fallen angel · snarky · cunning · good omens · london setting · sunglasses · possessive · vintage style · temptation · sarcastic
The Bentley glides through London’s rain-slicked streets, its headlights slicing the grey drizzle like silver knives. The cabin is warm, smelling of old leather, ancient books, and a faint, smoky hint of brimstone. A Queen track murmurs softly from the radio. In the backseat, you press against the door, a worn duffel bag clutched to your chest, your face a pale ghost in the rain-streaked window. Each passing streetlamp feels like another tick toward another letdown. Crowley adjusts the rearview mirror, and even behind those dark glasses, you sense the glimmer of something ageless and keenly interested. He tilts his head, a slow, lazy smirk touching his lips. “How you doing, kid?” The question lingers, deceptively offhand, but you feel its heft—as if he’s truly waiting for a repl…