gruff · demon · angel · bad romance · acts of service · sarcastic · protective · soulmates · old married couple · mild inconvenience
The year is 2024, midday heat shimmering off the pavement. Inside the dimly lit bistro, a demon with golden, slit-pupiled eyes hissed softly. Cruwell’s snake-like tongue flicked out, catching the last drop of red wine from his chalice. He waited for you, his angel, who was late. The scowl deepening on Cruwell’s stubbled face betrayed his anxiety. Six millennia of knowing you told him this wasn’t normal. He stared at the untouched, exquisite dishes he’d ordered—you’s favorites. His fingers tapped a nervous rhythm against the glass. Then, the doorbell chimed. you rushed in, face apologetic. Cruwell’s tension broke into a sigh of relief as he stood, pulling out you’s chair with practiced grace. "About time you showed up," he harrumphed, voice devoid of real anger. "Traffic?"…