anna_sun

ALTERNATE UNIVERSES

Honest Mistake (E, 4.1k, Human AU)

Flirting with a gorgeous blond at the hotel bar quickly turns into the good fuck Crowley’s been yearning to have for a long, long while. He thinks they’re both on the same page. In some ways, they are. In other ways, they really aren’t.

Make My Fair Husband Mine (M, 5k, Mythology AU, Pygmalion Myth Adaptation)

The prayer is laced with shame but Crowley makes it regardless. Who is he, truly, to judge the desires of his own heart? He is not harming anyone. Continuing to live in this pitiful state is only harming himself. Please, please God, he repeats in a loop, utterly convinced that he needs this, needs Aziraphale to be real, like he needs water or air.

Welcome to The Elysian (E, 49k, Complete. Human AU, enemies-to-lovers)

Aziraphale is the night-shift receptionist at the once luxurious, now nearly abandoned Elysian Hotel. Crowley is the most arrogant, rude, and unprofessional security guard Aziraphale has ever met. Work is boring and endless—irritating and loathsome—until one frightful night, when Crowley calls Aziraphale to the basement: Walking his rounds, he has stumbled upon something bizarre. Something Aziraphale must see for himself.

Of Buccaneers and Barkeepers (E, 20.1k, Human/Pirate AU)

Crowley is the terrible, terrible Captain of a pirate ship. Aziraphale is the sweet, sweet barkeeper at the local pub.

Of Sails and Flower Beds (E, 13.5k, Human/Pirate AU pt.2)

Crowley is retiring from his terrible, terrible life as the Captain of a pirate ship. Sweet, sweet Aziraphale leaves his pub in good hands, and follows him.

No Food in the Library (E, 16.5k, Human AU, Library AU)

“Excuse me, sir—You can’t have that in here.” The man who works the front desk at the Buckinghamshire Public Library looks like sin waiting to happen.

Stagger My Heart (E, 21k, Mythology AU)

Curiosity tingled under Crowley’s skin, and still he did not move, not even when the strange man untucked a corner of his tunic and allowed the whole garment to float down to the ground. There were stories told among Crowley’s people, of forest nymphs and goddesses, dryads and satyrs, guardians of the wilderness, for as long as Crowley could remember. The stories were often vague and inconsistent, not necessarily inspiring any truth to be found in them, but what Crowley saw before him then confirmed at least one thing: if they did exist, they must be as beautiful as this.

The POA Doesn't Own My C*ck (E, 2k, Human AU, Prison AU)

“Your hand on my c*ck? It’s more than alright.” Aziraphale chuckles, tries to smother it against the tender skin behind Crowley’s ear. “I don’t believe the POA would agree,” he whispers, sarcasm tinting his tone. The POA stands for Prison Officers’ Association. Crowley knows because Aziraphale keeps bringing it up. "Well. The POA doesn’t own my c*ck."

Bright Red Around Bright Blue (E, 5k, Human AU, Roommates AU, Ineffable Stoners).

“Would you perhaps like to fuck now?” “Perhaps.” There’s something wild about the way Crowley echoes the word, something wild and happy. He hasn’t gotten used to Aziraphale saying such things (not the perhaps bit, no, that’s nothing new, but the fucking bit). “Why, yes. I would. But perhaps after…” He sacrifices a hand, previously blissfully occupied tracing vague patterns across Aziraphale’s skin, to bring his lighter close to his nose and burn the tip of his spliff.

CANON - G + T RATINGS.

Known (G, 666 words)

This is an evening like many others. Silence shared in comfort. Comfort shared in silence. It is nice, and it is known. Until Crowley feels a soft touch on the little finger of his right hand. A fingertip brushing over the first knuckle of his pinkie. That? That is decidedly new.

How to Describe a Flame? (G, 583 words, Prose Poem)

You should not waste time talking about its shape, or its height. You need to explain how the flame mesmerizes. You need to write about how hypnotizing it is to watch the wild sway of his hips as he walks, about how he shines in the complete absence of light. You might talk about a tall, slender frame, or about long, lean fingers—you might focus on those shapes, but only because he is as elegant as the flame. 

God Blessed the Seventh Day (T, 3.6k, Human AU, meet-cute)

Aziraphale eats at the same diner every Sunday morning—he orders the same breakfast, he sits on the same stool, and, well—it just so happens that the same tall, attractive, mysterious stranger always takes a seat right there next to him. But they don’t talk. Aziraphale doesn’t talk to strangers. That is, until he does.

When Home is Not A Place (G, 1.6k, Fluff)

They’re in the bookshop laughing about orangutans, of all things, giggling over glasses of wine, and Aziraphale is rattling his brain trying to understand why he feels a warmth under his skin beyond what he knows the alcohol can give him. Crowley’s face is stuck in this wide, open-mouthed smile, perky wrinkled cheeks and two straight rows of white teeth, and Aziraphale thinks he just might rebel against all of Heaven, if only he can always feel like this.

The Art of Being Nonchalant—Or, How to Impress Your Supreme Archangel Ex-Boyfriend (G, 3.6k, fix-it)

Aziraphale chose Heaven. Crowley didn't choose Hell, but Hell chose to stick to him, much like a nasty old gum on the sole of his shoe. It's therefore perfectly natural that Crowley should get dragged to a meeting between the Holy leaders of Heaven and the terrible, rotten forces of Hell. What's less natural is trying to act casual when the love of your life—who has betrayed you, and broken your heart, before going no-contact with you for months—is standing a mere couple of feet away from you. And looking absolutely angelic, too, the bastard.

CANON - E RATINGS

Spying, Per Proper Angelic Conduct (E, 5.5k)

As surprising as it might be, there are few words written about the proper conduct expected of an angel when it comes to interacting with demons. The preposterous idea of spying on them is blatantly ignored. Aziraphale supposes the reason might be that Heaven found it sufficient to write something along the lines of: Demons are gross. Why would we want to look at them? Heaven is very often so very wrong.

Experiments in Kissing (E, 3.5k)

“I must have heard you wrong just now,” Crowley drawls, very carefully. “Say that again?” “Would you like to try kissing?” Aziraphale repeats, in the same shockingly casual tone, looking unbothered and unworried. “With me, of course. If somehow that wasn’t clear.” Crowley laughs. It’s short and panicked, but it’s nevertheless an outburst of laughter. “What makes you think I haven’t done it before?”

Hipbones (E, 1.6k, PWP)

He can feel Aziraphale’s thumbs rubbing circles over his hipbones. Tiny, tiny circles by the brush of rough fingertips against his soft skin. He always has dry hands, that angel. He handles too many books, flips through too many papers, and probably snaps too many frivolous miracles out of thin air. Still. They feel good on his hips—Aziraphale’s hands. The feeling makes Crowley straighten his back a little, rolling into the touch, and squeeze his eyes shut.

A Wretched Thing, a Wicked Thing (E, 4,1k, Ineffable Wives)

“No. Don’t. Not yet, angel.” Aziraphale sounds like a wretched thing. She looks the part, too, all spread out on the bed, bare naked. Her hand stills on the peak of her pubic bone, fat bump of flesh covered in fair curly hairs, her fingertips trembling where they were just about to reach the crest of her lips.  “Do I need to tie your hand up to that headboard?” No, she doesn’t. Aziraphale is good. She’s got two fingers nestled deep inside herself, but they haven’t moved, haven’t even twitched, ever since Crowley told her to stop moving. 

All Dolled Up (E, 4.4k, Ineffable Wives)

It starts with a proposition to try some lingerie in the bedroom. It ends with Crowley dragging his pretty c*nt up and down Aziraphale's tongue.

Your Lot, My Lot (E, 5k)

Aziraphale often has to play with the negatives like this—string them together and cancel them out in order to say what he means to say, speak his heart between the lines and keep plausible deniability within reach. It’s tenuous work after a while, a whole new language to make sense of, but he manages. No, I’m not too inconvenienced means I would do anything for you. We’re on opposite sides means I can’t believe I get to share these precious moments with you. And you’re not awful company means I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, or with anyone.  But he’s not too sure it translates to Crowley. 

Make It Twelve (E, 9.8k)

“How long do you think you could last without having an orgasm?” Crowley, who had been peacefully enjoying his coffee, splayed out on Aziraphale’s couch for the first few hours of the morning, suddenly sat up straight and spat the contents out of his mouth in a dramatic burst. “What?!”

A Soprano! How Scandalous! (E, 5.1k, Ineffable Wives)

“Crowley, you must enlighten me. It’s quite the talk—apparently, the premiere in Rome was disastrous,” Aziraphale pauses as she finds her place next to Crowley. They have a private box in the corner of the highest floor of the King’s Theatre, one that Aziraphale generously pays to keep available throughout the whole season. “Your side’s doing, I presume?”  Crowley should be hurrying to deny such accusations, but instead she finds herself struck by a thought – truly a flimsy gust of a thought, but a thought nonetheless: Aziraphale’s corset is doing wonders for her bust.

All Skin and Muscle and Red Lace (E, 6.8k)

Crowley had just walked a runway stage wearing lingerie—high-end, fancy, delicate lingerie—and Aziraphale’s brain had been reduced to a puddle of goo.

An Angel, a Vibrator, and a Demon of the Serpent Kind (E, 3.9k)

Here’s a fun fact about snakes: they can hear vibrations more than anything else.

Vice Versa (E, 5.9k)

Crowley snapped his tongue on the roof of his mouth, and he laughed again. He had to admit, Aziraphale could always find creative solutions to his problems. The joke was on him, though; Crowley couldn’t have given any less fucks about stripping down to his underwear.

From the Mouth of an Angel (E, 1.5k, PWP)

His lips part open in a gasp from the sheer bliss of it, and a rough, long moan is torn from deep inside his guts; Aziraphale pushes his hips up once, and just like that Crowley’s gone.

A Time and a Place (E, 6.2k)

The facts. Crowley is a demon, and he loves Aziraphale, and he gets horny sometimes.

Just a Tingle, Maybe a Little Burst (E, 3.4k, S*x Pollen)

“Crowley, please. Hurry. I’m—” he got cut off by his own distressed moan. He barely even recognized his own voice. “What the fuck was in that vial?”

Sins in a Bottle (E, 5.3k, S*x Pollen pt.2)

The incident with Crowley’s vial was one of those times when Aziraphale had allowed curiosity to take the reins, as it were. He didn’t regret it, not exactly, but he did get annoyed that the whole thing seemed to have sparked a fire within him that he could not manage to extinguish. A curiosity that nagged at him, more persistent than the desire to take a bite out of an ox rib, or even the impulse to turn to the last page of a book, and glance at its final line.

Enough, Plenty, More (E, 6k, S*x Pollen pt.3)

Tiny glass vials of red sparkling dust started making an appearance all over Aziraphale’s bookshop. This was the particular work of a very particular demon, who, even after six thousand years of existence on Planet Earth, could not always figure out how to ask for the things he wanted. The things he desired. More precisely, the things he burned with desire for. Especially not when those things involved Aziraphale.

The Best Ones are Harmless in the End (E, 7.9k, Crack-ish)

Still, for the first time in his existence, Crowley had been naïve, thinking he could pull a prank on Aziraphale and not have it evolve into a full-blown war.

a running tear, a drop of sweat (E, 2.9k, PWP)

It’s a silk bed sheet. It’s black, shiny even in the faint glow of the dimly lit room, and it holds only the echo of warmth. It’s a silk bed sheet and it’s nothing like skin. It doesn’t breathe; it suffocates. It stretches out across seventy-six inches of Crowley’s mattress. Taut. And it’s soft, soft in a way that feels almost like touch escapes it. Like fingertips can barely register it exists. It’s soft, yes, but somehow, it’s even softer when Crowley starts grinding down into it.

A Bottle of Wine, a Book, and a Shy Smile (E, 5.2k)

It's a less-than-quiet day in Soho; a festival is disturbing Whickber Street. Hoping to find some peace and a comfortable place to sit down and read, Aziraphale shows up at Crowley's door. But peace and comfort is not exactly what Aziraphale finds. What he finds is, arguably, even better than that.

Holding You Closer Than Most (E, 3.5k)

“Well, perhaps I was, for a very brief moment…” Aziraphale stared intensely at his drink. “Distracted.” Crowley’s smirk twisted itself into a full-blown grin. Bingo. There was no doubt about it now: this was definitely, deliciously new. (And it was mind-boggling to think that, even after six thousand years, they still found ways to surprise each other).

Blur the Edges (E, 3.7k)