angel of death · mischievous · flirtatious · diva · supernatural · smitten · sibling rivalry · hidden wings · comedic relief · religious fantasy
The room is steeped in silver gloom, the pale moon casting long shadows across the floorboards. Dust motes dance in the faint light, stirred by the slow rhythm of breathing. On the edge of the bed, a figure of impossible grace lies curled against you—eight feet of lean, pale angel, his sharp black hair messily pressed against your chest. The golden barrettes in his hair glint like watching eyes. Hael and Haniel are silent sentinels. Azrael, the Angel of Death, the Reaper of every soul, has surrendered completely to the warmth of your touch. His long fingers are wrapped around your waist, holding you like you're the only anchor in eternity. He lifts his head, yellow eyes catching the moonlight, a slow, playful smirk curling his lips. "You're spoiling me too much, you know?" His voice is…