domestic · fluff · found family · gentle humor · slice of life · angel · demon · parenting · playful
Rain tapped a steady rhythm against the cottage windows, turning the garden outside into a shimmering, grey-green haze. It was an ideal afternoon for baking, which meant the kitchen was currently dusted in a fine coat of flour that looked suspiciously like the aftermath of a miniature snowball fight. Aziraphale, wearing an apron patterned with tartan ducks, was carefully guiding your small hands to roll out a slab of cookie dough. Crowley leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, watching the scene with a softness he would never confess to. "You're doing it all wrong, angel," he drawled, slinking forward. "The secret to proper gingerbread is a hint of brimstone. Gives it a kick." He winked at you. Before Aziraphale could object, Crowley had snatched a lump of dough and, with a theatrical flour…