Here's a Good Omens fic idea, after going to Witch Finder Pulsifer and Anathema get married, Adam gets it in his head (and it's a powerful head you know) that clearly Crowley and Aziraphale should get married too. Crowley and Aziraphale are, as usual, the absolute last to know.
The first clue is the cake.
It arrives on Aziraphaleâs doorstep on a Friday so by the time heâs thought to phone the delivery company about the mixup . . . well, it would be a shame for the food to go to waste.
Itâs chocolate, just the right combination of sweet and rich that tempts even Crowley to take a bite at Aziraphaleâs insistence. Iâm not going to be able to finish it all by myself, my dear.
Next comes the stationery samples. Little cards in shades of eggshell and pearl that make Crowleyâs eyes roll when Aziraphale explains the difference in texture. The shop that sent them are adamant they have the right address and it isnât until they confirm the namesâAziraphale and Crowleyâthat Aziraphale thinks to hang up and consider the implications.
Heâs still considering when Crowley bursts into the shop, all hips and sneer as he says, âWho the bloody hell hired us a wedding planner?â
âAh,â Aziraphale says. âYes. I see now.â
âYou see,â Crowley says, throwing himself into a sprawl on Aziraphaleâs battered sofa. âCare to fill the class in, Angel?â
âWell.â Aziraphale pauses as he considers how to approach a topic such as this. âDo you remember when Adam started reading Harry Potter?â
Crowley snorts. âDo I. The Bentley still struggles to keep its damn wheels on the ground.â
Aziraphale hums. âWell, I think with dear Anathema and Newtonâs nuptials just passed-â
Crowley groans with his whole body, head lolling back on the couch like a maiden with the vapours. âThe boy thinks we should get bloody married.â
âQuite.â
Crowley sighs, and miracles them up a bottle of red. âYou gonna be the one to break the news then?â
Aziraphale waits to take the proffered glassâfingers brushing Crowleyâs familiarlyâbefore he answers. âWell . . .â
âWell?â
âWell, it was rather good cake,â Aziraphale says and Crowley bursts out laughing.
âYou donât want to tell him weâre already married because there might be more sweets in it for you?â
Aziraphale takes a sip from his glass and purses his lips. âYouâre right, itâs frightfully deceitful.â
âItâs perfect,â Crowley says, getting off the couch to steal a wine-flavoured kiss. âLetâs see how long it takes them to figure it out.â
The answer, it turns out, is seventy-two days and sixteen hours. The cake is very, very good.
















