Hello lovely mods!!! Thank you for all the work you do for the fandom!!
Im looking for longfics where crowley has self esteem issues. Something where its not the main plot, just there. Like how TV!crowley is in The Trouble With Being A Demon. Im good with any rating, au, or general plot.
Thank you so much!! 💛
Hi! I don't know the fic you mention, so I can't necessarily find you Crowleys exactly like that without a little more information. We do have an #insecure crowley tag as well as a #self esteem issues tag with lots of fics you can check out. Here are more to add...
The Invisible Gorilla by AppleSeeds (T)
Environmental science professor Crowley turns into a flustered mess when the object of his secret infatuation, magician Aziraphale Fell, is hired to help coach a group of research students to creatively engage the public with their work. Torn between his desire to interact with Aziraphale and his fear of embarrassing himself, Crowley gradually gains the confidence to spend more time with him, ultimately bringing them together to share one of the most memorable experiences of Crowley's life.
I'll Let You Set the Pace by zerodaryls (E)
“Everything’s changing now, isn’t it?”
“Well, not everything.” Aziraphale had smiled, bringing a thumb up to run over Crowley’s bottom lip. “Some things, certainly. Finally. Thank goodness.” He’d tilted his head to bring their lips together again, and, when Crowley’d gasped, took the opportunity to slip a curious tongue between his lips.
Crowley had grinned against Aziraphale’s mouth before sliding his tongue over the angel’s, savoring the taste of him.
Yes, things had been going quite well.
And then Crowley had started panicking.
(Or, "What if Crowley isn't as ready as he thought he'd be once he's finally free to love and be loved by his angel? What if Aziraphale got a taste of what 'you go too fast for me' felt like?")
The Hardest Hue to Hold by oceantears (T)
Crowley doesn't exactly like killing everything he touches.
Let Me In Your Heart Again by AshCommaMan, EmAndFandems (M)
"Could be anything," Crowley explained. Anything at all, say the word, nothing off limits from my end. Stupid. "And the way it works, you'd have the chance to say no. It's not that I force anyone into doing things. Just make it more appealing s'all. So. What do you want, Aziraphale?"
"I want—" The apple, the whole damn Garden. He flapped his hands uselessly in the air. "I want..." You. I want to be free. "Well. Perhaps a nap." His voice was nothing more than a whisper.
Long Haul by snae_b (E)
First time he sees him he’s barreling down 40 like a bat out of hell. Thirty miles outside of Flagstaff and six hours behind schedule. The desert looming large on all sides. Red sand and sage stretching out for miles and miles in front of him. Juniper and pine and gray crag behind him. The flora might be changing but that's about it. Same bone-dry air that gives him nosebleeds. Same cute little cottontails and scrawny jackrabbits darting under his tires. Same two lanes separated by white lines...
He checks his speedometer. He hasn't downshifted since the city limits. Sheer luck, that. He's coming up fast on another rig. Flatbed with Vermont plates. Bright white cab with gold wings painted on the side.
Anthony Crowley might have gotten out of Missouri, but he hasn't escaped his past. He wears it like a cloak. When he crosses paths with a guardian angel, he starts to learn how to shed it.
Play for Me the Music of Your Heart by Leviosally468 (E)
Anthony J. Crowley, a talented virtuoso violinist finally makes the move west to Nightingale Bay, Oregon after escaping a simultaneously promising yet toxic life at Elysian Conservatory of Music in New York City.
Aziraphale Z. Fell is Eastern Gate University’s friendly and talented piano professor and symphony conductor.
Let's see how that goes, shall we?
FINAL CHAPTER IS UP YALLLLL!!! Happy ending for our angel and demon (at least according to my delusions)...
Summary:
I have three words for yall: South. Downs. Cottage. And a lot of domestic fluff
Also Crowley hates his eyes, but Aziraphale doesn't mind. What is broken will be fixed when two halves of a whole unite at last.
Snippet:
They spent their evenings on the sofa with either a bottle of wine or, in colder months, two big mugs of hot chocolate. Aziraphale would usually bring a book and pretend to read it, while his mind was really put into softly tracing circles and spirals with his fingers on Crowley's scalp, as the other one took up most of the space and laid his head on Aziraphale's thigh.
And Crowley could technically also be pretending to be engrossed in a hobby of his, but he actually never really felt like hiding the fact that just being able to share the sofa with his angel was his favourite pastime.
On one such occasion he remarked out of the blue:
“I've never told you what my name was. Before the Fall, I mean…”
“Yes, I suppose you haven't.” Aziraphale replied, not looking up from his book.
“Don't you want to know?” Crowley twisted his neck to look up at him.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/75241456
Right, and now that this is done... 😈 time to devote myself to my good omens aikido au (check the tag, if you're interested)
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Characters: Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Additional Tags: Fluff, Angst and Feels, Pining Aziraphale (Good Omens), Oblivious Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley's Eyes (Good Omens), Insecure Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Communication, Healthy Relationships, Established Relationship, Crowley Needs a Hug (Good Omens), Crowley Gets a Hug (Good Omens), help this was supposed to be mindless fluff but it turned angsty in the end all on its own!, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Not Season/Series 02 Compliant, Hurt/Comfort
Summary:
“What is it with you and this colour anyway?”
Aziraphale almost choked on the sniff of daffodils. He coughed long enough for Crowley to start patting him on the back with a sympathetic expression.
“Whatever do you mean, my dear?”, asked Aziraphale when he could speak again, tears in his eyes and face red from his coughing fit. Crowley rolled his eyes.
“Really, angel, I thought we talked about you dodging uncomfortable questions like this. You know damn well, what I mean. Whenever you see something in this shade of yellow, you just got to have it. And when I question you on it, you get all flustered like just now. So, what’s up with you and yellow?”
Aziraphale was very quiet for a while, not looking at Crowley and opting for fiddling with the daffodils instead. Ultimately, Crowley sighed.
“Look, if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, I’m not forcing you. You could just say so though, I was only asking.”
“It’s stupid, really.”
Or: Crowley notices over the years how Aziraphale seems to prefer a certain shade of yellow and eventually asks him about it. The answer is not at all what he expects.
Someone once said, the eyes are the windows to the soul, or something like that, Crowley wasn’t really sure, hadn’t really been paying attention, if he was honest. He’s sure Aziraphale could tell him, but he’d never ask, so it was really beside the point. He slid his sunglasses off and rubbed at his eyes, he was tired. Incredibly tired. Endlessly tired. But the apocalypse was over, he and his angel had saved the world.
His head jerked to the side at the words his mind had used. His angel. Crowley pushed his tongue against his lip, thought for a moment, shrugged, and moved on. Aziraphale was his after all, he certainly wasn’t anyone else’s, and if anyone had claim on the little food loving bastard, surly it was him. He tossed his sunglasses onto his desk and leaned back in his chair, pushing his foot against his desk, the chair tilting dangerously.
He caught a glimpse of himself in the window and stared, yellow eyes shining back at him. He scowled and looked away.
It wasn’t that he was ashamed of his eyes. Of course he wasn’t. Because if eyes were the windows to the soul, and he was ashamed of his eyes, then surely that meant he was also ashamed of his soul. And he wasn’t, he was perfectly fine with his soul. He’d come to terms with it long ago. That he was damned, and always would be. Unforgivable was his middle name. And if he didn’t quite live up to the title with his sinister deeds well, who had to know?
He wasn’t ashamed. And if he was, which he wasn’t, he’d never admit it. Never ever ever ever. Not to anyone.
Soft white wings flashed across his mind, pushing against his thoughts, he growled and stood up. He sauntered across the floor, smirking as his plants shivered when he passed. He snapped his fingers, walked out the door, and threw himself into his car. His beautiful, unruined car. He pulled a pair of sunglasses out of the glove compartment, and pressed his foot to the floor, racing through the London streets at much to fast a speed.
He ended up in front of the bookstore. Because of course he did. He sat in the Bentley, hands clutching the wheel until his knuckles were white, staring at the door. The angel was in there. He could feel it. He could get out of his car, walk in there, and just…
He growled again, shaking his head. He pressed his foot down again and sped off. Ten minutes later he was sat outside again. The car turned off this time. It began to rain, droplets of water scattering across the hood of the Bentley and dripping down the windshield. He stared at the bookshop, hard, his hands had started shaking. He sighed to himself and threw the car door open.
He turned around not once, not twice, but three times, walking back and forth in the rain like an idiot before finally pushing himself to the door with yet another low growl. He knocked. He’d never knocked on the door to the bookshop in his life. The sign was flipped to OPEN, what had he knocked for?
“Just a moment!” Aziraphale’s cheery voice called from the other side. Crowley shivered, his spine tingling. The door swung open and there he was, his angel, standing in front of him. Crowley didn’t move, he was about to speak when Aziraphale’s smile fell.
“Crowley? Are you alright, you look dreadful.” He looked him up and down, flipped the sign to closed, stepped aside, and motioned for Crowley to come in, all in one swift movement that Crowley had a little trouble following, his head was swimming. He walked into the bookshop, hands shaking at his sides.
He didn’t say anything. Not for a long time. Just let Aziraphale hand him a glass of wine. And then another. And then one more. He pushed his hand through his soaking wet hair and heard the angel make a small noise. His head was getting wine fuzzy now and he couldn’t tell what kind of noise it had been.
“Crowley?”
He blinked hard, looking up at his angel though dark lenses.
“Hmm?” he hummed, his voice low in his throat.
“You’re soaking wet.” His voice was quiet. And there was something there, Crowley couldn’t really put a name to how it sounded, but he could feel it. The angel was worried. About him. Crowley snorted. He didn’t mean to, but he was always doing thing he hadn’t meant to. The angel’s eyebrows furrowed, his head tilted slightly to the side as he looked down at him. Crowley watched him raise his hand slowly. Crowley blinked. Aziraphale snapped and warmth rushed over Crowley like a sweet summer wind, drying him instantly. He sighed and relaxed on the couch he’d been sitting stiffly on for almost an hour.
Aziraphale watched him for a moment, seemed satisfied enough, nodded, and moved back to his chair. He poured Crowley another glass of wine before he sat down.
“Would you like anything to eat?” his voice had that always cheery tone. Crowley felt his lip twitch up and bit into it. He wouldn’t be smiling drunkenly at this angel tonight. He shrugged and watched the angel stand immediately and rush into his kitchen. He pushed his fingers under his sunglasses and rubbed at his tired eyes. He shouldn’t have come here. This was a terrible idea.
Aziraphale walked swiftly back into the room, tray full of finger sandwiches held aloft. He sat them on the small table and pushed the tray toward Crowley, looking, dare he say, sheepish. Crowley looked at the sandwiches for a moment, enough time for Aziraphale to start fidgeting, and then reached out and grabbed one. He took a large bite, nearly half the sandwich. He smiled at up at Aziraphale’s disapproving look. The angel shook his head and moved back to his chair. He was always sitting so far away.
“You’re always so far away.” Crowley grumbled, reaching for another sandwich and sliding to the floor on accident. His butt hit the hard wood beneath him roughly and he let out a huff of air. He’d misjudged the distance between himself and the table. He looked around, a little confused at suddenly being on the floor but not totally put off. He shrugged and grabbed the sandwich he’d been reaching for.
“Pardon?” the angel asked. Crowley could never tell if he was being an ass on purpose or if he really was just that clueless. Crowley swallowed the bite he’d taken and cleared his throat.
“I said,” he started, his voice louder than it needed to be, “you’re always so far away.”
He let his head fall back to rest against the couch.
“I don’t bite ya know.” It was just a mumbled, but he heard the angel clear his throat gently, and knew he’d heard him. Crowley thought maybe he didn’t believe him.
There was silence for a long time. Aziraphale sitting, drinking, and looking awkward. Crowley sitting, drinking, and eating a plate full of sandwiches. It didn’t escape him that Aziraphale hadn’t eaten a thing. Not one bite. He dropped his head back against the couch and pressed his fingers up under his sunglasses again.
“I do wish you wouldn’t wear those all the time.” Aziraphale’s annoyance startled him a little, he lowered his hand slowly and raised his head the same way. He looked at the angel, sitting properly on his chair. He didn’t look embarrassed, or flustered, he looked cross.
“I beg your pardon?” Crowley asked, his voice uncharacteristically proper. Crowley watched in astonishment as the angel snorted and smiled at him.
“Wot are you smiling at?” Crowley asked, his voice a little squeaky. The angel shook his head and looked into his lap. Crowley felt like he’d been slapped, the amount of fondness flooding off of Aziraphale was intoxicating, which was unfortunate because Crowley was already quite drunk. He blinked hard, trying to keep the angel in focus, he was suddenly very confused about what was happening.
“I beg your pardon.” The angel said, mimicking the way Crowley has spoken. He snorted again and then outright laughed. Crowley scowled at him and crossed his arms over his chest with a huff. The angel laughed again and then stood up. Crowley pressed himself against the couch more, unsure.
Aziraphale walked over and lowered himself down on the floor next him. He sat there for a moment and then sighed before turning to look at Crowley.
“I do mean what I said. I wish you’d take them off. At least when we’re inside. It’s good manners you know.” He smiled softly. Crowley narrowed his eyes at the angel.
“Manners.” He said flatly.
Aziraphale nodded.
“I am, a demon.” His voice full of indignance.
Aziraphale smiled at him. Honest to … whoever, smiled. Crowley flinched back from him.
“Stop that.”
“Stop what?”
“That!” Crowley pushed his finger into the angel’s cheek gently. He didn’t move away, just smiled brighter, a laugh bubbling out of him, his head falling back.
Crowley could feel how relaxed he was. He’d never been this relaxed before, not that Crowley could remember anyway. He’d always been on edge, even when he was drunk. Crowley couldn’t handle this. He needed to sober up. He couldn’t handle a fond, relaxed, not drunk, angel with this much wine floating around his head. He held up his finger when Aziraphale opened his mouth to speak and pushed the wine from his system. He groaned and watched as the wine bottle filled itself back up. Aziraphale sat next to him patiently. Crowley fell back against the couch once his head was clear again, making a face at the taste in his mouth.
“Better?”
“I’m not sure.”
Crowley looked at him. Not sure what to say. The angel opened his mouth to speak and Crowley looked away, into his lap. This talk of his eyes made him feel like the angel could see them, even through the sunglasses. And the reality of the whole situation was that he very well might be able to. He was angel after all. The idea that Aziraphale had been looking him in the eyes, not the black circles he presented to others, for 6000 years, give or take, was making his head swim. He may as well have stayed drunk for all the good sobering up had down.
“Crowley.” His voice was soft. Softer than Crowley had ever heard it. He stared into his lap. Unable to move. Unable to look at his angel now that he realized he’d most likely been seeing him, really seeing him, this whole time.
“Crowley, please.” Crowley held back a flinch when the angel’s fingers gently slid under his chin and raised his head to look at him. Crowley swallowed hard. Aziraphale was looking at him with such… tenderness. The angel’s thumb moved gently against his chin as he moved his hand.
Aziraphale moved for the sunglasses gently, like he was trying not scare a wild animal. And Crowley supposed he was close to the mark there, really. He watched his angel move so slowly, his eyes moving over Crowley’s face as he did so, watching for signs that he should stop. Crowley could feel Aziraphale holding his breath, every now and then a warm breath would ghost over his skin, it made him want to press forward so badly. Just close this space before his sunglasses could be taken. But he was scared. He’d never admit that to anyone, ever, he’d be discorporated and dowsed in holy water first, but he was more terrified than he’d ever been. He couldn’t ruin this, not by acting so rashly. Sure, it had been 6000 years, but if the angel wasn’t ready. Ready for that. He wouldn’t push him. Couldn’t push him. Refused to do so.
Aziraphale’s fingers bumped the side of the sunglasses and an involuntary pained noise crawled up Crowley throat, escaping past his teeth before he could bite into it and hold it back. Aziraphale stopped moving. He didn’t move away. But he stopped. Crowley took a deep breath. The angel moved forward again. His fingers closed gently over the sunglasses, he began sliding them off, moving them slowly off of Crowley’s face. The nose pieces lifted from his skin and Crowley felt panic shoot through him. He was on his feet in a second, stumbling a few steps from the sudden movement.
“I just- I’m not sure. This isn’t-“ he couldn’t get the words out. He wasn’t even sure what the words were supposed to be. He pressed his palm against his mouth and willed himself not to scream. Aziraphale stood up slowly, he held his hands out in front him. Crowley was very much aware that he was indeed a wild animal now. He was also an idiot. They were just glasses. Why was this so hard.
“You don’t have to be frightened. Crowley I would never judge you. You know that.” His voice was that sweet calm again, all softness and kindness, and things that Crowley knew he didn’t deserve. Not from Aziraphale. Not from his angel.
“Oh please. You judge me all the time and you know it.” He threw a joke into the situation, his go to defense, but it didn’t work. Aziraphale didn’t take the bait. Not this time. 6000 years and he was choosing now not to accept the diversion Crowley threw him.
“Not about this. Never.” His voice was firm now, but still soft, still full of kindness. Crowley’s heart was beating in his ears, he was sure he’d go deaf soon, the beats so loud he may as well have been at a concert, standing next to the speaker, or with his head shoved inside it.
“It’s okay.” There was smile now, a small one. One Crowley had seen many times on the angel’s face. Just never directed his way. It was the smile Aziraphale usually reserved for food. Not just any food. The best foods. The ones that made him close his eyes and sigh and relax into whatever chair he was sat in. Crowley swallowed hard, wiped his palms on his jeans, and took a hesitant step forward.
He stopped when he realized something, his stomach dropping into his feet and then bouncing back up like a kid in a bouncy castle to get lodged in his throat.
“You can feel it.” He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. Loud may have been a bit of a stretch anyway. He’d whispered it. Whispered it like he’d just been punched in the stomach and had run out of air. Aziraphale tilted his head to the side, giving Crowley a look that was two things, one of them was pity. And Crowley felt a small stab of anger, it ran up his spine and crawled into his hair, running over his scalp like a spider. The second thing was fondness. An unbearable amount of fondness. The kicker was, it had always been there. The fondness. Well, maybe not always, but since the church. The day he’d saved the angel’s books.
Aziraphale could feel everything he was feeling.
Not just the fear. But the reason behind it. The shame. The shame that he’d been shoving down for 6000 years. The shame that he’d screamed into his plants. The shame that he’d wrapped in sunglasses and shoved into a deep dark corner of himself, hoping that maybe, just maybe, it would disappear in the dark. But it hadn’t. It had festered. It had grown in the dark like a shadow under a single, swinging, light.
“Yes.” Was all the angel angel said. One word and Crowley felt like he’d been punched again. But there was something else, under the fear, peaking its head up after a long, long, time of hiding. Crowley rubbed absently at his chest. What was that?
“It’s hope my dear.” Aziraphale was in front him now. When had he gotten so close?
“Hope.” The word felt odd on his tongue.
The angel nodded.
He moved for Crowley’s sunglasses again, ever so slowly, giving Crowley ample time to tell him to stop, or to bat his hands away, or to run.
Crowley wanted to do all of those things. But he didn’t. He took a deep breath instead. Aziraphale’s fingers touched his glasses and that hurt sound escaped him again. His angel smiled at him, brushing his knuckles across Crowley’s cheek gently before moving back to the glasses. He gripped them for a moment, allowing Crowley another chance to escape.
Crowley did not take it.
The angel smiled again.
Aziraphale slid the sunglasses off of Crowley’s face slowly, and then all at once. He felt naked, vulnerable, in a way he hadn’t since… he couldn’t remember. Maybe didn’t want to. He blinked a few times, his eyes darting around the room, refusing to focus on, or look at, Aziraphale. They landed on books, on discarded cups of tea, on the rain running down the window, but not on the angel.
“Crowley.” His name. Just his name. Spoken so softly and sweetly you’d never know it belonged to a thing like him.
His eyes fell to the floor, to their feet, nearly toe to toe. He watched as Aziraphale’s feet stayed completely still, a stone in what felt like a hurricane to Crowley. And Crowley’s, fidgeting. He pushed himself nervously onto his toes and then gently lowered himself back down. And then a hand came into view. A hand he’d longed to hold for ages. Quite literally.
The fingers, at his chin again, lifting him up, in so many more ways than they could possibly ever know. His eyes stayed down until the other hand was on his cheek, warm and inviting. His eyes fell closed as Aziraphale’s soft touch comforted him. The angel was pushing feelings onto him. Crowley felt like he was floating, the feelings all things he hadn’t felt in years. Well, not entirely true, he’d felt them, but not for himself. They were always directed outwards. These feelings were for him.
Feelings of warmth. Feelings of welcome. Feelings of admiration and a slight pang of envy. Feelings that wrapped around Crowley like a snake, slithering over him and holding him tightly. And then an image, a single image, flashed through his mind.
His eyes.
And a single feeling after that. Or maybe it was two feelings so entwined that they’d become one long, long ago. A feeling of beauty. Or love. Two things thought of so often, alongside each other, for 6000 years that they’d tangled together and were now inseparable.
Crowley opened his eyes. He felt a tear fall down his cheek. Aziraphale was watching him. His angel was there, in front of him. Full of all these feelings. For him. Crowley couldn’t speak. He knew he’d ruin it. But he could do something. He could do something he’d wanted to do for so long but was so, so scared to do. He moved his hand to Aziraphale’s chest. The man looked down at his hand and then back up, a question in his eyes but not on his lips.
Crowley pushed as hard as he could. Not literally, not physically, but mentally, like his angel had just done to him. Telling him things he could never manage to turn to words. Not properly anyway. Crowley tried to push every feeling he’d had into that one wave of emotion. He wasn’t sure it had worked. Aziraphale stumbled a few steps back and he was terrified he’d ruined it. He’d ruined everything.
“Angel. Are you alright I’m sor-“
He cut off when said angel slammed into him. His arms wrapped around Crowley’s neck so tight he was afraid he’d suffocate, if he was human, he wasn’t, so he was fine, his angel could hold him as long as he liked.
Aziraphale pulled back, not far, not far at all, as a matter of fact. He was close, their noses almost touching, his hands resting on Crowley’s shoulders, fingers tangled in his jacket, and he was staring into Crowley’s eyes. That feeling washed over Crowley again, that love and beauty mixture that he just couldn’t quite figure out. He was so focused on the feeling he missed the angel pressing forward. His lips pressed against Crowley’s gently.
A surprised noise escaped out of Crowley, Aziraphale pulled him closer, melting against him like that fancy chocolate that he liked so much. Crowley blinked once, and then closed his eyes, his arms slithering around the angel’s waist, holding him close. Crowley made a disapproving noise when the angel pulled back. He frowned when Aziraphale smiled at him.
“They’re beautiful. You’re beautiful.” He moved one hand down to Crowley’s chest, pressed his palm there firmly. Crowley thought he might discorporate on the spot. He wasn’t talking about Crowley’s heart, though he liked that about him as well. He pressed his hand firmly to Crowley’s chest and he knew that the angel was talking about his soul. Crowley smiled then, a real, proper, smile. His angel beamed back at him. Crowley pulled him closer, pressing his lips firmly to Aziraphale’s, fingers pressing into his back with no intention of letting go.
He had his angel. Finally. And his angel loved him. Aziraphale loved him. Not the body he’d chosen, not the person he pretended to be. The real Crowley. The true Crowley. The Crowley that had fallen. The Crowley that had been damned. The unforgivable Crowley. The Crowley that helped him save the world. He held his angel close, feelings pulsing back and forth between them like waves of light and shadow. He held his angel close and reveled in the fact that he was completely, and utterly, loved. Forsaken eyes, damned soul, and everything in between, loved, by his angel.
once drunk aziraphale tries to tell crowley again he is nice but crowley wouldn’t have any of this so aziraphale does the only thing he can think of while being drunk. he says “but nice is sexy”
and drunk insecure crowley deadass looks at him and starts sobbing because he is not sexy
As new nestmates, there's a few things that need to be navigated for Crowley and Aziraphale, even though so many things are the same. One of them is the ritual of grooming that is done between nestmates.
Nothing had changed. Well, obviously, things had changed, quite significantly, even; they were now nestmates, honest-to-goodness nestmates, and there was no changing that. They’d promised themselves and each other that. No matter what happened, they would not give up on each other.
That being said, neither of them could help feeling apprehensive, to put it incredibly mildly. This wasn’t a case of a pair of teenagers disobeying their parents by being together. Well, perhaps there was an element of that, what with the role of Heaven and Hell and everything, but the penalty was rather more severe. It was like comparing a lighter to a star. Technically, they were both burning, but beyond that, there wasn’t much to compare with.
But as the days became weeks, and there still wasn’t so much as an increase in assignments or the amount of paperwork they had to deal with, Crowley couldn’t help feeling a sense of relief – while simultaneously feeling even more tense.
This couldn’t be right. They had to know. Somehow, they would have to know, so why wasn’t anything happening?
Another part of his brain argued that well, they’d kept their Arrangement a secret for almost a thousand years by this point, without either side suspecting a single thing. If they had, neither of them would’ve been able to carry on as they had, they knew that.
Why then, knowing that, did he suddenly bestow the powers above, or below, the accolade of observatory skills they had never yet exhibited? When they could be fobbed off with a well-placed memo why did he then think that they would instantly suss out that Aziraphale and he had become nestmates?
Unfortunately, he could answer his own question, at least to some extent. To the extent that explained why he was afraid, anyway.
What they had managed to…well, yes, fool them with was about what they did. The jobs they’d been sent to do, which none of the other angels or demons really had much track with. Not in the way that Aziraphale and Crowley had, in any case, nor to the extent. It was always easier to lie to someone who only had the vaguest idea at best of what the truth actually were.
When it came to something like this, however…this was about what they were, not what they did, and he couldn’t help the tendril of fear that on something like that, at the very least Heaven would be much more on the ball. It did, after all, split the focus of the angels that were involved in the nesting, on who and what they should love. In theory, anyway, as angels tended to fail to live up to their own brief, as it was.
Which in turn brought him back to the thought, the question of why the Almighty had created Her servants with such a handicap as that, in the sense of their intended, purported purpose.
He brought it up to Aziraphale, more than once and increasingly animated each time he mentioned it. It wasn’t helped by the fact that the angel didn’t seem as worried about the whole thing, despite the fact of…well, everything, really. He listened but didn’t make any comments or even any plans as to how they could deal.
At long last, after he’d asked flat out why he wasn’t worried, Aziraphale sighed heavily, put down the books that he’d been cataloguing – why he bothered when everything was neatly organised, even if it was to a system that only he knew and understood, was beyond the ginger – and pulled Crowley close.
“I am worried,” he said, quietly. “Very much so.”
“Then why the bleeding blazes have you been acting as though it doesn’t matter, or you aren’t bothered by it?” Crowley demanded, his arm waving animatedly in its gesticulation.
Aziraphale, surprisingly in the demon’s opinion, didn’t pause or falter. “Because I would be helping neither of us, but especially not you, if I were also to panic.”
“Panicking? Who says I’m panicking?” Crowley’s gesticulation was almost flailing at this point, mainly hampered by their closeness. “I’m not panicking, that’s absurd!”
“Of course not.”
“Why would I be panicking?”
“Because you’re understandably terrified of what they will do if they ever find out what we have done.”
“They will not merely send rude notes, that’s for bloody sure.”
“Destruction by rude note, that will certainly be novel.”
Aziraphale!”
The angel gave a small smile, which was warm but showing hints of both genuine worry and fear but also that inner core of steel. “I know how you’re feeling, dear. Honestly, I do. Don’t mistake me. But tell me…what other precautions can we take than what we are taking right now?”
He brought a hand up to caress a defined cheek gently, then cup the side of the jaw, thumb continuing to brush across the cheek. Crowley instinctively leaned into the contact, savouring it as he continued to look at his angel. He didn’t answer, though, because he had no answer to give. That was one of the problems, wasn’t it?
Silence reigned for a few long moments.
Then, very quietly “Would you want us to…divorce, for instance? Cease being nestmates?”
The words, the very suggestion that they would possibly stop being nestmates made Crowley snap for breath hard, his heart feeling as though it had just suffered an actual, physical punch. He would’ve shouted ‘no’ instantly and at the top of his lungs, if only he’d had the breath for it.
Aziraphale seemed to have been ready for the reaction, in a sense at least, as he made sure to steady his demon when his knees buckled a little.
Long-fingered hands came up to grasp hold of softened shoulders, hard and almost digging, as if that would somehow prevent him from leaving.
“No, I didn’t think so, either. Nor do I. As we’ve discussed before, I would never want to lose you as a nestmate. Apart from the option of returning to how we were, however – and even that is not a guarantee they won’t detect either of us are…divorced, as it were – I quite honestly cannot see what we can do about it.”
Crowley, still trying to get his breath back and stop the panic that had exploded inside, didn’t answer. He just moved somehow even closer and bent his neck so that he could rest his forehead against the angel’s shoulder, between his hand and where shoulder became neck.
Aziraphale wrapped his arms around the shape of his nestmate, as if to further ensure he wouldn’t go anywhere, no matter what happened.
“Please don’t leave,” Crowley said, his voice a little muffled from where his mouth was situated but nevertheless, it was insistent and Aziraphale heard him quite clearly.
“I won’t, dearest, I won’t. Never. I promise.” He turned his head and pressed his lips to the flaming red hair. “I hope you won’t, either.”
Crowley shook his head as though he was trying to dislodge a particularly stubborn wasp in his ear.
“In that light, I think all we can do is carry on as we always have and if things do turn south…then we’ll have to take it from there.”
Strictly speaking, they’d discussed that before as well but even so, it was a relief to the demon to have it confirmed.
Perhaps it was remnants of the unreality of it all, the sheer beauty and utter joy that went with their change in status and all that that had entailed for them, and the subsequent pure fear and dread that this was somehow indeed too good to be true. God could still be pulling the most massive prank on him.
What was it he’d read somewhere? “All this good fortune, all this fierce joy … it was wrong. Surely the universe could not allow this amount of happiness in one man, not without presenting a bill. Somewhere a big wave was cresting, and when it broke over his head it would wash everything away”?
Something along those lines, and didn’t it feel incredibly apt in the circumstances, even if he was a demon rather than a man?
Wait, hang on. Why could he remember something he’d read? When the heaven had he actually read, anyway? Maybe Aziraphale had read it aloud to him, as he sometimes did with books he truly loved and wanted to share. Crowley would never have his love of books, not even close to it, but he did enjoy the audiobook experience when it was tailored specifically to him by a very specific narrator.
So maybe it had come from there, a quiet evening where they just got to enjoy the other’s company.
Wherever it had come from, though, it had stuck and he couldn’t help but feel its aptness, perfectly summing up how he was feeling, even in the midst of his Paradise-on-Earth – which was infinitely better than the original, in his opinion, whose only benefit had been a fortunate meeting.
He tried not to let it take over his thoughts and, more importantly, not to let it show. Seeing as it tied into not only his fears and worries about the potential punishment from their headquarters but to all the negative and self-deprecating thoughts which he’d had prior to the two of them becoming nestmates about the impossibility of just that thing, it became a significantly more difficult prospect, even as he felt the relief from Aziraphale’s words.
The fact that he had his face hidden from view wasn’t much of a comfort.
But Aziraphale only held him tighter, turning his head to plant kisses on every part of Crowley’s head that he could reach, gently, lovingly. Being the anchor that he needed without saying a word.
Eventually, though he wouldn’t have thought he would, Crowley began to feel calmer. Not entirely so, the thoughts were still present, but in that silent interlude, he managed to…not so much push it into the background as pen it in and quieten it to a low murmur. Corral it into something manageable rather than outright banish it, helped by the words that Aziraphale had spoken and the reassuring calm that exuded from his body.
“Sorry,” he muttered as he straightened up. He didn’t try to otherwise put distance between them, though, and Aziraphale didn’t make him.
“No need to apologise. It’s a very legitimate fear to harbour.”
Crowley paused then came to a quick conclusion as he looked at the other’s face. “And you’re putting on a brave face for my sake.”
“I am not.”
“You are. That’s why you’re that calm about it.”
“I told you, I am not, neither that calm or putting on a brave face for you. I would not lie to you like that, dear.”
“You would.” It was an accusation, but it lacked any bite, the void of that filled with concern. “You would if you thought you were protecting me by doing it.”
Aziraphale opened his mouth, presumably to protest, then closed it.
“Yes, I suppose that is a very valid point,” he said after a few but long moments of silence, voice quiet. “But I promise you that that was not my intention. I won’t hide from you, Crowley. Not anymore, not on purpose. I cannot control everything, but I will try and won’t put protection over honesty. Okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” That he could believe, that he could lean against to face things, to rely on as his rock. Well, as part of the rock that was his angel, really, when it came down to it. Softness, love and chub concealing a steel core. “Sorry about – “
He was silenced by a kiss. “Shush now. No need for that. Not now nor ever. I understand.”
Crowley regarded Aziraphale for a moment. Then, his heart full of warmth now, the murmur of his fears very low indeed, he said, earnest and heartfelt, looking into the warm green eyes, “I love you, angel. I love you.”
The beam he got from saying that out loud was one that beat every other iteration of Aziraphale’s arsenal of smiles, all of which were wonderful on their own, and still did a number on his heart in the best possible way. He hoped that would never ever change.
“I love you, too, my dearest,” Aziraphale returned. “Nothing will ever change that.”
Crowley touched their foreheads together after stealing another kiss, saying ‘thank you’ without speaking the words. It seemed to get through to the other just fine.
They stayed like that for quite some time and then Crowley decided that it was time for bed.
Aziraphale protested that it was far too early to go to bed, quite apart from the fact that neither of them needed to sleep. Crowley ignored him.
Sleeping was one of his favourite things in the world and now that he had the option to do so with his angel – and his fears about what Heaven and Hell was going to do to them had been soothed enough that he wasn’t a nervous ball too tense to fall asleep anymore – he wasn’t going to pass it up.
Well, he had up until now, in a sense, he would have to admit. But there’d been other things for him, for them, to do and to explore with their changed circumstances, apart from the worry about whole being found out business.
Six millennia is a long time to wait and, for Crowley’s part pine, and even if Aziraphale had only become aware of his feelings very recently, comparatively speaking, he’d assured the demon more than once that it was more a case of realising what had been there for a very long time, it crystallising inside his mind in that moment rather than being born.
Given that, this change was new and fragile and oh so precious to them both and they were handling it delicately in terms of what they’d done since, as though it would shatter if they charged ahead.
Perhaps that was what he’d meant when he’d thought that nothing had changed. They’d thrust themselves into this whole other plane, as it were, of being nestmates rather than ‘only’ friends all at once. That was enough of a change to settle into, especially for being who could well regard a century ago as recent. There was no need for a radical change in behaviour or routines on top of that, not straight away, and so it felt safer, perhaps, to take it slowly.
There might be someone who’d point out that a lot of what they’d done, how they’d interacted for the last millennia or so, at least, could qualify on their own as dating and so it would only make sense that things might not feel that different, if different at all.
Nesting and consequently becoming nestmates were on quite another level compared to human dating, however, even if it wasn’t immediately visible by the standards that humans set for themselves. But Aziraphale and Crowley knew that it was there, and it resonated between them like the echoes of…well, the harp that the angels didn’t play.
Not to mention, of course, the little things, such as the touches, including kisses, and the general closeness and openness they now enjoyed. Being more explicit about the little gestures and tokens of love that they had hid from each other before.
And there were the feathers. In the bookshop, yes, on display but hidden so that they wouldn’t be inadvertently snatched by some customer Aziraphale somehow hadn’t managed to keep out of the shop, which would just be…no, that didn’t bear thinking about, either.
But there were also the ones that they carried with them. Which ought to be beyond stupid to do if they wanted to remain hidden if not for the fact that other angels, fallen or otherwise, would be able to detect the bond, for lack of a better term, they now had regardless.
And it was wonderful, Crowley had to admit, to be able to be parted from Aziraphale – and they were not joined at the hip, thank someone for that, and they never would be, however much they cherished the other’s company – and still carry a physical reminder of him that was part of him. It certainly beat what humans came up with, such as jewellery out of teeth and hair. Just…why?
Now, though…now he couldn’t help the want, the need for a bit of sleep and to have Aziraphale be there with him. Not for anything intimate or the like, just…being there.
The angel kept protesting all the way up the stairs to the small…well, to call it a flat was a tad overly generous, really, seeing as it was actually just a small set of rooms that had come with the building back when Aziraphale had bought it. What they had been intended for wasn’t clear, but it had been used for extra storage by the blond. That was, until Crowley had seen it one day after, well, and had miracled a bed up there.
Aziraphale had protested then, too, that there was no need for it, and it would only be in the way and where on earth did all his books go, really, Crowley, you can’t just –
And he’d shut up when the demon had pointed upwards to see the books neatly stacked all the way around the wall and underneath the ceiling. That he’d have to employ a bit of, well, trickery, to make more room than there actually was, it was certainly worth it.
He’d used it once or twice on his own since then, the smell of old books practically part of his nasal make-up at that point, but now he got to experience it with Aziraphale there.
The angel protested one more time when they made it up the stairs, though Crowley noted that he hadn’t made any proper attempts to pull out of his grasp or just stop.
“Crowley, this is ridiculous,” he tried, sounding only slightly exasperated. “We cannot go to bed at this hour, there are things I need to do. I’m not going to waste time – “
The demon looked at him, then, and his expression shut the angel up.
“I’m not asking you to stay for a long time or anything,” Crowley said, voice quiet. “I just want you to be there while I fall asleep, that’s all. I’d like to know what it feels like.” He couldn’t deny that ‘waste time’ had hurt, just a little, even though he knew Aziraphale hadn’t meant it like that.
The guilty expression had already started to form as he closed his mouth and realised what he’d said, but now it took over the soft face. “Oh. When you put it like that, then…”
He hesitated, then bit his lip. “Oh, good lord, I am an arse, aren’t I? I didn’t even think of that and I should’ve known – of course I’ll stay with you, dear.”
Crowley frowned. “You’re not an arse.” It was hardly his fault Crowley hadn’t made himself clear or that it hurt to hear him phrase it like he had, done entirely unintentionally.
“I’m afraid I am. I should’ve known better, in both regards, and I do apologise.” He squeezed the hand gripping his. “Will you let me make it up to you?”
Part of Crowley wanted to say, ‘there’s nothing to make up for’, while another wanted to ask how he would, and a third, albeit small part, wanted to make a smart-arse comment.
Instead, for once, his brain and body were clever enough to make him purely give a nod.
The apologetic but grateful smile from Aziraphale started to melt what little hurt was left.
Hello! First of all I absolutely adore your blog! I recently found it through a friend and it’s been so helpful! I was wondering if you could find me some fics with snake Crowley? Like where it’s focuses on his snakey features, like his eyes or hiss, and he’s insecure about it. Thank you so much!!
Hi! We have plentiful #snake crowley, #naga crowley, #crowley's eyes and #insecure crowley tags, so do check those out. Here are some to add to the collections...
Snake by DaisyFairy (G)
Staying with Aziraphale after the failed apocalypse would have been perfect, if it weren't for a little secret that Crowley has been keeping for 6 thousand years.
The Vices Kept Close To Our Vests by thehedonistspurge (G)
Crowley would think that he for one, would have figured out all of his vices by now. Well, apparently he hasn’t. At least not the vices pertaining to Aziraphale.
Or the one where Crowley goes so long without reverting to his snake form that he turns at the most inopportune time.
Winter Chills and Angel Sleeves by SerpentineTraveler (G)
It's winter, its cold. Crowley is not prepared. On the way to the bookshop the chill gets to him and he cannot fight his snakey nature, and the Bookshop is warm and so is Aziraphale.
Pancakes for Little Snakes by pandafarts (T)
After Crowley scolds some rowdy demon underlings, they get the drop on him with a spell designed to weaken Demons. To conserve his now limited energy, he turns himself into a very small snake, who Aziraphale is delighted to take care of as he regains his strength.
Or the fic where Crowley is so small and cute that Aziraphale can't help it, or his urge to make him pancakes without miracling them.
That Time of The Year by rainbow_salt (T)
Crowley has to show Aziraphale his snake side when his tail gets stuck during a particularly rough shed.
the mortifying ordeal of being a snake demon by xwithlovemdx (T)
"Crowley woke up, on a dreary Sunday in November, to the beginnings of scales breaking out on his inner right wrist."
Crowley indulges some long-ignored reptilian urges. Aziraphale frets. Shenanigans ensue.
Hi. Someone reccommended I send it to you. Can you help with this? I would be forever thankfull! "I am looking for a fic in which after going out of a big city and cleaning himself in a river, Crowley realizes that the bad smell in his skin is not the city sewages but himself. He then goes and goes about bathing in perfume across the ages, only to run out of each just before a date with Aziraphale. The angel, of course, does not mind and assures hin that the doesn't smell like sulfur and stuff, just like Crowley." I am pretty sure I read it once in Ao3 but what I can remenber os phrases and tags had not been helpful so far...
Hello. I believe you're looking for...
Through the smoke of you by TheGD (G)
In 17th century Versailles, Crowley becomes self-conscious about his own sulphuric smell. He attempts to mask it with perfume, thinking that Aziraphale probably finds him disgusting. A bottle of perfume runs out, a book is lost and found, palms are kissed and romance ensues.
