CreativelyNamed
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"Oral sex," Crowley answers. "Awful lot of work for one party. Very little pay off. Seems like something my lot would have invented. You'd think humans would have come up with some way to make the whole thing more mutual."
Bookmarked by CreativelyNamed
16 May 2026
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See, it wasn’t so much the eating. It was the noises. It was the indecent look on Aziraphale’s face. It was the way he licked his fingers and wiggled in his seat.
Every little action felt specially created to undo Crowley.
And Aziraphale had no idea.
Bookmarked by CreativelyNamed
16 May 2026
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Cry for Absolution by forthegreatergood
Fandoms: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
24 Jul 2019
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After spending six thousand years in Aziraphale’s company, the only thing Crowley’s sure of is that he can’t touch the angel without hurting him. Too bad he never bothered asking Aziraphale about it.
If Crowley could still feel the soft give of rich cloth under his clenched fists, surely Aziraphale could still feel the scorching heat of a demon’s hands on his skin.
If they made it out of this alive, Crowley decided, if there was anything left of the world afterwards, he’d be damned a second time if he ever put his hands on the angel again.
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Bookmarked by CreativelyNamed
09 May 2026
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Take, for instance, the couple she’s consulting with this afternoon, for their upcoming October ceremony. Seemingly mismatched in every respect. The plump, fair-haired one looks like a parody of an absent-minded professor, as sketched by someone who didn’t bother to do much actual research; his clothes are so outdated it teeters on costume. He’s wearing a bow tie, and not in that reinvented hipster way. This is a bow tie unacquainted with the cycles of fashion, a bow tie that has never heard the word irony.
His partner is a rangy, black-clad ginger in snakeskin boots. He has the look of a hungover rocker about him, and would somehow, even without the sunglasses he has fully committed to wearing indoors on a cloudy afternoon. He’s sprawled almost defiantly in his chair and keeps throwing dubious glances around Dr. Blackwell’s office, as though expecting a lightning bolt to strike him down for merely daring to be within spitting distance of a church.
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Bookmarked by CreativelyNamed
26 Apr 2026
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There's nothing like a bit of interdimensional anonymous sex, when you've been rejected by the angel you're in love with.
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Bookmarked by CreativelyNamed
25 Apr 2026