, like he could be anything else."

Nothing against him, of course, but he very much was what he was.

"So why are an ageless angel and demon wasting their time with me, a human who'll wither and die? Why go through that for me?"

"Well, it's not exactly our fault you weaseled your way into our lives," he said with an indignant hgk. "But now that you're here, we can't really imagine the place without you."

"I think that's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me, and I can't believe it came from a demon."

"Don't let the angel know I let you get away with calling me sweet. He'd never let me live it down."

[owen-writes]

Backhanded Compliments

Crowley x Gender Neutral Reader

The soft glow of candlelight flickers around the room as you settle into Crowley's lap, the worn leather of his sofa creaking slightly beneath your weight. The day had been long, filled with otherworldly occurrences and bizarre events that only seemed to make sense when you were with him.

Crowley's serpent eyes, a mesmerizing blend of gold and yellow, fixate on you with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine. His gaze is a peculiar mix of mischief and genuine curiosity, making it hard to decipher his true intentions.

"You know, you're actually quite good-looking when you're not talking," he remarks, his words slithering out with a hint of a smirk. It's the kind of backhanded compliment that only Crowley can deliver.

"So, you think I'm good-looking?" you tease, a playful grin forming on your lips.

"I said 'when you're not talking,'" Crowley replies, his tone carrying a distinct devilish charm.

"Too late, I'm taking it as a compliment," you quip, leaning back against his chest, feeling the warmth radiating from his supernatural being.

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a while, the only sound being the distant hum of traffic outside and the occasional crackle of the fireplace. Crowley's fingers absentmindedly trace patterns on your forearm, a gentle touch that contrasts with his usual swagger.

"You humans and your need for validation," he muses, his gaze still fixed on you. "But I suppose you're tolerable, at least in small doses."

"Coming from you, that's practically a love declaration," you jest, leaning into his touch. The subtle rhythm of his fingers creates a soothing sensation, grounding you in the moment.

Crowley smirks, a glint of something more genuine flickering in his eyes. "Don't get used to it, love. I've got a reputation to uphold."

As the evening unfolds, the conversation meanders between the supernatural and the mundane. Crowley's anecdotes about centuries of mischief and mayhem are interwoven with your tales of navigating the human experience. The dynamic between you two is oddly harmonious, a dance of opposites that defies logic.

Eventually, the conversation fades into a comfortable silence. Crowley's gaze never wavers, and you can't help but meet his eyes. There's an unspoken connection, an understanding that goes beyond words.

"You're not like other humans," he observes, his tone softer than usual.

"Guess I'm lucky to have caught the attention of a demon then," you reply, a playful glint in your eyes.

Crowley smirks again, but this time it's different. It's a smirk tinged with a hint of vulnerability, a rare glimpse behind the facade. The unspoken words hang in the air, lingering between you.

And as the night deepens, you find solace in the arms of a demon, a connection that transcends the boundaries of the celestial and the infernal. In that moment, you realize that sometimes, the most extraordinary bonds are forged in the most unexpected places.

[weirdmorefics]

Hiya, could you do a Aziraphale x Demon!Reader x Crowley (if that's alright with you) where it's the end of season 2 and the reader is arguing with Aziraphale because he's leaving and Crowley is just standing behind them still trying to comprehend what's happening, but because the reader is a demon they have never cried not once in their life so they start breaking down (ugly crying) and it pisses of Crowley seeing reader cry like that, hope this request is alright can change it it you want to x

A/n- Oh my goodness love this request I am a sucker for angst

AO3, Etsy Shop, Youtube,

TW- Major sadness

Reader's Pronouns- They/Them

Word Count- 978

Nothing Lasts Forever

Crowley x Reader x Aziraphale

Y/n anxiously plays with their hands waiting for Aziraphale to return, "Do you think he's safe with Metatron?"

"I am sure he will be fine. As much as we love to save our dear angel and mock him mercilessly, he's been protecting himself for eons," Crowley replies confidently.

Despite Crowley's confident words his face does not appear to match. He places Y/n's hands in his own and does not speak a word about it.

After sitting in silence for a long time, just the two of them ruminating on their own thoughts, a bell rings. Y/n stands up speedily and Crowley is quick to follow. Y/n moves closer to Aziraphale to check if any harm has been done but he has the widest grin on his face so the pair doubt he is injured.

"What did he want," Y/n asks fearing the answer.

"With Micheal being gone... there is a space. He wants me to be an archangel," Aziraphale beams with shock and joy.

Y/n is frozen in shock and Crowley steps closer, "He said what?"

"He said I could appoint you both to be angels! Come back to heaven and-and everything!" He uncharacteristically stutters due to the pure amount of joy. "Like old times probably even nicer!"

Y/n clenches their fist and gulps loudly even though they don't technically need to as a celestial being it just seemed like the situation desperately called for it.

Crowley went straight to anger, "And you told him where he can stick it? Oh, we're better than that! You're better than that, Angel! You don't need them! Y/n and I certainly don't need them! They ask Y/n and I back to Hell! We said no! I am certainly not going back to their team! Neither should you!"

"You two obviously said not to Hell, they're the bad guys," Aziraphale states surely. "Heaven is the side of truth, light, of good," he lists confused as to what Crowley is not getting.

If I could throw up I think I would. If Hell loves punishment so much you think they would make vomiting a must because it looks really painful when humans do it. Again maybe they wouldn't do that because vomiting is a way of cleansing your stomach and they are very against that.

"When Heaven ends all life on earth all humanity will be just as dead as if Hell did it," Crowley states. "Tell me you said no," Crowley says each word as if it were the end of a sentence.

Aziraphale does not respond and I am finally able to push words out of my mouth, "You did say no Azirapahle... right?"

"If I am in charge I can make a difference," he looks into Y/n's eyes with pity.

Y/n eyes have an unfamiliar feeling, they feel wet and sting.

Crowley starts to pace, "Oh god, oh, I didn't get a chance to say what I was going to say. I better say it now. Right okay. We are a team a group of us, we have known each other a long time, we all rely on each other. I would like us to- I mean if Gabriel and Beelzebub can do it. Go off with each other, then we three can! Just the three of us! We don't need Heaven we don't need Hell. They are toxic! We need be away from them and just be us," he looks between the two of us.

The unfamiliar feeling in y/n's eyes spreads leaving a trail of wetness down their cheek. The wetness keeps spreading they can feel several different lines of water down my face.

Aziraphale runs up to Crowley, "Come with me to Heaven I'll run it the best and you will be my second in command! We can make a difference!"

Y/n bites her lip harshly, " What about the bookshop? What about humanity? The new food inventions you will miss out on? What about our life here!"

The two look at Y/n oddly and the new feeling in them makes them clench their eyes tight and gasp. Y/n wipes their hand across their face and looks down at the wetness in their hands. The wetness won't stop streaming down my face. This isn't right. I shouldn't be able to cry. I shouldn't feel this deeply. Nevertheless, I can't stop the water in my eyes and can't stop gasping for air that I don't even need.

Aziraphale looks at me in a way he never has before. It's the gaze humans give their offspring when they first realize the world is unfair and unjust.

"Oh Y/n, nothing lasts forever," Aziraphale says regretfully.

Y/n puts their palm to their chest and gasps, "Oh."

Crowley looks at Aziraphale with disgust, "That's how it is... good luck then."

Y/n looks up at Crowley vision blurry with newfound tears and Crowley looks back mournfully. Crowley throws his arm around Y/n's shoulder and starts to escort them out the door.

"Good luck?' Aziraphale gasps. "I don't think you know what I am offering the two of you!"

"I think the two of us know better than you do," Crowley snaps back.

Aziarphale tries to negotiate with Y/n, "Y/n, please you are supposed to be the reasonable one out of the two of you! You are no demon you are crying!"

Crowley's jaw tightens and Y/n clenches their fists harder than they have in their entire long life.

Y/n can barely gasp out, "You hear that?"

Aziraphale shakes his head rapidly, "I hear nothing!"

"Exactly, no nightingales," Y/n gasps again.

"You idiot! We could have been something! Just the three us," Crowley shouts as he leads Y/n out the door leaving a stunned and a little bit broken Aziraphale.

[thedemonknownasbilly]

Awesome!

If you're willing, could I request headcanons for Aziraphale x Crowley x gender neutral reader where reader is chubby and insecure about their appearance?

Oh, Darling - HC for Ineffable Husbands with Chubby!Reader

Absolutely! Sorry for the delay, it was around midnight for me when I replied to the first anon, and I was just knocked out right after!

Ineffable Husbands x GN!Reader

Any and all pet names/compliments are meant as GN!

Mentions ED/Skipping meals (that’s more of a personal touch on my end as someone who is a bit curvier than average)

So let’s cover how they treat you separately, since as much as they try to be, they aren’t always attached at the hip.

Crowley

To be honest it took him a minute to even notice, ethereal (occult) beings don’t typically fuss or pay attention to “human flaws”

You guys would have met at the park bench, he was waiting for Aziraphale, and his was the only bench with a spot open.

“Could I sit here?”

“Hm?” He’d look up from his newspaper and will any blush on his cheeks to discorporate “yeah, yeah, he’s running late so I’m sure I’ll be leaving soon.”

You’d start talking to the ducks, and he was a goner, slowly joining in your conversation and just having a grand time with you.

When Aziraphale finally showed up, Crowley left you his number and told you to text him the next time you wanted to talk about anything.

He gushed about you and your knowledge of ducks to Aziraphale, who teased his husband over this crush.

After a good thousand texts, a few hang outs, and Aziraphale’s okay after a lengthy conversation, Crowley asked you out, and ofc you said yes.

He absolutely adores your curves, never seeing them as a flaw.

Won’t stand for any blasphemy you might have to say against it.

He will happily curl himself around you, slender fingers on your hips as he adorns you in kisses.

He notices some days you’ll shy away from his touch, and he never wants you uncomfortable.

But one day you had shied away all day, (he always kept track) he’d even say you were almost flinching from his touch.

This worried him, every situation he conjured in his head was that he had upset you or maybe that you didn’t even love him anymore.

So it certainly made you have to repress a sad giggle when you saw those sad yellow eyes look up at you as he asked, “is there another?”

“Never in a million years, my darling.” And with that he relaxed and sat beside you, noticing how you pressed yourself to the side of the couch.

“Then what’s with this, why won’t you let me touch you..?” He was always big on boundaries and respect, but usually he was given a sort of heads up, not just thrusted into a new rule.

“It’s silly…”

“If it’s important to you, it’s important to me.”

You’d go on to explain everything, how you’d always been the bigger kid, how the curves and rolls of your body often were topics of things your exes hated about you. The bullying, the lack of food, the unaffordable research on surgery even. “But even then, I’m scared you’ll realize I’m not worth the pain that a human comes with if I’m not attractive enough.”

Crowley listened intently, he always would, but he couldn’t deny that he hated what he was hearing. “Let me touch you, please.”

And when you shyly nodded, his hands were on your thighs as he surged forward and pressed his lips to yours.

“I don’t give two fucks about human beauty. You’re perfect for me.” He’d growl out as he moved to kiss down your jaw and neck, pressing his lips to every stretch of skin he could reach. “Think I give a fuck? Really? Ask Aziraphale how much we go to the Ritz, think to every time I’ve asked you. At first I figured it wasn’t your cup of tea. Not that you were treating yourself so downright wrong.”

You couldn’t help to giggle at that, and he looked up at you. “I would really like to go to lunch with you, and if it helps, we can invite the angel.”

Having Aziraphale there did help, he was enjoying his food without a care in the world for any leering eyes, and you did the same, blushing as your boyfriend adored you and his husband.

He was always there, especially now that he knew, always behind you when you stood too long in the mirror, hands on your hips as he’d whisper praises and compliments into your ear, making you repeat a few on the worst days.

Aziraphale

Once again, Aziraphale would hardly count it as the first thing he noticed. He certainly wasn’t the most slender figure himself even by human standards.

You two would meet at Maggie’s Record Shop. He was there to pick up something new and you were browsing for your favorite CDs to be on record.

He was thrilled to see Maggie have a customer and swore than if he had put a heart into his form that it would be pounding out of his chest.

He’d hurry to the Record Shop every time he saw you in the windows, finally after four run-ins, you introduced yourself to him.

You would be the only person regularly allowed into the bookshop.

Crowley had met you numerous times since, and he even encouraged his angel to ask you out. So Aziraphale finally did.

He soon found his favorite spot was to have his head on your lap, your fingers scratching against his scalp as you two would listen to whatever he’d put on the record.

He noticed one day though when you seemed to be fidgeting before he laid down, and it took him a moment to realize you were trying to make yourself look smaller.

“My darling, what are you doing?” He asked carefully, sitting beside you and placing a hand on your thigh.

Something about such a simple question and gesture made you break down, explaining how you wanted to be perfect, that you wished you looked more like Crowley did so that these treacherous thoughts would leave your mind.

Aziraphale was concerned, feeling a twist in his stomach as he carefully pulled you onto his lap, a position you tried to protest, but when he whispered out a “for me, please,” you couldn’t say no.

“My darling, having one of Crowley is more than enough. I’m quite happy to have you as you are, wouldn’t dream of asking you to change in any way.”

He’d listen to every thought you had, giving you all of his attention as his thumbs trace circles on your thighs and hips, and when you were done, he’d counter every argument with his own, explaining gently that he had truly never paid much attention to your own weight, that it was your soul and personality he adored.

“But you are quite gorgeous, I found myself aching to see you everyday before I got to know you. I’d sit right here at my desk, and wait, hoping you’d come back.” He would cup your face as he said that, “I’m not perfect by human standards either, I chose this form, why on earth would I make you change when certainly I could be in a better body for you as well.”

He always watched out for signs of those thoughts creeping back in, but everyday, he’d end it by kissing you everywhere before bed, murmuring praises and compliments against your skin like a prayer.

Ineffable Husbands

You had ventured into the bookshop on a rainy day, noticing a red and black snake perched on a sweater in the warmest spot he could be in.

“Aren’t you adorable?” You’d coo, looking around for anyone to ask before whispering to the snake, “can I pet you?”

At that the snake opened one yellow eye, looked you up and down and nodded, very human like you thought, but you carefully rested a finger against his head, between his eyes, and stroked down his body, watching as the snake seemed perfectly happy with such actions and melted back into the sweater.

Soon the owner emerged from the back, “oh I do apologize, I was fetching some lanterns incase we lost power.” He said, Aziraphale you’d learn his name was, he certainly had a small look of shock on his face when he saw Crowley allowing you to stroke him.

“So,” Aziraphale talked to the snake when you had left hours later, “I take it someone likes them?”

“Me?” Crowley slithered onto the floor and changed forms, “what about you excitedly prattling on and showing them every book of every topic they mentioned. You even let them take one home.”

“They’re bringing it back!” Aziraphale chuckled in an effort of protest.

“Oh, sweet love of mine, I think we both fancy them.” // “Indeed it seems we both do, I hope they spend more time with us soon.”

Months later, you had learned that Crowley was the snake from that day, not being horrified but instead it made you reach up without thinking and gently stroke his hair, if demons could actually melt he was certain he’d be a puddle on the floor of the bookshop, Aziraphale had gone to fetch you a new book, and Crowley trapped you onto the couch, seemingly having no joints as he curled himself around you as best he could; his head on your shoulder.

“Crowley, dear, can’t hog them to yourself now.” And Aziraphale sat beside you, hand on your waist (under Crowley) and a head on your shoulder. “I think it’s fair that we say, well, we like you. The both of us.”

You giggled at the obvious statement and turned to kiss him as his answer, hearing Crowley whine and giving him a kiss right after.

Within the next two months, you had also moved into the flat above the bookshop, which made it easier for your two loves to see just how much you seemed uncomfortable with yourself.

“When’s the last time they ate?” Crowley murmured one day, swearing that he hadn’t seen you eat all day, or the day before.

“A while, I’m worried.” With that, they both searched for you, not expecting to find you curled up under the blankets with tear stains on your cheeks.

“Darling, what’s wrong?” The with sit on the edge of the bed, Aziraphale’s hand stroking your hair and Crowley’s rubbing your back.

“Got in my head…” you’d murmur, striking concern within them as they soon encouraged you to lay in the middle of the bed, Aziraphale to your front and Crowley to your back.

Crowley’s hand never leaving your hips as he pressed kisses to you, “don’t hide from me,” he’d say when he felt you trying to will your body further into the bed. And when Aziraphale finally asked what was wrong, you told them everything from childhood, to today, “I just want to be attractive enough for an angel and a demon, like those other ones are.”

“My dear,” Aziraphale said rather seriously, “you are more than attractive enough, haven’t we shown that?” Crowley still pressing kisses made your mind seem fuzzy with bliss as Aziraphale kissed your lips, seemingly trying to pour every ounce of his adoration into it.

They would spent hours telling you about every part of you they loved, leaving no room for any insecurities, mentally or physically.

“I quite like you at this size, more for me to hold, just like with ‘Ziraphale.”

“And besides, while you may be human, we aren’t, I assure you, Crowley could pick us both up and not break a sweat.”

They’d take turns whenever an insecurity seemed to pop back up on bad days, whichever notice would help you for hours, making sure you never felt less than with them.

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Crowley X Reader: To love and be loved

This is purely self indulgente

Warnings: fluff, heartbreak, happy ending

Word count:1,8K

He’s not used to this feeling. He knows what it is, well at least he thinks he does, but he’s still not accustomed to it. 

Love is weird. 

Crowley had always thought that and this situation just seemed to prove it. He loved Aziraphale. It had taken him eons to admit it to himself but he knew it was true. But as much as he loved Aziraphale he also loved you. A demon in love with an angel and a human. It’s funny how life works. He still hadn’t told you how he felt. His heart was still recovering from Azi’s rejection. But despite the heartbreak he knew you’d be much more open to his  love than Aziraphale had been. You’d stuck around, after all. Which was more than he could say for the Angel. Crowley could still feel the warmth of your body as you stood beside him that day as you both watched Aziraphale leave. He missed the feeling of having you near. You’d tried to reach him but he was making it absurdly hard for you. Crowley wanted to be alone and at the same time he wanted someone to hold him. 

Was this how humans felt after a breakup? Odd little creatures. 

It took some time but Crowley finally caved. He drove over to your apartment, parking the Bentley somewhere safe before going to knock at your door. He turned to look at the street as he waited for you to open the door, his eyes catching on the bookshop on the other side. It wasn’t your fault you lived right in front of it. It was why you’d ended up meeting the two of them in the first place. It finally hit Crowley why he’d put this off for so long. As much as he wanted to see you he couldn’t deal with the thought of coming back here and finding the bookshop empty. 

Crowley didn’t hear you unlock the door. He didn’t hear it screech open either. You glanced at the Demons characteristic red locks, your heart nearly jumping out of your chest at the sight. You went to place your hand on Crowley's shoulders, stopping for a moment as you realized just what he was staring at. You moved closer to him, your arms wrapping around his neck as you leaned your head on his shoulder. Crowley moved his head to the side, his nose bumping against your cheek. He closed his eyes, taking in your familiar scent. He loved when you hugged him like this. 

“Long time no see.”

“Sorry about that dove.”

“It’s okay. You’re here now.”

Crowley hummed against your skin as you gave a kiss to his shoulder blade, despite his coat he felt the pressure of your lips against his skin. You were always so affectionate with him. It had taken him a while to get used to it but now he couldn’t see himself living without your caresses.

“Wanna come inside?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll make some coffee.”

Crowley sat on your armchair, his legs slung on top of your coffee table as he watched you move around in the kitchen. You hummed as you worked making the Demon smile. He rose from his seat moving over to your record collection. He skimmed through the vinyls searching for the right one. Once he’d found it he went over to your record player, placing the disc in before turning the machine on. Your head turned to face him as you heard “Good Old-fashioned lover boy” begin to play. You smiled at Crowley, watching as he moved over to you.

“Queen huh?”

“Heard you humming it.”

“Ah I see.”

You placed the rag you had been holding on the counter. Crowley watched you sway your body to the rhythm cautiously for a moment before starting to dance without hesitation. He grinned at you his head bopping to the beat. You stuck your hand out to him walking backwards into the living room.  He gave you a dubious glance, silently asking what you were doing.

“Well, aren’t you going to dance with me?”

“Oh I don't dance.”

“Bullshit.”

Crowley looked at you, his eyes moving over your features sadly. Before the memories could get him down he gave you his hand.

“Oh what the hell.”

You laughed as Crowley spun you around. The two of you moved around the living room, each one dancing in their own weird way. Everyonce in a while you'd bump into each other causing you to have a fit of laughter. Neither of you thought anything of it when your skin grazed the other, you were used to having close contact with each other. And then something changed. You bumped into Crowley for what felt like the hundredth time but this time instead of nudging him with your limps you managed to collide into his body, causing his arms to wrap around you.

“Careful dove.”

“Sorry.”

You raised your head, eyes falling on Crowley's yellow orbs. You hadn't noticed he’d taken off his glasses. Your hand found its way to his cheek, one finger tracinging over the mark near his ear. The Demon stared down at you observing the way your eyelids fluttered lightly as you caressed him, your lips parted in a way that allowed him to feel your breath against his skin. He could feel your heartbeat against his chest, the steady thrum soothing him. You didn’t break eye contact, allowing Crowley's eyes to lure you in. The Demon started to become self conscious causing him to lower his gaze. You called out his name placing a finger under his chin. He raised his head to look at you. He looked so scared. You’d rarely seen him look so uncertain of himself.

“You’re very pretty, you know that?”

You weren’t really sure why you’d said that. It had just come out. Crowley's brows creased as he looked at you. Here you were holding him in your arms in the middle of your living room and telling him he looked pretty. He wasn’t used to this kind of treatment. He didn’t really know how to react. You moved your head up slightly, eyes shifting back and forth as you inched your face closer to Crowleys. When the Demon didn’t move away from you in anger you decided to go for it. Your lips grazed Crowleys as you laid a gentle kiss to his mouth. You opened your eyes, pulling away. Your gaze fell on Crowley's shocked expression, your own eyes widening as you realized what you’d just done.

“Oh shit. Crowley, I'm so sorry.”

You backed away unlatching yourself from Crowley as you stumbled backwards. You put your hands over your face covering it in embarrassment.

“Fuck.”

Letting out an angry groan you forced yourself to look at Crowley. He still had the same expression plastered on his face. You bit your lip as you tried to formulate the right thing to say. 

“Crowley listen i’m really-”

He was sick of hearing you say sorry. He was sick of the way you avoided his gaze. He needed to feel you again. Needed to have you close to him. With two long strides the Demon had made his way over to you, one of his hands gripping onto your hip as the other wound itself in your hair. Crowley shoved his lips against yours, hungrily devouring the gasp that left your mouth. You clung onto Crowley's jacket in desperation. He kissed you in a bruising manner, hands trying to hold onto whatever of you he could reach. His hands were cold against your skin, something you’d become used to over the years. In your despair you and Crowley had managed to make your way to the other side of the living room. Your ass bumped into the record player causing the needle to scratch against the vinyl in a grating noise. The sound made you and Crowley cover your ears, hands detaching from each other. The Demon let out a frustrated groan moving to lift the needle.

“I’ll get you a new one.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Crowley set the needle back down on the disc in a random spot. A small sigh left the Demon's lips as “Somebody to love” started playing. You noticed the way Crowley's body sagged a bit causing you to frown.

“Crowley here let me change-”

“Listen.”

The Demon's hand held onto your wrist, stopping you from switching the track that was playing. You didn’t understand why he wanted to keep listening to this song. After everything that had happened in the past few weeks you would have thought that a love song was the last thing he would want to hear. Crowley's fingers trailed up your arm making you look at his face. You watched as he observed the way his fingers moved over your skin. He was thinking about something. Really thinking about it. You wondered what exactly could make the line between his brows appear so predominant.  You placed your hand over Crowley’s causing him to look at you. You smiled at the Demon beginning to nod your head to the beat of the song. 

“Find me somebody to love. Come on Crowley sing it with me.”

“Find me somebody to love.”

“There you go.”

You sang the words together. While you sang with your whole heart Crowley sang with a bit more hesitancy. You didn’t hold it against him though. He'd been through a lot. Even if the words were part of lyrics they still held a deeper meaning. You knew that. Maybe that was what made you sing with such passion. Maybe it’s what made you keep your eyes focused on Crowley's face as you sang. Because it meant something. And you wanted him to know that. 

“Can anybody find me somebody to…..love.”

“Already did.”

“Oh Crowley. Azi’s a fool he’s a big-”

“I’m not talking about the Angel.”

Your brows creased in confusion. Crowley loved Aziraphale. You’d known if from the moment you’d laid eyes on them. So if he wasn’t talking about him who could he be-oh oh. Crowley moved closer to you, placing his hand on your chin. You gazed up at him, eyes moving back and forth as your brain struggled to compute what this meant. The Demon leaned his head down slightly. He was going to take it slow this time. Give you time to push him away if that’s what you wanted. He wouldn’t fuck up again. He knew better now. Crowley called out your name. You realized you hadn’t said anything for a while.You cursed yourself for reacting so slowly.  You’d forgotten that Crowley had developed trust issues because of Aziraphale. He wasn’t going to be the one to make the final move. He couldn’t handle another heartbreak so he was leaving it up to you to decide what happened next.

“Crowley…”

The Demon prepared himself to pull away from you. He’d already begun to back away when you let out a breathy whisper.

“I love you too.”

He wasn’t sure he’d heard you correctly. His mind had a way of playing games with him recently. But then your lips were on his and your hands were winding around his neck and he just knew. He knew this was real. You were real. You loved him. And that was more than enough.

[sardonic-the-writer]

𝐀𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐞𝐬

↳ summary: in which crowley has a cold

↳ warnings: none!

↳ song: like real people do—hozier

masterlist!

Spring was a wonderful time of year all over the world. It was when the sun peaked its head out from behind fluffy clouds and let the flowers bloom, washing away any gloom winter might have left behind.

Walkways suddenly became full of pedestrians meandering about in city's and small towns alike. Large puffy parkas were shed in favor of light jackets and shorts.

Shops were suddenly bustling with all sorts of people out and about, taking advantage of the beautiful weather to buy a coffee or new pair of pants.

But in Soho, London, one shop seemed to be an outlier.

If any of the passing foot traffic had taken a moment to peak into the glassy windows of said shop, an elegant sign reading Fell & Co hanging over their heads, they would have had the pleasure of seeing three very different people all talking to each other idly.

Even if the conversation was anything but.

"Really Aziraphale, you think he'd be a bit less chatty when sick. Peace and quite for once an all that."

A light gasp sounded from your left, prompting you to look at the angel next to you.

"That is not nice!" Aziraphale said your name full of disappointment, prompting an apologetic smile to spread across your lips.

"Sorry, mate. But I'm not wrong, am I?" You said while continuing to help him shelf books.

"Bite me." A lump of blankets behind you growled in response, a head of red hair poking out of one end.

"No, thank you, Crowley. I'll catch your cold."

It was supposed to have been a normal day. You had called and asked Aziraphale if this afternoon was a good day to pop in for a visit, only to be met with the sort of panic that could only be described as fretting.

Apparently, Crowley has never taken too well to the springtime. Who knew a demon could have allergies?

Each time he or Aziraphale attempted to miracle away the cold, it would just pop back up a few seconds later. It was as if someone had cursed him with a mild inconvenience. You wouldn't be too surprised if that was the case, actually. I mean, this is Crowley you're talking about. He's not exactly the best at making friends—even if he did manage to snag you somehow.

By the time you had arrived at the bookstore, swinging open the door as the closed signed clattered against it loudly, they had given up on any thought of magical remedies.

So here you were. Hovering over the sick demon with a concerned look. Er, well, Aziraphale was. You had opted for more of a quirked eyebrow, not willing to show how worried you were just yet. Lord, er Satan, or whoever the fuck knows Crowley wouldn't let you live that down.

"If anything Crowley—" You paused for a moment to flip the book you had been holding upside down into its rightful place before handing it off to Aziraphale, "—I'd say this is karma from all those times you yell at your plants."

"To hell with my damn plants!" He sniffled, sun glasses no longer on his face as he glared at your back.

Before you could get a word in edgewise, a sneeze sounded out from the couch. Without even looking, your knee-jerk reaction kicked in.

"God bless you."

You got two very different reactions out of that.

Aziraphale practically beamed at your words, and Crowley hissed as if physically hit, curling in on himself. It wasn't until you stopped to consider what you had just said that you realized your blunder.

"Sorry." You cringed. "Forgot about the demon stuff."

"Forgot? Remind me, angel, why do we even keep them around." Crowley spat, pulling yet another blanket onto his ever growing pile. You risked a glance back at him only to be met with slitted eyes. You simply let out a nervous laugh before scooting to a different bookshelf farther away from him. Better safe than sorry when it came to your demon friend.

"Because we like them, remember? They complimented my vest and your Bently, and then you asked if we could keep them." The angel responded. If he noticed how you choked on air at that last bit, he didn't choose to say anything.

"He said what now?" You coughed harshly at the same time Crowley groaned.

"Yeah yeah. A mistake in the heat of the moment." Was all he said before retreating further into the blanket burrito he had concocted. Somewhere in there was a quilt you were sure Aziraphale had knitted for him centuries ago, but you chose not to point out the tiny detail, instead filing that information away for later as a hidden smile played at your lips.

"As much fun socializing with you two is, I must admit you need to get some rest, Crowley. If we are to fix this problem without a miracle, the human way will have to do." Aziraphale turned to face his companion after you helped file the last pile of books away. You were quick to follow his actions.

Crowley opened his mouth as if to retort, but his eyes flickered from your face and Aziraphales for just a moment. With that he muttered something under his breath and turned over grumpily.

"Just—bugger off." His words were muffled by a dense pillow currently being smooshed to his face. You couldn't tell if it was that or something else, but his voice didn't sound as venomous as it normally did when talking to you.

"Alrighty then!" Aziraphale clapped his hands with a smile, none the wiser. "Ring if you need us, won't you?"

With that, he began to politely exit in the direction of the back of the store. Probably to go read a new series he just got in or re-read another.

You shuffled off behind the angel—only pausing at the entrance to the backroom after taking one more look back at Crowley.

Without saying a word, you took your phone out and set the volume just high enough to be heard. Setting it down on a nearby surface, you pressed play before quickly tip toeing out the room. As if that would stop the fallen angel from figuring out who left it there.

You slipped away just in time to miss Freddy Mercury's voice start-up. As well as the way Crowley smiled in spite of himself, starting to feel a little better already.

[starks-hero]

Iris

Pairing: Crowley x human!Reader

Summary: “When everything's made to be broken, I just want you to know who I am.” Or, Crowley finally decides to tell you, his human lover, that he is a demon. He's justifiably terrified.

Word Count: 2.0k

Warnings: hurt/comfort

a/n: shout out to the wonderful anon that chucked me headfirst back into my good omens' obsession. anyway, I'm not saying you should listen to Iris whilst reading this but–

Crowley loved your eyes.

Well, he loved the entirety of you. But there was just something about their alluring shade, the way they watched him so intently and with softness he couldn't recall last being regarded with. Their divinity reflected that of the cosmos themselves. Crowley should know, he built them.

He never really understood the whole ‘eyes are the window to the soul’ line before you. From Crowley's, albeit limited understanding, souls didn't have windows, and even if they did, it wouldn't be a very good indicator of one's character. Even the bleakest of days look more promising from behind the safety of a window.

You were the one to change that perception, to take it in gentle hands and mould it into something softer, more sentimental. You proved to him that maybe there was some truth to the verses he'd heard poets recite again and again over the millennia. When with you, Crowley could feel the unconditional kindness beaming from you like rays from the sun, a readiness and willingness to be good that made him fall for humanity all over again.

And yet despite everything your eyes inspired in him, you were yet to see his own. And for good reason. Crowley still didn't understand what miracle, (or lack thereof) had transpired for you to be with him, but he did know that he wasn't about to put it at risk. You were his anti-thesis; made up of all things good and loveable. The thought of how quickly you'd leave the moment you saw his eyes and all they stood for was one that plagued him daily. But on the other side of the coin, Crowley couldn't disregard the fact that you deserved to know. You deserved the truth. You deserved so much more...

It was time for the bell to toll.

And so, Crowley followed his usual routine of picking you up after your shift, only this time the music was cranked up double what it usually would be (already deafening) in an attempt to drown out his frantic overthinking. The windows shuddered with each guitar solo and Crowley was sunk so far down in his seat his foot was pressed uncomfortably against the gas pedal. If it weren't for the fact that the Bentley was somewhat sentient, he probably would have swerved off the road a mile or two back.

The moment he set foot in your home an uncomfortable burning sensation shot up his spine. He cursed whoever had blessed your house before realising that said uncomfortable feeling was in fact a combination of both his nerves as well as the conscious he forgot he had.

The drive back to the flat was tortuous, for Crowley at least. Your hand was on his thigh as he drove, drawing circles into the fabric. The ever-alluring sound of Freddie Mercury's voice droned on in the background as Crowley rehearsed what he wanted to say, swapping out words and rephrasing sentences before restarting altogether. The closer he got to home the more hopeless he began to feel and by the time he was holding the flat door open for you Crowley fought the urge to find the nearest cave, catacomb or other undisturbed dwelling to take a century-long nap in. He just wanted to wait this whole thing out.

The reminder that you wouldn't be here in a century served as an adequate kick in the arse as he closed the door behind him. 

His shoulders were slumped and his steps slow as he moved through the apartment's halls in all their bleakness. The only room in the entirety of the flat that had any real colour was his conservatory, filled to the brim with succulents and tropical plants. The moment he entered said room he was met with the sight of green leaves and an earthy scent heavy in the air. It was an impressive sight, really; plants that stretched feet off the ground, leaves proudly pointed skyward, (although given Crowley’s presence it is far more likely this display was out of fear.) Ivy vines had begun to climb up the walls, something Crowley had intended to deal with before deciding he was rather fond of how they contrasted the greyness of the polished stone they clung too. 

Among it all, in the very centre of the botanical display, the plant you'd gifted him proudly sat. A purple Iris, its petals bright and its leaves healthy and succulent. Its scent was sweeter than that of the other plants and the flower, despite its size, did not seem intimidated by the impressive foliage that surrounded it. 

Crowley’s fingers delicately ghosted over the leaves. the sentimental side of him liked to believe that the flower’s flourishing beauty was because it had been gifted to him by you. Something about everything growing better with love. The more reasonable part of him acknowledged that it was due to the fact the plant had been placed nearest to the window as well as being the first watered each morning and night. The battle between his sentiment and rationality was nullified by the fact that you were also the reason the plant received such treatment, favouritism having quickly steered his hand.

You just had that habit about you; inspiring beauty whether you meant to or not. 

As Crowley studied the flower that in so many ways reminded him of you, he imagined the leaves becoming dry and shrivelled, of the royal purple petals withering beneath his touch. He pulled his hand away.

He found you reclined along the couch, one arm covering your face whilst the other hung weightlessly off the side of the furniture. Your dramatic pose was reminiscent of some tragic renaissance painting and the sight was one that inspired such fondness Crowley didn't even mention how you had your feet up on the fine velvet.

“Tired, love?” He asked instead.

“You have no idea. Today was an utter nightmare.”

Even whilst talking about the most mundane of things your voice was siren-like, resonant with divinity. Crowley could listen to you for hours, for the rest of his life. Until his immortal heart stopped and the earth beneath him turned to ash.

“I feel better now that I'm here with you.”

The words sent a dagger into his side, the following guilt twisting it in place. He moved to join you on the sofa and with a gentle tap to your ankle, he watched you move your feet before taking a seat beside you.

Your eyes were on him, he could feel it. The tension in his body and the seriousness of his expression was not something you were used to. He spoke before you could voice your concern.

“There's something I want–” He swallowed. “Something I need to tell you.”

“Okay.” Your breathy laugh that encompassed the word was an admirable attempt to hide your nerves but Crowley knew you better. “What is it?”

Silence followed.

Crowley opened and closed his mouth a few times, no words passing from his lips despite how hard he tried to voice them. There was a building pressure in his temples and he felt like his forked tongue was tied in a knot.

“Crowley.” Your hand travelled across the plane of his thigh and grabbed his own. It was a comforting touch yet he fought the urge to pull away. “What is it? You're scaring me.”

Another twist of the dagger.

“I– I just, it's that...” Crowley made a noise that fell somewhere between a groan and a whine. “I... I'm–” foreswearing words altogether, he reached for his glasses. With shaking hands, he pulled them away. “I'm not... good.”

He couldn't bring himself to look at you, to see the horror and fear in your eyes. “I'm quite the opposite actually.”

He felt your hand leave his own, the skin you'd once touched feeling bare. His chest hurt, his eyes stung and when he finally turned to you your fear and disbelief sent another sharpened blade through his chest.

“What–” The word fell quietly, the beginning of a sentence you'd never finish. Crowley took the liberty of answering regardless.

“Demon, unholy horror, the reason children are afraid of the dark.”

When you said nothing, he continued.

“I wanted to tell you. I should have told you. I never meant for this to go so far. I tried to stop it so many times but then you'd say or do something and I– just never wanted it to end. And I know that's selfish but–” Crowley motioned to his eyes. “That's what I am. Selfish, unforgivable– a bad omen.”

As his words set in you remained unmoving. Your eyes hadn't left his, not since he'd pulled off his glasses and laid everything bare.

“Love...” There was another stretch of silence and Crowley felt like he was drowning; like he was back at Mesopotamia with wind and rain at his back and a wave so large it blended with the sky fast approaching on the horizon. “Please, say something.”

You said nothing.

Rather, you raised your hand against his cheek, thumb timidly tracing beneath his eye, as if to ensure it was real.

Crowley flinched.

“This is what you've been hiding from me? All this time.” You asked. “And here I thought you just really didn't like the sun.”

Crowley blinked a few times, lips falling in a frown. He backed away from your touch.

“Crowley...”

“You've just found out that I'm evil incarnate and you're making jokes.”

“What would you prefer I do?”

“I'm a demon.” Crowley ensured to emphasise the word. “I'd prefer you did what anyone else would do.”

‘Leave.’ This part was silent. ‘For your own sake.’

You didn't waver. Your hand fell back against his shoulder, testing the waters and when he didn't pull away you continued.

“From my understanding, demons are supposed to be cruel, unlovable. So if you're a demon,” your hand ventured to his neck, Crowley's eyes falling shut despite himself as you traced his jaw. “Then no offence love but you're not a very good one.”

Crowley couldn't quite place the feeling that took hold of him at your words, but it left him feeling both hollowed and relieved. His eyes stung again, but this time he was smiling.

“You're being far too conversational about this.” His fingers encircled your wrist, he could feel the steady beat of your pulse beneath his thumb. “This really doesn't bother you..?”

You shook your head. “And even if it did, I'm in too deep now to get hung up on something like that.”

Crowley tried to think rationally but instead, he thought of the beauty of the cosmos, of dark purple petals and perfumed air. Of your eyes and their warmth and this time the idea of a withering flower didn't even cross his mind.

“You're sure about this, falling in love with a demon. Dangerous business, that.”

“I'll take my chances,” you mused. “Besides, being without you is the only real hell I can imagine.”

Crowley chortled, boyish and pure, a noise that certainly should not have come from a demon. "Aziraphale been loaning you his books, has he?"

“No, but I am trying to cheer you up." You gently nudged his side. “Is it working?”

Crowley's reaction told you it was. His eyes in all their vibrant brilliance shone so bright you felt you were staring at the sun. When he reached for his glasses, your hand worked on its own accord to stop him.

“Leave them off, please? I want to see you." Your words were cleansing and for the first time in an eternity, he felt worthy. Worthy of adoration, of love, of you.

Crowley kissed you, and you did not wilt.

tag list: @bakerstreethound @miraclesoflove @doozywoozy @mywellspringoflife

[buryustogether]

in the lap of the gods

aziraphale x f!reader x crowley

summary: it’s 1941, and aziraphale is about to perform on the west end stage. he needs an assistant, of course, but you can’t stand the outfit you’re required to wear. your angel and your demon show you just how much they love it.

word count: 3k

warnings/tags: smut and fluff, reader wears a slutty outfit, threesome, thigh riding, semi-public sex, body worship, crowley’s a horny bitch, war violence, bombs, mentions of alcohol, mentions of guns

“I really don’t see why this get-up has got to be so… revealing,” you said. “I look like a harlot.”

“Well,” came a voice from behind the thin paper of the changing screen, “I suppose it’s to entice the strapping young soldiers out there. They do seem to enjoy a bit of… should I say… adultery?”

There came a second voice from further in the room, coiled and slick like a serpent. “Or,” he drawled, “it’s for easy access.”

“Crowley,” chided the first voice, disdain dripping from his tongue.

You gave a silent huff as you adjusted the skimpy little outfit the manager of the West End theater had given you, tugging at the thin material that barely covered your breasts and the thin strap that snaked between your legs. It was a glittery, near-elastic piece of pazazz that was sure to earn you more than a few glances and whistles this evening… something you promised you wouldn’t let get to you. If not for your reputation, for the pair of men on the other side of the changing screen that encased you like a butterfly trapped in a jar.

If you inhaled deep enough, you were still able to smell the smoke that clung to Aziraphale and Crowley’s suits, permeating the air and poisoning their natural musks that you so loved to inhale. You had spent the better part of the evening, as you followed them through London streets and around a magic shop, picking pieces of rubble and dusting traces of the explosion from their backs and shoulders. The bomb had shaken you to your core despite being miles away when it had happened, tucked away safely in the passenger seat of the Bentley.

“Crowley,” you had said as your demon had parked his car between the shadows of two tall, sturdy buildings that still stood against the smoke and destruction of the bombs. “What are we doing here? There’s still planes overhead.”

“Just sit tight for a minute, love,” he’d replied before climbing from the Bentley. “It seems our angel’s got himself in a heap of mess.”

The explosion had rocked the ancient church in the distance like a match igniting a stick of dynamite; fast, and hot, and loud. You waited so long you considered getting out and running to search the site for your lovers before they had come strolling around the corner through the dark, dusting themselves off and murmuring quietly beneath their breaths.

“Aziraphale,” you had said when you climbed from the car to greet them. “What on earth have you done?”

“Good evening to you, as well, my darling,” he had said, then lifted your hand and placed a loving kiss upon your knuckles. “Just got myself a bit caught up. Nothing to worry your head over.”

Crowley had harrumphed slightly as he dropped himself into the driver’s seat once more. “Get in, you two. I’ve got an appointment to keep.”

An appointment had led to forty broken bottles of whiskey. Forty broken bottles of whiskey had led to Aziraphale becoming a magician, and that had led to buying a very real rifle with very real bullets. And the rifle, and the bullets, and the broken bottles of whiskey, and everything else had led to you finding yourself here behind this changing screen, examining the costume of a magician’s assistant who, really, was only there to look pretty and smile when the light panned over her.

Crowley had told you it would be a bit of fun, was all. Aziraphale had assured you no real harm would be done.

Had you not loved them both more than you needed air to breathe, you might have considered saying no, begging your angel to not get up on that stage, dropping to your knees and begging your demon to miracle up a few more bottles of liquor to make up for the whole thing.

But, oh… you loved them far too much.

“Are you about settled, my darling?” came Aziraphale’s voice from deeper in the cramped little dressing room. “It’s ten ‘til, and I would rather not further anger the madame of the theater any more than necessary.”

“She’s a loony old bat,” came Crowley’s quip. “A few minutes won’t hurt her.”

You took one last look down at yourself - at the feathered headband in your grip; the exposed tops of your legs and the plump ‘V’ of your upper thighs that led to their apex just covered by the elastic; the heels that glittered in the dim light; the curves of your breasts, just barely held in place by the haltered neckline of the costume. You looked ridiculous.

With a long, deep breath you felt in your sternum, you placed a hand on the edge of the changing screen. “Don’t you boys poke your fun at me,” you warned them. “I know how I look, I don’t need you both reminding me.”

You pulled back the screen and stepped out, avoiding their eyes as you fiddled with the headband. You expected Crowley to bark out bouts of laughter, for Aziraphale to politely cover his mouth and look away to hide the rosiness of his cheeks as he held back a few giggles. But there came none of that. Instead, you were only met with silence. Hesitantly, you glanced up to meet their gazes.

Crowley and Aziraphale, for once in their eternal lives, looked rather lost for words. You didn’t take too many moments to soak in the way the demon tilted down his shades so he could peer those yellow eyes over the rims, nor how the angel’s back had gone stiff and he clutched his magician’s hat to his chest so tightly his knuckles paled. Instead of entertaining their amusement, you scoffed and clicked over to the vanity illuminated with golden bulbs; funny. Almost all the Watson bulbs had been grinded down for the war efforts. You supposed the West End had a bit of advantage in their supply when it came to things like glass and elastic.

“Yes, yes, gape all you want,” you snipped as you leaned forward to examine your reflection in the mirror; Christ almighty, you looked like a common slut. “Neither of you know how humiliating this is.”

At once, your angel jumped into action. “No, dearest,” he said as he came to stand beside you at the vanity, gently discarding his hat on the countertop. “We’re not poking fun at you, not in the slightest. We’re… well, you simply look…”

You eyed him from the corner of your vision.

“Incredibly doable,” came Crowley’s pitch from where he’d spread himself across the old couch tucked against the wall.

Aziraphale sent him a rather stern glance as you felt your chest drop slightly into your belly. You fixed your reflection with another stare. You looked like a prostitute, all your private planes and surfaces on display for everyone who even glanced in your direction. There was hardly a chance they enjoyed seeing their girl pimped up like this; was there?

“What he’s attempting to say,” said your angel as he reached out a soft, well-manicured hand and rested it respectfully on the middle of your back, “is, well… you do look rather ravishing, is all.”

“Oh, stop it, the both of you. You’re being mean.” Shouldering off his touch, you reached for a bit of the lipstick resting against the vanity and tried to stop your hands from trembling as you pulled off the cap and screwed it up. In all honesty, it still flustered you a bit when they showered you in affection; which they did often. How was it possible that an angel and a demon, in love themselves, who had seen the beginning of the earth and all the beautiful men and women in it, had fallen for you, a mortal, a little bit of soul within this planet full of it?

It didn’t quite make sense to you, but in the moments like these, when you felt yourself growing weak against their words, you cast the thought aside and let sense run rampant.

“After all this time, and you still don’t believe us when we say something nice?” clicked Crowley, reaching up to take the brim of his hat and rest it on the arm of the couch. He tilted his head at you in the reflection of the mirror, his gaze just out of sight behind his shades. “Come here.”

You looked to Aziraphale before blinking a few times, smearing your third layer of lipstick across your mouth. “The show will start soon,” you heard yourself say hesitantly. “I have to go out and announce him to the audience before…”

“Come here.”

Your demon’s sudden drop in tone sent a pang of both anxiety and arousal racing through you like fire dancing along your veins. You set down the tube of lipstick, hearing it clatter slightly from the shaking of your hand, and twisted around on your ridiculous heels to face him. He sat there on the couch, legs spread like he owned the world and arms stretched across the back of the seats like he was waiting for his two favorite people to arrive at his sides. He waited chin held high, finger tapping impatiently on the back. Aziraphale said nothing as you trailed from his side and approached the demon; when he spoke like this, it affected the both of you in the same way.

Crowley adjusted his legs when you came to him, allowing you to tentatively straddle his thighs until your hips were flush against his. A look back in the mirror told you your ass was hanging out of your skimpy little get-up, the leotard-like shape doing nothing to protect your modesty. Aziraphale seemed to be enjoying it quite nicely. You felt long, slender fingers touch your chin and guide your vision back to your demon. With his other hand, he reached up and pulled off his shades so that he could meet your gaze, yellow, slitted eyes boring into yours.

“You really ought to start taking our word for things, love,” Crowley said, and you shivered when his voice retained its deep baritone that only saw the light when there were two things at hand; imminent danger, and the promise of depravity. “‘Cause when we say you look good…” He leaned forward until his thin lips were level with the shell of your ear, his breath fanning across your skin. “We bloody well mean it.”

His hips shallowly bucked up into yours then and the rough material of his trousers rubbed at your clit perfectly through the thin elastic of your costume. You were unable to keep a soft, breathy murmur from escaping your lips at the sudden jolt of feeling, your hands flying up to balance yourself on his broad shoulders.

Behind you, you heard Aziraphale take in a small breath at the sight. He nervously shuffled his weight on his feet, glancing to the door that led to the stage. “Crowley,” he said in what should have been a warning, but it was far too soft to be taken seriously. “Now is… now is certainly not a good time for this.”

Crowley pulled another sound from you, this time a moan, when he held your hips in place and bucked again. “Well, it’s like I said,” he replied, tilting his head so he could look up at you as your hair fell into your face and your eyes began to roll back. “A few minutes won’t hurt them.” The corners of his mouth twitched upwards. “Besides, our girl’s nervous. Come and lend a hand, calm her a bit. You know how she likes it.”

You felt your face flush with heat from embarrassment, but you were slowly losing your will to care as Crowley leaned down to attach his lips to the base of your throat. His forked tongue laved across your skin like he was trying to memorize your taste, teeth nipping and fingers tightening around your waist. You were hardly able to notice when a second weight dipped the couch beside him, and your demon patted your thigh to get you to move. You knew just what to do; you always did. Feeling yourself beginning to grow slick between your legs, most assuredly ruining the gusset of this ridiculous outfit, you swung your legs over to kneel across both Crowley and Aziraphale’s thighs, which were pressed together where they sat so close not an inch of light could have separated them.

Aziraphale’s warm hand reached out to gently cup your chin, his thumb brushing lovingly across your jaw. “Forgive our earlier stutter, my darling,” he said, then leaned forward to press his plump lips to the point where your clavicle dipped. “I assume by now you know the effect you have on us.” He kissed you again, this time upon your bare shoulder. “Especially when you present yourself in such an outfit.”

Just a sigh escaped your lips, Crowley’s finger ran along your side, pulling a short yip from your throat that he quickly swallowed by fitting his mouth over yours. From there, they moved like they shared one mind, like they knew you inside and out because, really, they did.

The couch creaked quietly as Crowley dragged your barely-clothed cunt over their thighs, earning them a drawn-out moan like a symphony to their ears, and Aziraphale’s grip came up to hold the back of your neck steady as he pressed kiss after kiss to anywhere he could reach; your throat; your chest; your shoulder; your arm. They moved you about like their own little doll, so familiar and fine tuned with your reactions they knew they would happen before they did. Sparks erupted like flint on stone within the pit of your belly when, eventually, Crowley pulled you forward at a slightly new angle and your clit caught wonderfully upon a hitch in Aziraphale’s trousers. You tilted your head back and released a long moan, barely able to keep yourself up when you were suddenly worked to hit that spot over and over again.

“Ah…!” you mewled as Aziraphale nipped ever so softly at the exposed skin of your shoulder. Your arms trembled as you struggled to keep your hold on their shoulders. “Oh, right there, boys, right there. Keep going, please don’t stop…!”

Crowley’s lips tilted up into a crooked smirk, slitted eyes drinking you in like a forbidden liquor he’d been dying for since he first heard of it. “I hardly think you need to go out there at all, angel,” he said to Aziraphale beside him. “We’ve got our own show right here.”

You worked your hips along with Crowley’s push and pull, offering more and more of your skin to your angel for him to mark and lavish, feeling yourself approach that cliff they so loved to drag you off again and again. You never feared the fall; you knew they would always be waiting to catch you before you hit the bottom.

Small, whimpered noises escaped your throat as you chased your released upon their thighs, your clit rubbing and catching perfectly against their trousers like this was exactly what they were made for. Lips were showering your skin with love and affection. Hands were anchored securely to your waist. You were held so intensely, so beautifully, that it only took a few words from the tip of Crowley’s tongue to send you reeling toward your end.

“Come on and sin for us, love.”

Your orgasm came hard and fast, racking your body with trembles and twitches you couldn’t control, with bursts of color in your vision like fireworks, like guns firing off beside your ears with smoke that would blind you for days. You felt your release stain the fabric of their pants, and it was the last thing you really minded before all but collapsing against the pair. Hands, arms, mouths caught you securely, rubbing along your back, holding you tight, gently kissing along your face. You felt them pull away for just a moment to meet each other for a deep, passionate kiss before returning to smothering you with adoration.

It was an idyllic few seconds, the quiet that came after an explosion of a moment such as that, before there came a sharp, rattling knock against the dressing room door. “Pick up the pace, Mister Fell,” came the voice of the madame of the theater. “We’ve got an audience waiting, and the war’s not getting any better these days!”

You groaned softly, nestling your face into Aziraphale’s neck as he stroked your hair and called in return, “Ah, yes, of course. We’ll be right out!”

You wanted nothing more than to not go up on the damned West End stage, to smile and twist in your glittery costume and tease the soldiers in the audience like you hadn’t just gotten your world rocked within an inch of your life. And yet… everything came to an end. You whimpered again when your angel gently shifted you off of him, placing you temporarily in Crowley’s hold, before getting to his feet and gently snapping his fingers. You felt the dampness across your demon’s thigh fade into nothingness, along with the slick between your legs. Your hair righted itself to its former do, and the smudged lipstick across your mouth was once more perfected. When you lifted your head, however, you noticed Crowley had elected to keep the messy imprint of your lips across the corner of his mouth.

He noticed you looking and gave you a sly, crooked grin. “I like to wear my trophies,” he said before pulling your head close and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Come along now, gorgeous. Don’t want to keep the fans waiting.”

Shakily, you got to your feet, struggling momentarily to stand on your heels. While your heart slowed its racing pulse and the heat gently ebbed from your cheeks, Aziraphale lifted your feathered headband from before and tucked it securely over your hair.

“There’s our darling,” he murmured, smiled softly down at you, then tilted up your chin to press a light, though nonetheless loving kiss upon your swollen lips. “Are you ready?”

You took a breath, straightened yourself out, and nodded your head. “I am now, I think,” you replied.

“Perfect,” said your angel. “Because I’ve got a bullet to catch.”

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Last Meal

Crowley x GN!Reader (AFAB anatomy)

18 Plus ONLY / Requests are OPEN

Summary: Crowley really, really, likes to eat you out.

CW: smut, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, light praise, overstim, oral sex

Gomens tag list: @coffee-and-red-lipstick

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

Overstimulation is poking at your nerves like a tingling, hot iron. You’ve cum three times already, and Crowley is desperate to get you a fourth, or maybe even a fifth- if you didn’t just give out before that point. 

The first time had been soft and loving, his tongue laving over your clit and fingers buried deep inside your sopping cunt until you fell apart over him. You’d been stressed out, what with all of the nonsense happening at work and with the fact that the world had almost descended into chaos. It was no wonder you were stressed. Good thing Crowley knew a thing or two about how to distract you.

He’d brought you into his office, sat you down on the desk and him in his chair, and pushed your legs open to take a load off of that stress for you, so to speak. Soft circles brushed into your thigh and little breaths of cold air on your clit to make you needy. He didn’t keep you waiting long before he was tracing blasphemous prayers into your clit. 

You came like that once, and after that, he’d added another finger and held you down by the tummy to wring another orgasm out of you- you whined and jerked against his hold as he talked you through it. Telling you how good you were, and how much he loved to see you come apart for him. All for him. 

You’d came hard and fast, gasping and arching your back off the desk. He’d given you one of those signature grins and pressed kisses down your tummy, down your hip and towards the inside of your thighs, forcing you to open them up for him. 

The third time he’d made you cum took a little longer, the overstimulation taking longer to get over. You were gasping and writhing on the desk as he wrapped his lips over your clit and sucked it into his mouth, split tongue flicking hard and fast against your sensitive bundle of nerves. He didn’t let up until you cried out in pleasure and yanked hard at his hair, keeping him there in that spot as you rode his face and worked yourself through your bordering-on-painful orgasm.

And now he had his tongue buried inside you, long and flexible, licking at your walls and shooting pleasure up your spine. 

“Fuck, Crowley- I- I don’t think I can,” you cry, trying your best to squirm away from his tongue.

He chuckles and pulls you closer by the hips, practically mashing his nose into your clit. You mewl, arching away. Of course, this only proved to bump his nose against you again. 

His tongue starts moving inside you as if possessed, Crowley trying to stick the forked appendage inside you as far as possible. He eats you as if it’s his last meal on Earth, and he brings a thumb down over your hip to rub back and forth over your clit without mercy. 

You cry out louder this time, unable to contain the noises that were escaping you as he forced you closer and closer to that edge. Fuck, you might actually be able to cum again. No, scratch that, you were definitely going to cum again. 

“F-fuck, Crowley, I- nngh, oh-” 

Hips wriggle on the desk, slick and spit trailing down your folds to stain the table. You pant and moan as he works you like a master pianist- knowing exactly which keys to tap to wring out the most divine music from you.

You manage to lean yourself up on your elbows to get a good look at Crowley, and that’s what pushes you over the edge. Those yellow-slitted eyes looking up at you so hungrily, so unabashedly. He looks ravenous, feasting at you like if he doesn’t make you cum right now he might simply pass away. 

Waves of pleasure take you all at once, roiling inside like crashing waves in a storm. You’re vaguely aware of the fact that your head hits the desk again with a soft thud. You’re also vaguely aware of the way your entire body is convulsing with the pleasure of your fourth orgasm. 

He works you through it, tongue raking every single modicum of pleasure from you. The stimulation grows to be too much, and you press your foot to his shoulder to force him off you. 

He chuckles deeply, pussy drunk on the taste of your spend. He nuzzles against your thigh, trailing a finger down your slit and revelling in the whimper it draws from you. 

He giggles- actually giggles- and gives your thigh a light slap.

“Mmn,” he says, licking his lips. “Always so good for me.” 

“Always,” you pant back with a giggle.

[denaliwrites]

Tongue Tied

Crowley x GN!Reader

Summary: Crowley has something he wants to confess to you.

Requests: Open!

Warnings: Crowley is baby.

Crowley was keeping something from you.

You weren't sure what, but you knew it had to be something big and bad based on how his behavior around you had changed recently.

You wondered if maybe you were dying and just didn't know it yet, but you knew that if Crowley wouldn't tell you, Aziraphale definitely would. Or he'd miracle it away. So then Crowley would no longer be acting weird.

So, it wasn't that.

You also wondered if maybe the world was on the verge of ending again. But Aziraphale would've told you about that too.

Whatever the reason, it bothered you that you couldn't figure it out.

You had half a mind to confront Crowley about it. Or. Well. You would've, if not for him approaching you first.

He caught your attention one day with that delightfully strange sound he made in the back of his throat. His utterance of your name was unnecessary, but you did appreciate it all the same as you turned from your task of putting books away to look at him.

"Yes, Crowley?" you asked unassumingly.

"Well -- it's -- the thing is -- y'see --"

"Crowley?"

Normally you didn't mind the stop-starting of his speech patterns, but right now it felt like you both might explode if he didn't spit it out -- whatever it was.

"The thing is," he repeated with an aggressive sniff. "Human stuff isn't really my forte, y'know?"

"I know. I appreciate the effort, though."

"The thing is," he said again. You wanted to yank that phrase out of his vocabulary. "I'm not good at the human stuff. I'm not. But --" He made that hgk sound again. "But, see -- well. That's the thing, isn't it? I'm not good at this stuff."

You were so lost.

"Crowley, what are you trying to say?"

He went on as if you hadn't said anything. "I'm not good at this stuff. The human stuff. So. It took me a while -- a long while, for me at least -- to really... get it?"

"Get what?"

"The human stuff."

You blinked at him blankly, seeing but barely processing as he took two long strides towards you and pulled you into a deep, lingering kiss.

"Oh, holy fuck," you gasped.

"Oh, fuck, I'm sorry," Crowley said immediately, pulling away.

You quickly grabbed him by the wrist and reeled him back in. Easily, naturally even, his arms circled your hips and pulled you close, while your arms circled his neck and pulled him close.

You were still kissing when Aziraphale walked in sometime later.

"Oh, finally," he said tiredly, "you two will finally stop your endless pining."

Crowley shot him a look over your shoulder and Aziraphale scurried away. "Where were we?" the demon asked with a soft hum against your lips.

"Oh, you know damn well," you sighed contentedly before pulling him back to your lips.

[owen-writes]

Dysphoria Blues

Ineffable Husbands x Gender Neutral Reader

No pronouns but the reader is implied as transgender

You were feeling a bit off today, the weight of dysphoria settling on your shoulders like a heavy cloak. Sensing your mood, Aziraphale and Crowley decided to take matters into their own celestial hands.

Aziraphale, ever the caring one, ushered you to the living room, adorned with soft cushions and warm lighting. "My dear, I can't bear to see you like this," he said with genuine concern. "Crowley and I have devised a plan to lift your spirits."

Crowley, leaning against the doorframe with a sly grin, added, "Yeah, angel and demon dream team at your service."

They gently guided you to the couch, Crowley's touch reassuringly warm against your skin. Once settled, Aziraphale fetched a weighted blanket, draping it over you like a comforting embrace. Crowley, with his characteristic swagger, took his place beside you.

Aziraphale's soothing voice filled the room as he began reading aloud from your favorite book. "Darling, we thought this might distract you a bit," he said, his eyes sparkling with kindness.

Crowley, with his characteristic wit, chimed in, "And if it doesn't, blame the angel. I'm just here for moral support."

You couldn't help but crack a small smile at their banter. Aziraphale continued reading, his voice like a balm to your troubled soul. Meanwhile, Crowley, draped in an air of nonchalant confidence, had his arm around you, fingers tracing absent patterns on your shoulder.

"Angel," you murmured, your head nestled comfortably in Aziraphale's lap, "thank you for this. It really helps."

He looked down at you, his expression softening. "Anything for you, my dear. We only want to see you happy."

Crowley, playing his part, smirked and whispered, "Yeah, don't go thinking we're turning soft or anything."

As Aziraphale continued reading, Crowley's fingers found yours, intertwining in a subtle display of solidarity. "You know," Crowley said, his voice lower now, "you're not alone in this. We're here for you."

You nodded, feeling a warmth spreading through you—a warmth that had nothing to do with the weighted blanket. Despite Crowley's tough exterior, there was a genuine concern in his eyes, and you couldn't help but appreciate the effort they both put into making you feel better.

Hours passed in the cozy embrace of the weighted blanket, Aziraphale's voice becoming a lullaby, and Crowley's presence a steady anchor. As the story unfolded, so did a sense of calm within you.

In that shared space between an angel and a demon, you found solace—a reminder that love and care transcend celestial boundaries. And as the words of your favorite book wove a tapestry of comfort around you, you couldn't help but be grateful for the extraordinary beings who had chosen to share their ordinary, heartwarming moments with you.

[moonlightshaiku]

Kissing Crowley

We've seen some of his... kissing style in canon (😭), but I thinks it's more than that.

How they kiss is directly tied with their emotions. Angry, aggressive kisses. Kind, soft, gentle kisses. Sheepish pecks.

Whenever he's flustered he'll kiss you with his glasses on, pressing into your face. When they're angry, it could go either way.

He likes holding your cheeks and brushing hair out of your face. He likes rubbing his hand across your back (something they wont admit they picked up from Aziraphale) and grabbing onto your knee or thigh.

He, like Aziraphale, isn't much for teeth or spit. Just lips, maybe skin, and lots of holding you close.

It's new, but your both appreciate it greatly. The kissing. It's the smallest you've ever seen Crowley, really. Fringe in his face, glasses haphazardly on the tip of his nose, cheeks near glowing.

He pushes himself up again, legs over your thighs, sprawled out, to kiss you— something that he's done about a dozen times in the past thirty minutes. You won't mention it, though.

They press a quick kiss to your cheek. He then grabs your cheeks, hesitant, and presses his lips to yours.

He pulls back just as quickly, and flops back into his place on the couch. You hear Aziraphale giggle from the next room, unaware of if it's at Crowley or something else.

[jophiel-extras]

would you be up to writing a piece about crowley protecting human!reader from some of the other demons, leading to reader to realize they’re in love with him? i just love angry crowley 🩷

summary :: Crowley protecting you from other demons

warning :: none, slight obsessive behaviour

note :: turned this into a headcanon list, I thought it might suit the request better

Crowley is keenly aware he’s a rarity within the demons of hell.

No other demon is quite like him and although he would hate to recognise it, it’s because he’s simply good.

Because of that goodness, Crowley is left vulnerable in many ways. Particularly when it comes to you, his great love.

Any demon that sees the two of you knows it. They can practically smell the stench of pining off of him.

And considering Crowley isn’t on the greatest terms with Hell, you’re put in a particularly dangerous situation.

The first demon to ever threaten your wellbeing was Beelzebub. The ultimatum went along the lines of— “Help Hell or we might just have to damn that pretty little thing of yours to rot down here with us.”

After that, Crowley had distanced himself from you significantly, forcing you to be just another stranger he passed in the street.

You were having none of it, of course.

So after a week of Crowley having his (in your mind) tantrum, you’d marched up to his Bentley and had a strong word with him.

Still, he couldn’t bring himself to explain why he’d ignored you.

The second demon to have involved you in demonic affairs was Shax. She had taken a different approach and put you in physical danger, which Crowley was having none of.

You’d never seen him so angry. He was fuming, literally.

After the whole ordeal, things changed instantly. The first time Crowley stayed away, now, he wouldn’t leave you alone.

He’d even go out of his way to find reasons to touch you. Even ghost you with his hands.

It’s like he needed to know you were still there, still real. He had to know you were okay.

This tense doting from Crowley lit up something in you and you began to feel a flutter of butterflies every time he slyly touched you.

The protective nature of Crowley was a little odd and barely comforting. He would stand over you like a starved fox stands over a rabbit, shielding its meal from other predators.

You couldn’t deny the guilty pleasure the dynamic gave you.

Having an ancient demon dedicate his power and time to holding you close, it was electrifying.

After a night with yourself, you had come to realise Crowley would not leave your mind. Finally, you had accepted the feelings that had grown.

With his love returned, you had immediately become Crowley’s top priority and now that you two had become official, he didn’t have to hide his obsession with your safety.

[winchesterszvonecek]

Can I request something where a reader-insert gets injured protecting Crowley, please? c:

Take the Hit - [ Crowley ]

Summary: Crowley finds out exactly how you feel about him when you take the hit that was meant to kill him

Word Count: 1470

Warnings: female!reader, mentions of blood, brief violence

A/N: i feel like this sucks but i hope it was okay!

Masterlist | Crowley Masterlist

You always were one to put others before yourself. To offer your life in exchange for theirs. It’s one thing your brothers hated about you, the fact that you were so willing to give yourself up for others, whether it be family, friends or complete strangers.

Which was completely ‘pot calling the kettle black’ as you couldn’t count the amount of times they’d given up their own lives for someone. But you just figured it was because you were technically the baby of the family, despite the fact that you were two years older than Sam… The boys didn’t want to tell you straight up that it was because you were a woman as they knew you’d kick their asses for even saying it.

Half of the time you had to threaten Dean with violence against the Impala for him to let you join them on hunts, even though you were one hell of a hunter who’d proven many times that you were capable of looking after yourself. You knew Dean was just being protective, as he had been all your life, but part of you knew that the reason he didn’t want you leaving the safety of the bunker anymore was because of Crowley.

Ever since Crowley’s run with human blood, the two of you had developed a bond, one that your brothers were not pleased with. Nor were they pleased to find out you’d been sneaking into the dungeon to talk to him at night when he’d been chained up inside, against your brother's orders that you weren’t to go anywhere near him. That had not been a fun conversation. Not one bit.

You didn’t know what this connection was you had with the King of Hell himself, whether it was from loneliness, as oftentimes you were left alone in the bunker and it’s not like there was anyone else for you to talk to, or whether it was something else entirely, you had no idea. All you knew was that you liked it.

You enjoyed Crowley’s company. You enjoyed talking to him. Having conversations that weren’t filled with jokes and innuendos, much like those in which you’d had with him around the others. These talks were more deep. More personal. Something you didn’t want to share with anyone else.

Crowley understood you. He listened to you. He allowed you to vent about things that you wouldn’t dare say around your brothers. You knew he’d never repeat what you said, not when he was still so hopped up on human blood that he was technically one himself, which is partially the reason as to why he even seemed to care about you. And you were surprised to find out that he still did once he returned to full demon… Well, almost full.

The entire time you’d known him, Crowley had never treated you any differently from your brothers. Never acted as though you couldn’t handle yourself, or looked down upon you because you were a woman. One who was much shorter than that of your gigantic brothers. He knew what you were capable of. Knew you could handle yourself in a fight. All in all he treated you like the hunter you were, which is why the second you saw that angel blade moving towards him, you knew you had to save him.

“Crowley!” You shouted, gaining his attention as you moved quicker than ever before, throwing yourself in front of the blade that might have killed him had you not taken the hit for him.

You gasped harshly as the blade penetrated your stomach, the tip of it almost coming straight out your back. Your skin burned fierce as you fell back against Crowley, who stood directly behind you, his arms catching you before you hit the ground.

“Easy, darling.” Crowley said softly, lowering you to the ground as he held you in his arms, watching as you choked on your own blood, your hands fumbling blindly around the wound in which the angel blade still stuck out of. “Don’t. You pull that out, you die… You understand me?” He added, his voice wavering a touch that only you could hear it.

“I’m sorry… I… She… She got in the way.” The hunter who’d stabbed you babbled out, his mouth gaped from shock. From confusion as to why a Winchester would take the hit for a demon. But before he, or anyone else for that matter, could say anything, Crowley raised his hand and with a quick twist of it, the hunter fell dead to the floor. His neck broken.

“C-Crowley.” You spluttered, blood spewing out of your mouth, dripping down your chin as you breathed raggedly, gasping for air which you couldn’t seem to get into your lungs. You couldn’t begin to explain the pain in which you felt. The burning sensation inside your stomach. Yet at the same time you felt numb. Cold. Like you didn’t have many ragged breaths left in you.

“You’re okay, darling.” Crowley soothed, brushing your hair from your face before the two of you vanished, the warehouse around you changing before your very eyes and before you knew it, you were in the hospital. “Can I get some help here?”

The hospital staff were quick to swarm you, your body landing on a gurney, wheeling you away from Crowley who stood anxiously by the nurses station. He knew your wound was bad. Knew it may very well kill you. And he knew he shouldn’t care. That he should find joy in the death of a Winchester but things were different now. Especially between the two of you.

He’d never dream of seeing you dead. Or your brothers for that matter. He’d never dream of laying a hand on you. Never dream of putting you in harm's way and yet somehow, without even meaning to, without even doing anything but being present at that warehouse, he’d gone and hurt you. He’d done the one thing which he swore he’d never do again, he’d hurt you, and if you didn’t pull through, he wasn’t quite sure what he’d do afterwards… That is, if your brothers didn’t kill him first, which to be honest, he probably wouldn’t even fight at that point.

The wait for news on you was long, even for a demon, but the second he heard your name being called by the doctor, he was on his feet faster than ever before. And when the doctor told him you’d survived, that you’d pulled through, well he very nearly found himself thanking God.

“You scared me.” He said softly, the second he saw your eyes flutter open as you lay still on the hospital bed.

“You’re a demon…” You said weakly, trying your best to smile. “You shouldn’t get scared.” You finished, coughing lightly as you turned to look at him. He looked so normal sitting by your side, his coat draped over the back of the chair and his suit jacket unbuttoned. It was as though he was human.

“You and I both know I’m not a regular demon, darling.” He said with a touch of humour now that you’d seemed to have regained yours. He stood up, stepping closer to you as his hand lingered in the air, as though he was unsure whether you’d want him to touch you.

“You can touch me.” You whispered, watching as the faintest smile rose on his face, one that would go unnoticed by those who didn’t truly know Crowley. Not like you did anyway. His hand landed atop your forehead, feeling the heat radiate from your skin as you closed your eyes briefly, relishing in his touch.

“Why did you save me?” He asked in a whisper, your eyes opening slowly as your gaze shifted from him a little. “Why did you take the hit?”

“Because I couldn’t… I...” You croaked out, lip trembling as your eyes began to water. “I couldn’t let him kill you.” You finished, your voice breaking as you finally turned to look at him again. He reached down, gently wiping away the tear that had rolled down your cheek.

“You know, there was a time in which you’d have been the one behind the blade, not the one diving in front of it.” He said as you sniffled, bringing your own hand up to wipe at your eyes.

“Times have changed.” You whispered, a quiet sob escaping up your throat and leaving your lips as nothing but a breathy sigh, one which told Crowley all he needed to know about you. And the way you felt about him. You could see him moving, feel him getting closer and the second his lips brushed against yours, allowing you to feel the roughness of his beard, you very nearly passed out again.

“That they have, darling, that they have.”

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