#well obviously he would be oblivious to Crowley's affection towards him

[hoarder-of-dragons]

No but if, instead of this scene being Azirphale realizing his love for Crowley, it was him realizing Crowley loves him back Aziraphale's seen Crowley swoop in to rescue him tons of times throughout history. And he has known Crowley to "tempt" him several times, just as a pretext to spend time together. But this, saving his books outright with no other ulterior motive other than just to make Aziraphale happy, well obviously he would react like that when he finds out.

[artemis-pendragon]

(Here's my first attempt at a Good Omens fic! Co-credit goes to my sister for the concept and some of Crowley's dialogue haha!)

THE CONFESSION (OR, WAYS TO RUIN A PARTICULARLY FANCY ANTIQUE HAND-EMBROIDERED THROW PILLOW)

"Listen, angel, I need to tell you something," Crowley said, in a tone suggesting that an Emotionally Significant Admission was coming on.

"Oh?" Aziraphale began to turn toward him, then stopped. He had never grasped the basics of a poker face (let alone the game itself), so the less Crowley saw of him the better.

Gesturing with a half-full glass of wine, Crowley said, "There's this thing. An important thing, very important, and as soon as I remember what it is, I'm going to tell you."

Aziraphale settled with his hands clasped in his lap, still avoiding looking at Crowley. Instead, he stared at the clutter on his desk, making a mental note to deal with that later. "Take your time, my dear. There's no rush. We have all the time in the world."

"Right." Crowley slithered into a reclining position on the couch. His wine defied gravity to stay in its glass. "'S long as the world has time. I mean, how long d'you think before Heaven and Hell come slinking back up--down--for a second go at things?"

Aziraphale twisted his fingers together, spinning his signet ring between thumb and forefinger. He reached for his own wine, determined not to let on how nervous that prospect made him. "Can we not talk about that right now, please? We were having a lovely time. And besides, it's out of our control. What use is there in worrying over something we can't change?"

Crowley whipped off his sunglasses and stared at Aziraphale. "Now that sounds more like the kind of thing you'd expect me to say. I'm the optimist, remember? You're the pessimist."

"I am not a pessimist.” Aziraphale shot Crowley a disapproving glance, then, overwhelmed by the direct eye contact, looked back at his messy desk. "I'm a realist."

Crowley made an undignified sound of amusement. "Look at this glass." He held up his wine, which once again refused to spill. "Half full or half empty?"

"Both. Half of it is empty and half of it is full. That," Aziraphale said, with a great deal more gusto than the topic required, "is simply the truth of the matter."

"Huh," said Crowley. "Guess so."

There was a long silence. Then Aziraphale cleared his throat and, valiantly wielding the last shred of his courage, asked, "What were you going to tell me?"

Crowley said something vaguely word-like (his penchant for incomprehensible articulations had likely inspired the link between demonic activity and speaking in tongues, Aziraphale suspected) and reached for his sunglasses. "The thing about that... well, hgnk, uh... listen, angel..."

"Listening," said Aziraphale, and forced himself to face Crowley directly. It wouldn't do for him to think Aziraphale wasn't desperately hanging on his every word.

"There's this angel."

"I told you, I would prefer if we didn’t talk about--"

"There's this angel I'm in love with--"

"--Heaven and Hell, so if you could just refrain--"

"--and I don't know how to tell them--"

"--from discussing it--"

"--and it's killing me, because I don't know how they'll react--"

"--that would be most appreciated."

"--and I'm afraid they'll reject me, so I'm really in a pretty shit position here, if I'm being honest."

There was a long beat of dead silence where they both stared at each other with mounting levels of incomprehension.

"What?" said Aziraphale.

"What?" said Crowley.

"Oh, well, I thought you were going to say... wait, what do you mean, there's an angel you're in love with?"

Crowley shrugged in a distinctly jointless way, looking miserable. "Exactly what I said, that's what I meant. But hey, 's really no big deal. Y'know, angel, demon, not exactly happily-ever-after material, is it? Thought I owed it to you to tell you, though. After everything."

"Oh." For the first time since the world nearly ended, Aziraphale wished that Crowley was talking about Heaven and Hell. His heart, unnecessary as it was, felt like a hundred-tonne lump of lead. "Oh," he said again, and this time he was sure Crowley could read the misery on his face: a mirror of the demon's own.

But this was Crowley, his best friend, and he was obviously looking for Aziraphale's advice, so he forced himself to smile and nod as if it was no big deal at all. "Ah, well. This... this angel of yours. Do I know them?"

Crowley gave him a blank look. "Well, yeah," he said. "I’d hope so."

Aziraphale wracked his memories for anything even vaguely helpful. "Now don't take this the wrong way, but I can't imagine any of the Host falling in love with a demon."

From the look on Crowley's face, this was the wrong thing to say.

"I didn't mean--"

"Nah, 's alright, angel. You're right. That's the problem. No angel in their right mind would love a demon, and that's... that's fine! Course it is. Wouldn't expect anything else."

Aziraphale felt a sudden vicious stab of something that was suspiciously like envy and wrath. It was aimed at whatever angel had captured Crowley's affection and, from the sound of it, not returned it. "Well that's not true. I know an angel who's in love with a demon, so it is possible."

Crowley, for the second time that night, ripped his sunglasses off his face and stared at Aziraphale in disbelief. "Nah. No way. I can't see any of those smug holier-than-thou bastards falling for a demon."

They both winced at the phrasing. Aziraphale sighed.

"That's just the thing," he said. Looking down, he clenched and unclenched his hands in his lap. "You see, I'm the one."

"The one what?"

"The angel in love with a demon."

Crowley's look became impossibly more incredulous. "You. In love with a demon. No way in the nine layers of Hell, angel. I know every demon who's ever gotten topside and there's not a single one who deserves you. Trust me."

"Trust a demon?" Aziraphale teased, then regretted it when Crowley's expression turned toward devastation. "I do trust you, Crowley, but I promise that it is possible for an angel to love a demon. We are beings of love, after all."

"You lot love all things, yeah, I get it. But not like this. This is... different. The selfish kind of love."

Aziraphale sighed. If it weren't for the wine making him especially loose-limbed and unsteady, he was pretty sure he would've already fled the shop. He was in dangerous territory now. One slip and he'd fall.

He winced again. Phrasing.

"Not that it matters," said Crowley. He gestured with his wine; it came dangerously close to spilling this time. His concentration must be slipping. "Because I have it on good authority that he's in love with someone else."

"He?"

Crowley scowled. His fingers twitched toward his sunglasses, but then he clenched his fist and took a long drink of wine instead. "Yeah. He."

"So," said Aziraphale cautiously. "What is he... what is he like?"

Crowley shot him a look of disbelief. "Well, he's not the brightest. No, wait, that's not right. He's brilliant. Cleverest person I ever knew. But he's also an oblivious idiot sometimes, and I'd have more luck shouting my confession into an empty grate."

Aziraphale took a sip of wine to cover the shake in his voice as he said, "Well, the demon I love is also... also not available. He's in love with someone else, too."

"He?"

"Yes. He."

"And your demon, what's he like?" Crowley sounded like he was trying to talk around broken glass. Aziraphale wondered just how many times he'd refilled his glass at this point. Probably in the low teens.

"Well... he's a lot of things," Aziraphale said evasively. The last thing he wanted to do was give the game away. "He's handsome and clever. And stylish, in his own way." He tried not to stare at Crowley's half-unbuttoned shirt, or his too-tight pants. He wasn't sure he succeeded. "And he's not a bad person, you see. He's actually quite nice."

That earned him an eyeroll. "I doubt it, angel. 'Nice' is the kind of thing that gets a demon fired. Sent to the pits," he amended at Aziraphale's inquisitive look.

"Well, he is. He's kind and considerate and I love him so very much, sometimes I wonder... well. I wonder if it will destroy me."

"You mean you're afraid you'll Fall."

Aziraphale looked down and away. "I don't expect I would, but... I wouldn't want to put that kind of pressure on him. It wouldn't be fair to put him in that position, assuming he returned my... romantic inclinations. Which he doesn't, I'm quite sure now."

Crowley snorted. "Romantic inclinations. Yeah." He finished his wine and snapped his fingers to refill it. "Look at us." He gestured broadly around the room. "What a fucking mess."

"Yes, quite."

A third silence fell over the room--the longest and awkwardest yet.

Finally, Aziraphale got up the nerve to say, "Well, if you'd like help or advice--"

"I don't," snapped Crowley. Then he sighed, rubbing his free hand over his face and sighing. "Sorry, angel. Just, y'know. Tired."

"I understand. If you'd like to go home for the night, we could sober up and--"

"Oh, bless it all." Crowley sat up. This time, a few drops of wine escaped the glass and splattered onto Crowley's tastefully unbuttoned shirt. "Listen to me, Aziraphale. It's you. I'm in love with you, you oblivious, infuriating, beautiful idiot."

Aziraphale stared at him. Whatever emotions he should have felt in response to that revelation refused to show up until, "Oh!" he said, breathless and stunned. "I--"

"Yeah. I know, you don't have to say anything, angel, I just... I needed you to know. I'll get out of your hair now, don't worry, I don't need you to--"

"Crowley," said Aziraphale, and caught him by the sleeve as he attempted to slink out of the study toward the door. "Crowley, I'm in love with you, too."

"No, you're not," Crowley said, in an offhand way that made Aziraphale wonder how many times he'd dismissed the concept in his own mind. Then, "Wait, you what? What do you--"

"I mean," said Aziraphale, still holding onto Crowley's sleeve, "that I'm in love with you."

Crowley once again attempted to introduce a new word to the English language and failed, likely because it was made entirely of consonants.

"Precisely my thoughts. Now..." Aziraphale stood up and took Crowley's free hand in both of his own and squeezed. He smiled, radiating every little bit of joy as it seeped up from hidden places inside him, twining together like vines up a trellis. "If you don't mind terribly, I would like to kiss you."

"Mind?!" said Crowley. "If I mind? I can't believe you would even a--"

Aziraphale kissed him.

Crowley kissed him back.

It wasn't electric, or spectacular, or any of the fancy adjectives human writers used in romance novels and poems. Instead, it was just... right. Like a summer sunrise or spring dew. Simple and soft and good.

It wasn't until he pulled away that Aziraphale realized Crowley had stopped time. Crowley's wine glass was frozen midair, a spray of scarlet droplets suspended over a particularly fancy hand-embroidered antique throw pillow.

Crowley swore under his breath. "Sorry, angel, let me just--"

"Let it go," Aziraphale said. "We can always miracle it off later."

"But you'll always know that--"

"Oh, who cares. The world didn't end, Crowley. We're not stranded out in space somewhere. I can buy a new pillow."

Crowley gave him a long, searching look. Then, with a slightly devious smile, he put both hands on Aziraphale's hips and leaned in for another kiss.

They stayed like that for what was either one minute or five hours; it was impossible to tell when one's emotional and physical consciousness was entirely focused on the occult (or ethereal) being kissing you.

Finally, Crowley pulled back, just enough to look Aziraphale directly in the eyes. "Before we get on with this," he said, "I have to ask you one thing."

"Yes, my dearest, anything at all."

"This demon you're in love with... do you love me more?"

Aziraphale stared at Crowley.

Crowley stared at Aziraphale.

"Crowley," said Aziraphale. "Crowley. It's only ever been you."

Crowley looked stunned, and then euphoric. "Well, in that case." And he kissed him again.

Time restarted. Behind them, the wine spilled on the couch.

Neither of them worried about it at all. The world hadn’t ended, they weren’t on some distant planet watching the Earth melt into a puddle of burning good, and they could always buy a new pillow.

[applepiewinchesters]

Run From You (Crowley x Aziraphale)

*REQUESTS ARE CLOSED*

Requested by: @sheridans-dynamos

Prompt: “Stop running from me.”

Warnings: Angst

Shoutout to @eiressofinspiration for help with this one. Thanks best friend!

 6,000 years. It ‘s been 6,000 YEARS that Crowley and Aziraphale have known each other. For more than half of them, Crowley had been, at least to him, obviously flirting with the angel.

He’s literally saved his angel’s life on more than one occasion, is there a better way to profess one’s love?

That damn angel affected Crowley more than he’d ever care to admit. He was kind, even to him, something he didn’t often find in others. He loved the way Aziraphale dressed, he loved his curly blonde hair, and the way he ate a dessert was almost erotic.

The only bad thing? Either the angel was completely oblivious, or he really was just ignoring the demon’s advances.

The bit that hurt the most was when the angel had told him he was going too fast all those years ago, Crowley had stopped the pursuit for a while after that. Aziraphale had give him holy water then though, did he really care about the demon?

Then after that there were lines like “We’re not friends”, and the ever so lovely, “I don’t even like you.”

Aziraphale really was a terrible liar though, he didn’t mean it, Crowley could see that, but it still stung. Those were the words that spun through his head for at least a day after, until the angel finally forgave him.

Crowley had become fed up, he was growing more and more frustrated every day, they’d stopped the bloody apocalypse together! What more did they need to do?! They’ve practically had hundreds of dates already. Going to the park, eating at the Ritz, hell, even that time they got drunk together after Crowley delivered the anti-Christ.

But still, after all this time, Aziraphale had done nothing to indicate that he knew what Crowley was trying to get at.

The demon finally cracked though, just a few days after the apocalypse, they were sitting in Aziraphale’s bookshop, the angel sipping a cup of tea while Crowley downed a glass of whiskey.

It was now or never, and now, knowing they definitely had more time together, Crowley knew he had to speak up.

“Angel,” he began, setting down his glass, “you’ll tell me the truth if I ask you something, won’t you?”

Aziraphale’s brow furrowed as he set down his tea cup on the saucer, “Of course my dear boy, what do you need?” he asked, giving the demon his full attention.

“We’ve known each other for quite some time now,” Crowley spoke, clearing his throat as he sat up straighter in his chair.

“Six-thousand years,” the angel chimed in.

Crowley smiled softly, nodding, “Yes, quite a long time, now, well…to be frank, are you really that oblivious, or are you completely ignoring the advances I’ve made towards you?”

Aziraphale seemed shocked to say the least, his mouth hung open slightly and he frowned, “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, Crowley,” he answered.

Crowley groaned, rolling his eyes as he did, taking off his sunglasses and setting them on the table, “Aziraphale, I’m been making advances towards you for the better half of six thousand years, and you know it, I know you do.”

Aziraphale shook his head, smiling a bit, he was trying to laugh this off, “Crowley, there is absolutely no way in hell you have such feelings for me,” he told the demon sitting across from him.

“Why? Why is the fact that I could possibly be in love with you such a hard concept for you to understand?!” Crowley asked, his voice getting louder and louder as he spoke.

“In love with me?” the angel scoffed, “Now I highly doubt that, my dear.”

“Why?! Tell me why!” Crowley asked again, standing up and slamming his hands down on the table.

“Well for starters I’m an angel, you’re a demon, it would be highly illogical,” Aziraphale said, seeming to be a bit flustered, his face was getting red.

“Oh, fuck logic, angel, it doesn’t even matter what we are anymore, that’s been made very clear,” Crowley argued.

“What if I don’t feel the same then?” Aziraphale countered, standing from the table as well.

Crowley sighed, hanging his head, that wasn’t the case, he knew it, the angel knew it, the fucking books in this shop knew it for heaven’s sake.

“Stop running from me angel, please,” Crowley spoke, his voice soft as he raised his head again. He took a deep breath as he made his way towards the angel, Aziraphale backed up though, but that didn’t stop Crowley.

The two did this dance until Aziraphale was pressed up against a bookcase and Crowley was nearly pressed against Aziraphale himself.

“Please, just let me…let me try something, if you don’t like it, I’ll never do it again, I promise,” Crowley told Aziraphale, a pleading look in his eyes.

Aziraphale swallowed hard, but nodded, so Crowley went for it.

He placed one hand on the angel’s waist and the other on his cheek before leaning down and pressing his lips softly against Aziraphale’s.

Aziraphale was frozen for a moment before he melted into Crowley’s touch, gently placing his own hands on the demon’s waist as the kiss deepened.

After a moment Crowley pulled away, both of their faces were flushed, and they seemed breathless, not really knowing what to say.

“That was…,” Crowley spoke, seeming to try and find the right words.

“Lovely,” Aziraphale finished, smiling. “Can we do it again?”

Crowley chuckled, leaning down and pecking the angel’s lips softly, “As often and as long as you want,” he said when he pulled away.

That day, even God herself let out a sigh of relief, finally those two idiots realized they were made for each other. Why else would they have been put together since the literal beginning of time?

 A/N: Okay I loved writing this one so thank you so much for the idea! Thank you for reading and I hope you loved it! Love you all! ~ Sara :)

[hekate1308]

Relationship Advice

Fluffy Drowley AU. Enjoy!

“What?” he demanded. He hardly thought his inquiry warranted the shocked look his son was bestowing on him.

Father – you are asking me how to date someone” Gavin said slowly.

“I am simply wondering if you have any tips how to properly –“

“You actually want to date someone.”

“Dean Winchester has shown himself rather oblivious despite my best attempts of... wooing him, so to speak. I decided it was time for a different perspective.”

“A different... Father!”

“What?”

Gavin studied him, then sighed. “Tell me about him.”

That was easy enough.

Almost a year ago, Crowley had been looking for a new law firm to represent his best interests, and he had only heard good things from Winchester Justice (cringe-worthy name notwithstanding). And so he had made an appointment.

He had by no means be prepared for the sight that had met his eyes.

The younger brother, Sam, was competent, clever, and friendly enough; but the older brother –

The older Winchester. Dean.

Apart from being the most handsome man Crowley had ever laid eyes on, he’d immediately jumped right into the case he had presented them with, his green eyes sparkling.

Ever since then, Crowley had tried to ask him not.

Alright, maybe not ask him out. Seduce was the better word. He’d never had any problems on beguiling both men and women into his bed; they had had a good time for a few hours, and then parted. But Dean Winchester had ignored all his innuendos, dismissed his compliments, smiled through all his offers of expensive dinners and politely declined for almost a year now, and it was starting to irk him.

He knew Dean found him attractive. He hadn’t missed his pupils dilating when they’d shaken hands for the first time.

Maybe his happily married son would be able to give him a few tips. Not that he would have been in need of them if his attorney hadn’t been so bloody stubborn.

And so, he did what he’d asked of him and told him what he knew about Dean Winchester.

How he had lost both of his parents early in life and had more or less raised his younger brother.

How he had managed to gain a college scholarship regardless.

How they had both studied law and were now well known for not only being excellent lawyers, but also taking pro bono cases if they thought it was worth it.

He was in the middle of explaining why Dean thought that the new Star Trek movies were not worthy of being associated with The Original Series when he realized Gavin had been staring at him, his mouth hanging wide open, for a while now, and he shut up.

“Wow” he breathed. “And I thought you just wanted – Father, you’re in love with him.”

“Don’t be silly, of course I’m not” he said indignantly. He didn’t fall in love. Never had, never would.

“No? Then why do you know all this stuff about Dean?”

“As you know I run a business. And many people are eager to ruin business through lawsuits. Therefore, I meet up with the Winchesters often enough, and we talk.”

“So you can tell me Sam’s favourite TV show as well?”

He couldn’t, but he had also never tried to seduce Sam, so that was besides the point.

“And when did you last get laid, anyway?”

“I thought you didn’t want to hear about my sex life.”

“That’s true – but this is your love life, not your –“

“I fail to see the difference.”

Gavin huffed. “Just like you to fall in love and not realize until it’s too late.”

“I told you –“

“Fine, then tell me this. What are you planning to do once you finally get him – well – you know what I mean –“

“Then –“ he stopped abruptly when he realized he had no answer. He’d never really wondered about what would happen once he’d got Dean Winchester out of his system.

Then again, he’d known him for a year now, and he’d never managed to forget him, had he?

And Gavin was right – he hadn’t been tempted to take anyone else to bed for a while now. But that didn’t mean – that couldn’t mean –

“I am pretty sure you never tried so hard with Mother” Gavin commented lightly. “Not that she expected it, but still. I’d really like to meet this Dean; seems like he’s rather special.”

Crowley realized that just thinking of Dean and Gavin meeting made him nervous. Crowley. Nervous.

Oh God. The evidence was staking up that he was indeed –

“One last question” Gavin said smoothly, “how would you feel if Dean started dating someone, just theoretically, of course?”

If Dean started dating someone, he would no longer be able to answer his phone calls at all times of the day, and more importantly, he wouldn’t send Crowley any more of those stupid texts that always made him smile no matter what, and they wouldn’t be as free as they were to meet up for coffee and dinner and –

No. It can’t be.

“There it is” commented Gavin as calmly as he could. “I knew you’d get there eventually.”

“How did you know?” he asked somewhat bitterly.

“Happily married, remember? And I know exactly how I felt when I met Fiona.”

The fact that he was in love was neither a very useful nor a very enjoyable one, especially since the object of his affections continued to be utterly oblivious to them. A look or two made him suspect that Sam was aware of what was going on, but he could hardly ask him to interfere.

And then Fiona took pity on him.

She called him one night and immediately said “Gavin told me.”

“Did he.”

“Of course, we don’t have any secrets from one another. So let’s talk. You told me you and Dean visit the same expensive restaurants and coffee shops you’re used to, right?”

Crowley frowned. “He’s a lawyer who’s doing well for himself. He must be used to them to, as you put it.”

She sighed. “That’s not what I meant. You told Gavin about his love for movies, for example. Did you ever offer to accompany him to one of them?”

He blinked. The thought had never occurred to him, but in his defence, he wasn’t used to wanting people for more than a night, and going to a movie was more than that was worth, he had decided long ago. “I –“

“Try to share his interests, at least for a while. That should tell you whether he likes you too or not.”

After he’d thought about it for a while, he had to agree it was a good plan.

And so, when he and Dean met next and he started talking about the new Marvel or DC (Crowley could never tell them apart) movie, he casually asked him if they should watch it together.

Dean was obviously surprised by his question, but his readiness to do so was (hopefully) genuine.

Gavin and Fiona, who, since his attempts to ask his son how to properly court someone, had taken a rather unsettling interest in the whole affair, arrived the afternoon before he and Dean were supposed to go, and Fiona went through his closet.

“I really don’t know what my daughter-in-law is supposed to be doing” he complained to Gavin, but he just smirked.

“You don’t think that you can just wear one of your suits to a movie theatre, do you?”

“Of course I can. It would be ridiculous to assume there is some sort of –“

“Father, father” Gavin said, shaking his head, “You are aware you’ll see Dean in jeans for the first time, do you really not want to repay the favour?”

He hadn’t thought of that. What an intriguing concept.

And the jeans and sweater Fiona found in the back of his closet still fit him, and he didn’t even look so bad, and Dean seemed tio like it when they met; at least Crowley could feel his gaze on him as he went to buy the tickets, and he obviously enjoyed the movie while Crowley cringed through several parts of it (the illogicality of superhero movies had never managed to amuse him).

He was rewarded at the end of the night, however, when he had his driver take them to Dean’s home and walked him up to his front door.

“Thank you for tonight” he said, touching his hand, “I know that wasn’t your cup of tea.”

Crowley knew him well enough to recognize his attempt at a British accent as well-meant ribbing.

“I am glad you had a good time” he replied, surprised that for the first time in a long time, he meant those words.

Dean took his hand and drew him towards the door. “DO you wish to come in? For a drink or... something more?”

He blinked.

Dean sighed. “Come on Crowley, do you really think this is one-sided? For a year, I’ve shown you I want you, I was just waiting for you to prove to me you’re ready to make compromises in a relationship... I Bought tickets for Turandot next week, by the way. I know you love opera.”

“But –“

“Do you really think I listen to all my clients talking about their business in my free time? For someone so clever as you, you can be quite an idiot –“

He wanted to protest, but Dean kissed him and that successfully shut him up.

“But I guess” he continued, drawing back “I’m going to keep you.”

And he did in the decades to come.