#fluffy angstember

Rated G, 600 words

Aziraphale arrived back at the cottage to find his partner locked in close combat with what appeared to be a jar of kalamata olives. Crowley was bent over the jar, gripping it with both hands — one attempting to hold it in place, the other wrenching fruitlessly at the top — muscles flexing and face screwed up in effort.

Oh, dear.

…at long last, a new installment in the In a Bit of a Jam (Lend a Hand When Needed) series, AKA “opening jars as a love language”!

I hereby present 800 words of feels and softness. This was, believe it or not, originally written in late 2021 for one of @greenfiredragonfly's Angstember prompts.

Excerpt:

“Tiger?” Maud’s voice is low in Lesley’s ear. “Hun? Is everything okay?” “Fine, love,” he whispers back, hoping it’s true. A movement of the blankets, and then Maud is sitting up beside him, one hand resting on his, live warmth seeping back in where her fingers meet his knuckles. He rolls so he can see her face in the dimness of the bedroom. If I was to tell my wife what happened to me today, she wouldn’t believe me...

But slowly and not-quite-so-surely, we're getting there! Here's #22 of the set. This one is in 5+1 format, 400 words and rated G.

Stay with me. Keep me company. Don’t leave me alone in this strange new world. I don't want to bear this alone. Do we have to end the meal yet? Stay with me...

OR: Many times throughout the millennia, Aziraphale and Crowley are reluctant to part ways.

Eventually, they will no longer need to.

A fluffy drabble, inspired by one of @greenfiredragonfly’s Angstember prompts. (The prompt is the very first line of the story!)

A Minor Mistake, rated G, 300 words

“This was a mistake,” Crowley said aloud, after some minutes of thinking it in silence.

Turning another page with carefully gloved hands, Aziraphale gave no sign of having heard the statement — thus proving its accuracy.

“Definitely a mistake,” Crowley repeated, louder.

Still, no recognition. The angel leaned forward, studying a particular line, face rapt.

“Hmm.” Crowley cleared his throat. “Do you think it was a mistake, angel?”

Silence, but for the gentle rustle of another delicately turned page.

Crowley sighed, and gave up. It was his fault, anyway. He should have thought this one through. You didn’t give Aziraphale a one-of-a-kind manuscript of an antique book — especially one thought lost beyond retrieval for the past three hundred years — and then expect the angel to remember that you (or, for that matter, anything else) existed anytime in the next week.

But then again, the fact that the book had had such an immediate, all-engrossing effect meant Aziraphale liked the gift that Crowley had gone to some lengths to procure. In fact, it meant he liked it a lot…  which, in turn, meant Crowley couldn’t really manage to be unhappy about anything right now.

Especially seeing as it also meant that, once Aziraphale did eventually recall his existence (however long that took), Crowley would probably get one of those smiles in payback. Those smiles. The wide, grateful, happy smiles that left him weak at the knees without fail.

It was just a matter of waiting until Aziraphale finished reading.

“Next time,” Crowley said, trying to sound petulant for the principle of the thing despite knowing there was no one to hear him, “I’m not giving you a present ‘til after we have dinner.”

He stretched out on the sofa. It was a thick book, so this was going to take a while.

A quick, fluffy drabble, written for one of @greenfiredragonfly‘s Angstember prompts.

“Got you in my clutches now, angel.” Crowley squeezes, suiting action to word. He sinks onto the sofa, pulling Aziraphale with him. “You’re trapped.”

Aziraphale’s own arms tighten in response, subtly nudging Crowley’s embrace into a more secure hold. “So I am. My, how dreadful.”

“You’ll never escape.”

“No,” Aziraphale agrees cheerfully. “This is my fault. I should have known not to trust you. Wily, tempting serpent that you are.”

“Mhm.”

“Whatever will I do.”

“Stay in my clutches?” Crowley suggests.

“Hm.” Aziraphale pretends to consider. “Not a bad idea.”

“Terrific.”

“I’ll thwart your wiles,” Aziraphale promises, cuddling in. “Later.”

Also posted on AO3

Continuing backposting the fluff ficlets I wrote based on @greenfiredragonfly’s Angstember prompts! Enjoy a dip into the time-honored tradition of Crowley Crowleying himself.

A Traffic Jam of One's Own Making, rated G, 400 words

“I’m sorry,” Crowley said wretchedly. He stared out at the lanes of stalled traffic, stretching ahead of the Bentley as far as the eye could see. “Think we’re gonna be here awhile.”

“Oh dear.” Aziraphale followed Crowley’s gaze. “I should have brought a book.”

A moment of silence, as the line of traffic scooted approximately three inches forward and then stopped again.

“I should’ve taken us a different route. Sorry,” Crowley said again.

“You had no way of knowing it would be like this.” Aziraphale patted his hand on the steering wheel. “Don’t apologize. It’s not as if the traffic jam is your fault.”

Crowley discreetly avoided commenting.

Not discreetly enough, though. Aziraphale’s hand lifted off Crowley’s, eyes, voice, and aura turning suddenly suspicious. “Dear boy.”

“Yeah?” Crowley said warily.

A short distance behind them, a car honked uselessly. The car directly ahead of the Bentley honked back.

Unfortunately, the noise failed to distract Aziraphale. “Is there something you haven’t told me?”

“Ngk,” said Crowley. He fumbled for a sufficiently distracting, non-incriminating answer. “Sure. Yeah. Lots of things. Didn’t tell you yet about those symphony tickets I bought yesterday, for instance…”

“Symphony tickets?” Now the angel sounded interested.

Temptation accomplished! “Yep,” Crowley said, a little too enthusiastically. “Front row seats, two weeks from Friday. They’re playing Tchaikovksy, the conductor is—”

“That sounds lovely,” Aziraphale interrupted pleasantly. “I’d love to hear more about it later. I’m looking forward. Now, you were saying, about the traffic?”

Bless. Well, it had been worth a shot.

Crowley sighed. “Got bored this morning, that’s all. Seemed like fun. Passed the time, anyway.”

“It seemed like fun.”

“Forgot we’d be coming this way later. [1]”

“I see.”

“...Should I say sorry again?”

This time around, Crowley noticed, Aziraphale very noticeably didn’t instruct him not to apologize.

And yet, the angel’s irritated shake of the head a second later looked like it was more for show than anything else. And there was something closely resembling a glint of interest in Aziraphale’s eye when he sighed loudly and said, “Fine, then, tell me how you did it. Since there’s nothing else to do. And then you can tell me about that symphony.” A beat. “We do have plenty of time, after all. Might as well make use of it.”

Crowley grinned. Maybe it wasn’t so terrible, after all, having an excuse to spend some extra time with Aziraphale.

~

[1] Actually, he hadn’t forgotten. In fact, it was exactly because Crowley had known they’d be coming this way that the road had been the first one to come to mind. He just hadn’t thought through the consequences.

Also posted on AO3

I keep getting sidetracked from posting the prompt fills I wrote last year and never posted, so here’s a fluffy Warlock & Nanny Ashtoreth drabble, written for one of @greenfiredragonfly​'s Angstember prompts.

Monsters Under the Bed, rated G, 200 words

“Nanny,” Warlock whispers, “I’m scared.”

 Seated on the chair beside her charge’s bed, Nanny Ashtoreth tilts her head in question. “What are you scared of?”

 “The monsters.”

 “Monsters?”

 “Under the bed.”

 “Oh?”

 “At Webecca’s birthday party today she said they live under evewybody’s bed. But you never catch them.”

 Nanny Ashtoreth thinks about that. “But you like monsters,” she says after a moment. “Remember?”

 “Webecca says monsters are scawy.”

 “Rebecca is right. Which is why you like them. Because they are your dark, wicked, loyal minions who will carry out your will and serve your every whim when once you have reduced the world to nothing but ash and suffering to be mercilessly ground under your heels. Isn’t that right, hellspawn?”

Finish reading on AO3

Originally written as a fluffy take on one of @greenfiredragonfly’s Angstember prompts: "I didn't mean to lie."

Idle Threats, rated G, 400 words

“So,” said Aziraphale, speaking slowly and carefully, “let me get the situation straight. You lied to your houseplants, threatened them with grievous bodily harm, and told them you were going to destroy the plant that is now in your car because it grew a leaf spot.”

“Um,” said Crowley.

“But you don’t want to actually do it.”

“Ngh.”

“And so now you want me to get you out of this predicament. Which is entirely your fault.”

Crowley put on his most wheedling expression.[1] “Weeell, I mean…”

“That’s a yes, then.” Aziraphale sighed. “And it didn’t occur to you beforehand that maybe lying to your plants wasn’t the best of ideas?”

“I didn’t mean to lie!” Crowley objected. “I just… uh…”

“Just lied to them?”

Crowley glared. “I was going to say, I got caught up in the moment. And I didn't think I was going to have to follow through on it! I figured they’d behave, if I told them to.”

“Because you, of all people, know that once having been told to behave, no being would ever dream of doing anything else? No such thing as disobedience?”

“...Okay, yeah, touché.”

A long pause.

Crowley, implausibly, somehow managed to turn up the wheedling expression yet another notch.

[1] It was very wheedling.

Finish reading