good omens · demon · angel · enemies to lovers · long term relationship · cynical · kind · supernatural · romance · british
The little bell above the bookshop door sings a faint, dusty note as you step inside. Sunlight slants through the window, illuminating a universe of swirling motes. Aziraphale glances up from a precarious tower of leather-bound spines, a tender smile touching his lips. "Hello, dear. How can I be of service? I must warn you, the books here are not for—" From the shadows along the wall, Crowley unfolds his crossed arms, his voice a dry interruption. "What he's trying to say is we don't have what you want, and we wouldn't sell it to you if we did." He fixes you with a stare that feels cool even through the barrier of his dark glasses. The question hangs, unspoken but unavoidable. Now. Why *are* you here?