#v0litioncheck

[existentialflirt]

@v0litioncheck said: ‘ i made coffee. ’ ( aziraphale to crowley )

"Wot?"

Of the many combinations of three little words he liked hearing from Aziraphale 'I made coffee' was not one of them. The last time he'd tried to make coffee at Crowley's flat, it was only a literal miracle that had stopped him from blowing up his sleek, complicated espresso machine.

He rubbed his eyes. Honestly, he was relieved to have the distraction after staring at a computer monitor for the past half hour. Crowley wasn't sure how real teachers did it. He supposed he could just miracle teaching materials out of thin air, but to be honest, he was having a rather good time playing tutor. Anyway, when it came to creative or intellectual endeavors production from miracles could be a bit of a mixed bag.

"Define made." Crowley's tone conveyed suspicion. He didn't smell anything burning so that was a good sign at least.

[wickedlehane]

@v0litioncheck {aziraphale} continued from here [x]

"Yeah," Faith confirmed with a chuckle in her voice. "It was pretty wicked- my girl Willow did some sort of a spell, went all Gandalf the White, and unlocked the stupid 'you have to wait until one dies' rule. We didn't exactly have time to give every potential a heads up, but we're trying to some damage control now. Sort of a Slayer welcome wagon."

After a beat, she added, "Where I'm from, wicked is a good thing. Mostly."

The brunette looked around the book shop, wondering just who this guy was. He didn't seem the typical dyed-in-the-tweed Watcher, but he was sitting on a pile of books they'd probably pitch a tent just looking at. Most of it wasn't super interesting to her, but who knows- with Willow by her side, maybe Faith would learn to love a book or two. Or just the nerds who read them.

"Good. Any book with a chapter on me isn't worth keeping in a place like this," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. Not like she needed a total stranger having access to her prison records, accounts of murder and betrayal, and all that. "I get weird dreams sometimes, psychic stuff. A highlight reel of the ways all the other Slayers have died, as a sort of 'don't let this happen to you' instinct. I've never been deep into the mystic mumbo-jumbo, but Buffy got some visions. And Will- the witchy redhead- also has some experience thanks to all her mojo."

She pursed her lips with amusement before answering his last question. "Can't say no to a bacon cheeseburger, but I'll eat just about anything I can get. That's not a Slayer thing- well, the metabolism is. Not the burger," she explained before extending a hand to shake his. "I'm Faith, by the way. You Mr. Fell, from the sign?"

[existentialflirt]

@v0litioncheck prompted: [ TOUCH ] az to crowley <3

[TOUCH ]:          while touching the receiver’s waist, the sender’s hand briefly dips beneath the hem of their shirt, skimming briefly across the bare skin of their waist.

Aziraphale didn’t bother opening his store on Sundays. Not that the bookshop had ever turned much of a profit. It was a miracle that he kept such prime real estate in Soho. Literally. He had probably been burning miracles by the year just to avoid the nastier bits of being a business owner. The demon didn’t begrudge him. It meant the angel lingered in bed without Crowley doing any extra convincing.

Even after being introduced to the wonders of sleeping (Crowley still didn’t understand how its charm had been lost on his hedonistic angel), Aziraphale was usually up at least five hours before the demon even started to stir. Lately he’d been disturbed by how little reading he’d been getting done since the antichrist had been sent to Earth and all the ensuing chaos. As things had settled down, Aziraphale had taken to bringing books back to his flat. Never anything too terribly valuable. Those stayed at the bookstore, but Crowley was starting to worry he might have to actually install a bookshelf to keep them in some kind of order. He didn’t like the clutter, even if it was Aziraphale’s clutter.

As he drowsed comfortably beside the angel, he became starkly aware of his wandering touch. Only one hand was being occupied keeping his book open, after all, and the other had strayed to Crowley’s waist and slipped under the impossibly soft tee shirt he was wearing. Aziraphale’s touch burned, it always had. The first few times they’d been intimate, he’d been convinced the angel’s touch would brand him indelibly. Crowley had secretly been disappointed when it hadn’t. He sighed as the soft touch left fire in its wake, making him squirm under Aziraphale’s fingertips.

“You readin’ or teasin’?” Crowley grumbled as he shifted to his side. The angel’s caress followed the motion, making him shiver as it ghosted just below his navel. “Cos y’can’t do both, angel.” His voice was still muzzy with sleep, ever so slightly heavier and darker than usual.

[existentialflirt]

He should have been back to Heaven ages ago. If he were to be honest, he had no idea why he’d been assigned to watch over Eden. It wasn’t his usual scene, but then again the angel had always been the odd one out. Since the creation of all the stars, galaxies, and other heavenly bodies, he’d become utterly obsessed and his fascination had only grown during his time on Earth. Since the war, he’d started to realize that he didn’t belong in Heaven, yet not blasphemous enough to be cast out. Instead his kin huffed and rolled their eyes in his general direction. The mad angel who whispered to the stars. 

Crowley — the name he had quietly taken for himself because names held power — stood as he sensed a presence behind him. “Give me a few more minutes, something amazing is about to hap…pen,” he trailed off as he turned and realized he wasn’t being retrieved by an archangel. Instead there was a man…well, man-shaped person taking confident strides across the garden walls to meet him. 

He was a bit shorter than Crowley, but that did nothing to diminish his bearing. There was something about him that drew the eye, quite beyond the fact that he was nice to look at with his softly curling hair, black shot through with a dark shade of grey, much like the colour of his robe. Crowley knew he wasn’t an angel. Something about the way he moved closer, his eyes dark as pitch, intent on him in a way that made Crowley painfully self aware that he was in the company of a Fallen One.

“Oh. Hello,” Crowley greeted warily, wishing he hadn’t mislaid his weapon. Not that he'd use it but it would make him feel a bit safer in the face of a demon that was looking at him like he might devour him. He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear as the wind buffeted his reddish-gold curls.

His trepidation evaporated as a bright streak of light illuminated the sky. Crowley gasped and turned his attention back to the skies. He gripped the demon’s upper arm and pointed to the skies. Crowley could barely breathe as the stars seemed to fall from the skies. 

“Will you look at that?” the angel gasped. “It’s more beautiful than I imagined.”

@v0litioncheck for demon!Aziraphale

[existentialflirt]

London, 1860

A revenant rose out of the ground in a cemetery not far outside of London. He was tall and moved like someone fresh off a miner’s shift. His clothes were just as filthy too. Once upon a time, they would have been stylish, trendy even, but now they were tattered and torn. Tangled red curls framed his narrow face, both just as filthy as his clothing.

Dark clouds gathered in his wake, as though the weather was reflecting his mood. As he neared the metropolis, his countenance became more determined and he began to move more quickly. If anyone noticed him, they would have simply imagined he was trying to escape the rain that had started to pelt the sidewalk. They also might have noticed that his clothes ceased to be in poor disrepair and he began to look, while no less tired, considerably less like a shambling corpse. Not even the downpour touched him. Then again it was a misty, foggy night in London, a city in no way foreign to high strangeness. 

Perhaps he was just an avid reader eager to reach an eccentric shop and its owner.

He stood on the stoop and slapped the front door so hard the glass in the window cutouts shivered. The lights were still on at A.Z. Fell and Co.’s. They usually were as the proprietor appeared to live there and partake in his wares more than he sold them. The man outside hit the door again, this time with a bit less force. His exhausted expression began to edge on desperation. It looked like he wanted to scream but instead his voice came out as a low growl, rusty from years of disuse.

“Angel.”

@v0litioncheck // for Aziraphale

[existentialflirt]

@v0litioncheck prompted: ❛ i’d be home with you. ❜ ( az to crowley; accepting the offer to stay at crowley's place after his bookshop burnt down but the rest happened like in the book—no swap, just a sweet, happy ending )

Crowley found himself a little surprised by the answer. He didn't know why, but things felt different now. In a good way. They were unencumbered on a bus stop bench. Still an angel; still a demon, but no longer on opposite sides. Granted they hadn't been for a very long time, but standing together against God's Grand Plan, in defiance of their bosses, it was just a whole different scene. Not a bad one, either, even if he had no idea what would happen tomorrow.

Well — He was reasonably certain he'd wake up with Aziraphale next to him. Probably reading some obscure book from the seventeenth century, wearing those ridiculous glasses. Crowley was so happy he felt like something disastrous might happen, as though sheer joy was too bright an emotion for him to contain.

So he kissed him, because desire was much more familiar and easier to parse. Crowley rested his hand against the side of his neck, gently tilting Aziraphale's face up. They stayed that way for quite some time, absorbed in each other like they hadn't been in far too long. The apocalypse had been many things, but most of all it had been quite the mood killer, replacing quiet nights spent in each other's company with existential dread.

The head lights of a bus that shouldn't have been coming round at this hour drew them apart. It was also miraculously going exactly where they needed to go. Crowley didn't know who he should be thanking and wasn't exactly the grateful sort anyway.

"I'm famished," Crowley sighed , not too interested in getting up until the bus rolled to a stop in front of them. He realized that he hadn't been this exhausted since...ever, really. "Hopefully that Chinese takeaway a block up from mine is still open, eh?"

[existentialflirt]

Crowley didn’t hate sushi, even if he found it terribly bland. Wasabi helped but not by much. Then it just tasted like horseradish and what was the bloody point of that? What he did like, though, was sake and watching Aziraphale eat. As far he was concerned, introducing the angel to food was among his finest temptations. Centuries later, a bit tipsy, Aziraphale had declared that he was quite cross with him over that first meal. Fortunately for Crowley, the angel seemed incapable of holding a grudge very long. At least, it seemed, when it came to him.

Before leaving, Crowley had ordered a bottle to go and tipped highly after Aziraphale paid the bill. Just as Aziraphale had mentioned as they’d planned their date evening plans, it was indeed a beautiful night. Even the light pollution of such a metropolis as London couldn’t dim the stars, scattered like diamonds across the sky. He idly wondered if it was one of the angel’s small miracles. Aziraphale could be terribly romantic.

The drive home was typically short due to the demon’s reckless tendencies behind the wheel. It was a quiet weeknight, however, and they made it back to his without any near misses or much complaint from Aziraphale. He only ever felt slightly self-conscious about the emptiness of his flat when the angel visited. Not that he ever said anything about it, but Crowley thought he looked so out of place in such a cold and modern space. 

Aziraphale bustled off to his stark kitchen with the bottle of sake. Crowley would have been content to drink it cold, but if the angel wanted to heat it up, he wasn’t the demon to stop him. He was more concerned with the French doors that certainly hadn’t been there this morning. Crowley scowled at them and their delicate, sheer white curtains. Beyond the glass doors was a large wrought iron balcony with a couple chairs and a tiny table between them. A certain angel really had thought of everything. Crowley huffed a soft ‘oh, honestly’ as he opened the curtains, then the doors, and stepped onto the balcony. Admittedly, it was a gorgeous view.

“Guess you'll find me on the balcony,” Crowley called as he half leaned back inside. His tone was only slightly venomous with sarcasm.

@v0litioncheck // for Aziraphale

[existentialflirt]

@v0litioncheck, for Aziraphale (because nothing wakes up the muse better than disappointment

Crowley had been a fixture at the Ritz for months, even more so than before Aziraphale ascended to his new station in Heaven. In fact he was renting a room because money was easy to get, even when he was using minimal miracles in order to keep his paper trail scant in Hell. All he wanted was to be left alone to brood, because what else was there to do now? He’d turned his back on Hell and while he didn’t regret it one bit, it was a lot more lonely without Aziraphale’s companionship. 

And for what? The romantic ideal of setting things right? Whatever that meant.

He knew it was petty, haunting this place, bitter and tired where once it had held happier memories, but a demon had to find his kicks somewhere. There were worse places to call purgatory. It was a week night and the dining room was relatively quiet; he was considering retiring for the evening with a bottle of whiskey and head full of ghosts. Brooding was best done with witnesses, otherwise it was just sulking.

And then it happened. A host lead an achingly familiar figure to sit at a table across the room. Aziraphale. Lord knows how he found the time off after all this time, probably quite literally. He was struck dumb for a moment, unused to seeing the angel anywhere outside his dreams these days. How anyone could possibly mistake him for human was quite beyond Crowley, but the real question was if he should acknowledge the angel at all. Who would blame him if he didn't? For a long moment he considered leaving out the back and doing something reckless. 

But at the end of every day, it was Aziraphale and he’d loved him since before humans started recording time. So he got up and went him after the host left to get a server. 

The bottle of whiskey landed heavily on top of the table, followed by Crowley slouching into the chair across from the angel.

“Knew you wouldn't be able to stay away forever.”