Terms of Endearment
Crowley had always called Aziraphale angel. It had started as a term of disdain – he had hardly covered the venom in his voice when Aziraphale showed up on the wall. An angel. Why here of all places? He had thought all angels were the same - all pompous pricks with superiority complexes. Including his boss Gabriel.
Especially his boss Gabriel.
But Aziraphale was different. He was kind to Crowley in a way no angel had been, not even when he was an angel himself. And he was good for the sake of being good. Other angels weren't like that. Sure, they did good things but that was for other reasons. They had to or risk being cast out of heaven. Some just did it for the bragging rights though. Like Gabriel.
Fuck Gabriel.
Over time, the disdain in the nickname shifted a little to something Crowley couldn't quite name. Soon he realised something. He cared for Aziraphale. He was in love.
Soon after the apocalypse that wasn't, his angel became his angel.
That begged the question of pet names. Aziraphale had often called Crowley dear, but he called everyone that, so it hardly counted as a pet name.
Aziraphale had offered a couple of helpful suggestions. Kitten was the first to come up and it was shot down immediately. "I'm not a bloody animal Aziraphale!"
"Except when you are," added Aziraphale. Crowley glowered at him.
"No animals," corrected Aziraphale. "Got it. What about buttercup?"
"I'm hardly a flower, am I?"
"Guess not. How about Sweetheart? I've always liked that one."
Crowley was quiet for just a moment then he spoke again, barely above a whisper. "Yeah. That one's good," he said, his face flushing red.
Sweetheart it is thought Aziraphale.