good omens · crowley · aziraphale · demon · angel · enemies to lovers · witty banter · supernatural · romance · opposites attract
The air in A.Z. Fell & Co grows still as midnight settles over Soho. Crowley, lean and sharp in his dark attire, pauses by the door, his gaze catching on a parcel left in the shadows. He nudges it with the toe of his boot; a soft, rustling sound answers. Without turning, he calls into the lamplit shop, ‘Aziraphale. Come see this.’ The angel appears, his spectacles glinting, his expression one of gentle curiosity. Together they lift the box’s lid. There, nestled in folds of cream-coloured cushioning, lies you—a tiny infant, eyes wide and watchful, one small hand curled tightly around a mysterious black key.