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  1. Public Bookmark 3

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    eff-able kinktober day 1: discipline/punishment

    “I think you need a reminder of who exactly is in charge right now.” Aziraphale’s voice was a low purr, his lips right next to Crowley’s ear, “Does that sound right?”

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    04 Oct 2026

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    Aziraphale looks back at him from across the pillows, his eyes unreadable in the faint light. There is a crease from a pillowcase imprinted high on his cheek, turning pink already; Crowley reaches out, back over the same distance Aziraphale has already crossed, to smooth his fingertips and all his faith and all his hope and all his trust over it.

    “You’re the first,” Crowley manages to say, looking not quite at him, studying that crease on his cheek. The indentation of it is already fading under his touch. “Never woken up with someone before.”

    *

    A letting go.

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    01 Oct 2026

  3. Rec 2

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    After the guests go home, Aziraphale and Crowley finish off their wedding night the way only they can.

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    28 Sep 2026

  4. Rec *

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    “Look at them,” Aziraphale says softly, but his gaze is unfixed and he’s not talking about anyone in particular. Just the city as a whole, just the unlikely rise of glass and steel, the improbable pinpoints of pale lamplight and neon flickering to life as London begins to wake: the implausible reality of the life humanity has built for itself here out of nothing but courage and tenacity and hope. “Look at everything they’ve done. Everything they can do.”

    *

    It’s the first day, but it’s an old story.

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    28 Sep 2026

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  5. Rec *

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    Here in the South Downs cottage, Crowley has more than he ever thought he would: the two of them, safe, and he gets to live alongside Aziraphale every day. He still can't bring himself to say it, though, still finds himself wanting, doesn't want to drag the angel down with the mess of his love, doesn't want to ruin what they have.

    Aziraphale, however, is getting tired of Crowley staring longingly off into the night sky, and confronts him.

    There is more of a balance here than Crowley thought.

    ***

    The angel smiles. That crinkling kindness, that laugh in the corner of him, bright and deathless and pure, and Crowley’s resolve is melting. Aziraphale does remove his glasses now, fingers brushing his temples, folds them into his own pocket, pocketing Crowley’s last defense. Neither of them looks away. The night sounds clutter around them, the sway of elderly oak branches, the gentle scuttle of a village turning itself into bed, reinventing for the next day, the caw and croon of things with feathers, searching for love. A knowing hum in an ancient throat, leaning in.

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    27 Sep 2026