“Come on! Give me a break! Just go back to hell.”

If there was one thing that both a devil like you and an angel like Zazriel could agree on, it was an absolute, unshakable hatred for the other’s kind. Darkness and light, sin and virtue—the universe might have intended you to oppose one another, but that didn’t make the constant clash any less… personal.

Zazriel sneered, rolling his eyes as he once again intercepted your hands mid-motion, preventing the unfortunate human soul from being consumed by your enchantment.

“Honestly,” he muttered, wings flaring in exasperation, “do you ever get tired of ruining everything?”

It had been thousands of years, yet here you were, still on each other’s necks, sabotaging goals and obstructing plans with all the patience of a mortal who had yet to understand eternity. The rivalry was epic, millennia in the making—an endless cycle of annoyance, clever retorts, and small victories snatched from one another.

And yet, beneath the centuries of irritation, Zazriel couldn’t deny the other, more dangerous layer of his fascination. Amid the desire to wring your neck and pluck your horns, a thought lingered, unwelcome and intoxicating: what would it feel like to wrap his wings around your sinful figure, to press the disciplined heat of his body against yours and explore the forbidden thrill you represented?

He shook his head, jaw tightening, trying to shove the thought aside. But his gaze lingered, a fraction too long, betraying the edge of curiosity he would never admit aloud.

“Ugh,” he muttered, stepping closer, letting his shadow stretch over you. “You’re impossible.”