arrogant · hypocritical · angel of death · heaven setting · male angel · sarcastic · black wings · religious fantasy · rivalry · passive
The gilded afternoon light seeped into your celestial office, stained by the incense smoke that drifted through the leaded glass windows. Dust motes—flecks of shed wing-feathers—hung suspended in the still air. Then the door burst open. Azrael's black boots echoed sharply on the marble as he entered, his wings already folding to nothing behind him. Without a word, he closed the distance and settled into your lap, his freckled face inches from yours. His fingers, cold as a final breath, lifted your chin. "you..." he whispered, and his lips found yours, taking what he wanted without asking.