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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

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

(more under the ‘keep reading’ cut)

Conspicuously Happy (Nestvember 2020 Day 2- Proposal)

He’s not sure if this is just what Crowley’s like when he finally feels free, or if there’s something else entirely going on.

The apocalypse came, stalled, then retreated, and now it’s back to usual. Or usual adjacent.

They still have their rendezvous but they’re more... Light. Conspicuous. Happy.

It’s as if there had been a weight (there had been) weighing them down all this time. Something that’s suddenly come untethered from them (cut off from them). Something, that now lost, was not missed (incredibly not missed). Something thats absence seemed to let them float just a bit. Just an inch or so above the ground. Or maybe that was Aziraphale’s celestialness seeping out just a bit.

It was hard to keep it all in, is all. He’d never seen Crowley this relaxed before. He’s more prone to sharp barks of laughter, to mischief, to letting emotions exist instead of shoving them down messily in some cramped metaphorical closet, to not looking away when Aziraphale catches him looking.

And then there’s the food. The little gifts that Crowley presents so unassumingly, so nonchalantly if not for the way he forgets to breathe. If not for the way his eyebrows raise ever so slightly. The way his eyes are trained so fixedly on Aziraphale as he opens it. His head may be angled away, but Aziraphale has had 6000 years to learn all of Crowley’s tells and he knows when he’s looking for something. He’s just not sure what he’s searching for.

At 11 o’ clock on a Tuesday, Crowley had showed up looking so giddy with mischief, happy, and yet as nervous as ever at the same time. Only instead of a dreaded kind of anxiety, it was more of an anticipation kind of nervousness. He wove some words, Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure what words they were, distracted as he was by the sight of Crowley’s growing hair loose with a smattering of braids, and then suddenly he found himself quite caught out in the wilderness with Crowley.

Questions of why they were here were deflected, outright ignored, and often met with a grin as Crowley led them down a winding path to an overreaching cliff-side. It was beautiful, Crowley and the view both, but not an answer as to why Aziraphale had been drug out of his shop on a lovely afternoon to appreciate the scenery. (He did appreciate the scenery, it was different to see Crowley so unguarded. Different, and ever so lovely.)

Crowley rocked on his heels, forwards and back, mouth rambling a mile a minute as he tried to convince Aziraphale to close his eyes and just trust him. It was a familiar back and forth of casual bickering and teasing. But the sight of Crowley’s hands reaching out to tug Aziraphale before suddenly stopping short, faltering, as if Crowley was unsure of his welcome, gave him pause.

He can resist the cajoling, the tempting, but he cannot bear to see Crowley uncertain. Not when it comes to Aziraphale. Never let him be uncertain of his want of Crowley. Not now. Not when they are free to be as they wish, with whom they wish.

So he reaches back. And the smile he gets is so effervescent that he cannot even be truly annoyed it turns into a tug which sends him stumbling off balance and over the edge of the cliff-side. He can feel the precise moment that he looses his balance, the precise moment that falling off the edge of the cliff is the only possible outcome left, and he’d snap himself safe but Crowley is already diving after him with a whooping laugh. Night sky wings spreading and angling, ink streaking by racing him down, down, down, before Aziraphale spreads his own snowy wings.

It’s taunts and teasings, aerial stunts and close calls, absurd rolling, spiraling, corckscrewing acrobatics in the sky. It’s bright laughter, the clouds in his hair, the stars in Crowley’s eyes, and Aziraphale doesn’t think he’s ever been happier.

He’s proven wrong a moment later. A moment later when Crowley, finally it seems finished with showing off, swoops up next to Aziraphale, reaches out and Aziraphale reaches back.

He’s breathless, a bit flushed in the face, his pristine black feathers mussed and ruffled by the wind, by his stunts, and absolutely shimmering in the starlight. Dark and rainbow tinted like an oil slick. Like a splash of a nebula far off. Like Crowley’s true self.

He’s grinning, biting back a half nervous laugh, his glasses gone missing from sometime between noon and night, and he’s breathless, breathless, breathless as he asks “Do I meet your standards?”

And Aziraphale’s heart makes a swooping flight of it’s own straight up into his throat.

The food- the aerial stunts - the - It was a Display! It was a Courtship Ritual! He’s Nesting. He’s Nesting. OH! He’s nesting for him.

Crowley’s crowding closer, their wings brushing feathertips as they beat to keep them aloft. “Make a home with me.” He presses closer yet, eyes bright in the starlight, face earnest and voice hushed and eager, “let’s make a place together, a nest, a home.”

And Aziraphale’s teary eyed and so so happy he feels like light itself. “Oh yes my dear, oh yes, let’s.”

“Together.”

Cozy (Nestvember 2020 day 1)

No one wants to admit it because surely the fallen can’t have retained anything from when they were angels (nevermind the whole same stock, different boss bit) but demons still nested. Oh, it was incredibly rare and almost immediately stomped out (care to shout your weak spots to the world much?) but they did. Crowley did. After the freedom sank in, after the lack of ambushes and threats. Well…

There wasn’t anyone left to use it against him if they found his bedroom in a surprise visit. If they found blankets and heated flooring and candles the scent of rain.

Day 1 drabble fill of @nestvember