#gosecretsanta

[idanit]

A @goodomensholidayswap gift for @burliforti! She said many things in her letter, but the words I latched on to were: Aziraphale, Crowley, fluff, historical setting, AU, fantasy. It’s obviously based on Norman Rockwell’s “Boy Reading Adventure Story” – when I saw it recently, I instantly knew I wanted to reinterpret it for the two of them.

I was very happy to match with you, dear recipient, because you listed a lot of elements I like as well. This was a pleasure to work on and I hope you like it. Happy Holidays!

[zambomarti]

I had the pleasure of being @/sparklingjoy's (on AO3) Secret Santa in the @goodomensholidayswap . I really hope you like your gift! This was done for the requested prompt: Az and Crowley watch the Northern Lights I take this opportunity to wish everyone a Merry Christmas

[artofpandarson]

I had the pleasure of being @thelittleblackfox‘s Secret Santa in the @goodomensholidayswap!!  A little sleepy cuddling!

I don’t imagine Aziraphale as someone who sleeps a lot, but when he does, Crowley’s right there to make sure he dreams of whatever he likes best. 

I hope you like it!

[mielpetite]

Happy Good Omens Holiday Swap to @ineffablelawr ! I hope this little gift makes your holidays merry and bright... This is only a slice- the full version is on its way to your inbox!

I’ll also be adding the full version to my AO3 account Miele_Petit ;)

[thelasthomelyurl]

Dance with me, my old friend

I was lucky enough to be a pinch-hitter for the @goodomensholidayswap! This is a gift for lemanosoar, who requested “something fluffy and sweet or just a joyful piece with a cute atmosphere, something to squeal about”—I had a lot of fun being as soft as possible. 

Fandom: Good Omens Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley Rating: T Word count: 2.9k Summary: 

During the taxi ride back to the bookshop, Aziraphale considered the many ways in which he’d left the Ritz over the years. The first time: contented and excited to tell Crowley about it, to perhaps share it with him. Several subsequent times: alone, but with the delightful memory of an afternoon or evening basking in Crowley’s company and attention. After that: with Crowley, walking through London, to the bookshop or to a museum, talking and sharing time. Once, eleven years ago: in Crowley’s Bentley for a night of drinking and plotting to avert the apocalypse. 

This was the first time they’d taken a cab together. 

Read it on AO3!

[yourpaceangel]

To Be Held

this is my good omens holiday swap fic for @eliza--thornberry. i really hope you enjoy it and happy holidays!

[ao3]

When winter comes, it does so slowly and with good warning. It gives ample time to ensure the sensitive plants are brought into the small glass shed Crowley generously calls a greenhouse, or into the cottage proper. Aziraphale tucks away the last of their picnic blankets for use in the spring and brings their lovely little wicker sitting bench into the protected walls of their solarium. They’ve learned in the last few years that even if the winter is predicted to be mild, it is best to be cautious. 

The first week of December is deceptively mild, enough so that Crowley puts off bringing their heavy down comforter out from the attic storage with complaints that he would get too hot at night if they brought it out too early. A few days later, when storm clouds roll in bringing with them freezing rain and high winds off the coast, he regrets ever making the complaint. 

Crowley wakes freezing, the kind of cold that creeps up your bones and holds tight. For a minute Crowley doesn’t understand why he’s awake. He reaches out for Aziraphale and his hand meets with an empty bed and cold sheets. Thunder rumbles outside, and Crowley feels the sound in his chest making its home there, a yawning chasm of despair. 

The clock on the wall reads 4:18AM. 

The floorboards creak underfoot as Crowley climbs out of bed. He grabs a blanket off the foot of the bed, a patchwork quilt Bicycle Girl-Anathema, Aziraphale’s voice in the back of his head corrects crossly, lovely girl-had given them a couple years prior at Christmas, and wraps it around his shoulders. His hair is a mess, growing far too long lately, and he pushes it out of his face impatiently as he heads downstairs. 

Aziraphale isn’t hard to find. 

The library is beautiful, even in the dark. Floor to ceiling bookshelves all painted white to offset the dark floor and three massive windows that take up nearly a whole wall on their own. Aziraphale is in front of the middle one. His back is ramrod straight, hands clasped together behind himself, standing barefoot in his flannel pajama set and dressing robe. 

“Angel,” Crowley says quietly. 

He doesn’t need to be quiet, it isn’t as if there’s anyone else in the cottage for him to wake up. But there is something about the night that makes one tread lighter, speak quieter, as though if you did not then something terrible might happen. There’s a heaviness to nighttime Crowley has never been able to shake. 

Lightning arcs across the sky as rain pounds against the glass in an immutable torrent. In the same instant lightning arcs itself across the stormy gray-blue of Aziraphale’s eyes. There’s a heavy ozone smell to the air that makes Crowley feel light headed. 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley says, though he doesn’t step any closer, doesn’t dare reach a hand out to touch him, “come back to bed.”

It is so very cold in this room without the fireplace to keep them warm. Crowley likes to spend whole afternoons in front of it while it’s lit, lounging with his head in Aziraphale’s lap and listening to Aziraphale read aloud. Without the roaring fire and soft glow of lamplight everything seems cast into sharp monochrome shadows. 

Thunder hits like drum beats.

“Angel,” Crowley tries again.

Aziraphale’s head snaps to the side, pinning him in place with a stare. Aziraphale looks all the world like he’s never seen him before, and lightning arcs across his eyes again, his face impassive as stone.

“Come back to bed angel,” Crowley says, and offers a slender hand up in supplication, “come back to me.”

Recognition dawns across his face like a drop of water rippling across a well. Aziraphale shudders and says, “Crowley?” He sounds hoarse, like he’d been screaming for hours with no answer. 

“Yes love,” Crowley says and relief warms him down to his scale covered toes, “I’m right here.”

Aziraphale takes one step forward, then another, and then he buries himself into Crowley’s open arms. “I’m cold,” He says after a long silence. 

“Okay,” Crowley says and kisses his shoulder, “come on then.” He twines their hands together and leads them back to their bedroom. 

All the way, Aziraphale limps.

The next morning Crowley digs out the heavy goose down duvet from the storage trunk in the attic. He spends the next several hours sneezing and rubbing at his itchy eyes from the dust. It’s worth it though, because a deep chill settles over the house. 

Aziraphale moodily holds himself up in his study with the small space heater while Crowley chokes on dust and sets about trying to get the ancient radiator up and running. He finally gives up sometime in the afternoon, deciding the moderate warmth it puts out is the best he’s going to get and resolves to put on more layers. Aziraphale takes the news with a bit less grace than he normally would, sighing and looking put out about the whole ordeal. 

Crowley spends the rest of the day in his studio, arbitrarily shifting canvases from in progress easels to the closet to be painted over or discarded and then back again. He pauses over a seascape he’d been working on, the ocean in the throes of anger during a storm and bright light flashing across dead gray skies. His hand twitches and he tosses it into the closet with more vitriol than it really deserves. 

He drags himself up to bed a little after eleven, hair falling out of the haphazard bun he’d thrown it into just to get the curls out of his face. He’s unsurprised to find Aziraphale still hasn’t made his way upstairs as he readies himself for bed. 

He lifts the corner of the duvet and puts it down again, shifting from one foot to the other and glancing at the door. It isn’t the first time Crowley’s gone to bed alone, but he’s never liked it. 

He hears Aziraphale’s unsteady gait coming up the stairs just as he resolves himself to a sleepless night shifting restlessly under the covers. Crowley sighs when Aziraphale climbs under the covers next to him, the light from the hall pouring in where Aziraphale’s left the door half open. “All right?” Crowley asks, his eyes half lidded. 

“Mm,” Aziraphale non-answers, pulling through covers up to his chin. He looks exhausted. 

“Come here,” Crowley prompts, opening his arms up for Aziraphale to slide into. 

Aziraphale makes a noise, not unlike something put upon and disapproving, but moves closer anyway. Crowley takes that for the little invitation that it is and drapes himself on top of his angel, legs tossed carelessly together and pointed elbows digging into Aziraphale’s round sides. Aziraphale grunts but bears his weight, eyes drifting shut. Crowley hums against Aziraphale’s chest, nosing at the little buttons holding his satin sleeping shirt closed. His hand rubs absently at Aziraphale’s stomach, skimming up and down the swell of it. 

Eventually Aziraphale goes pliant underneath him, either placated or unwilling to put up a fight any longer. A strong hand curves over a too sharp jut of bone at his hip and Crowley presses an approving kiss just above the collar of Aziraphale’s shirt. Crowley’s hand drags down from a soft stomach to a tense leg, kneading and prodding at the soreness there. Aziraphale hisses and clenches his hand harder against Crowley’s hip in warning. 

“Let me,” Crowley breathes, nuzzling under Aziraphale’s chin, “please.”

Aziraphale lets out a tense breath and relaxes his hand. “Fine,” he says. It’s as much permission as he’s going to get. 

Crowley kisses a thank you into whatever skin he can reach at Aziraphale’s neck and tries to rub the ache out of Aziraphale’s leg. This corporation bears no scar, but Crowley can feel the ache where it pulses just below the flesh, a phantom, writhing heat from a sword too many years ago. 

Aziraphale’s breath catches on a particularly painful press of bony fingers against flesh and Crowley stops. “Okay?” He asks, hand sliding up over Aziraphale’s hip and stomach, dipping under his shirt to splay over soft skin. 

“Okay,” Aziraphale whispers. If he’s crying neither one of them mention it. 

Crowley rests his head against his angel’s chest, feeling the steady low thrum of his heart. He lets his thumb rub absent circles against Aziraphale’s stomach and hums something low and sweet, a melody he remembers from a time just before his century long sleep. When Aziraphale’s fingers card through his hair, distangling small knots with gentle ease, he lets his eyes fall shut. 

The morning greets them with a weak glow behind heavy drapes, struggling desperately to peak inside. Crowley only wakes when Aziraphale shifts underneath him, preparing to get out of bed. 

“Where’re you going?” Crowley mumbles. His mouth is dry and sticky. His hair is stuck to his cheek and opening his eyes is a chore. His back aches between his shoulder blades. “Comfy-“

Aziraphale’s lips find the top of his head. “Time for breakfast, my dear.”

“Mm,” Crowley protests, “‘s cold.”

“It is,” Aziraphale agrees, voice deceptively soft, “I can draw you a bath if you’d like.”

Crowley clicks his tongue. “No,” He says, “no it’s fine.” He slides off of Aziraphale with a groan, his back seizing, shoving his hair out of his face and looking up with sleepy eyes. 

Aziraphale presses a kiss to his forehead before climbing out of bed. The couple steps he takes away from the bed are stumbling, his leg locking up on him a little. He grunts and rubs at it. 

“D’you want me to run you a bath?” Crowley asks, furrowing his eyebrows together. 

“No,” Aziraphale says, shaking it out, “It’s fine.” He bites off the end of the word a little sharper than he usually would, the line of his jaw locked tight. 

The space between them suddenly feels like it spans miles. The little warmth that had gathered between them over the night seems frozen over. Crowley digs his fingers into the heavy down of the comforter. Silence hangs heavy and pregnant in the air like swollen dark storm clouds. 

Aziraphale clears his throat.

“Any-“ Aziraphale stops, worrying at his lower lip, “any requests dear?”

“Omelets?”

“Of course, of course.” Aziraphale murmurs. “Do join me soon, won’t you?”

“‘Course I will angel.” Crowley replies, voice just as soft. 

Aziraphale nods stiffly and leaves the room.

Crowley sinks into the bed, cold despite the layers covering him. 

It’s the music, several long minutes later, that pulls him out of bed. Something cello heavy and familiar drifts up the stairs. The first record Aziraphale had played when they first moved into the cottage, something slow enough to learn to dance to. Crowley feels tears prickle at the edge of his eyes that he blinks away. He steals a jumper from Aziraphale’s vanity chair and pulls a pair of heavy woolen socks over his feet before padding downstairs to investigate. 

Crowley loves their kitchen. It’s a bit small for a cottage this size, but it’s never felt cramped. He remembers nights staying up late going over wood samples and fabric swatches, Aziraphale absently braiding bits of his hair while he compared two similar swatches over and over. The large window over the sink overlooks the sea and lighthouse in the distance, sheer white curtains tied back with black ribbon. In the spring Crowley likes to keep the window open while he cooks, but for now it is shut tight to keep out the creeping chill of frost. 

The sun bursts through sheets of gray clouds in spots as a promise to the rainy haze ending soon. The music is louder inside the kitchen, Aziraphale’s record player in the sitting room next door, filling the still air. Crowley watches Aziraphale’s bare toes curl against the hardwood floor, his fingers drumming against the counter in time to the music. He’s humming a little, his mouth turned up in the corner in a fragile breath of a smile. 

Crowley presses himself against Aziraphale’s back and wraps his arms around his middle, hooking a sharp chin over a soft shoulder. Aziraphale rests a hand over his for a moment, squeezing briefly. Crowley presses a fleeting kiss to the back of his neck and steps back. Aziraphale shifts his weight, leaning further onto his good leg. 

“How long are you going to pretend it’s not bothering you?” Crowley asks, his chest an aching, open chasm. 

Aziraphale takes a sharp breath. “It’s-” He shifts his weight back again, “It’s fine, dear, just a little twinge you know.”

“I know,” Crowley echoes. There’s anger there- beneath the empty nothingness he hasn’t been able to banish since finding Aziraphale staring out at that awful storm- a fire burning too bright and hot. “I know what it’s like to hurt,” He hisses, “and to pretend that it doesn’t.”

Aziraphale turns off the burner, setting his spatula down. He turns around to face Crowley, face a mask of neutrality. “Are we going to fight about this?”

“I don’t know, are we?” Crowley asks, spreading his arms wide, “Or are you going to just admit to me that you’re in pain so I can stop hurting for you.” 

Aziraphale’s face drops. “I’m not- I didn’t,” He huffs, “I didn’t ask you to hurt for me. I didn’t ask you to pick up that burden.”

“You didn’t have to,” Crowley says, “I just do.” He reaches out and catches Aziraphale’s ever twisting, wringing hands. He brings them up to kiss the knuckles. The anger in his chest fizzles out to a bare spark by the affection and love that floods him instead. “It hurts me that you would deny yourself comfort, and it hurts that in doing so you push me away.” Aziraphale’s fingers twitch in his grip, holding him back. 

“Crowley-” Aziraphale says. 

“Let me take care of you, Aziraphale. Let me love you.” 

Aziraphale makes a sound. A ragged, shuddering gasp of a sob that he tries to quiet by pulling Crowley into him and pressing his face into Crowley’s neck. Crowley places a hand on the back of Aziraphale’s neck and holds him there, wrapping his other arm snugly around his waist. 

“I’ve got you,” Crowley says into down soft hair, “I’ve got you.”

They stay wrapped together like that for a long time. The attempt at breakfast vanishes with barely a thought, but the music plays on much longer than the record should allow. 

“It does hurt,” Aziraphale says. His voice chewed up and rough, eyes swollen and red. Crowley rubs his thumb gently over the back of his neck. “And when it does I...Crowley it’s like I’m back there again and I don’t- I don’t ever want to have to be that again.”

“I know,” Again that gentle sweep of thumb against fragile skin and bone, “I know.”

“Crowley I am so scared that someday I’m going to hurt you because of it,” Aziraphale whispers, a little frantic, “That someday I’m not going to wake up in time.”

“You won’t.” Crowley assures, “Angel, I know that you won’t.”

Aziraphale kisses him desperately, hands clutching at Crowley’s ribcage and trying to pull him even closer. They can’t get close enough. Too much clothing and skin and bone in the way. There is a desperate need to hold and be held inside the very essence of one another. 

Crowley pulls back to pepper kisses over Aziraphale’s eyelids and cheek. “Come on,” He says, “I’ll light a fire in the library and we can try and get warm together.”

“Alright,” Aziraphale says.

Crowley links their fingers together carefully, preciously, and leads the way.

[rozugold]

My gift to @dissatisfied-starlight for the @goodomensholidayswap!

Their prompt was ineffable wives! This was my first time drawing them so hopefully it came out good! Hope you like it :’D

[summerofspock]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Good Omens (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Hospital, Secret Relationship, Pining, Semi-Public Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, and they were doctors Summary:

Aziraphale had first met Crowley two years ago on his first day at Tadfield General. Everybody had told him to look out for the man. They said he was clearly a sociopath because he could pretend to be human in front of children but was an absolute monster to everyone else.

**

for @veraraeart, a gift for the GO Holiday Swap!

shout out to @bestoftheseekwill for the beta!

[commodorecliche]

Aziraphale: First tattoo, Mr. Crowley? I must say I’m a bit surprised. Crowley: Was saving myself for you, angel.

phew, i made it! things have been nuts this past month. but yay it’s done!! happy holidays @biteinsane​ , who asked for a tattoo shop AU with tattoo owner/artist Aziraphale!

i hope you like this, it was certainly fun to draw!

[crowleyisms]

Let's tell the world all the things we've done Falling in love in the setting sun I got a song and a smile so bright I'll make you wish you were here tonight

So! This is my piece for Clearinghouse on Ao3 for the @goodomensholidayswap that I had decided to take a part in this year. 

I tried my best to stick with something fluffy and smitten and basing my idea of their prompt of ‘ Any romantic story that's deliberately left half-finished, so that I get to write the sequel to it. (Or any piece of art for which I get to write the accompanying fic.)’ Now I’m not sure of what romantic story there could be behind this other than a song and maybe a sunset flight for 2 but if, my dear if you see this, wanted to write something for it as you say I’d be thrilled to know and to read it. 

Other than that I think the angel and demon turned out rather well all things considered and I like how it looks and I hope you all do too.

[shae-c-art]

My part of the @goodomensholidayswap for @sosobriquet Aziraphale is looking after his demon who isn’t feeling particularly well. But he has a big sweater, an angel to look after him and lots of blankets. <3

I hope you like it and have a great holiday season!!

( You can find me on twitter @ inkytortoise )

[kaleidoscope13579]

This is my gift to @kaz3313 for the @goodomensholidayswap  I was your pinch hitter, so I am sorry you had to wait for your gift and I hope you like it! When I saw your prompt for a swap au with Gabriel and Beelzebub, I just had to do this scene.

[blacklacefanfics]

Raison D’Etre

Summary: It’s New Year’s Eve 2019- Crowley’s reflecting, drinks are flowing, and it’s the roaring 20s.

A/N: My GOmens Holiday swap gift for @idanit !! I wanted to incorporate the bookshop fluff, ineffable wives, some nice dancing, and the current holidays into this fic. It’s also been so long since I’ve sat down and wrote a fic this long, so I’m hoping that you like it!

~

Crowley pulled up outside of the bookshop, her Bentley rattling to a slow stop. Driving through SoHo on the night of New Year’s Eve wasn’t anyone’s idea of a good time, but she had promised to meet Aziraphale up before midnight and she wasn’t one to be late- when meeting her angel, anyways.

People bustled past on the sidewalk, already loud and buzzing an hour before midnight. It wasn’t a scene that Crowley was unfamiliar with, but the crowds every year around this time could be massively overwhelming even for a demon.

She grabbed the brown bag and glasses from her car and sauntered towards the bookshop, miracling the handle unlocked and knocking her hip against the door to swing it open. The bell above jingled happily.

“Angel-”

“A moment please!” Aziraphale called from the back room. A rustle of books and papers a moment later, and she came to the front with a smile on her face. “Crowley! You said you would be a while.”

“Figured I’d be early tonight, y’know? And I come bearing gifts.” Crowley smiled and held up the glasses and bag.

“Lovely!” Aziraphale beamed, glancing downward. “Crowley, what on Earth are you wearing?”

“You don’t like it?” Crowley glanced down at herself- a black button down, silver tie, black pants and suspenders. She swept her red hair over her shoulder. “I thought it was rather fitting for the ‘Roaring 20’s’ and all that.”

“Just not your usual fashion- bit outdated.”

Crowley snorted a laugh.

“Really? Says the one who can’t lose the tartan.” Crowley teased, pulling Aziraphale towards her by the waist, arms wrapped around her.

Aziraphale blushed, smacking at her hand. “You shush! Tartan is stylish. Everyone knows that.”

“Your outfits are a few decades old for even the 1920’s, angel, get used to it.” Crowley laughed, letting her pull away. “Do you want my gift or not?”

“Of course. What did you bring?”

“Champagne. For the new year.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale smiled, taking the wine. Crowley set the glasses on the table. “1995 De Venoge Cuvee Louis XV Brut. Very fancy.”

“Only the best.” Crowley winked, taking the bottle and popping it and pouring a glass. “Figured it was an important year, might as well do it right.”

“I thought we were going down to central London this year?” Aziraphale questioned, taking a glass. “Perhaps it’s not a good idea to drink it now if you’re driving us down there.”

“Well,” Crowley said, pouring herself a tall glass and taking a sip. “I figured that we could stay here. Just this time. Maybe go out next year.” She sidled up against Aziraphale again and wrapped her arm around her waist.

“Oh?” Aziraphale smiled up at her. “Just us, then?”

“Mm.” Crowley pulled herself flush against Aziraphale. Aziraphale blushed.

“You’re awfully touchy tonight, Crowley.” She smiled shyly, sipping her glass.

“It is a special occasion, after all.”

“What makes this one more important than the others? We’ve never really celebrated before, have we?” Aziraphale tilted her head.

“Just important, s’all.”

Aziraphale looked up at her. She reached up with her hand and gently caressed Crowley’s face.

“I’m very happy to spend this time with you, my dear.” She said, gently taking off Crowley’s glasses. “We’ve had quite a run of it the past few months. I hope you can forgive me wanting to see you properly.”

Crowley hitched a breath and fluttered her eyes as the glasses were removed. Her gold eyes flickered over Aziraphale’s face and she noticed finally that the bookshop was actually quite dark, save for a few soft lamps and a fireplace in the corner. Had that always been there?

“I don’t mind.” She swallowed, suddenly stepping back. “I, um…” Her face reddened suddenly and she laughed nervously. “I may have had a couple of drinks before coming over.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale scolded. “You drove!”

“I held it off until now, angel. Don’t worry.” Crowley scoffed, waving off her admonishments. The room wobbled just under her feet, and she thought perhaps chugging a bottle of cheap whiskey was a bad idea.

“Why would you do that and still bring something to drink?” Aziraphale prattled on nonetheless, leading Crowley to the couch and sitting her down.

“Because it’s a party tonight, angel! The one night all the humans are out getting drunk and celebrating surviving another year, shouldn’t I get to?”

Aziraphale gave her a reproved look and rolled her eyes.

“You’re impossible. I hope you know that.”

“It’s one of my many charms.” Crowley smirked up at her, itching to grab her glasses off the table and slide them back on. It was hard to resist, even when up against Aziraphale’s wishes.

Aziraphale huffed.

“Well, if we’re going to be in drinking all night, I’m going to put on some music.” She sauntered over to her dusty old phonograph- one Crowley was very fond of making fun of- and flipped through her collection of vinyl. Much of it was Crowley’s choice of music, anyways, but this record she picked up especially for tonight. She played it on the player and adjusted the needle. A quick trumpet solo flowed out, followed by instrumentals.

“I don’t recall getting you this album.” Crowley teased, moving to the side for Aziraphale to sit on the couch as well. She sat in the middle, effectively closing Crowley up against the corner of the couch.

“You didn’t. I picked it for this evening. I know it’s not your usual style.”

Crowley listened for a moment and finished off her champagne.

“Louis Armstrong. How appropriate for the evening.”

“Well, humans only were able to record music for the past century or so. I figured it’d be nice to get a little nostalgic.”

Crowley looked over at her and smiled, laughing a bit.

“A hundred years is nothing, angel.”

Aziraphale smiled back.

“Perhaps. But New Year’s is meant to be a time of reflection. What we’ve accomplished, what we haven’t.”

She went quiet and looked away. Crowley felt her chest ache in a most familiar way.

It had been quite the year- quite the decade. Years and days usually pass without any thought to them, considering they’ve seen multiple millennia. However this decade- and this year- were the culmination of everything they experienced. Adam’s birth only eleven years ago. Crowley’s stint as a nanny to raise the Destroyer of Worlds and Aziraphale’s governess position to try to influence him to be “good.” Yes, it was the wrong child, but that was not the point. The point was that this year the humans wouldn’t see the new year. No new decade, no new century. Not after all of this.

But because of one mistake (the jury is still out on where it all went wrong), they had managed to.. do what, exactly? Yes, the world was saved and they didn’t technically get directly involved. It was still their heads on the chopping block at the end of the day- and they still had to stay safe, lest their trickery gets discovered.

The record skipped as it switched to a new instrumental track, this one slower than the previous. Crowley stared at Aziraphale’s profile, the lamplight encompassing her like a halo. Humanity had always been about moving forward, progressing. That had been what they wanted to protect the moment they faced their respective ex-bosses at the airbase that day. Heaven and Hell knew nothing of that. Always stagnant, stuck in the same spat from before time was even created.

Crowley wanted to move forward. Always wanted it. Wanted it back in Eden, as she first approached the Angel of the Eastern Gate, and wanted it half a century ago, as Aziraphale handed her the thermos of Holy Water. Aziraphale was always slow-going. Wary. Scared of making the wrong move, and scared of being tempted from her duties.

What duties remained now? Nothing. They took their orders and threw them out the window in the midst of the apocalypse. Aziraphale was on their side, as was Crowley. Maybe she was ready to move, too.

“It’s also about progress.” Crowley tilted an eyebrow at her point. Her glass magically refilled. “What to look forward to now that they’ve survived it all. Isn’t that the point?”

Aziraphale looked her in the eye, her blue eyes striking compared to the warm yellow light.

“Yes. They always move forward, even at the end of the world.” Aziraphale stared down at her glass with a small smile. “I suppose that’s why we fell in love, right?” Aziraphale fluttered a look at Crowley. “With the world, I mean.”

The record skipped again right in time with Crowley’s heart. The soft trumpet poured out from seeming all directions, and Hanshaw’s voice flowing around them.

I'm Flying high,

but I've got a feeling I'm falling…

Aziraphale and Crowley locked eyes.

Falling for nobody else but you…

God, Crowley wanted to move forward.

Crowley knocked back her full glass of champagne and stood quickly, startling Aziraphale.

“What are you-“

“D’you want to dance?” Crowley sputtered out quickly.

Aziraphale lifted her eyebrows in surprise before settling into a please smile. She set her glass down and stood, approaching Crowley. It suddenly occurred to her that she had never properly danced before.

“Let me show you.” Aziraphale reassured and seemingly reading her mind, taking her hand and leading to a space devoid of books. She linked hands with Crowley, swinging them back and forth. “I may have learned a thing or two back then.”

Crowley watched her movements closely and mirrored them, swaying to the rhythm and back again. Aziraphale let go with one hand and twirled inwards to Crowley’s arms. Her tartan dressed swirled around her knees and her blonde curls bounced along with her dancing.

“It’s called swing dancing.” She twirled back out and brought herself back in, holding her arm around Crowley this time and waltzing in time to the music. “I remember that they had only this back then. Music, dancing, and each other. Before their own world betrayed them.”

They fell silent again and swayed to the song, both deep in thought. The record skipped again- this time back to Armstrong.

When you're smilin’ Keep on smilin’… The whole world smiles with you…

Something heavy fell to the pit of Crowley’s stomach and she stilled. Aziraphale pulled back to look at her, moving her hand up and stroking Crowley’s face gently.

“Everything alright?”

Crowley nodded and suddenly felt choked up.

“Oh, Crowley.”

“No, it’sss fine.” Crowley insisted, wiping at her eyes. “I just hate slow songs.”

Aziraphale gave her an incredulous look, but still held her close. She laced her hand with Crowley’s and leaned their foreheads together.

“Crowley, I should say that I don’t have regrets about the past year.”

Crowley breathed out.

“You don’t?”

“No, I don’t.” Aziraphale pulled back and looked at her. “I’m glad we stopped the Apocalypse. I’m glad we’re on the same side. I’m glad we helped save the world.”

“More or less.”

Aziraphale laughed. “More or less.”

Crowley smiled.

“And, for what it’s worth,” Aziraphale continued, “I’m glad this New Year’s is important. If anything, it’s proven that we have much to live for. Our raison d’etre. Don’t you think?”

Crowley nodded slowly. Noise suddenly filtered into the bookshop over the music, quickly being realized as the sound of many drunk people out in the streets.

“I believe they’re counting down.”

“Do you want to go out and join them?” Aziraphale asked, cocking her head to the side.

“Not really.” Crowley couldn’t take her eyes off Aziraphale’s- and why would she? Her raison d’etre was right in front of her. She received a smile in return and the bookshop filled with flickering lights. Multiple colors bounced off Aziraphale’s pinned hair and cheering drunks stumbled past the outer windows.

Crowley leaned in slowly, then all at once as she connected her lips with Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale clasped Crowley’s face in her hands and kissed back fervently as they pressed into each other. Fireworks echoed across London just as butterflies exploded in Crowley’s belly.

Aziraphale pulled back after a moment and breathed, a smile breaking across her face.

“I’ve waited hundreds of years to do that.” She beamed.

“I waited thousands.” Crowley smiled, diving back in to kiss again at her angel’s surprised face. She kissed alongside her mouth and up her cheek. Aziraphale laughed.

“You could’ve said something, you naughty serpent!”

“But the anticipation was so sweet, wasn’t it?” Crowley teased. She dropped her hand down to tangle with Aziraphale’s again.

“Only because I am free to love you as I always have.” She responded, rubbing her thumb across Crowley’s reddening cheek. Crowley wanted to damn the charm that made her weak at the knees, but found she really couldn’t. Or even wanted to, really.

“Perhaps we should make a toast?” Aziraphale prompted. She poured the glasses once again and handed one to Crowley. “To the New Year.”

“To saving the humans.”

“To new beginnings.”

Crowley raised her glass at Aziraphale. “To the world.”

Aziraphale followed in kind, clinking her glass against Crowley’s.

“To us, and what the future may bring us.”

Crowley met her eyes and Aziraphale smiled. A new warmth flowed through her and she smiled back.

“To us.”

~

Songs mentioned:

West End Blues Louis Armstrong

I’ve Got a Feeling I’m Falling Annette Hanshaw

When You Smile (The Whole World Smiles With You) Louis Armstrong

[shkspr]

chapters: 10/10 words: 32068 rating: mature warnings: no archive warnings apply relationships: aziraphale/crowley tags: friends to lovers, denial of feelings, mutual pining, jealousy, sexual tension, light angst, swimming, cottage by the sea, fights, making up, misunderstandings, miscommunication, kissing, idiots in love, unhealthy coping mechanisms, happy ending, fluff, domestic fluff, fluff and angst, post-canon, getting together, minor original character(s), minor canonical character(s), non-explicit sex

it's a hard thing, adjusting to a new kind of freedom, relearning the world. there are many ways of handling a change like that, many differing attitudes concerning how to address it, many courses of action to take. it just happens that Crowley and Aziraphale, each in their unique manner, through their processes of personal growth, independently of one another and for wildly different reasons, somehow manage to land on the same big conclusion: I should buy a house on the beach.

this fic is my gift for @commodorecliche as part of the @goodomensholidayswap! enjoy!

[goodomensholidayswap]

GOmens Holiday Swap 2019

Signups will begin on October 8 and run through October 31. The link to a google document where you can tell us all about the type of gift you want to give and the type of gift you want to receive (fic, art, photo manips, podfic, etc.) is sprinkled through this post and can also be seen at the end. You will also be asked if you would be willing to serve as a pinch hitter in case someone needs to drop out. Please consider doing so!

Once signups are closed, we will be working hard to match everyone with their ideal partner, and will email you as soon as we have everyone matched (sometime in the first two weeks of November, depending on how many people have signed up and how many we have to match). As soon as you receive your partner’s name, preferences, and prompts, you can begin to work on their gift. You can post your gift to Tumblr and Ao3 anytime between December 1 and January 1. If you need an extension to post, that’s no problem! Just let us know so we can let your gift recipient know that their gift will be late. If you need to drop out, that’s fine, too! Just let us know as soon as you possibly can so we can find a pinch hitter for you.

Keep your recipient a secret! We want everyone to be surprised by their gift!

For writers, there is a minimum word count of 2500 words, in order to ensure that each recipient gets a gift that isn’t too small. 

Sign up here; https://docs.google.com/forms/d/1xfg_uu_-K1agmIzDQTAM9f9JgwDvsvGENH0HWvDCE3c

[coeuretoiles]

My secret santa recipient: @fafsernir  

Hope you like it :D for the @goodomensholidayswap