hello !! i've decided to take in requests for doctor who as well <3 please do read my rules list and send in requests for any doctor who x reader fics <3
PAIRING. Aziraphale x Crowley
GENRE. Fluff with the tiniest bit of angst.
REQUESTED? No.
WORD COUNT. 2.8k
SYNOPSIS. Crowley's going a little stir-crazy after the whole ordeal with Jim (or can he finally call him Gabriel now?). Nina and Maggie know the perfect solution.
WARNINGS. Minor mentions of anxiety. Crowley is a bit OOC. Some parts and dialogue are taken from the actual show.
NOTE. Takes place during Season 2, after Gabriel and Beelzebub's disappearance, with some minor changes. Metatron never comes to offer Aziraphale anything. A.K.A., what should have been the ending (in my opinion).
Crowley feels restless.
It’s odd, really. Even during the most stressful, chaotic moments, Crowley would never break a sweat (do demons even sweat?). His confidence rarely falters, even in the face of adversity. He’s one for keeping his cool— always the relaxed one, especially in comparison to his angel companion.
But for some odd reason, Crowley feels restless now. After everything’s done and gone— Beelzebub and Gabriel are off to god knows where, both Heaven and Hell have finally left him and Aziraphale alone (with the exception of Muriel, who was unfortunately punished for aiding a demon in Heaven by being tasked to keep an eye on the two, not that she minded), and Crowley could want for nothing else.
Except, he does want something, maybe need? He’s not even sure. But he knows there’s something wrong, something missing in this whole equation of his. Things are finally falling into place but still, he feels anxious, like there’s something in the back of his head keeping him from ever relaxing.
It’s quite frustrating, really.
Most days, he tries to quell the feeling by dampening his brain with alcohol. It’s always been a trustworthy method of shutting up the voices in his head. When the alcohol doesn’t work anymore or he finds himself out of stock, he usually ends up in the confined space of his Bentley, napping his days away. If he still had his old flat, he could probably pull another 19th-century and sleep a couple years off. Alas, the backseat of his vehicle was one too small for him to ever feel comfortable curled up in.
So, some days, when there is no alcohol left and sleep feels impossible to come by, he’s left with facing the emotions and the thoughts head on. It’s a tragedy, really. He’s a demon, why is he feeling all these sorts of anxiety and paranoia? And why now, exactly?
He speculates that maybe his body’s reactions were delayed, or maybe he was far too focused in the past week, adrenaline keeping him going when he decided to visit Heaven a millennia after his Fall.
Or maybe… there was something else.
MORE UNDER THE CUT.
It’s been an entire week since the whole ordeal blew over. Things have fallen back into place. Aziraphale’s back in his bookshop, tending to customers with the help of Muriel. Heaven has yet to bother any of them. The Metatron took a minute to converse with the angel but they had left soon after.
Hell hasn’t reached out to Crowley, either. He’s heard news that Shax is now the new Grand Duke of Hell, but he couldn’t care less what was going on down there, as long as he wasn’t involved.
The days are quieter. He hasn’t had the time to visit the bookshop again, but it’s only been a week. He has half the mind to take a quick look and check up on the angel, but the overall dreaded feeling keeps him at bay. For some reason, thinking about Aziraphale makes the feelings worse. He’s not really sure why, maybe Hell or Heaven placed a curse on him before they left him alone. It was the only logical explanation he could think of. Granted, he knows it’s improbable, but what should the demon think?
Usually, during times like these, where he’s unsure of himself, despite being aware of his intelligence, he runs off to Aziraphale for advice or even a listening ear. But since Aziraphale is part of the equation of this problem, he holds off on asking for his guidance.
Which is why he now finds himself sat in a familiar coffee shop, chugging his second cup of espresso (six shots, he’s consumed about twelve or thirteen shots in total now), trying to quell the anxiety (and also the hangover) hammering in his head.
He slams the cup down on the table, grunting as he feels the espresso doing it’s job (it took thirteen shots to make him feel something, but he’ll take the win). He’s got a hand on his face when Nina comes by the table to pick up his used cup.
“Another cup for the gambling man?” She quips, picking an empty tray from another table.
“No,” Crowley replies. “I don’t suppose you offer alcohol in this establishment?”
He’d ran out of alcohol hours ago, which is why he’s here. Caffeine doesn’t do much for his system, but it’s better than nothing at this point.
Nina shakes her head. “Nope. You could try the pub down the road though.”
“Nah,” Crowley replies, running his fingers through his hair.
“If you say so,” Nina responds. She’s about to walk off and leave, but decides to stay at the last minute. “Why are you here by the way? On your own, I mean. You’re usually in the bookshop. Or with Mr. Fell.”
Crowley shrugs, unsure of what to say. He looks through the window, right across the street and sees the bookshop. He can faintly make out the sign by the front door. ‘Open,’ it says.
Nina, now intrigued with the situation, continues. “You guys had a fight?”
The demon shakes his head. “No.”
“Hm,” Nina wants to say something else, but a customer calls out her name from the other end of the cafè. She turns to Crowley, who is now staring off into the distance.
“We don’t have alcohol, but I can offer you something better,” she says.
Curious, Crowley replies. “What is it?”
“Love advice,” Nina is smiling, almost as if she was teasing the demon. “Looks like you need it.”
“Oh, bollocks,” Crowley groans.
“Stay here til’ after closing, I’ll phone Maggie,” Nina says, and the customer calls her name out again, and the human is off.
Crowley is tempted to leave, to camp out in his Bentley again just to avoid confrontation, but he thinks it through. Although he’s been around for more than 6,000 years, he’ll admit that he’s not really good at making sense of his emotions, and besides, Maggie and Nina seem to know a lot more than he bargains them for.
So he decides to stay.
Closing comes by faster than he’d expect. Nina’s cleared out all of the tables and pushed the chairs under. She’s just flipped the sign out the door to ‘Closed,’ when Maggie walks in.
“Hello, Mr. Crowley,” she greets with a chipper smile. He replies with a mere nod.
“So,” Nina settles herself. “What’s the matter with you lot?”
Crowley grunts. The two humans stare at him, awaiting response. Truth be told, Crowley doesn’t even know what to say. Even if he wanted to tell the two, he doesn’t know where to begin.
“Did you and Mr. Fell have a spat?” Maggie poses for him.
Crowley shook his head. “‘s not that.”
“Then what is it?” Nina goaded. “You’ve been hiding out here for hours, you’ve not stepped into the bookshop for days— and don’t lie, I can see you sleeping in your Bentley every night. What gives?”
Crowley can feel himself internally cringing.
“It’s not what you think,” Crowley replies. “Aziraphale’s not— he didn’t do anything.”
There’s a period of silence between the three. Maggie and Nina share a look, before Maggie’s holding her hand out to leave a soft touch against Crowley’s hand.
“Tell us,” she poses, Crowley sighs.
The demon runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “Past few days, s’been..” He takes a pause, clearing his throat before continuing with his tangent.
“Do you ever… feel like things are gonna go wrong at any moment? Like things have been better than before but you’re worried they won’t last that way for long.”
“Like you finally have something good, and you feel like someone’s gonna take that away from you…” Nina adds, all the while taking a long look at Maggie. The latter takes a glance at her, as well, reaching out to provide a comforting touch to Nina’s hand.
“Yeah,” Crowley’s voice is low, and his eyes gleam with unshed tears. It’s completely uncharacteristic for the demon to be open and vulnerable like this to a bunch of random humans, but he can’t help it. He feels like he’s on the edge.
“Why won’t you tell Mr. Fell about this?” Maggie asks after a short while. “I’m sure you’ll feel much better if you open up to him.”
Crowley shakes his head with a scowl. “We haven’t…”
“You should,” Nina mutters. “Talk, I mean. You and Mr. Fell never talk to each other.”
"We talk all the time," Crowley objected. "We've been talking for millions of years."
"You never say what you're really thinking." Maggie pointed out. A moment of silence passes between the three, and Crowley could hear his own breath.
Maggie takes a glance at Nina. "It was all we needed. It's what you two need as well."
And much to Crowley’s dismay, he thinks she's right.
A day passes, then two. He’s still stuck in the Bentley, curled up in the backseat, with an arm thrown over his eyes, shielding away the sunlight beaming through the windows.
He’s busy snoring the day away when a tap by the window disrupts him.
A quick annoyed glance at the window reveals Muriel, still clad in her all-white police uniform. Crowley groans, but hesitantly decides to open the door and step out.
“Wot,” he asks, trying his best to clean himself up after spending so much time in the cramped space of his car. He smooths the creases of his clothes down.
“Ello, ello, ello,” Muriel greets. “Aziraphale has been looking for you.”
“Yeah, well, ‘m busy,” Crowley mutters under his breath.
Muriel’s eyebrows furrow, glancing behind Crowley, at his car. “In there?”
Crowley nods, hands in his pockets. “Mhm.”
“But Aziraphale wants to talk to you,” she says. “He's been looking everywhere."
The demon rolls his eyes. “Fine,” he mutters through gritted teeth.
"Oh, good," Muriel gives him a grin, probably excited to have provided help for the other angel.
Crowley steps onto the sidewalk and begins trekking toward the bookshop, with Muriel in tow. It takes a couple minutes of silence before the two find themselves by the front door.
Crowley asks one question before either of the two can walk in. "How has he been, by the way?"
"He's alright," Muriel responds timidly. "He's been looking for you, though."
"Mm." Crowley vocalizes, and the two finally step into the bookshop.
The bell by the front door dings and Crowley is immediately met with the image of Aziraphale sitting behind the desk, back facing him. He's preoccupied with something, probably annotating a book or organizing some files for the shop.
"Muriel, is that—" the angel begins, but stops mid-sentence when he looks to the side and sees the demon by the door. "Crowley."
Aziraphale calls his name much like all the other times he's done. Soft, gentle, almost like the demon's name was far too fragile and must be uttered with nothing but tenderness.
Crowley tries his best to maintain composure and merely steps into the shop, acting indifferent. "You were looking for me?"
Aziraphale nods. "Ah, yes. Thank you, Muriel." The angel bids her thanks, and Muriel walks off into the backroom, probably to look at another book.
Aziraphale walks out behind the counter and into the room by the couch, still facing Crowley. He takes a seat on one of the chairs, and Crowley follows, settling on the sofa across him.
"Actually, Nina and Maggie came by yesterday," the angel informs him. "They were acquainting me with a few things."
"What things?" Crowley queried.
"Just.. things," Aziraphale reinstated. "They said we needed to talk."
The demon sighed. "They told me that, too. I dunno why they'd say that—"
Aziraphale cuts him off before he can finish. "I'm not blind, Crowley, I can sense something's wrong."
The angel wasn't incensed, but Crowley could feel his frustration. He supposes he hasn't done a good job hiding his emotional turmoil, then.
"So what, if there is?" The demon chided. He didn't mean to sound upset, but the aggravation he's been feeling the past week were starting to accumulate.
"Then you must tell me." Aziraphale disputed. "It isn't fair that you go ghost on me after Gabriel and Beelzebub disappeared. I was starting to think you were being imprisoned in Hell!"
Crowley muffles a laugh, a little amused at the notion that he'd be cast away in Hell after everything that happened. But he doesn't respond after that. He takes a moment to think, trying to find the right words.
"Crowley," Aziraphale calls out once more, leaning in towards the demon's space. "Talk to me."
The demon takes a moment to clear his throat. "Right, okay— yes," he sat up, preparing himself mentally for what he was about to say.
"So," he took a deep breath feeling his throat close up, his mouth drying with how nervous he felt. "We've known each other a long time."
Aziraphale remains seated, looking both confused and intrigued with Crowley's words. The demon continued. "We've been on this planet a long time, I mean. You and me."
The angel wanted to nod but instead continued to listen. "I could always rely on you, you could always rely on me. We're a team. A group— group of the two of us."
The demon could feel his eyelids burning, and it took a moment for him to realize that tears were accumulating in his eyes. The feeling of his throat closing up was the telltale sign that at any moment, he could break down and cry in front of the angel.
Despite that knowledge, he carries on. "And we spent our existence pretending that we aren't." His voice breaks a little at the end of his sentence.
He looks to the aside, afraid to meet Aziraphale's eyes in case he starts crying. His lips are pursed, and he's holding himself back from falling apart. "I mean, the last few years, not really."
A quick glance at the angel in front of him shows a confused expression. Aziraphale is unsure of where Crowley is headed, of what exactly he wants to say. He wants to say something, maybe to provide comfort, as he can feel that Crowley is in pain, but he remains quiet.
The moment of silence ends, as Crowley, still trying to avoid Aziraphale's gaze, resumes his speech. "And I would like to spend—" he pauses for a second, grunting, almost as if he didn't want to continue. He heaves out a sigh.
"—I mean, if Gabriel and Beelzebub could do it, go off together, then we can." Aziraphale's eyes widen a little. "Just the two of us."
The statement leaves Crowley breathless. Just the two of us. The phrase repeats itself in his head, and it's almost too good to be true. He never really believed that they could ever be together, just the two of them, but now, even the mere suggestion of it leaves him agog.
"Crowley," Aziraphale utters his name again, and the demon finally gathers enough strength to look at him.
The two share another moment of silence, Aziraphale taking in everything that has been said, and Crowley trying to calm himself down. The angel licks his lips, trying to gather his thoughts.
A hand is placed on Crowley's own, right above his knee. The touch is soft, much like everything Aziraphale does. A moment of vulnerability washes over Crowley, and he grasps the angel's hand tight in his, almost as if he was afraid to let go.
"I am here," Aziraphale offered. "I'm not going anywhere, my dear."
Crowley swallows the lump in his throat, sad eyes staring right at Aziraphale's. "I know."
"We don't have to go off anywhere," the angel comforts. "We could stay right here."
"And if Heaven comes back? Or Hell? Or Gabriel and Beelzebub or the Metatron, or—"
"Crowley," the angel stops him with a squeeze of his hand. "They won't."
"How can you be so sure?" The demon pressed.
Aziraphale takes a breath. "Even if they do, we'll be here, and we will figure it out. Won't we?"
Crowley nods in hesitation. Aziraphale takes his hand up to his lips, pressing a comforting kiss against Crowley's knuckles.
"I—" I love you. Crowley wants to say, but the words get caught in his throat. "Thanks."
Aziraphale gives him a soft smile as if he knows without having to hear it from him. "Is there anything else you want to talk about?"
A pause. Then, Crowley swallows. "I want to—" He pauses, unsure if he should continue.
Aziraphale looks at him expectantly, waiting for him to finish.
"I want to kiss you," Crowley says. "Can I?"
Crowley had expected him to recoil in shock or disgust, but the angel merely smiled before nodding, already leaning in closer, his breath fanning against Crowley's skin.
Another pause. A split second of doubt flashes through Crowley's head, but when the angel's lips press against his, time stops, and all the voices in his head go silent.
An angel and a demon remain in the bookshop, and if you listen closely, a nightingale begins singing, and the troubles of a young demon begin to fade.
NOTE. I have so much emotional constipation I decided to write it down and project it. I hope this is okay! Send requests if you like <3
PAIRING. Aziraphale x Crowley x Reader
GENRE. Fluff.
REQUESTED? No.
WORD COUNT. 1.5k
SYNOPSIS. Mornings with your local angel and demon would seem chaotic to most, but to you, nothing could be more soothing.
WARNINGS. Can be read as platonic or romantic.
NOTE. This is my very first Good Omens work. Please bear with me as I am also particularly new to the fandom. Suggestions and corrections are welcomed! You can also send requests through my ask box! <3
The streets of SoHo bustled with busy crowds as you made your way down to the coffee shop. It was still early, only a few minutes past 8 am. You woke in a cheerful mood, excited to spend another day with your two most favorite people.
They weren’t exactly people, but who’s asking?
You push the door to Nina’s coffee shop open, and you’re immediately greeted with the smell of coffee in the air, along with the figure of Nina standing behind the counter.
“Good morning, Nina!” You greet her with a smile, walking towards the counter.
“Morning,” she greets back. She offers a kind smile, but she is busy, drying off some glass mugs by the counter. Nina takes a quick glance at you. “You’re awfully cheerful this morning.”
You give her a shrug. “Woke up feeling like this, I guess.”
“Good for you,” she muses. She places the last dry mug to the side, before turning herself towards you. “What can I get you, then?”
“One black coffee, one flat white, and a serving of Eccles cakes, please,” you quip.
“To go, I’m guessing?” Nina responds with a smirk, inputting your order on her register. The machine dings with the total of your order, and you grab your wallet from your bag to pay.
“You already know it,” you reply with a laugh and hand her a wad of cash.
Nina takes the money. “You’ve been over Mr. Fell’s a lot recently,” she points out. “Almost as much as that Crowley fellow.”
MORE UNDER THE CUT.
“I like it there,” you simply state. “I have nothing much to do at home, anyway.”
“I see,” Nina hands you your change. Her tone of voice shows no judgment, but her face says otherwise. You know she means no harm behind it, so you let it go.
She leaves the counter for a minute and returns with a paper bag and a disposable tray filled with your drinks. You bid her thanks and a goodbye, before grabbing your order and stepping out of the shop.
You cross the street into Aziraphale’s bookshop. The sign at the door says “closed” but you pay it no mind, pushing the door open with your hip and entering the familiar establishment.
“I’m afraid we are still closed,” the man announces into the room, back towards you, as he seems to be busy arranging books by the counter, but once he turns, his face lightens up, immediately delighted to see you. “Ah, it’s you! Come, my dear.”
You give Aziraphale a grin, stepping further into the shop. Aziraphale runs around the counter to help take the items off of your hands, placing the bag on one of his tables, and the drinks by the counter.
“I bought us breakfast,” you timidly say, still a little embarrassed to be barging in so early that Aziraphale hadn’t even opened up shop.
“Oh you didn’t have to, deary,” the angel crooned and offered a smile. “But thank you.”
You grinned, happy to have made the angel smile, but your curiosity continued to pique as moments passed, and no sign of your third companion came.
“Where’s Crowley?” You couldn’t help but frown. As much as you loved Aziraphale’s company, not having the demon around felt almost wrong. Incomplete.
“He’ll be here a moment. He’s a bit… preoccupied,” you’re not quite sure what the angel means, but you don’t pry further. It was probably about angel and demon business, anyway. “Shall we start on breakfast?”
Albeit you feel sad at the absence of your other favorite being, you try not to let it spoil your and Aziraphale’s mood as he settles on the couch, patting the space beside himself for you to sit.
You take a seat just as he begins to set the drinks on the table, grabbing the cakes from the paper bag and placing them on the table as well.
“I didn’t buy tea because I knew you liked to make your own,” you explained before Aziraphale could even speak, worried that he might have gotten upset at the lack of drinks.
But this was Aziraphale you were talking about. The angel never got upset, especially never at you.
“You know me so well, dear,” he smiles, before standing from the couch. “I’ve already got the kettle boiling!” He cheers, almost as if he’s proud of himself for thinking ahead. You can’t help but grin from ear to ear as you watch him shuffle into the kitchen.
You spend a moment by yourself in silence, humming away as you watch strangers pass by through the window. You are tapping away on the coffee table when the bell by the front entrance chimes, and the doors swing open, and a figure walks in.
“Having breakfast without me, are you?”
“Crowley!” You chirped, delighted to see your favorite demon walk into the shop.
“Missed me, love?” He gives you a cheeky wink and you hide your blushing face with a laugh, rolling your eyes at Crowley’s playfulness.
“Crowley, what took you so long!” Aziraphale emerges from the kitchen, with a cup of tea in his hands.
“Long line at requisitions, had to cut in line, in front of an old lady just to get things done,” Crowley sighs exasperatedly.
“Cutting in line, how very ill-mannered!” Aziraphale complains, now having sat back next to you on the couch. His tea sits next to your coffee, which you hadn’t yet touched. “In front of an old lady, no less!”
“Why was the old lady down there in the first place, hn,” the demon begins to take quick strides towards the two of you, grabbing his cup of coffee by the table. “Must’ve murdered her husband’r something.”
You sat in silence and grabbed your coffee from the table , listening to the two bicker back and forth amongst themselves. Your days usually start this way anyway, drinking coffee and listening to the angel and demon argue on about some nonsense you knew almost nothing about. It was therapeutic, in a way.
You had yet to tell anyone this, but you loved mornings like these. It’s been a little while since you’ve moved to SoHo, but the one-bedroom apartment you rented just a few blocks away seems so foreign to you now, since you spend nearly all of your time in Aziraphale’s bookshop.
Of course, sometimes you’re elsewhere, like Nina’s coffee shop, mostly, buying treats and drinks that you knew Aziraphale would like. (Crowley likes them too, but wishes Nina would branch into an alcoholic line of drinks).
On rare occasions, you’d visit Maggie’s record shop with Aziraphale. Even though in the beginning, you viewed records as “impractical” (to which Crowley had given a hearty chuckle to), you’d grown to love it, asking Maggie for the latest copies of Hozier or, if she was lucky to land a copy, Laufey.
Your fondest memory, however, was during a time when the three of you decided to dine in the French restaurant across the road, Marguerite’s. Usually, the two preferred to visit the Ritz, but you managed to get them to try out the local shop. The three of you dined under the sun, sharing stories and laughing as Aziraphale yet again attempts to avoid Mr. Brown, the chairman of their Street Shopkeepers’ Association.
In truth, you’d only been staying with Aziraphale and Crowley for a few months, but you’ve honestly felt more at home here on Aziraphale's couch than your own.
You suddenly realized you had been daydreaming, as you’re rudely awakened from your thoughts by the sound of someone snapping their fingers.
“—hello? Earth to, [name]? You with us, sugar?” It was Crowley, still standing in front of where you’ve set yourself down on the couch, wearing a worried expression, despite the sunglasses on his face.
“Are you alright, dear?” It’s Aziraphale who asks this time, and you turn to the side to meet his worried face as well. “You’ve been really quiet this morning.”
“I’m alright, really,” you reassure them both, and Crowley takes this time to seat himself next to you, opposite of where Aziraphale is. “It’s just a little too early, I think.”
“Would you like to take a nap here?” Aziraphale offers. “There is another couch in the back room, if you’d like to settle down there.”
You shake your head. “I’ll be fine, thank you. Can we eat breakfast now?”
Aziraphale nods, but you can hear Crowley tsk quietly from where he’s sat beside you. “Bit too sugary for breakfast, don’t ‘ya think?”
He’s looking right at the Eccles cakes, and you frown, wishing you had chosen another treat from the coffee shop.
Aziraphale immediately notices your saddened expression. “It’s fine, Crowley! A little sugar won’t hurt.”
“Won’t hurt you! What ‘bout [name] over here?” Crowley complains.
“You’re the one calling her sugar all the time—!” Aziraphale retaliates.
You merely sip your coffee and grab a pastry, tuning out the tones of the two idiots arguing beside you.
Mornings were always the same.
NOTE. This wasn’t the best but I’m not too ashamed of it! Please do send in requests! <3
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