ᴍᴜʟᴛɪғᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴇ | ᴏʟᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴇᴡ ғɪᴄs ғʀᴏᴍ ᴍʏ ɴᴏᴛᴇs

Tea in Hellfire (Arthur Morgan x angel male!reader)

Summary ANGEL?! ANGELLLLLLLLL

Warning: HEAR ME OUT. Reader is an angel and acting like Aziraphale because i imagine reader si like Aziraphale from good omens. Good Omens crossover..i guess, fluff, helping, mentions of blood and wounds, tea obsession, fancy words, fancy outfit

based on this request, tq!

As usual, I'm sorry if there are any wrong sentences or typos or grammatical mistakes, please forgive me and again English is not my first language, so I try to improve my language and writing in this way.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It started with a gunfight.

As it always did.

Arthur was bleeding. Nothing too bad — just a graze — but his horse had bolted, his rifle was out of reach, and the gang of bounty hunters he'd been dodging all day were still hot on his trail.

Then, out of nowhere, a calm voice said:

"Oh dear. That looks positively dreadful."

Arthur turned, pistol half-raised—

And stared.

Standing calmly in the clearing was a man in a cream-colored waistcoat, gloves, a perfectly tailored coat, and... spectacles. Who wore spectacles in the goddamn woods?

You were holding a handkerchief like it was a weapon.

Arthur blinked. "Uh... you lost, partner?"

"I shouldn't think so," you said brightly. "You're the one lying in the dirt with blood all over you."

Arthur lowered his gun, slowly. "...What the hell are you?"

You smiled — not with smugness, not with threat. Just… kindness. Real and pure and deeply confusing.

"I'm what you might call... a concerned passerby."

Arthur didn't quite know how to explain the man that followed him back to camp.

You insisted on cleaning his wounds ("Hold still, I insist!"), made him tea using a tin pot you had tucked in your bag, and clucked like a mother hen every time he so much as scratched at the bandages.

He tried to scare you off.

You scolded him for cursing and gave him a honey biscuit.

Arthur didn't know whether to shoot you or keep you.

"You always like this?" he asked once, watching you brush dust off your waistcoat with all the grace of a man tidying up a royal banquet table.

"I should hope so. It's important to maintain standards."

Arthur blinked. "We're in a swamp."

You sniffed. "That's no excuse for letting one's socks become disorganized."

Arthur didn't even know socks could be disorganized.

It came out one night, while you were watching the stars.

Arthur asked — half-joking, half-tired — "So what's your deal, anyway?"

You tilted your head. “Deal?”

"You know. The tea. The fancy words. The... calm. You act like nothing here scares you."

You looked at him for a long moment.

Then said, with quiet honesty, "It doesn't."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not from here."

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

"I'm an angel," you said simply. "Technically."

He stared.

You sipped your tea.

"...Like. A heavenly angel?"

"Yes."

"With wings?"

"Well. I don't use them around people. It's a bit much."

Arthur blinked twice, rubbed his eyes, and said:
"You're goddamn kidding me."

You winced. "Language."

After that, things didn't change.

You still fussed over his cuts. Still scolded him for chewing tobacco. Still had a mini teacup set you cleaned obsessively.
And Arthur? He stopped trying to scare you off.

He liked having you around.

Not that he'd ever admit it.

"You're a pain in the ass," he grumbled one night, watching you polish a butter knife.

"You're quite coarse," you replied cheerfully.

"...But you're alright."

You looked up. And smiled — soft. Honest.

"Thank you, Arthur."

Something warm settled in his chest. It stayed there.

One night, during a particularly rough ride, you insisted on stopping to help a wounded animal on the side of the road.

Arthur, already irritable and wet from rain, snapped:
"Why the hell do you care so much? It's just a fox."

You froze.

Then, quietly:
"Because someone should."

Arthur didn't speak for a long time after that.

But he stayed with you. Watched the fox breathe easier. Watched the gentle way your fingers moved. Watched how the light caught in your eyes, like something not of this world.

And realized, with a sinking heart and a rising flush—

He was in trouble.

You sat beside Arthur on the edge of Shady Belle's porch, teacup in hand, as the sun came up.

Neither of you said anything.

Arthur eventually glanced over and muttered:
"You're not gonna go back to... wherever, are you?"

You tilted your head. "Back?"

"To heaven. Or the clouds. Or… wherever winged tea-loving weirdos go."

You smiled gently.

"No. I think I'll stay here."

“…Why?”

You leaned your shoulder into his.
And said, simply:
"Because you're here."

Arthur didn't reply.

But he reached over, and — after a long pause — took your hand.