aziraphale was a simple, sweet Angel. crowley was a cold, vicious demon. but really, what else was keeping them apart? colour. they didn't see colour until they kissed their soulmate. dear god, please let this turn out well Edit: #1 on #myboys !!!!#

🌻Honestly, this is just a weird story I'm slowly writing...sorry if it makes no sense!!! 🌻 \\🌹If you don't get a warm fuzzy feeling then I'm not doing this right...🌹//

6,000 years ago, a demon fell for an angel. After the Apocalypse doesn't happen, he remembers six millennia of tentative friendship, daring rescues and growing love. Now there may not be any reasons left not to be in love. If you've read any of my other Ineffable Husbands fic, you probably know what to expect: pining, kissing, history, bickering, humour, angst, lust, music, poetry, ridiculously expensive hotels, Dagon being Crowley's line manager, and a happy ending. Art (including my cover) by the wonderful loni_caprifolicum and Tamsly, made especially for this fic for Good Omens Big Bang 2019. Please respect their ownership of their art.

I LOVE THESE AND I QUITLY SCREAMED AT ALL OF THEM credit given most from insta and if a post on insta is in parts then I will post all together ❤️❤️❤️❤️ 😇 😈

THE ACTUAL TITLE IS WITHIN THE STORY. Crowley hates when Aziraphale is upset. He hates it so much, that he is willing to go against his demonic nature to help the angel feel better. Or, five times that Crowley comforts Aziraphale, and one time Aziraphale comforts Crowley. Aziraphale/Crowley at the end. Hurt/Comfort, angst, fluff, so much fluff, a bit of romance.

Good Omens. Crowley and Aziraphale pose as husbands for a house party, because Aziraphale is bad at saying no (to anyone but Crowley and anyone trying to buy books). Crowley thinks this is a good chance to prove himself the perfect potential demon husband to a fussy angel. But things get complicated fast. Really complicated. A lot of pining, a lot of shopping and restaurants and party games, some near misses, but no sex until chapter 24 (and all of 25).

"Aziraphale debated internally a bit, but curling his arm up around Crowley's shoulder really was more comfortable. He knew he was being silly. He knew a dance was nothing and if it made Crowley happy after his feelings had apparently been hurt it wasn't much to ask, but-it was the demon. He had the literally infernal talent to make even the simplest, least dubious things feel like a temptation. Aziraphale knew it was Crowley's nature, and not strictly saying his fault, but it did sometimes make things feel *complicated*." Biarritz, South of France, 1921. Aziraphale stumbles on Crowley apparently working the hotels and casinos as a gigolo. At least, that's where it begins.

Aziraphale would forgive him, of course. He always did. That had always been the Hell of it. It had been stupid to think things would be any different this time. It was a game they had been playing a long, long time, and he was all kinds of fool and idiot if he was going to suddenly start taking it seriously, even if only a few days ago he had thought Aziraphale was dead. Our side. It would be nice, really nice, if there was an *our side.* To be honest with himself, there was nothing in all the universe he wanted more. "I'll pick you up at eight," he repeated to the closed door, and headed back to the flat to take it out on the plants.

That was no way to think, just because a stupid ex-nun misinterpreted a blamelessly hostile situation. That way lay madness. That way lay an angel with disapprovingly pursed lips and pitying pale eyes and "My dear boy, I'm so *very* sorry, but..." and Armageddon would come as a relief after that, really.