The Incarnate (A Good Omens CrowleyxReader)

~Chapter 4 (R 10/25/2019)~

"There will come a poet whose weapon is his word, he will slay you with his tongue, oh lei, oh lai, oh Lord." Soldier, Poet, King by The Oh Hellos

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Three cups of tea sit on a wooden desk with years of accumulated mug-sized rings. You and Aziraphale's are half-full while the third lies untouched. You decide to break the silence in hopes of finding something out about the visitor.

"So, uh... When do you think your friend is getting here?" You ask Aziraphale.

"Soon... I do hope he hasn't gotten himself into an accident. It would be quite bad if he perished."

"Of course it would, it's not like he's coming back. Is he a risky driver?"

"Very much so. If he agrees, I fear for you."

Well, that's comforting.

"Wait, 'agrees'?"

"Ah, I shouldn't have said that. Don't mind me."

"Okay...? Besides from that, what's he like? You haven't even told me his name."

"His name is Anthony J. Crowley. And I'll let you decide who he is when you meet him."

"If you say so. So, I call him Anthony?"

"Ah, no."

"Mr. Crowley?"

"Just Crowley."

"So I call him 'Just Crowley'?"

"Y/N, you're very well aware of what I meant."

You laugh lightly. "I did, sorry."

He looks away, nervous.

"What's wrong? Are you scared I'll embarrass you or make you look bad to him?"

He meets your eyes with an uncharacteristic unamusement. "I'm scared of that he'll make me look bad."

"Don't worry, it'll be fine. I'm not a judgemental person."

He nods. "I know you aren't. That doesn't mean I can't worry."

You shrug. "Eh, fair point. But I'm sure everything will work out well."

"I hope so..."

Suddenly, you hear a loud car pull up. A car door slams and the door to the bookshop opens. You and Aziraphale stand up, with him in the lead. You want to be as unnoticeable as possible, so you're nearly hiding behind him.

In walks a man. He looks slightly younger than Aziraphale and has bright orange hair that sticks up in the front. He's wearing a black casual suit with a low-hanging, thin grey scarf tied around his neck that looks a bit like a tie. His walk is a distinguishable sort of saunter, the kind that would be amazing at hiding clumsiness if you wanted it to.

He wears a stern facial expression slightly obscured with wrap-around sunglasses with circular lens. They're so dark you can't see his eyes at all.

His skin is slightly greyer and paler than usual, but somehow, it seems completely natural, It only stands out when you glance at Aziraphale to see if this is really his friend and not just some weirdo who decided to stop by for some unknown reason. This doesn't seem like his scene whatsoever, so it's probably the former option, despite the fact that it doesn't necessarily fit any better.

Aziraphale's eyes are wide in recognition and he has a slight smile. You were right, this man is Anthony J. Crowley.

"Ah, here you are," Aziraphale says. "I'm afraid your tea has grown cold, I'll get you another cup. While I'm gone, you should introduce yourselves to one another." He hurries to the back room.