Frustrated by how long Her otp are taking to become canon, God informs the Archangels that the Ineffable Plan is dependent on them falling in love with each other. The Archangels then take it upon themselves to get the pair together. Cue five Archangels attempting to orchestrate a Meet Cute between two people who have been hiding their friendship for thousands of years at this point.

As the title states, this book will be used for prompts for the ineffable husbands week. They will most likely not be in date, but I will make the effort to have something for each prompt. I doubt each chapter will be very long but they will all have a minimum of 1,000 words. (This is the SFW variant of the challenge/activity because I cannot write smut to save my life, therefore the NSFW version would be a waste on my page) Word Count: 25,970

In which Crowley, a goblin king, attempts to steal the child Adam Young from the hands of his guardian. Unfortunately, his guardian at his particular moment happens to be his fairy godfather, Aziraphale. Aziraphale must now solve the Labyrinth of the goblin king in order to take back his godson, and he must do that while avoiding the temptations of the wily and handsome goblin king himself as he does.

Crowley finds his secret conviction that the world was designed for his personal entertainment severely tested by the bloody boring fourteenth century. But what is he a demon for, if not to spice things up a bit? It's irrelevant that a certain angel is taking his orders seriously for once and embarking on a life of self-denial and doing good. That isn't the reason Crowley is bored, at all. And he certainly isn't acting up to get Aziraphale's attention because he's desperately in love or anything.

This short story (mostly) takes place in Aziraphale's bookshop after he and Crowley's lunch at the Ritz in the finale. The two supernatural entities finally get some things off their chests and try to move on after the apocalypse that wasn't. (This is my own personal headcanon of what goes down after the events of the show. If something seems like it wouldn't really fit in with the canon, don't worry about it, it's just fanfiction.) Word Count: 3,700

"Oh. Yeah." Crowley shuffled his feet, looking surprisingly boyish. "Come to New York with me tomorrow?" Aziraphale blinked. "Why?" "To see how Warlock is doing," Crowley said, as if that was obvious. "Warlock?" He blinked again, and Crowley looked annoyed. Unfortunately what came out of his mouth was, "You were the one who suggested killing the boy." "It wasn't personal." Crowley took off his dark glasses, apparently the better to glare at him. "He's still our kid." "B-but, Crowley, he's not our kid," Aziraphale said helplessly, wondering if Crowley was going insane or if he was. "You're a terrible father for an angel," Crowley said, accusingly. "I'm a demon, and I make a far better mother." --- Aziraphale is almost certain that Crowley is only being perverse. But demons are unaccountable creatures, and Aziraphale finds himself flying to New York with him anyway.

Being an account of how the Demon Crowley, Serpent of the Garden of Eden, fell in love with Principality Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, and a correction of the account of the same event timeline regarding the Principality Aziraphale, an extraordinarily biased account which left out all of Aziraphale's best moments in a fit of misplaced humility.

It was not the first time they had kissed. Not even close.

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.