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Roses in the Sunlight

Chapter Text

It's early afternoon at Halfway to Heaven, quiet and tranquil, perfect for revelations of a startling yet delightful manner.

And so it begins.

"I'm going to be a father!"

If there were an onomatopoeia to describe the sound of several drinks being spat out simultaneously, now would be the time to announce it - preferably with radiant glee, much as the kind that one "Ezra Fell" is currently displaying. 

"You're kidding." The stout landlady mopped down the spit-and-whiskey spattered bar, eyes fixed firmly on Aziraphale. She had steel-grey dreadlocks and always seemed to be wearing twenty different patterns at a time. "Always had you pegged as gayer than -"

"Now, now, Mary, less of the 'pegging' talk, yes? We've distinguished company," Aziraphale smiled, lifting his glass to his mouth. 

"That is not what she meant, Ezra, you absolute dinosaur," young Thomas groaned as the others roared with laughter. "An' anyway," he jabbed an impeccably manicured finger at Mary, "loads of gay couples are havin' kids these days. Adoptin' 'n' such."

Aziraphale chuckled into his single malt. "Oh, we're not adopting."

"Surrogacy?" asked Joseph, an older man with a striking moustache. 

"Really now, gentlemen, is it so hard to fathom that I might -"

"Yes," came the chorused reply. Aziraphale had the good grace to blush.

"You live in Soho," Mary pointed out, "and wax lyrical about that old Hundred Guineas place used to be down Portland."

"Yes, I suppose it doesn't take much for me to appear the, oh, what's the saying, flaming homosexual. " There was no malice, no bitterness in Aziraphale's voice. He hadn't spent the last several hundred years cultivating his slightly camp personality for nothing, after all. He knew the aura he gave off to humans, revelled in it, even. Felt like the home he never had Upstairs, he sometimes said. 

Thomas rapped his knuckles on the bar, frowning. "You're married, ent'ya? What's your husband got to say about this?"

"I don't have a husband, dear boy."

"Come off, Ezra - the one with the sunglasses an' - an' the red hair -"

"That sounds awfully like my wife."

To Aziraphale's left, Charles, the quieter of the bunch, let out a low hum. "Whatever became of the young chap - Anthony, was it?"

"Nothing at all," Aziraphale said, tone coming out more clipped than he intended, "but she does prefer Tonia at the moment, if you'd be so kind."

A ripple of understanding went around the group, along with a collection of ah s and I get it now s. Joseph had a brotherly smile on his face as he reached over to pat Aziraphale's hand. "Congratulations certainly are in order, Ezra." Aziraphale squeezed Joseph's hand in thanks. "So Tonia's pregnant, is she? How far along?"

Aziraphale's beaming smile was nothing short of angelic. "Four months or so,” he replied, sighing happily afterwards. 

"Did you plan it?"

"Do you have names in mind?"

"Is she showing yet?"

"Where's she going to deliver?"

A little taken aback, a little more overwhelmed with the onslaught of questions, Aziraphale allowed Mary to refill his glass before he spoke again. "Yes, not yet, a little, and...I don't think that's really been discussed. The idea of hospital birth is lost on me, though. Surely women have been managing this for thousands of years without...oh, well, I suppose I should be asking your lady wife for advice, Mary!"

Charles raised his glass. "I believe a toast is in order."

"Oh, really, you don't have to," Aziraphale giggled, blushing - but as his friends raised their own glasses and toasted his good future, he couldn't help but thank the Almighty for bringing humans into being. 

Chapter Text

Hmm...wonder how much longer I can get away with these jeans. 

Staring into the mirror on the wardrobe door, Crowley sucked in a deep breath, blew it out, and sighed before popping the button open. A minor miracle would fix the size issue - the jeans, not her thickening waist and widening hips. She quite liked those bits.

Wearing a female form came as naturally to Crowley as breathing - though by design, celestial beings didn’t need to breathe. She looked blessed good for it, too, and knew it keenly. Looked good in any form, really. Crowley wasn't all that fussed.

Pride is a sin, of course, but Crowley is a demon, and delights in sin, in mischief and disobedience. Her latest spree of social mayhem - the switch six months ago from Aziraphale's young and stylish husband, to young and equally stylish wife, caused quite a stir in Soho. Made even more hilarious by Aziraphale's shameless playing along, neither of them would be tiring of the little stunt any time soon. 

That was a good thing, because Crowley liked looking a certain way at certain times, and, well...their little not-quite-miracle had come at just the right time.

The smallest swell of Crowley's belly gave her pregnancy away. Four months to go now, if demon-angel hybrid children grew anything like humans did. She patted the bump fondly and smiled when she felt the soft, fluttering response. 

"You're going to be the first of many new things, kiddo." Apparently talking to one's gravid stomach was something humans did. Couldn't be much different from screaming at houseplants, and no more difficult.

"Always did like the little ones," Crowley mused, absently stroking her bump, "but having one of my hear about the Nephilim, see, and your automatic response is "no, fuck that" - um, am I supposed to swear now? Anyway, you, you're different, I know you are, I can feel it, feel you. You're going to be a very special...I really don't know what to call you, why the Heaven am I talking to my stomach, I'm being ridiculous, I'm not doing this right now."

She turned on her heel to march out of the room, but not before glancing back to admire her bottom in the mirror.

Chapter Text

Fate had a funny way of bringing two people, or, more specifically, two now nineteen-year-old men birthed in a unit run by slightly incompetent Satanic nuns, together again.

King's College, London, was the place. The presumed Antichrist and the actual Antichrist had become rather good friends between lectures. The moment Warlock spoke of his younger years, of the gardener who somehow just sat back and watched everything grow, and the nanny with the sunglasses and her songs of blood and brains - Adam knew his godfathers, ah, god parents, were one and the same.

And now all four of them sat in Crowley's Mayfair flat, drinking tea and reminiscing about fuck-ups great and small. 

"Mom says I would shout at the flowers for months after you left," Warlock is recounting, whilst Crowley grins over the rim of her teacup. "Never did them any good, mind."

"Nice to know I was a good influence on you, at any rate," Crowley replies. Nanny Ashtoreth's soft Scottish tones seem to slip in every time Crowley talks to Warlock. 

"You were supposed to be the bad influence," Aziraphale chides, but his eyes are twinkling as he pushes a biscuit tin towards the boys. "We were quite terrible at our jobs, weren't we, dearest?" 

"Can't imagine you with buck teeth, Uncle Ezra." Adam helps himself to a custard cream.

"I try not to," mutters Crowley. 

Aziraphale wiggles his eyebrows and bares his teeth in a vague impression of Brother Francis, and Warlock falls about laughing. Adam catches him before he topples off his chair. 

Crowley's eyes roll skywards behind her sunglasses. "You can sleep on the couch tonight." Aziraphale just smiles and kisses her cheek, and gets up to make more tea. 

 When he turned fourteen, Adam fancied himself knowing how to see auras, like Anathema - and because he wanted, he could, thanks to the blessing, or should that be damning, of his otherworldly influences on reality. Whenever he looked at Crowley through the years, her aura was always shifting around, like she was never content somehow. Even now it was moving between colours, but when Aziraphale came back to sit beside her, it settled into a rich red matching her husband's. 

Warlock's own aura was a mild green, a simple display of relaxation. His long dark hair fell into his eyes and he leaned back in his seat, easy-going and slightly lazy. Adam couldn't see his own aura. Anathema still couldn't see it.

Crowley's belly had an aura, a hazy white shimmer; small, but present. When Aziraphale reached out to stroke his fingers over the swell, the baby's aura took on a yellow tinge. A moment later Crowley grimaced, a muscle twitching by her eye. "Is the baby kicking?" Warlock asks eagerly.

"Blessed thing is strong," Crowley mutters. "D'you think I can miracle my guts away, angel, so they don't get booted every ten seconds?"

"What does your midwife think, dearest?"

"Oh, gee, lemme go and ask her if I can have a surprise evisceration, why don't I!"

Adam grins at their banter, even as Aziraphale huffs and shakes his head. "How long left, Aunt Tonia?"

"Bugger if I know. Not exactly got a point of reference, kid."

"By human standards," Aziraphale says primly, "we would be looking at a few more weeks until she goes into labour." Warlock stares at him, befuddled. He hasn't quite got his head around the whole angel and demon thing yet. "But we're taking it one day at a time for now."

Chapter Text

Crowley had, eventually and with much grumbling, accepted that sticking coins to the pavement and observing the ensuing hilarity from a nearby cafe was not an appropriate demonic activity. Hell could go swivel if they thought she’d stop doing it though. The look on humans’ faces as they lost a fight with a £1 coin was too good to go without. Maybe she’d up it to £5 notes next time. Served Heaven right for deciding those polymer monstrosities had to exist. Putting Jane Austen on them was a nice touch, though. 

A long day of mischief over, Crowley strolled into the flat, kicking off her heels as she went. A quick glare at her ankles was enough for any lingering swelling to promptly disappear. Satisfied, she sauntered through to the plant room and grabbed the nearest mister. Faintly she could hear the TV on in the bedroom, which meant Aziraphale must have dropped by in the day. That wasn’t a new occurrence, but the TV watching was - apparently the angel had taken quite a liking to that one show where people try their hand at dinner parties to sarcastic narration. 

“Oi! I didn’t say you could slouch!” Crowley flicked the blossom of a nearby orchid. “I’ll give you three seconds. One...two... there you go, that wasn’t hard, was it? Now -” to the room at large - “if I catch any of you slouching while Aziraphale is here, you’ll all end up the next entry in the Very Hungry Caterpillar, got it? Stand straight, you miserable lot!”

There was laughter from the bedroom. And Crowley dropped the mister.

Oh, fuck.

That wasn’t Aziraphale’s laughter. His was bright and merry, a sound Crowley was intimately familiar with. This laughter was halting, low... demonic.

A frustrated growl escaped Crowley as she yanked off her sunglasses, stuffed them into her pocket, and stormed towards the bedroom. “Has nobody taught you the meaning of the term “breaking and entering -” Crowley paused in the doorway and groaned. “I’m going to file this under the list of things I never want to see again. What the fuck are you lot doing here?!”

“What the fuck is that?!” Ligur jabbed at Crowley’s belly.

“Satan preserve us,” groaned Hastur.

“Told you,” Beelzebub said smugly, and laughed again. Yep, it was their laughter Crowley had heard. The blessed Prince of Hell and Lord of the Flies, plus the two Dukes that left Crowley with a constant wish for more holy water, were lounging on her bed, on her fucking expensive silk sheets, watching Comedy Central and eating popcorn. 

“I swear to fucking…” Crowley walked to the bed, shoved Beelzebub over, and plopped down beside them. “Deeds of the day in graveyards not good enough for you lot anymore?” she asked, reaching over to snag a handful of popcorn. “Had to come and take over my fucking home instead? I hope it isn’t too late to ask if Hell does maternity leave, because I’m putting in my application -”

“Oh, shut it,” Beelzebub snapped. 

“Are you carrying a bag under your clothes?” Ligur scowled.

“Does it look like I’m carrying a sodding bag?”


Ligur shared a look with Hastur. “Clearly he has gone well and truly native now,” Hastur said.

“Um, hello, girl face and a pair of tits here, less of the “he,” please, dickhead.”

“It’s a frog -”

“She’zzz pregnant,” Beelzebub sighed, “as I told you morons multiple times.” They turned back to Crowley, offering what they clearly intended to be an apologetic smile. It came out looking like a deranged snarl. “I came to check up on your...progress. These two idiots had nothing else better to do, so they tagged along.”

Crowley pinched the bridge of her nose. “And you couldn’t just send me a message in advance?”

Beelzebub shrugged. “You have cable.”

“Gee, just drink all my booze while you’re at it - oh, you fucking did, didn’t you.” Crowley uttered another groan at the collective laughter from the Dukes. “That’s not fair, I haven’t been able to drink for a year, guys!”

“A year?” Beelzebub frowned. “You’ve been carrying for a year?”

“Well, ten months and three weeks, but close enough, yeah.” Crowley patted her bump and was rewarded with a swift kick to the liver for her efforts. “Don’t think I was showing when you last popped up through the ground.”

“No, you weren’t,” Beelzebub agreed, flicking absently through the TV channels. “Our great master will be most interezzted in the result of your... copulation.”


“His words, not mine.”

“I’ll be sure to send a letter Downstairs,” Crowley replied sarcastically, “or are you gonna come over again to watch the birth? Suppose I could do with a few extra helping hands, gets awful messy and -”

“I’ll pass.” Beelzebub made a disgusted face. Meanwhile Hastur and Ligur appeared to be zoning out of the conversation as much as possible, which worked fine for Crowley. Beelzebub was the only one mildly tolerable, though Crowley certainly wouldn’t have chosen to share a bed with them at any stage in existence. “Lucifer will want to see the child, though,” Beelzebub continued. “Probably be the most excitement we’ve had since your husband decided wearing socks in the bath was something you’d do.”

“I do hope I cut a dashing figure.”

“Shut up.”

Crowley huffed a theatrical sigh. “Alright, I’ll bring the kid to see you all.”

“Good. We think...they might be a bridge of some sorts. Between Above and Below. At the very least, it’s something to consider.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “A bridge, eh…? A means to see your big, strong archangel more often?”

“You know I hate you, right?”

“Oh, yes. I delight in it, Baby Bee.” Crowley was debating whether or not to miracle her waters into breaking, if only to make them all leave, when faintly the sound of the front door opening made her glance up, a delighted smile jumping to her expression. 

Ligur made a dismissive gesture to Hastur and they slid off the bed, Beelzebub following. “Oh, so soon, everyone?” Crowley wheedled. “We barely got started on the festivities!”

“The less time spent in the company of angels,” spat Hastur, “the better.”

“Be seeing you,” Ligur said.

Beelzebub nodded. “Damnations upon you, Crowley.”

And then they were gone, leaving a few popcorn kernels and some frogspawn behind. Crowley vanished it all with a wave of her hand, and changed and straightened the bedclothes with another.

Aziraphale ambled in a few moments later. “Hello, dear!”

“Angel!” Crowley jumped up from the bed and into his arms, as close as they could press together. Usually it was Aziraphale’s soft and rounded belly that got (delightfully) in the way, but now they had to contend with Crowley’s sizeable bump as well. “My saviour,” Crowley breathed, pressing kisses over Aziraphale’s cheeks and lips, “my knight in shining armour. You’ve saved me from a fate worse than discorporation.”

“I’m sorry?” Aziraphale giggled into the onslaught of affection, despite the look of mild confusion on his face.

“We need to re-christen the bed.” 


“Y’know...dirty it up a bit.”

“I don’t know what you mean, my love.”

Crowley drew back with a roll of her eyes. “I mean, I want you to fuck me senseless on these nice new sheets, got it?”

“That doesn’t sound very Christian.” Aziraphale was already unbuttoning his shirt.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale had read, somewhere along his travels on the internet, that sex was supposed to induce labour in a term pregnancy. They had no idea if Crowley was at term, or if celestial spunk even contained that particular substance the sources all kept wittering on about...but that was as far from the fore of Aziraphale's thoughts as could possibly be - because he presently had a mouthful of wet, swollen cunt, and it was intoxicating. 

Above him, Crowley squirmed, rolling her hips down against Aziraphale's face, thighs tensing and shuddering. Lying flat gave her backache, so she was propped up with a few pillows, Aziraphale kneeling on the floor beside the bed. The neat stripe of dark red curls adorning Crowley’s mons tickled his nose, but he couldn’t help nuzzling further into it as he worked.

A stockinged foot slid over his shoulder, toes curling into him. "Keep doing that," Crowley was murmuring breathlessly. "Keep doing th- aaaahhh, fuck, yesssss…"

She smelled divine, tasted even better, and saints above, had Crowley grown sensitive since the pregnancy. She never settled on a particular Effort, only really keeping this one for the "gestation occasion" as she put it; even when wearing a male face and a cunt she'd never been so receptive to intimate touch. Oh, she enjoyed it, sure enough, but now she was positively writhing, squealing and uttering soft, high-pitched cries in a perpetual stream of ecstasy. Aziraphale loved it, loved his demon from head to toe, carrying their child or otherwise. Bliss flooded his heavenly corporation and he smiled against Crowley's mound before spreading the sopping lips apart and pressing the flat of his tongue against her pulsing clit. 

"A-Angel!" Crowley gasped. "I'm going to -" She cut off in a choked scream when Aziraphale slipped two fingers into her and crooked them upwards as he sucked wantonly at her clit; her hips jolted up, rocking frantically, and she came seconds later with a heaving shudder, thighs locked tightly around Aziraphale's head. 

The gush of her satisfaction too great a temptation to resist, Aziraphale withdrew his fingers and replaced them with his tongue, lapping up the heady nectar with all the grace of a man starved. Only when Crowley mewled from over-stimulation and pushed at his head did he draw back. 

"Oh, my love." Aziraphale laid his head reverently on Crowley's thigh. He traced the lace pattern on the top of one stocking, enjoying the feel under his fingers. "You are a delight to me."

Crowley looked completely wrecked, hair in disarray from pulling at it, lips riddled with teeth marks, cheeks flushed a delectable claret. Aziraphale could barely resist the call of her eyes, begging him to take her. With a low groan of longing he began kissing up her body. The baby moved restlessly under his touch, responding to Aziraphale's outpouring of love; he paused a moment to lay his hands either side of the swell of Crowley's belly and closed his eyes, adoring their little one, adoring the life they had created together in more ways than one.

"Angel…" Crowley fussed, reaching for him. Aziraphale gave her breast a soft nip for her impatience, laving his tongue over the mark afterwards. He went for her nipples next, and her eyes rolled back as she moaned, squirming again, ever so sensitive. Her mouth came after, plump and soft and delicate, yet armed with a razor's edge and sharp as one, too. Aziraphale kissed those delectable lips, letting her taste herself on his tongue, felt her legs open wider and her hips roll insistently against him. 

"What will be most comfortable for you, dearest?"

Crowley considered a moment, then scooted up the bed and turned over, sticking one of the pillows under her bump and leaning down onto her elbows. Aziraphale's mouth went dry, wet as it had been from feasting on his beloved. The way her perfect bottom stuck in the air, the lips of her cunt swollen and glistening, oh, he could just bury his head there and never leave. Everything about Crowley was devilishly tempting, regardless of the form she wore. A good mark of a demon, that - but one only Aziraphale was allowed to enjoy.

He was hard, achingly hard and still fully dressed. In a rare moment of lacking composure, Aziraphale used a quick miracle to divest of his clothing, before taking a moment to run his hands over the swell of Crowley's buttocks, playfully squeezing the warm mounds. 

Crowley whined, clearly done with being teased. She reached down, spreading her lips for Aziraphale, and his mouth went even drier. "Fuck me, angel," Crowley muttered, "fuck me good and hard, don't you dare go easy on me just because I'm -"

She couldn't finish the sentence; Aziraphale slammed in with barely a second thought, and set up a fast, merciless pace. All Crowley could manage was a guttural cry, head flinging back and fingers digging into the sheets so hard her knuckles turned white. 

She felt as good as she tasted, as good as she smelled. Her slick walls rippled around Aziraphale with every thrust, every clench of Crowley's muscles. Aziraphale lost himself to the rhythm of their movements, letting his senses be overcome with all the love and desire in the air. The dusting of freckles over Crowley's shoulders seemed to light up and shimmer like starfire, a testament to the beauty in the sky that she had created. Aziraphale kissed them, and she arched her back, moaning his name. 

"I love you," Aziraphale whispered into her skin. "I love you so it okay? Are you comfortable?"

"Yessss…" Crowley hissed, shifting her weight onto one hand. She touched herself with the other, fingertips grazing Aziraphale's plunging shaft on occasion like electric shocks to his core. "'S good, angel, so good, could come again like this…" She was rocking back eagerly now, thighs clenching, slick as they were with the wetness of her arousal. On a whim, Aziraphale gathered a little of it onto his thumb, and dragged it down the cleft of her cheeks, skimming over the other hole, and she squealed with delight. "Ooooh! Angel!"

"Good?" he purred, daring to dip his thumb inside just slightly.


"Oh, love." Aziraphale felt his cheeks heating up. His demon was so wanton . Slowly, carefully, he pushed his thumb inside as well - and gasped as Crowley screamed, spasming, as she came hard around his cock. Oh, she was so wet, so perfect, he was close - he -

"Oh, Crowley, Crowley-!” 

Release dawned on Aziraphale like the first rain above Eden, a momentous sensation; he slumped over Crowley’s back, panting, hips still moving in a slow rhythm as he rode out his orgasm. Ever the tease, Crowley pushed her hips back ever so slightly, payback for Aziraphale’s relentless licking earlier. A strangled “mmph!” caught in his throat at the deepened stimulation, before he carefully - and slightly reluctantly - withdrew himself from Crowley’s delicious heat. 

He sat back on his heels to admire the positively indecent mess that was his lovely wife; his come and hers, mingled and seeping down her flushed slit, down her still-quivering thighs; traces of her makeup smudging the sheets. No words could ever fully convey the way Aziraphale felt as he looked at her in that moment. Smiling, he pressed a kiss to her hip and patted her bottom appreciatively. “Are you alright?”

Crowley chuckled. “Yeah. Hang on a sec…” She snapped her fingers, vanishing the traces of their coupling, and flopped down onto her side on the bed with a happy groan. “Come here, angel.” 

Aziraphale spooned up behind her immediately, bringing one hand up to rest on her swollen belly. The baby had fallen asleep, having been lulled to slumber by the rocking of Crowley’s body. No doubt they would wake soon and begin kicking again. 

“Mmm...that was good,” Crowley was murmuring, her eyes already slipping closed. “Reckon I could sleep for a few days after that.”

“You do need your rest, dearest,” said Aziraphale, kissing the nape of her neck. 

“Baby feels...I dunno...lower down.” On cue, the baby gave a wriggle, and Crowley poked her bump with a smirk. “Yeah, you. Get a move on, will you?”

“They do say when the baby ‘drops’ that birth may be imminent,” observed Aziraphale. “Perhaps we shall see over the coming days.”

Crowley leaned back into Aziraphale, twisting her head around to steal a kiss from his lips. “We’re gonna be parents, angel.”

“Oh, my dear…” Another kiss, savouring the love between them, six thousand years of unadulterated love. “We have been parents from the moment we knew of our little one.”

“You’re so soppy. It’s gross, I love it. I love you.”

Aziraphale smiled, feeling the baby press against his stroking fingers. “I love you too.”

Chapter Text

"Any day now, you say?"

"We believe so."

"I always said this was risky business, Aziraphale," Gabriel chastised. "This, this... procreation of...could be the Antichrist all over again -"

"You'd like that, I suppose, your lot Upstairs. Another opportunity to wage war for war's sake?"

"I can't believe we're having this conversation whilst you partake in...what do you call this?"

"A manicure, Gabriel," Aziraphale said calmly. 

"And what is the purpose of this...manicure? You're an angel."

"Well, you see, Mr Gabriel, sir," Madame Tracy trilled, "having 'me time' is important." She was currently massaging a lovely, thick moisturising cream into Aziraphale's hands, one that smelled of luxurious rose and refreshing bergamot. "Our Mr Fell does all this work for you, and he does work hard, don't you, love?" - Aziraphale giggled and blushed - "so it seems to me he deserves a little pampering for his efforts."

"Also, she wouldn't let me leave until she'd fixed my cuticles," admitted Aziraphale with a wry smile. "They were an awful mess." 

Gabriel rolled his eyes pointedly.

Madame Tracy remembered Gabriel, Aziraphale's boss, from the airbase. Strong and rugged, a bit condescending, and Aziraphale had been ever so intimidated by him back then, but now they spoke as though on a more equal footing, and Aziraphale seemed much more at ease. Gabriel reminded her a little of Mr Shadwell, just in the way they both liked to have the last word, mind. 

"Aziraphale," Gabriel was saying, "I must remind you of your responsibilities. First and foremost your duty is to God, not... gallivanting around getting your hands rubbed, or creating hybrid offspring."

"Well, the Almighty seems very excited about our impending arrival," Aziraphale replied primly. "Had a lovely letter from Her and everything." Madame Tracy smiled to herself as she began preparing his nails for his base coat. "I shall make a note of your opinion, Gabriel, but do forgive me if I elect to ignore it entirely - oh, Marjorie, darling, that cream does smell divine…"

"Doesn't it just?" Madame Tracy giggled. Aziraphale was one of the few who could call her by name and not get a slap for it. "How about I give you some to take home? I wager your lady Tonia would love it."

"Tonia?" Gabriel spluttered. "That's what he's calling himself these days?"

Aziraphale carefully removed his hands from Madame Tracy's, and turned slowly in his seat to face Gabriel, who looked rather as though he would be sick. Hopefully he'd keep it off the nice new rug. 

"You come into my friend's home," Aziraphale said, ever so quietly, yet no word could be missed - "uninvited, may I add - interrupt our leisure time, insult my child, and show blatant disregard for my beloved's identity. You may be the Archangel Fucking Gabriel, and yet I am currently a Very Fucking Inconvenienced Principality. Unless you can give me one good reason why I shouldn't smite you right this very minute, I suggest you hightail it back Upstairs and wait for my next report, which should be on your desk in, oh, three days or so." His voice could have curdled milk. A lucky thing they only had the condensed stuff in the cottage. 

Angels didn't have blood as such, or so Aziraphale said, but all the colour had drained from Gabriel's face. The purple of his eyes almost glowed in the resulting whiteness - a nice purple, Madame Tracy noted, resolving to find something similar for her own nails during her next manicure. 

"Uh...quite...yes, I...suppose I should be going now," Gabriel stumbled, patting his breast pocket for goodness knows what, a handkerchief perhaps, to mop the imaginary sweat from his brow. "I'll expect that report, then. Don't worry if it's a little late, you've got, uh, enough to be dealing with right now."

Aziraphale wasn't paying attention. He had turned away at "suppose I should be going now" and was holding out his hands for Madame Tracy to begin painting his nails. She gave Gabriel an encouraging smile, ever the kindhearted woman, though she couldn't help but feel Aziraphale's boss deserved his present discomfort. "Door should be unlocked still, love."

"Thank you." Gabriel turned on his impeccably shiny heels, struggled with the door handle a moment, then snapped his fingers to vanish on the spot. 

"Well," Madame Tracy said, fanning Aziraphale's nails, "we've had some funny guests since we moved here, that's for certain! Though none as awkward-looking as your big boss man."

"I believe he still thinks I walked through hellfire and lived," Aziraphale winked. Madame Tracy giggled; oh, he was a naughty sort, couldn't have picked a nicer man, well, angel, to have briefly shared a body with. A buzz on the corner of the table alerted them to his old mobile ringing. "Marjorie, sweetest, be a dear and put that on loudspeaker while my nails are drying?"

"Of course, Ezra, love." She picked up the phone and smiled. "Oh, it's your lovely lady! Let's see we go." She pressed a few buttons on the old handset and placed it back on the table before going back to fanning Aziraphale's base coat dry.

"Hello, dear!" Aziraphale called out, a little louder than necessary. "Sorry I left so quickly, you were sleeping and I was just frightfully late for -"


"Crowley? Is everything alright?"

"Now, no need to panic, so don't rush back or anything, but - oooh, Satan's bollocks on a spit…" Several harsh, deep exhales blew through the phone speaker. 

Madame Tracy dropped her fan to cover her mouth, trying not to squeal with delight.

"Been cramping all morning, but it's getting stronger now - angel, it's starting, I'm going into labour."

Chapter Text

It wasn't too bad, really, just like a bad cramp every ten minutes or so. Crowley had seen enough babies being born to know that she had a long way off to the actual delivery. 

Or that was what she thought up until the cramps became longer, tighter, and more powerful; that was when the swearing started, when she called Aziraphale to warn him. 

He was back within the hour, by which time Crowley had run a bath and was lounging quite happily in the searing hot water, enjoying the soothing sensation over her contracting belly. The baby shifted restlessly, an imprint of a hand here, a foot there. Crowley prodded the protrusions with an amused smile. Not long now till they'd meet properly. 

"In here, angel!" she called, when she heard Aziraphale clattering into the flat.

"Oh, Crowley, my darling!" Aziraphale was by her side a moment later, looking harried. "Are you alright? In any pain? Is the baby imminent? Should I-?"

"Relax," laughed Crowley, "baby won't be here for ages yet." She reached out to stroke Aziraphale's cheek, smiling. "Good heavens, angel, you're panicking more than I am."

"Well, of course!"

"Don't worry. I'm fine, baby's fine. Tickety-boo, as you'd, let me take a look at those nails." Aziraphale held out a hand, and Crowley took it in hers, casting an appreciative eye over the manicured and painted surfaces. "Very nice, glad you didn't rush back. Would've been a shame to mess this up."

"Madame Tracy was very excited," Aziraphale admitted. "I may have had to use a miracle or two so she kept the coats even. Oh, and Gabriel showed up. Quite the party pooper, I believe the young people these days say."

"He give you any trouble?"

"No more than usual. I daresay he left with his tail between his legs."

"As he should." Crowley kissed Aziraphale's hand and placed it on her belly. "Got another contraction coming up - feel it with me?"

"Of course, darling, of course." Aziraphale splayed his fingers out over the swell.

The next one was more painful than uncomfortable. Crowley could no more miracle the sensation away than she could become an angel again; that is to say, performing any sort of demonic magic had become increasingly difficult as the pregnancy progressed. Now every time she reached within herself for the power to make things just so, her focus slipped. She breathed through the discomfort easily enough, though, and it was better with Aziraphale close by, stroking her bump and murmuring gentle, loving words of encouragement. 

"That's it,'re doing marvellously...keep breathing like that…"

Crowley sniggered once it passed. "Barely even started and you're coaching me through this."

"Should I stop?"

"No. No, s'cute."

Crowley managed another hour in the bath before getting bored. She washed her hair and clambered out of the tub, whispering a death threat to her towel as she, oh the horror, dried herself off the manual way, and then glared venomously at the cloth when another contraction hit.

Aziraphale looked to be pacing a track into the entryway floor by the time Crowley emerged, wrapped in a silk robe and with her hair in a turban. She smiled at him, kissed his cheek, and breezed into the kitchen to put the kettle on -



Aziraphale pokes his head round the door. "Yes, dear?"

"Think m'waters just broke."

Aziraphale nearly fainted.

This probably isn't the time to tell him I don't actually have a midwife.

Chapter Text

Anathema had never been more grateful that she'd finally passed her driving test. She was, however, driving fast and reckless enough to move Crowley to tears with pride. 

She'd had a call from Adam a few hours ago, asking if she would go and check on his godparents. "I felt something happening over there," he'd said, "a shift in energy. I can't get over there myself right now and the phone line has been frazzled, but I think aunt Tonia might be having the baby. Will you go see?"

And that was what led to Anathema weaving through traffic on the M25 with a screaming Newton Pulsifer in the passenger seat. 

"Slow down, Anathema! You'll get us both killed!"

She did not slow down until they reached Crowley's Mayfair flat, and even then she ran up the stairs two at a time, bypassing the elevator. Newt followed a little slower. 

They didn't need to ask Adam for the door number - the snake on the doorbell was obvious enough.

"Miss Device, my sweet darling! Oh, am I ever so glad to see you!" Aziraphale all but collapsed into Anathema's arms the moment she walked in. "I'm out of my depth," he admitted, as Anathema patted his hair comfortingly. 

"The Heaven are you two nerds doing here?" Crowley stuck her head round the doorway, looking less like a man fresh out of a burning Bentley, and more like a woman quite certainly in the early stages of labour.

"Adam called us," Anathema replied, "and he seems to have more sense than you! Why aren't you at a hospital, idiot?"

"Look, book girl, just because the States want to strap you to a load of monitors and tell you what to do - oh, bless it, fucking bless it -" Crowley's speech tailed off into another groan of pain. "Angel - help me -"

"Sorry, dear." Aziraphale extricated himself from Anathema and went to Crowley, letting her lean on him heavily. She buried her head in his shoulder, breathing hard. Anathema looked at her watch to time the contraction. 

Thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five...she's relaxing now, I think it's passed. 

"Um…" Newt waved a hand from the front door. "Do you mind if I just...go sit in the kitchen or something? I'm not any good with babies - or blood - or, well, anything like this, really…"

"Do what you want," muttered Crowley, stalking back to the bedroom. "I'm going to lie down."

"How far apart?" Anathema asked Aziraphale. "The contractions, I mean."

"Was I supposed to be timing them? Oh, dear, um…"

"Six minutes!" Crowley yelled from the bedroom. 

Anathema nodded. Still a fair ways off, then. She planted a quick kiss on Aziraphale's forehead and chivvied Newt into the kitchen to put the kettle on. She was no nurse, no midwife, but Adam had asked her to be here, so she would be. 

More for Aziraphale, though. The poor creature looked ready to discorporate any minute. 

Chapter Text

Time seemed to stand still and whirl like a dervish all at once, hard to keep track of, even harder to recall what exactly had happened. Whether through exhaustion, the occasional discreet miracle on Aziraphale’s end, or a combination of the two, Crowley couldn’t be sure. She’d stopped looking at the clock, stopped timing every surge of discomfort, only knew it was happening by the screams tearing from her hoarse throat. 

But now it was over. Silence drifted through the air like fog lifting before the sun, and with it came the slow return of Crowley’s abilities. The first thing she did (after waking from a well-deserved sleep) was miracle away her bleeding. Absolutely no fucking way was she dealing with that for the next six weeks.

The second thing she did required no miracles. She simply looked down.

Six millennia on Earth meant that Crowley had seen many births, had helped at a few, too. She’d worn a female form back then, too, supporting those women who otherwise might have birthed alone, or in great danger. A demon by their side could have done little for their luck, had Crowley felt inclined to act on her supposed nature, but every baby she was present for had delivered safely and in good health. 

There was a satisfaction in observing new life entering the world, untainted, touched not by blessing or sin, but loved intensely, from the moment their existence was known.

And now Crowley was experiencing that love for herself, as she smiled at the little bundle resting on her chest.

Our little one. Our child. You’re here at last.

She was tiny, or at least as tiny as babies that have been carried for nearly a year could be, and she was very pink, and the faintest smudge of dark hair dusted the back of her head. No horns, nor wings, nor halo; nothing that might suggest she had an angel and a demon for parents, and she hadn’t opened her eyes yet, seemingly content to sleep away the rest of the evening. Crowley couldn’t blame her. They’d all had a rather tiring twenty-four hours or so, after all. 

The bedroom door opened quietly, and Aziraphale slipped inside, dressed in a loose shirt and tartan pyjama pants. He rarely slept, and so rarely looked worn out, but the faintest hint of purple shadowed the delicate skin around his eyes. Despite that, he still managed to project an aura of such radiance that Crowley couldn’t help but love him even more in that moment.

“Young Newton is passed out at the kitchen table,” Aziraphale whispered, slipping onto the bed beside Crowley, “and Anathema has taken the sofa for the time being. I popped a blanket over Newt’s shoulders, didn’t really want to move him, poor boy, I think we traumatised him.”

“He’s traumatised? Tell that to my vagina,” Crowley muttered. “Never again, angel, going right back to a cock as soon as I can walk straight.”

“Whatever you like, dear,” giggled Aziraphale. He turned onto his side, shirt riding up slightly to expose a delightful strip of skin around his soft middle. It was nothing, however, compared to the way his eyes softened as he looked at their daughter. “Isn’t she beautiful?” he sighed. “She looks very much like you.”

“She looks like a potato, angel. All babies do when they’re born.”

“That’s not very nice.”


Aziraphale rolled his eyes, but settled down with his head on Crowley’s shoulder. “You were amazing, you know. So strong. I have long admired women their fortitude, but seeing you tonight...oh, I couldn’t be prouder.” 

“Gonna make me blush,” Crowley grinned, turning her head to peck Aziraphale on the brow.

“How are you feeling?”

“Bit sticky. Could probably do with another bath.”

Aziraphale smiled gently. “Sit tight, and I’ll run one for you.”

“You’re the best, you.”

“And I love you, dearest,” replied Aziraphale, kissing Crowley’s lips gently. He slid off the bed again and padded off towards the bathroom.

The baby had begun to fuss a little, head turning this way and that. Gingerly Crowley inched herself into a more upright position and brought the child to her breast, making good use of a second miracle to ensure an effective latch. Soon the babe was suckling away happily, leaving Crowley to close her eyes and bask in the love surrounding them, drifting off to the sounds of Aziraphale’s gentle singing and the steady rush of steaming bathwater.

Chapter Text

The bookshop had been busy, the sort of hustle and bustle that Aziraphale normally would be glowering at over the top of his novel of choice. Today, though, he was all too pleased to entertain the London masses, as everybody wanted the chance to coo over the half-awake infant currently nestled into the crook of Aziraphale's arm.

"Ezra, darling, she's gorgeous," crooned young Robert Maitland, the partner of Thomas from their usual watering hole, Halfway to Heaven. Aziraphale practically glowed with pride and felt the feathers in his wings ruffle at the happy shiver that went down his spine. "How old is she now?"

"Three weeks, dear."

"No names yet?"

Aziraphale paused and frowned, looking down at the baby. "No, not yet, I'm afraid. We'll have to get a wiggle on and decide soon."

She opened her eyes briefly at that moment, and Aziraphale smiled down at her, touching her cheek. Crowley had been stricken with worry about how her eyes would look, but they were blue, a lovely bright blue, no serpentine hints to be seen anywhere. 

"You can hold her, if you like," he offered, and Robert lit up with joy, holding his arms out eagerly, allowing Aziraphale to deposit the baby into them. He swept around the shop, rocking the baby and talking to her in sweet, hushed tones that would have had Aziraphale giggling, had he not used the opportunity to miracle his tea hot again and have a well-deserved drink. 

"Your lovely lady getting some rest?" Robert asked, glancing up briefly from the baby currently blowing spit bubbles at him.

Aziraphale's gaze shifted too, up to the top of a nearby bookcase, and he hid a smile. "Yes, she's been ever so tired since the little one made her appearance."

"You're taking good care of her, though, I bet. You do with all of us, after all."

"I do what I can, dear boy," Aziraphale replied, sipping his tea. 

The baby drifted off back to sleep in the comfort of Robert's arms, which left Aziraphale free to catch up on his paperwork and chatter away with the odd customer who wandered in. Such was his current joy, he found himself outright giving away several books - keeping the first editions for himself, of course. 

The time slipped away without anybody noticing, and by four o'clock Robert was coming over and passing the baby back, an apologetic smile on his face. "I should be going now, darling. Might we see you at the club sometime soon?"

"I will try my best, I promise you." 

They kissed each others' cheeks, and Robert stroked an adoring thumb over the baby's head. "By the way...I think she looks like a Grace. Something to consider." He winked at Aziraphale and turned on his heel to leave, boot heels clicking on the worn wood floor. "Be seeing you!"

Aziraphale looked down at his daughter, snuffling in her sleep. "Grace, hm?" he murmured. "I...I quite like that as a middle name, actually...but something is missing - oh, and you need a surname as well, little one! Whatever are we to come up with?"

"I thought of ssseveral, angel," came Crowley's gentle, whispering hiss from atop the bookcase. 

Aziraphale's face split into a jubilant smile. "Oh, my love," he professed, "you're awake! Do come down in a minute and let's talk about it, then."

"On my way -" A resounding thud made Aziraphale jump. "Ow."

"Really, Crowley, you must take more care when you're still half asleep!" Aziraphale poked his head round the bookcase and sighed to see a rather disgruntled-looking serpent lying amidst a cloud of dust. He held out his free arm, allowing Crowley to wind herself around it and pull up to settle over his shoulders, yawning widely. It was nice, the weight of Crowley around him, and their daughter nestled in his arms, like a peculiar, but much wanted, family cuddle. 

"Sssleeping the day away again, little one?" Crowley touched her nose to the baby's forehead, tongue flickering out languidly.

"Like mother, like daughter," chuckled Aziraphale. He sat back down in his chair and picked up his mug, staring into it for a moment before filling it again to the brim. "So, we were discussing names?"

"I sssuppose Eden is out?"

Aziraphale made a face. "Ooh, no, I don't think that would be -"


"Better, but still the same sort of meaning, if I remember correctly…"

"Assster, Lussscina, Sssalo - right, thisss isn't working, one moment -" Crowley slithered onto the arm of the chair and with a little shiver, slipped back into her human appearance. "God, saying all those names with a snake's mouth is a nightmare," she muttered, primping her hair. 

Aziraphale was diligently writing the suggested names on a scrap of paper, though he did pause to smile up at his wife perched on the arm. "What was the one you said after Aster? Lucina, was it?"

"Yeah, and then Salome -",

"O-Oh." The angel's pen stopped its gentle scratching. Now that did bring back old memories, a dull ache in his chest at that. A bittersweet smile lifted his lips as he turned back to the paper. "Any others, love?"

"Let's see now…"

Several minutes later, they had a sizeable list of names, though most had been crossed off by this point. Crowley plucked Aziraphale's pen from his fingers and put a firm line across 'Serafina,' one of his suggestions. "Absolutely not, angel. Don't need reminding of Upstairs every time I look at her."

"Worth a try," he shrugged, taking the pen back and crossing out 'Salome.' "Same goes for this one. Reminds me too much of poor Oscar. Oh, I do still miss him."

"So that leaves…"

"Yes, just two to narrow down…"

Crowley plucked the snoozing babe from the crook of Aziraphale's arm and held her out, eyes crinkling with pure love behind her sunglasses. "What do you think, sweetpea? Are you a Lucina, or an Amara?"

The baby screwed up her face and broke wind, resulting in her parents breaking off into spluttering laughter; they woke her and she made her displeasure known with a loud wail. Aziraphale clapped a hand over his lips to mute his mirth, shoulders shaking with the effort.

Still chuckling, Crowley unbuttoned her blouse and put the babe to her breast. "I think we have our answer, angel."

Aziraphale nodded, giggles fading to a beatific smile. "Yes...I believe we do. And a good choice it is, indeed."

Chapter Text

There is a couple arguing heatedly by the waterfront at St James' Park.

Not an uncommon sight, if truth be told; many a breakup had taken place here, words about commitments gone awry or expectations not being met. These two, at the present time, were arguing about who had gotten there first. One wore a velvet skater dress, odd socks and scuffed platform Mary Janes, the other a well-tailored, dove-grey suit. 

"-have the flies off my head if it transpirezzz you saw the brat first, I'm not having it -"

"Early bird catches the worm, I believe they say down here - which is still higher than that dreary old basement your lot call home, hm?"

"You arrogant arse of an angel!"

"Pipsqueak of a demon -"

"Now you listen to me -!"

Aziraphale and Crowley had been watching the whole time, comfortable on their picnic blanket and utterly beside themselves with bystander's glee. 

"I must say, I've never seen Gabriel so flustered before," Aziraphale giggled as he tossed his sandwich crusts to a flock of nearby pigeons. Crowley felt a wily smirk creeping up over her lips and turned away, remembering a little stunt involving Heaven and hellfire.

They were making their way over now, poor Beelzebub looking just about ready to trip over their own feet, walking awkwardly as they were. Gabriel strode decidedly in front, back straight and teeth bared in what he probably thought was a friendly grin but just managed to look his usual overly-confident, arrogant self.

“Nice of you to show your faces at last,” Crowley called out.

Gabriel bobbed his head. “Um, yes. Aziraphale. Crow...ley?”

“One and only.” Crowley noticed with satisfaction that Aziraphale had only given his boss a cursory nod and then promptly returned to spoiling the pigeons, ignoring their superiors entirely.

“I see you’ve ditched the tits,” Beelzebub deadpanned.

Crowley rolled her eyes behind her sunglasses. “Raging case of mastitis. Had to miracle the fuckers away.” She’d kept the face, still feeling more female for now, but occasionally she’d look in the mirror and wish for the hard angles and cheekbones once more. Maybe in a few weeks she’d make the change again. “Don’t have kids, Baby Bee.” 

“Wasn’t planning on it.” The prince of Hell had the grace to look mildly disgusted. “Where’s the brat?” 

Crowley pointed to the pram sitting in the shade by way of response, and Beelzebub marched over, elbowing a resigned-looking Gabriel out of the way. Now Aziraphale was paying attention, head swivelling to observe their every move near their daughter. He had that look in his eye - that burning, dangerous look that made Crowley go weak at the knees and damp between the thighs.

“You, uh, you’ve had it, then?” Gabriel asked, peering into the pram. 

“Obviously,” Aziraphale said in a tight voice. 

“Why is it just staring at me like that? Does it talk?”

“She’zzz a baby, dipshit,” hissed Beelzebub.


“Babies don’t talk,” they snapped. “Look at her, she’s clearly not old enough to do anything by herself yet.” She was, in fact, old enough to cry, pee, poop, and be sick on herself, but Crowley kept that bit firmly under wraps.

“But...with angel blood, surely…when God created us, we -”

“Yeah, well, God didn’t create this one, did She?” Beelzebub jabbed a finger at Crowley and Aziraphale. “Candidates One and Two for Employee of the Year did.”

“Alpha Centauri isn’t a patch on our little star, that’s for sure,” winked Crowley.

Aziraphale stood then, and circled round the two supernatural entities currently having a staring contest with an infant. He scooped her out of the pram and cradled her to his chest, whereupon she promptly began patting at the buttons on his waistcoat. “She is neither demon nor angel,” he explained, “and yet, not quite human also...she’s somewhere in between spheres of operation. We’ve not been able to say for sure. I can, however, give you her name with 100% utmost certainty.” He shifted her to the crook of his arm and tickled under her chin, making her squirm and smile with chubby-cheeked radiance. “Gabriel, Beelzebub...representatives and voices of our respective head offices...we would like you to meet Lucina Grace Antonia Fell -”

“AKA, that “bridge” you wanted,” Crowley drawled, grinning at Beelzebub, who ignored her.

“-And definitely not the Antichrist come again, or one of those Nephilim horrors I heard so much about Upstairs,” finished Aziraphale. “No, very much just an ordinary child, or as ordinary as she can be with...well, with us for parents.” 

Ordinary was certainly the word for Lucina. She no longer resembled a sticky potato, having unravelled from the stiff curl of a newborn and taken on a personality. At eight weeks old, she was holding her head up by herself and starting to babble, and she slept particularly well with her mother’s serpentine coils surrounding her. The only thing out of the ordinary about her was perhaps that her hair grew very fast.

Gabriel and Beelzebub glanced at each other, twin frowns furrowing their brows. “Bridge?” Gabriel chanced.

“Don’t even go there,” sighed Beelzebub.

“Right. Well.” Gabriel cleared his throat. “I think I can relay this back Upstairs. Our Lord will be pleased, I imagine.”

“Oh, no need to worry about all that,” Aziraphale said cheerfully. “She came to see us just last week, actually. Shed an awful lot of tears over Lucina. I think She liked her…” Thankfully he left out the part where Crowley turned into a snake and hid in the fridge so she didn’t have to see the Almighty.

Gabriel spluttered, much to Beelzebub’s evident amusement. “Why am I only hearing about this now?!”

“Perhaps,” Crowley purred, standing up at last and sauntering over to loop an arm around Aziraphale’s delightfully soft middle, “you’re not as important as you think you are, Angel.”

“I am exactly as important as I think I am!”

“Ew,” Beelzebub muttered. 

“What do you see in him, Baby Bee?”

“Wondering that myself right now, actually -” They stopped, cursed under their breath, and waved away the sudden flush of colour on their cheeks. “Okay, I’m done here. Crowley, your paperwork izzz late, again, and I will give you another week, only because Lucina is cute. Are we clear?”

“Crystal, m’lord.”

“Good.” They snapped their fingers and vanished in a crackle of flames, leaving just a puff of smoke behind.

Aziraphale settled Lucina back in the pram and handed over her favourite cuddle blanket - which just so happened to look like a black-scaled, red-bellied snake. “I believe that concludes our meeting.” He looked up at Gabriel, who was staring with a wistful expression at the dissipating smoke. “When shall I see you again, Gabriel?” he asked mildly.

The archangel stumbled over his words momentarily, “U-Uh, well, I think - I’ll send a message down in advance, shall I? Probably be easier that way.”

“Quite.” Aziraphale bared his teeth in a sickly sweet smile.

“Good day, Aziraphale, Crowley.”


“Good riddance!” 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale admonished as Gabriel left. The burning had left his eyes, replaced with his usual innocent-looking sparkle. “That wasn’t very nice.”

“I’m not nice to anyone who tells my angel to slim down,” Crowley snorted. “Speaking of, let’s pack up and head back now. I wanna get Lucina down for a nap, and then I’m going to show you just how fucking much I love that gut of yours.”

Chapter Text

Perhaps the assumption that Lucina was not the Antichrist come again was wrong. 

Just as Crowley began to plan all the indulgent spoiling and body worship afforded her angel, Lucina decided now was a fantastic time to hit herself in the head with her dummy and be highly upset about it for a good half hour. She eventually settled with a bottle Crowley had expressed earlier in the day, and with some cuddles from Aziraphale. Crowley watched him patter around the flat, babe in arms, singing softly, and felt her demonic heart swell with love.

"One o' these mornin's," the angel crooned, stroking Lucina's shock of dark hair, "you're goin' to rise up singin', then you'll spread your wings, and you'll take the sky…

"But till that mornin', there's a nothin' can harm you, with daddy and mammy standin' by…"

Crowley brushed at her eyes, wiping away the reminiscent tears collecting there. Seeing Aziraphale handle Lucina with such love, reverent and gentle, made Crowley glad, not for the first, or tenth, or even millionth time, that she had Fallen. Just her and Aziraphale, the two creatures of the Lord to bear witness to the fruit of humanity and feast on it as if they were one of its own. 

And now they had Lucina, too; not quite an angel, not quite a demon, but theirs, that was what mattered. Humans might have said their family was complete, but to Crowley, it was just...a welcome addition. Nothing was perfect, or ever meant to be. It just was, and that was fine by her. 

Finally, Lucina was asleep, and Aziraphale was able to put her down in the little sleeping pod that had been a gift from Anathema and Newt. "There we are, my little cherub," Crowley heard him murmuring, "you sleep now, and have the sweetest dreams…"

"Cherub, angel?" Crowley snorted. "Projecting much?"

Aziraphale turned, smiling gently. "Those days are long behind me, Crowley."

"You've kept the singing voice, though."

"Well, I was no seraph, certainly, but my lot were rather proud of what we could do with our vocal cords."

Crowley approached, allowed herself to be wrapped in Aziraphale's soft embrace. "You sang Billie's lyrics."

"I did. I remember how much you loved her." Aziraphale lifted Crowley's chin with a careful finger, eyes meeting through the tears still threatening to fall. She smiled back at him, knowing, and not remotely caring, that she looked dopey and lovestruck. There was little need to hide it, after all. Our side.

"Oh, my wife, my darling," Aziraphale breathed, stroking her cheek. "You who brighten my days when they are dark, and make me laugh when I want to who showed me a world I could never find alone. You are truly the half of me I never knew was missing. I love you so much it perhaps ought frighten me, but what could ever be frightening about what we share? I am yours, now and forever, heart and soul."

"As much as I am yours." Crowley had not intended for her voice to come out a croak. Or maybe she did. Aziraphale's way with words always made her a little emotional. She had to act now, before his poetry well and truly swept her off her feet. So she extracted herself from his arms, and took his hand in hers, tugging him lightly towards the bedroom. Chuckling, he followed willingly.

Once by the bed, she stopped. "I believe-" she turned and popped a button from Aziraphale's waistcoat- "I was going to show you how much I love your gut."

"You were," Aziraphale giggled.

"May I?"

"By all means, dearest."

Crowley took her time undressing Aziraphale. Not so long ago, she was an impatient sort, and would miracle the clothing away, but she'd learned that unwrapping him like the best present in the world was even more fun, more satisfying, savouring the slow exposure of soft skin, dusted with white-gold hairs practically begging to be playfully nosed through.

Once Aziraphale was bare from the waist up, trousers undone and sitting low on his hips, Crowley sank to her knees.

"Dearest," came the reverent whisper above her, breathless with longing. Crowley smiled and leaned forward, lips pressing to the soft swell of Aziraphale's belly. Just kisses first, and gentle sweeping of fingers across warm skin, listening to Aziraphale sigh and murmur happily. 

Then Crowley chanced a gentle bite over one delectable love handle and that, oh, that made her angel gasp and slide a hand into her hair, tugging just slightly, and she hummed at the tingling pleasure before sucking lightly on the proffered patch. Not enough to bruise, he wasn't into that. She certainly liked to be marked, would beg for it some nights, but not her angel. No, the tenderness, the worship, that was enough for him.

Oh, but how she loved his bulk. Gabriel could very much go and fuck himself if he thought she would ever allow Aziraphale to "lose the gut." 

Switching sides, she nipped again, drawing the forks of her tongue over the reddened areas and kissing them afterwards. Aziraphale was panting now, trembling with building pleasure, its evidence visible in the tenting of his trousers. Crowley ignored it, tongue dipping teasingly across the waistband, feeling more than hearing his shuddering gasp. 

"C-Crowley - I...oh, please-"

"Gorgeous," Crowley hissed, nipping the slight overhang of his belly. "So gorgeous, could just devour you, angel…"

"Please, Crowley - ah! Oh, my love-"

"Gonna spoil you rotten, angel, show you I love every inch of you -" Crowley dipped her tongue into Aziraphale's navel and smirked at his surprised squeal -"paint you over with my lips and tongue and oh, angel, you're so bloody hot-" 

There was just so much of him to adore, always had been. Dimpled cheeks, soft stomach, thick thighs and bless, that round and plump backside of his; Aziraphale's corporation ever plush, comforting, a Heaven all wrapped up in one wonderful body. So many thousands of years spent worshipping his corporation from afar, and now Crowley had him, the true apple of Eden, her first true temptation.

Aziraphale was incoherent, mindless with desire, by the time Crowley tugged his trousers down and took him into her mouth. Her fingers played along his belly as she performed obscene acts with her tongue around thick, throbbing flesh, a soft cadence of moaning, gasping pleasure a welcome harmony. He came down her throat with a choked cry, and she swallowed effortlessly, thankful for the gift. 

Lips still stretched prettily around her angel's cock, she looked up, and smirked. Aziraphale looked thoroughly out of it, cheeks flushed scarlet, eyes unfocused, hips and stomach peppered with fading red marks and scrapes from overexcited nails. 

And he was perfect. Every inch of him. 

Chapter Text

It was late in the States for definite, but Warlock knew his mother rarely slept at a decent time. Cross-legged on his bed, he tapped through his cell to Skype his parents across the Atlantic.

Harriet's face flickered into view only a few rings later. Warlock smiled widely.

"Hi, mom!"

"Hello, sweetheart!" Harriet trilled, slightly crackly and distorted from what Warlock knew was her terribly outdated laptop. "Feels like forever since we last talked. How's college?"

Warlock sighed and ran a hand over his face. "Mom, I've told you, they call it university here."

Harriet laughed. "University, then. And how are you doing?"

"I’d say pretty good. Had an exam last week - think I’ve done enough to pass. What about you guys? Dad still practically living with the President?"

"Your father has been very busy recently, but he sends his love. I'd forgotten what the weather was like here compared to London; I don't miss the rain!" 

Warlock laughed at that, and settled more comfortably on his bed, reclining back. His mother did look much more at ease back in her home country, and that made him endlessly happy. Accent and culture aside, Warlock himself would always be a proud Londoner, but he would never begrudge his parents the opportunity to head back to their homeland for a vacation.

Someone needed to remind Thaddeus of the meaning of the word “vacation,” however.

“So hey,” Warlock grinned into his phone, “guess what me and Adam are doing today?”

“Oh, no. This can’t be good.”

“No, you’ll love this! We’ve got Nanny’s baby girl with us-”

"I'm not a baby!" came a mildly offended protest off-screen. 

"-and we’re baby sitting her till tomorrow,” Warlock finished, grin widening.

"I'm not a baby!"

Warlock suddenly had a lap full of irritated, pouting toddler, and he burst out laughing. Red in the face, Lucina tugged relentlessly at his hair, shouting, "You're a meeeeeanie!"

Harriet appeared stunned into momentary silence while she watched her son untangle his long locks from Lucina's fingers. Then she cleared her throat. "Um. Well. I didn't know Miss Ashtoreth was married."

"Oh, she wasn't back then," Warlock replied, patting Lucina on the head and then shoving her back onto the bed, "but a few years ago she got hitched, and Adam put me in touch with her again. We meet for tea sometimes, or whiskey. She does like a good whiskey, heh.”

“You’re not-”

“It’s eighteen here, mom,” groaned Warlock. He turned the phone to face his young companion, now diligently counting the pizza stains on his bedspread. “So anyway, this is Lucina! She's three going on thirty-three and a bit of a devil, like your mama, aren't you, Lucie?"

"Mama’s a dee-mon," giggled Lucina. "Not devil."

"She's also annoyingly pedantic and talks far too well for a kid her age," Warlock sighed. 

Lucina plopped back into his lap. "'M hungry."

"Go bug Adam, I can still hear him in the kitchen."

"Okay!" She jumped up and clattered away down the hall. 

Harriet’s smile had grown ear to ear, cheeks plump and pink. “Oh, sweetheart,” she gushed, “she’s so cute. Look at you, on babysitting duty! Wait till I tell your father!"

"Please don't call her cute within earshot. I saw her dad do that one time, and she put salt in his tea instead of sugar when he wasn't looking. It's a miracle he didn't throw up on the spot."

"Sounds like Miss Ashtoreth needs to pull out some of the discipline she used to use with you, Warlock."

"Might work for most kids, but Lucie's no normal kid, that's for sure." He wasn’t lying. He had once observed Crowley having to turn to divine intervention to make Lucina stop sweet-talking the houseplants. Apparently Aziraphale’s boss had taken one look at the resulting paperwork, and then swiftly learned how to make a plane out of it so he could launch it out of the nearest Heavenly opened window.

Adam stuck his head round the door just as Warlock and his mother’s conversation turned to the latest Jay Leno. “Lucie wanted a sandwich,” he said. “Thought you might be hungry as well, so I’ve made you one.”

Warlock chuckled. He had only been a mite peckish, but Adam’s otherworldly influence suddenly had him rather famished. “Oh, thanks. I’ll come get it in a sec.”

“Hi, Adam!” Harriet chirped from the video call.

“Hiya, Mrs Dowling!” Adam ambled over to peek over Warlock’s shoulder, waving at the screen. “Those sweets you sent over were amazing.”

“I’m so pleased you liked them! I’ll make sure to get some more for you before we fly back.” Harriet leaned forwards, fingers steepled. “It sounds quiet back there, boys, so let me give you a tip. Silence is golden, unless you have a small child. Then you should be very, very afraid.”

The next video call, a few days later, involved how in the mere one minute and thirty seconds Lucina had been unsupervised, she got onto the counter and upended an entire bottle of sunflower oil over her head. 

In her defence, she did claim her mama did something similar to make her hair grow. 

They switched to solid coconut oil in the kitchen after that.

Chapter Text

Adults were gross, Lucina concluded. Or, well, whatever the fuck her parents actually were - she wasn’t allowed to swear around her Papa, but Mama encouraged it a fair bit. They were nothing if not amusing opposites in her day-to-day life.

Currently she was watching them clatter around their bedroom above the bookshop, while she sat on the top step of the spiral staircase, homework book open and forgotten in her lap. Aziraphale was doing a rare spot of tidying up his own books, with Crowley dithering in front of the mirror.

“-Don’t know how I feel about - ugh. Angel?”

“Yes, dear?”

"'S'it time for a change?"

“Well, I can hardly answer that for you." Aziraphale crossed the room to drape his arms around Crowley's middle. "How do you feel about your current presentation?”

“That’s the thing, 'm not sure.” Crowley looked back in the mirror, parting his hair and touching under his eyes. 

Eleven year olds weren’t the best judge of time passing, but in any case, time sort of stood still around Lucina’s parents; Mama had looked like a boy for maybe two years now, five at the most. Lucina didn’t understand why it really mattered what he, or she, or they, looked more like. Papa said she’d get it once she was a bit older. 

Mama encouraged Lucina's questions, even when she felt silly asking them. There was nothing wrong, Mama said, with wondering after answers. 

Her teachers at school would disagree, and did, often. Her parents seemed to enjoy questioning their authority complexes almost as much as they enjoyed a good glass of wine of a night.

“Well, at the very least, might you keep your hair around this length?” Aziraphale absently twirled Crowley's elbow-length, auburn curls as he nuzzled his ear. “I do so love how it looks on you, dearest, whatever you're expressing.”

Crowley chuckled, still poking and prodding bits of his face. “Yeah, sure. Needs a trim, though. Split ends for days...right, I’m changing this... and this…” 

Honestly, Lucina barely ever saw the difference. She knew it mattered to Mama, though. Aunt Anathema and Ms Pepper were always talking about Miss Odgeny, and society and toxic mask-you-something, and there was that time Papa tapped his nose and said, “choose your faces wisely…"

Adults were weird, she surmised, in addition to being gross.

Sitting on the stairs wasn’t comfortable anymore, so Lucina closed her book and stumbled to her feet; destination, parents’ bed. She jumped onto it, crossed her legs, bare and bruised from play, and leaned forward. “Do the chin,” she said.

Crowley blinked those funny yellow eyes at Lucina’s reflection in the mirror. “Sorry, Lucie, what?”

“The chin. Smaller, and with that little dip thingy. You had it last year."

“Oh, and it was such a lovely chin indeed,” sighed Aziraphale, kissing Crowley’s new higher, slanted cheekbones. 

“Guess I could see how it looks with the current get-up…” One more blink of serpentine eyes, and the chin was in place, dimple and all.

Lucina nodded. That was perfect, and she gave Crowley a thumbs-up. 

“Yeah? Like it?”

“Looks nice, Mama. Are you a girl now?"

"Erm…" Crowley ran a hand over his face a moment. "Nah. Not at the moment. Ask me again in a month or six."

"You look beautiful, my darling," Aziraphale gushed with his usual heapings of delighted praise. Crowley blushed ever so slightly, but seemingly couldn't resist leaning in for another round of lovey-dovey cuddles and kisses.

Lucina wrinkled her nose. Yep, gross.

"Can I go play down the road?" There'd be a busker or two at this time in the afternoon, and Lucina was sure to find a few kids milling about to cause mischief with.

Aziraphale looked her up and down. "Change out of your school uniform first, please, and be back here for seven." He caught Crowley's smirk at Lucina in the mirror - they all knew she would never be punctual - and sighed. "Fine, seven-thirty, but no later! It's getting dark out there now, and you're only a small thing, I'd rather not lose you somewhere, petal."

A fond smile tugged at Lucina's lips. Papa could be overbearing, but it was hard not to love him for it. Meant he cared, which was more than some kids could say about their parents. She hopped off the bed, stood on tiptoe to hug Aziraphale briefly, and dashed to her own room to change. 

The soft sounds of giggling and lips smacking met her sensitive ears as she was tugging her blouse off and chucking it to the floor.

"When I learn miracles," she muttered to the cactus by her bed, "there'll be no such thing as kissing." 

Adults were so fucking gross.