#just ineffable

[ameliazcampbell]

hello, i had a mental breakdown again but hERE WE ARE, STILL STANDING AND READY TO TAKE OVER THE WORLD 'CUZ GOMENS RENEWED FOR THE THIRD AND LAST SEASON

[mikaa-mina]

He woke to the smell of eggs frying.

Somehow he found himself in the kitchen. He couldn’t remember the walk but his feet were chilled from the cold tile and Aziraphale was humming a quiet melody beneath his breath when Crowley slithered up behind him.

“Good morning, my dear.”

Aziraphale laughed at whatever grumbled noise escaped Crowley as his hands slid around the softly wrapped warm angel. His nose brushed gently up the back of his neck until he met soft curls and that delicious full body shiver. Satisfied he dropped his chin to hook over Aziraphale’s shoulder instead, mouth parted slightly as he scented the air.

It was filled with his favorite things: Aziraphale, eggs, and the smell of a crisp day right after a good night rainstorm.

“You made eggs,” he finally managed, eyes slitted barely open as he focused not just on the eggs Aziraphale was frying but also the hard boiled eggs sitting finished on the counter.

“How very astute my de- Crowley!”

“Mngfl?”

“Those were for breakfast!”

He swallowed the hardboiled egg in one gulp, grin tilting his lips sideways at Aziraphale’s huffy indigence and tried, “I thought it was breakfast time?”

Aziraphale glared at him as much as he could with the demon wrapped around him much like a constrictor, “you know very well what I meant.”

Crowley hummed noncommittally, pressed a kiss to the side of his angel’s neck and tried not to grin too hard when the sighed “fiend…” came out far more fond than anything else. He failed when he slipped his hands beneath the soft cardigan Aziraphale was wearing and Aziraphale positively yelped at the coldness of his fingers.

“Oh dear lord! They’re like icicles!”

Despite his fussing and flinching against the coldness, once he finished with the last scrambled eggs he shut off the stove-top and moved only to try and rub some warmth into Crowley’s hands.

“How are you so cold??”

“You left me.” He didn’t sound petulant, he didn’t.

“I left you with a warm bed.”

“Coldblooded.”

“A menace more like.”

“I can do both.”

A snort of laughter escaped Aziraphale before he turned around in Crowley’s embrace. Warm blue grey eyes washed over him and a soft smile that melted every sharp edge not already blurred by sleep and love. “Hello love.”

A year in and his face still flushes with warmth, his throat still constricts a bit, and his heart feels like it’s fit to burst it’s swelling so large in his chest. “’Morning ‘Ziraphale,” he manages around the heart lodged in his throat, “love you.”

Aziraphale’s eyes twinkle and he practically begins glowing, love lighting him up and making him effervescent. It’s so much, too much almost, all that happiness and love bubbling up and outwards and reaching for him, a demon, a broken thing, a not broken thing but a mess, a-

Crowley bends forwards and kisses the taste of love and sampled eggs off of Aziraphale’s lips. Aziraphale hums delightedly into their kiss like he does when he gets that perfect bite of chocolate mousse. The way he does right before it slides into that well pleased full body wiggle. Crowley almost can’t take it.

But Aziraphale presses up into him, winds arms around Crowley anchoring him and spreading warmth everywhere he touches. He presses light and happiness into Crowley, sweeps a tongue across his lower lip before biting it lightly, and grins into the kiss when Crowley gasps a little, caught off guard and smitten with it.

He pulls back before Crowley’s satisfied and only laughs when he dives back in for more.

Somehow in his distracted state Crowley doesn’t realize that they’ve moved. He only feels the sofa hit the back of his knees and the surprised noise he makes is stolen from him as Aziraphale takes it as an invitation. He licks into Crowley like molten heat and the fall is soft with Aziraphale’s strong arms controlling their descent as Crowley’s knees go weak.

The feeling of Aziraphale sliding into his lap, pressing him firmly into the couch, strong hands and plush thighs pinning him down pulls a thready sound from his throat. It sounds almost like a whimper and he colors with embarrassment as Aziraphale pulls back to get a good look at him.

“Oh my, how-“

“Shut it-“ he’s pulling at Aziraphale to bring him in close enough to kiss him to distraction but Aziraphale won’t budge. Crowley burns hotter.

“How prettily you flush my dear heart.”

“’M not pretty,” he wriggles beneath his angel, trying desperately to find a way to hide in him or distract him from his current appearance.

“Oh, but you are,” Aziraphale croons, merciless, as he takes a soft hand and curls it beneath Crowley’s chin. He tilts it up, forcing Crowley’s eyes to meet his as Aziraphale looks him over appraisingly. Resisting him does little good, his grip is gentle but firm, and his strength hidden in softness only makes Crowley a bit dizzy in the head. “My pretty little tempter,” and Crowley’s red as his hair, stuttering out fragmented bits of words and what he hopes is protests but his heart is trilling like a hummingbird’s wings and his body feels alight with some kind of thrumming so he can’t quite think right enough for well words.

“Mmm, just how I like you,” Aziraphale teases, that bastard glint in his eyes, “flustered and pretty as a picture.”

Crowley makes a loud objectionable noise to that, starts to object with words and mortifyingly hears his voice crack into a moan in the first syllable when Aziraphale forces his chin up further, exposing the vulnerable stretch of his neck, and rests his mouth against it. His lips are warm and his teeth are only just barely pressing against the delicate skin there, bracketing his trachea.

His breath rattles and catches. A touch hysterically, Crowley thinks it trapped between Aziraphale’s teeth. He feels the press of each tooth, shivers at the warm breath exhaled over his skin, and trembles at the vulnerable position he’s in, hovering on the edge of hot arousal and the comfort of being safe with his best friend.

They’re both frozen there, waiting, and it’s not until Aziraphale makes a prompting noise against his skin that Crowley realizes he’s waiting for permission. Crowley curls the moan shaking out of his lips at the vibrations of Aziraphale’s voice against his throat into a low whimpered “please”.

Crowley can feel Aziraphale’s lips stretching into a grin against his skin and he hovers there, on the edge of anticipation, vibrating with need and vulnerability. There’s a moment of stillness, on Aziraphale’s part as Crowley’s begun a fine delicate trembling in his limbs, where nothing happens. The anticipation is building and building with no where to go in Crowley and he feels like he’s at the edge of a cliff but every inch forward feels like it should have dropped him so surely the next one will. It’s so sure. But every time it doesn’t it only makes him more sure that the next step will-

A hot wash of breath against his neck brings out the goosebumps at the same time that Aziraphale slowly bites down. It’s slow but unstoppable, until he’s got a gentle but firm hold of Crowley, teeth bracketing his trachea, and all at once Crowley feels all the tension woosh out of him. Warmth starbusts inside of him, seeping into every crevice and corner of him, melting his limbs and stealing all the tension from his muscles.

They stay like that for a moment. Relishing in it.

Slowly Aziraphale releases his bite, getting only a low whine of disappointment in response. He keeps close, making comforting noises that make his lips brush against the delicate skin and his breath warm. He trails his lips across the otherwise unmarked expanse of Crowley’s neck, licking and biting gently, blowing air across damp skin to elicit beautiful whines and shivers, and generally just following the noises of pleasure.

He leaves his neck marked. Lovebites and hickies. Marks of love and ownership. He knows he’ll catch Crowley pressing at them wonderingly in the mirror soon.

He pulls back and uses the hand still holding Crowley’s chin to tilt his face down to meet his again. Crowley’s eyes are unfocused, his breathing deep, and he’s wonderfully responsive. Even now he’s tilting into Aziraphale’s hold, body leaning towards him like a sunflower to the sun, and Aziraphale’s sure that if he were close enough, Crowley’d be trying to nuzzle into him.

“Hello dear heart,” he starts softly, trying to focus Crowley’s attention, “how are we, hmm?”

A dopey smile blooms across Crowley’s lips that Aziraphale is sure he’d deny. His lovely demon makes a noise that even at his most charitable couldn’t be considered a word. He can’t help the laughter tinting his words, “try again my lovely.”

“Mngl,” tries his love before those expressive eyebrows of his furrow together, “m’goooood,” he gets out finally and he makes a slight face at Aziraphale’s bright giggle. But he’s too far in to keep it for long before it melts into a besotted smile, words slipping out with his filter out of commission for the hour, “s’like sssssunshine.”

“What is, dear?”

Crowley’s leaned far enough forward to nuzzle up to Aziraphale, sharp nose trailing goosebumps up Aziraphale’s neck as a smile stretches across both their lips. “You are,” Crowley slurs, arms winding around Aziraphale, one hand slipping beneath his cardigan to find warm skin.

Happiness fizzles and bubbles over in Aziraphale, lending to bright slightly wet eyes and an agonizingly gentle smile. He bundles Crowley up in his arms, his snake warm and suggestible, easily malleable like this, and arranges the both of them into the corner of the sofa. He knows what they like, so he presses Crowley into the corner, pins him between the arm, the sofa back, and Aziraphale himself. A heavy weight comfortingly pinning him in place. And like he knew it would, for Crowley knows what they both like best too, Crowley’s arms wind around Aziraphale. Tight and almost constrictor like. Grounding. Holding. Like a steady, sturdy embrace. A comforting safety. A sure thing.

His face pressed against Crowley’s neck, his arms wrapped around his waist, Aziraphale let his voice vibrate against his skin as he asked, “good?”

Crowley made a fuzzy contented noise, burying his nose in Aziraphale’s soft curls as he readjusted and squeezed a hugging grip around him before loosening a tad. “’Ssss perfect love.”

Love.

Aziraphale’s insides felt lit up. Felt warm and safe and content and so so joyous. He thinks maybe this is what She meant with love. This comfort and knowing and joy.

He’s never felt more and less like an angel than in these moments.

He feels like a newly made angel, and a voice that sounds more than a bit like Crowley whispers the thought that this is what heaven is missing. This love.

But that’s for heaven to figure out. Right now, this is for them.

This enjoying eachother’s presence, this warmth ensconced in their embrace. This comfort and love wrapped around them like a blanket. This easy slow enjoyment of eachother that will last past when they remember the eggs and get up from their embrace. That will last through teasing wiggles and cheeky forks offered speared with eggs. In crumbs licked off cheeks and soap suds flicked at eachother. In snakes in the gardens and angels eating apples. In a home not so quiet but filled with joy and love and more than just a bit of mischievousness.

[nova-nox]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 12/? Fandom: Good Omens (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) Characters: Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale (Good Omens), Warlock Dowling, Anathema Device, Madame Tracy (Good Omens), Newton Pulsifer Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, romcom, Humor, Romance, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Fluff, sap, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), tags will be added as story progresses, Meet-Cute, Friends to Lovers, Hacking, video games - Freeform, Demi Crowley, Demisexuality, Anxious Crowley (Good Omens), Comfort, are my chapter titles as long as panic!at the disco song titles? ...sometimes, Minor Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer Summary:

Aziraphale has finally achieved his life long dream career: buying old rare books. Well, he also appraises and repairs them too. He’s recently moved to town (if 5 months is recent) where he’s settling into his newly relaxing life and meeting all sorts of characters (whenever he finally decides to step outside).

Crowley, also a new resident, has opened his own Flower Shop/Plant Nursery hybrid called Garden’s Edge. He’s escaped his past, is hopeful about the future for once, and is benignly amused by the exasperating book repairer who can’t, for the life of him it seems, manage to keep a single plant alive.

But not everything’s as it seems and they’re about to find out that you can’t always outrun your past. Some things have to be faced head on.

(A romcom with a plot that’s not just about the romance, though there’s plenty of that too.)

[mikaa-mina]

They've fought hard for this. Not always competently, sure, but hard. They would have to pry this freedom from his cold, dead claws if they wanted it.

6000 years of being collared. Of his angel flinching at every unexpected movement, back tensed as he waited for Gabriel to pop in and start raining down "heavenly punishment" and "divine judgement". Every meeting fraught with furtive glances around, every chance encounter filled with the sureness that the rug would be pulled out from underneath, the only question being of when and how much would it hurt? How far the fall?

The following five years of trying to learn to trust without expecting pain. To indulge and enjoy without the souring of guilt. Trying to figure out how to bloom when all their years before were spent desperately clinging to survival between the pavement cracks. Trying to grow but not so much that they were noticed and plucked out.

No. Over his decimated, obliterated essence.

Crowley's lips drew back in a snarl, fangs glinting a warning that the beings before didn't heed. The hot, heavy heat of a long simmered anger brought to flame rushed through him, dropped into his fangs, rushed from his mouth in a heat so intense the air wavered. It broiled beneath his skin threatening to spill out. How dare they?!

A cool, collected, hand slipped into his. He didn't startle. He knew that hand, that presence, like the earth knew the water. It's fallen on him, seeped into him, evaporated away, and come back to him in gentle mists, harsh rains, and everything between for years. Decades. Millenia.

He knew him the way he knew his own essence.

He glanced at Aziraphale. Like a plant leaning towards the sun, intention and unintentional all at once.

He hadn't worried and he had. He needn't have. Aziraphale's face... his face was calm. A strange and unsettling blankness washed over cheeks built for smiling and eyes meant to glint with bastard delight.

There was no trace of the forced ill-fitting smile he used to wield as a shield against them. Only a blankness. As if they did not even deserve to see the face of his fury. But his eyes. Oh his eyes.

A hailstorm. A flinty lightning striking hurricane could have been swept away in the maelstrom of his fury. Molten hot and carved stone sure in its path. An amger, a protective fierceness, a betrayed hurt, and love (oh god, the flood of love) all pointed, condensed, sharpened into an anger so precise, so controlled and condensed in its leathleness...

Those angry eyes met his for a moment, fury banking to reveal an even deeper spring of love. Parting to reveal the glint of bastard mischief. The barest tilt of a lip as he held back a dirty smile filled with acceptance, permission granted, and the promise of a very unangelic delight in a well earned revenge finally being wrought. Richeous fury and that unangelic delight that at last this would no longer hang over their head. Never again would they allow that torment. And together, Aziraphale and Crowley, demonstrate just exactly why you don't beat a dog and never expect the claws. They were free now. And they'd do anything to keep it that way.

Together.

Crowley turned his head to face them, slowly, letting a smile slither across his face and split it too far. His fury lashed within him, held at bay by only his desire to time it just right.

He could feel Azirapahle's power layering in him, in aziraphale, in the very air around them, blanketing everything in something that seemed so unassuming at the start, slowly building and layering. Until everything was drenched in it, saturated to their core.

Crowley grinned with a mouth full of fangs and a heart full of love. He had only to think of something witty to say before it all broke loose.

Oh, yes. That would do.

Eyes full serpent, fire in his veins licking from his skin in an eagerness for targets, he barely bit back his laugh as he said "well Mr. Bond, before I kill you, I just have to say.... you suck."

Aziraphale didn't bite back his laugh.

[mikaa-mina]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 14/? Fandom: Good Omens (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) Characters: Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale (Good Omens), Warlock Dowling, Anathema Device, Madame Tracy (Good Omens), Newton Pulsifer Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, romcom, Humor, Romance, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Fluff, sap, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), tags will be added as story progresses, Meet-Cute, Friends to Lovers, Hacking, video games - Freeform, Demi Crowley, Demisexuality, Anxious Crowley (Good Omens), Comfort, are my chapter titles as long as panic!at the disco song titles? ...sometimes, Minor Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Fluff and Humor, Flirting Summary:

Aziraphale has finally achieved his life long dream career: buying old rare books. Well, he also appraises and repairs them too. He’s recently moved to town (if 5 months is recent) where he’s settling into his newly relaxing life and meeting all sorts of characters (whenever he finally decides to step outside).

Crowley, also a new resident, has opened his own Flower Shop/Plant Nursery hybrid called Garden’s Edge. He’s escaped his past, is hopeful about the future for once, and is benignly amused by the exasperating book repairer who can’t, for the life of him it seems, manage to keep a single plant alive.

But not everything’s as it seems and they’re about to find out that you can’t always outrun your past. Some things have to be faced head on.

(A romcom with a plot that’s not just about the romance, though there’s plenty of that too.)

-

Now updated with -drum roll- THE HALLOWEEN CHAPTER!!!

A very lovely 4.5k chapter filled with Halloween party shenanigans!

Updating every Friday now! :DD

[mikaa-mina]

Gomens Leverage Au

Listen

L i s t e n

I’m just shooting the breeze here but what if

Gomens Leverage AU?

Too cliche? Too bad!!

I’m just sitting here thinking about Anthony J Crowley’s James Bond loving ass and just

listen it’s perfect

he can be suave like he craves to be, he can be cunning, he can sweet talk and pocket pick all the things

it’s great, he’s great

until

until he’s just “Crowley”

I imagine he goes by “the Serpent” or some other reasonably “cool” name that’s flash (but maybe a bit silly b/c c’mon it’s Crowley) and while he’s in that persona, he’s every inch the silver tonged serpent with nimble fingers and quick thinking.

Crowley though? Crowley’s a bit of a mess.

So here’s what I want:

Crowley is amazingly suave and alluring and persuasive.... when he’s using one of his personas. The Serpent is the master. AJ Crowley? He’s okay at best, a mess at his worst, and when confronted with a crush that sledgehammered him in the face out of no-where? A stuttering, bumbling, blushing wreck. He can’t seem to keep his feet beneath him, or his heart in his chest where it belongs thank you very much. He never does work at home, so of course charming snippy Aziraphale has no idea that this tongue tied mess is the silver tongued Serpent.

I want them to meet twice, once as The Serpent and Mr. Fell, and once as flustered mess Crowley and prissy bit of a bastard Aziraphale.

‘Cause, oh yeah, did I mention? Aziraphale’s a con man too.

;P

Okay, okay, so here’s it laid out:

The Serpent works with Lord Beelzebub, Hastur, Ligur, and occasionally they get called to do jobs from Lucifer who has blackmail on all of them and thus renders them unable to say no even if they want to. Mainly targets rich folks- all about that big paycheck. Crowley refuses to do anything that screws over kids- the others call him a softy for it but any mission they attempt where kids could be at risk falls into a series of pitfalls and bad luck and ends up unsuccessful or at the very least, not worth the trouble and damages. Crowley and Beelzebub come up with the jobs and the plans.

Crowley’s a nimble thief and quick with his silver tongue, we’ll call him the Grifter and the Thief

Beelzebulb is the Mastermind (to Crowley’s chagrin- Crowley has a tendency to overthink things to the point of loosing the point- he’s got backup plans of backup plans.) they’re the best at utilizing everyone’s strengths. And also a rather good thief, they’re good at just melting away into the shadows unnoticed.

Ligur and Hastur are the Hitters.

Right, so that’s Team Hell, now here’s Aziraphale:

Aziraphale has a lot of family members that are con artists. Only, they don’t see themselves that way. They think of themselves as vigilantes doing the work the government/police refuse to do so on “behalf” of the people. A long ways back in the family line this actually used to be true, however they’ve more than just lost their way, there’s some truly wicked acts being sanctioned behind doors.

They have a lot of the police members bought off which is largely how they get away with so much.

Enter Aziraphale who emphatically would just rather not be bothered with any of this and persistently is.

He’s trying to find a way to get out.

Aziraphale himself is a very talented Grifter. He’s amazingly good at it. And he hates himself for it. He hates every con he’s pulled into, every alibi he’s forced to provide for a family member, hates every hurt his actions cause.

He has another talent. Hidden from his family.

Aziraphale is an insanely gifted Master Forger. (Think like Neal Caffrey from White Collar- I know, I know, I’m mixing more fandoms, but you get the point. He’s that good.)

He’s got all his ancient books, his relics, his old play scripts and bibles. He studies and repairs them, hoards them, studies them. He can also replicate them expertly.

His family often asks him to appraise works they steal to be sure of their authenticity, but for some reason none of them think to question if Aziraphale could be possible of replicating them.

He can.

Our story starts when, Mr. Fell, desperate to get out of the con life, sets up a job he needs The Serpent for. He feels bad for all the deceit, but if the cost for his freedom is hurting only one more person, well...

He’ll be playing his family against The Serpent against his forgery skills against the clock.

The only thing he hadn’t planned on was being charmingly besotted by a mess of a red head with the brightest eyes. He’s leaving his life behind, including his life as Aziraphale, he can’t be falling for Crowley. It’s really all rather terrible timing.

[mikaa-mina]

Nesting - gomens

Heeeeeeey y’all

I love the Nestvember thing @nestvember is doing with the prompts, but this month turned hectic and I can’t get my brain to formulate a full fic so HERE:

Crowley’s pov:

Accidentally starts nesting at first

well

subconsciously starts nesting

(around Shakespeare?)

figures it out and freaks out

It’s AnxietyTM time y’all

Knows hell can’t find out or they’ll use Aziraphale against him

worried for them both

can’t make himself stop

keeps trying

angst

Goes to Aziraphale for the Holy Water

rejection burns hotter than Holy Water

jumbled up and angry and hurt and

obviously

not friends

instincts screaming out

agony

in a fit of anger and desperation

goes back to the flat

and wrecks everything he got

for nesting once he realized he was nesting

that breaks something further in him

and he just

s l i d e s

into depression and then apathy with a side of pain

sleeps

he wakes up to alarm bells

he wakes up to Aziraphale’s in trouble

so he saves him

he can’t not

Refuses to nest consciously

because if Hell ever finds out he’s nesting

they’ll use it against him

and punish him for it

(its a weakness there

they exploit the few

luckyunlucky ones that do nest

nests are torn apart

demons tortured)

and it wont be too hard

to figure out who he’s nesting for

and Crowley can’t even bear to think about what would happen then

After the Apocowasn’t

he finds himself trying to steel himself for the absolute agony

of ripping away a thing he caught himself nesting

and then he has a moment

of absolute bewilderment

as he realizes

he doesn’t have to now

no one is snooping on him

(he has wards now- so many

he’d know

he couldn’t before- be suspicious

but now layers

upon layers

his instinct demands it be a safe place

so it is

now)

so decides

quietly

with a cautious hope

careful careful careful

he can nest

he’ll just keep it confined to one room

the bedroom, he decides

Aziraphale doesn’t often come by

once, he’s been there once

and he doesn’t sleep

so there’d be no reason for him to see that room

he’d be too polite to snoop

and he wouldn’t go in when Crowley was there

and he was never there if Crowley wasn’t

so

the bedroom

it’ll be hidden away

safe

his

and it wont be too fast

because Aziraphale won’t even know about it

it’ll be fine

it’ll be fine

(more under the  ‘keep reading’ cut)

He’s happier

the next week

as freedom and acceptance settles into his bones

Aziraphale notices but doesn’t say anything

figures it’s him letting go of his anxiety about above and below

and enjoying freedom

Crowley lets himself have a tentative hope

a small one

best not to get ahead of himself

and hurt himself in the process

because as he nests

the rest of him rejoices

and a part of him trills

and its time for the rest

And he’s more fallen angel/demon than anything else

but he’s as much

serpent as he is raven

and so while he has scales

can shift into beautiful mass of coils

he also feels the absurd

absolutely off your rocker absurd

need to try and please his intended

to court him

god-satan-someone help him

he is going to die

of mortification

but he does

did you know?

Raven’s attract a mate

through many different ways

as varied among the ravens as there are ravens

but the things they all have in common

“Courtship rituals are just as diverse as the individual bird. The gestures the male uses to impress the object of his desire tells his potential mate “these are my best features.” These include acrobatic feats of flight, bringing gifts of food, and dance performances. Competing males have been observed taking turns diving off cliffs, tumbling to the ground in an airborne game of chicken, swooping up as close to the ground as possible while a female intently watches. Once she is keen on a male, the elaborate courtship continues so they get to know each other better before mating. Partners are observed going on what can only be described as joy flights, tumbling and soaring, even locking toes and somersaulting in mid-air. They balance wild dates with down time, caressing beaks, preening one another, and cooing soothing comfort sounds to the other.”

“Between foraging, mischief-making, and play, raven pairs continue to make time for romance outside of mating season. Partners regularly give each other special treats and go on romantic flights, gliding wing tip to wing tip to cement their relationship”

[mikaa-mina]

At Garden’s Edge- Chapter 1: Repeat Offender

“Oh dear.”

Fretfully Aziraphale stared down at the... well. It was a plant, certainly, but he hadn’t the faintest clue what kind of plant it was due to the circumstances in which he had acquired it. (The circumstances Aziraphale had acquired this plant were as follows: Shortly after killing the second plant, he returned to the plant shop thinking it was merely unwell and was promptly thoroughly embarrassed when informed, no, it most certainly was dead. In a bit of a, not-panic, as it were, he got another plant. Not for anything as silly as wanting to prove to the owner that he could in fact keep a plant alive. That would just be silly. All the same, with the embarrassment ringing in his ears, he didn’t quite hear what kind of plant he had scooped up to buy and, theoretically, keep alive.)

All the same, it was green, it grew, and was in a pot. Or. Rather. It had been green and it had been growing, only now it was rather a bit.... brown, and somewhat on the crumbly side. He didn’t think it had been crumbly when he bought it. And that had only been, what, a week ago?

Oh. Plants needed to be watered, didn’t they? Or at least, plants that weren’t catuses did. Catstuses? Cacti? Oh, well, regardless, this was rather leafy, er, had been rather leafy and not covered in spines so, a plant but not a cactus. Thus, it needed watering. Probably.

When was the last time he’d watered it?

....Had he watered it?

Ever?

“Oh dear...” No wonder it was brown. And before it had been just the loveliest shade of green too. Well, at least he knew what the problem was now.

A quick search of his book-laden shop produced no results but in the back room he found one of his many misplaced mugs and filled it with water from the tiny old sink back there.

Making his way back through the maze of books he nearly passed by the spot of crumbling brown. It blended in fairly well with all of his old leather-bound books, quite the opposite of it’s supposed purpose. Or, well, rather the excuse he’d given when buying the poor thing.

‘Just needed a pop of color in the shop’, he’d scrambled to say, ‘it’d liven the place up’, he’d continued on with the lie turned not-quite-a-lie.

He stared down at the plant with a frown. Right. What was it that Crowley fellow did to make his plants so perfect and verdant? A bit unconventional, Aziraphale thought, but then, it did seem to have surprisingly good results. Or maybe it didn’t. Aziraphale wouldn’t know, didn’t know, he knew next to nothing about plants.

He watched the plant, gave it a moment to let the water sink in as was only polite, then adopted his best stern glare. Hands on his hips, lips pursed in displeasure, he looked down at the plant from above.

“Alright.” He said sternly, searching his mind for the right words and a harsh tone, “you’d best... you’d best buck up, you hear? I’m most displeased with all this brown.”

His glare wobbled.

A brown stick- stem?- thing on it crumbled off to join the other dead bits in the pot looking so terribly dejected and unhappy.

The worried frown broke through Aziraphale’s glare and he stepped up closer to the pot feeling absolutely horrid about its poor state. “Oh, oh I’m sorry my dear. I’m sure you’re doing your best.” He hovered over the plant, unsure and twisting his pinky ring around his finger, “why don’t I give you a day, hmm? Let the water soak in and I’m sure you’ll be fit as a fiddle tomorrow! Or, er, fit as a.... as a plant I suppose. A healthy plant!”

He stared at it but alas the plant did nothing.

“Right.” He took a step away but his eyes kept darting back to the plant. He really did not want to show up at Crowley’s flower shop again with a dead plant. Another dead plant. The third dead plant.

He twisted the ring around his pinky finger.

Right.

Okay.

He drew himself up, all five feet and ten inches of himself, and instructed the plant firmly, “I expect you to grow better by tomorrow or I’ll be very displeased.”

A stern nod and then he left it. To hopefully consider his words and, er, buck up, as it were.

Tomorrow came and found Aziraphale properly embarrassed and recounting the whole sordid tale to Crowley, a man who was finding far too much delight in his troubles.

“And I did what you said to try but- well...” he gestured to the brown and crumbling plant as it if was explanation enough.

It was.

“I can’t get it to grow no matter what I do.”

Finally he looked back up at Crowley, the most unusual flower shop owner he had ever met, and found him biting his lip to keep from laughing. At him.

Aziraphale scowled.

“Are you quite through?”

Crowley’s grin only widened, the edges twitching with badly concealed mirth as he fought to keep his laughter back. “Sorry, sorry,” he managed at last, laughter tracing the edges of his entirely unapologetic words like fizz crackling in pop, “it’s just- well- it- it can’t feel shame if it’s dead Aziraphale.”

“Oh.” Meaning shaming it into growing better would do nothing.

A laugh slipped through Crowley’s pursed lips and Aziraphale groaned, “really Crowley? Must you? Whatever is so funny about me killing another plant?”

The man shrugged, unable to keep his amusement off his face. Aziraphale was sure if he could see the man’s eyes that they’d be shining with laughter. “I’ve never seen someone- er, uh, hm,” he seemed to suddenly break off to chew his words in a rather sudden change of mind, “Well, hey, at least this one lasted longer.”

Aziraphale wished he wouldn’t wear those large dark sunglasses all the time, it was rather hard to decipher his expressions with just the rest of his face. Eyes were always so expressive, even with just the way they could crinkle at the edges, darken, or flicker away. They were extremely helpful in reading people in general, giving insight into sudden changes like the one that happened just now.

Crowley’s head dipped down as he looked at the plant before he glanced away only to do a double take. His eyebrows rose slowly as he leaned in towards the plant, hands drifting to settle on either side of the pot.

“How often did you say you watered it again?”

Bugger.

“I didn’t. Say, that is.”

Crowley’s head tilted up to look at him. Aziraphale twisted his ring.

“Aziraphale...” Oh he did not like the way he drew out his name. He drew it out slowly, with a budding hint of fiendish delight, like he’d caught Aziraphale with his hand in the cookie jar which was absurd because they were both adults and furthermore it should not have sent a little shiver through him- “did you even water this plant at all?”

“Of course I did!”

Crowley’s eyebrows rose high above the sunglasses in disbelief as he glanced between Aziraphale and the dead plant. A smirk slithered its way across his lips, his snake bite piercings glinting in the shop lights like a warning, like the flash of fangs before the bite, like-

“Before it was dead?” he challenged knowingly.

Aziraphale pursed his lips and looked elsewhere, refusing to give Crowley the satisfaction of a surrender.

Crowley laughed anyways, a sharp bright thing that startled his heart into skipping a beat. His cheeks flushed in mortification. Three dead plants, really? Three.

“If you’re quite through,” Aziraphale chanced a quick glance at the rather unprofessional shop owner dressed in a black leather jacket and piercings who was apparently still struggling not to laugh further at his customer. In the customer's face! Honestly! It was a wonder he got any business at all with customer service like this; it was probably a good thing he was so endearing or Aziraphale wouldn’t have come back. What with his laugh, sense of humor and-

“How about I suggest a plant for you this time?”

Considering the last three plants were chosen rather spotty criteria, that was probably... for the best. Especially since said criteria had been, at the moment of choosing, the following: 1. Whatever plant was closest to him that was also 2. appealing looking and 3. colorful, as to comply with his first lie as to why he was there.

(Said lie was told in a moment of panic when he had dropped by the flower shop without fully realizing that’s where his feet had taken him to. This wouldn’t have been cause for alarm if not for the fact of their first meeting and also that once asked if there was anything Crowley could help him with he came upon the realization that he had been thinking of him since their first meeting and couldn’t for the life of him think of what to say. He’d meant to say something companionable, like picking up on their conversation about plays, but ended up empty headed and dumbly pointing at the first colorful plant he saw and excusing it as “needing a pop of color in the shop” to “liven it up”. After all, it was a flower shop, so surely it was normal for people to pop by looking for plants? That wouldn’t be odd. Right? Right.)

“Oh alright,” he said, giving in as if he were doing Crowley the favor of letting him choose instead of the other way around.

As a reward he was granted a glimpse at one of those flash-paper grins Crowley seemed to have when he felt particularly victorious. Which was a bit ridiculous given that choosing a plant for Aziraphale had been what spurred it but it was bright and nearly so infectious that Aziraphale was fighting back a grin.

Crowley turned on the spot, spinning slowly and casting appraising eyes across the shop like a general looking for his best soldier. Or at least, the one that could best stand up for the current mission.

Oh dear. The mission was surviving Aziraphale’s care wasn’t it?

“Ah, ones with no pollen if you could, my dear.” The stuff got absolutely everywhere and he-

“Right, don’t want to damage your books, yeah. I remember. Said you ran a book evaluation shop right?” Crowley was still scanning the room looking for the perfect plant so he missed the way Aziraphale lit up at his casual remembrance of his pride and joy.

He knew he rather tended to, ah, “go on and on” about it as it were and that most people found it dreadfully boring. As a result he tended to try and avoid talking about it, so he knows he only brought it up once, maybe twice, in the four times he’s met with Crowley. He hadn’t wanted to bore the first interesting conversational partner he’d had in a while and also having that bored, glazed over, checked out look aimed at his pride and joy stung more than just a bit.

So. That Crowley had bothered to remember and then even bring it up in conversation was... strangely touching.

Crowley glanced at him and at once Aziraphale realized he’s been lost in his head a few moments too long.

“Correct my dear,” he cut himself off out of habit from adding ‘and restoration’ and cleared his throat to rid it of the surprise in his voice only to undo all of that with his next unexpected words, “I’m surprised you remembered honestly.”

Crowley actually tuned all the way around to face him for that, both eyebrows raised dramatically over his sunglasses as to not be missed.

“What? Why not? ‘Course I remember, don’t have that bad of a memory.”

“Well, it’s just,” he fidgeted with his ring, “I’m surprised to care about my owning a bunch of dusty books.”

Crowley made a few interesting, if confusing, noises in the back of his throat before stumbling his way into actual words, “wha- gah- don’t, don’t say that about them Aziraphale, it’s obvious you love them-”

“Love?!” he spluttered flushing in mortification, “I would hardly-”

Crowley stilled from his anxious fluttering about and gave Aziraphale a crooked tilt of a smile. He was surprised to find it a bit... tender.

“Aziraphale. You near light up the room when you talk about your books and your shop.”

“I-”

Firmly, but gently, “you do.” A cough and Crowley turned away but not before Aziraphale caught the pink high on his cheeks. “Anyways, it’s fine. I like seeing you light up- I mean! Uh, smile- ack- i- guh-” his shoulders hunched up a bit, “whatever. Just- talk about it all you want. I get it.”

And standing there, in the middle of a veritable greenhouse sanctuary of plants, of flowers, of things oft thought of as trivial, or pretty but not worth much, of the things Crowley so clearly loved and prided himself on, Aziraphale realized he did get it. And more than just that, more than just sympathizing/empathizing with him, he wanted Aziraphale to talk about his shop, his work, the things he took pride and joy in.

A little stunned, a little touched, awed, the soft “oh” slipped out all on its own.

Crowley grumbled a bit, but with his back to Aziraphale he could see very clearly how the tips of his ears were pinking. “Right. So. Uh. Talk about your books all you want.”

Aziraphale smiled.

“All right.”

Crowley stilled, then chanced turning halfway towards him with a glance before pretending to inspect a nearby plant. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

A blink and you’ll miss it flash of a smile before, “right. Plants then.” And without another word on the subject he stalked off towards his chosen victim across the shop, looking all the word for a predator on a mission. The image was only broken by his constant, lovely, rambling of what kind of plant it was, how to care for it, and how this one should be up to snuff and wouldn’t dare disappoint either of them. Aziraphale politely pretended not to hear his soft hissed threat to the plant of “would it?” but he couldn’t quite hide his smile quick enough before Crowley turned around. They both faltered for a moment, something hovering in the shop, new and fragile; It seemed tight, strung like a tightrope. Tense but not hard.

Crowley spluttered into the ending of his plant ramble before pushing the potted plant into Aziraphale’s hands almost a touch rushed. “Right. Snake plant, remember. Sturdy, beautiful, shouldn’t give you any trouble.” There was a stink eye aimed at the plant of all things, “No direct sunlight, shouldn’t have to water it all that often.” Here the stink eye at the plant morphed into a glint aimed at Aziraphale, Crowley’s mouth doing a crooked slant of a teasing grin as he finished with, “About once every two to three weeks instead of days. That sound doable?”

A nervous return smile and Aziraphale managed a, “yes. Quite.” as he fought to keep the bubble of embarrassment in his chest from popping.

The grin wobbled a touch into smile territory before Crowley coughed and looked elsewhere for a moment. “Right. So. Any questions and you can call me. Er. The shop. Me at the shop.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Sounds jolly good.”

“Jolly good?”

“Oh, don’t make fun.”

“Never,” the grin seemed to slip onto Crowley’s face of it’s own accord, “you just have the oddest way of talking.”

“Crowley.”

“Oh I didn’t mean that as a bad thing, honest!” He held up his hands placatingly, eyes dancing with delight, “It’s very you.”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure whether he was meant to take that as a compliment or insult. He decided it didn’t matter how it was meant and that he’d take it as a compliment regardless. “Well. Thank you I suppose.”

Crowley didn’t laugh, though it seemed to be a near thing as he fought back a grin rather dismally. “Sure thing, Aziraphale.”

-

  Nine Days Later

Crowley stared down at the terribly drooping and definitely dead snake plant with total horrified amazement.

“I-wha.... how?!”

Sheepishly Aziraphale began making his excuses but Crowley wasn’t even listening to him, instead he was muttering under his breath to himself about counting days and how ‘these things practically thrived with neglect! So how?!’

Aziraphale let his excuses trail off, clearly he wasn’t being listened to anyways, and the hot flush of embarrassment climbing up his cheeks was taking all his willpower to keep down anyhow. It had been nine days. A record but still.

“But-i-you-” Crowley’s stuttering stopped suddenly as he peered even closer at the plant, his face nearly in the plant, eyebrows scrunched down while his critical eyes surely picked out the details of the plant’s death. Then his eyebrows shot up in surprise before a low groan escaped the man, a hand reaching up into his hair to run through it but instead stopping to grip it tightly in frustration as he looked at Aziraphale, flabbergasted.

“First you can’t remember to water the plant, ever!- and then- and then I give you a plant you’re not supposed to water for 2 weeks and you-you waterboard it to death!”

“It looked parched!”

“It- it- parched?!” repeated Crowley, incredulous.

“Yes!”

“I-it-gah!” he seemed to be having problems with speaking, stuttering and stumbling over half formed words before finally landing on a slightly helpless, “I don’t even know what to say.”

“Then perhaps,” Aziraphale started primly, “if you can’t think of anything nice to say then you shouldn’t say anything at all.” A pause where Crowley’s mouth fell open in astonishment, filling Aziraphale with a sort of delighted glee, and then he added, “and then perhaps when you’re done with that you can sell me another plant. A... sturdier plant.”

Crowley tilted his head back and laughed, bright and sharp.

“Sturdier he says. Yeah, yeah alright, I can do that.”

He was still grinning when he led the way back through the isles of plants.

-

You can also read this on Archive of Our Own! :DD