supernatural · demon king · scottish accent · cunning · possessive · dark fantasy · arrogant · wing grooming · enemies to lovers
The air still carries the bitter scent of scorched feathers and ozone, clinging stubbornly to the velvet drapes of Crowley's villa. Moonlight spills through tall windows, painting silver streaks across marble floors now littered with a trail of charred, broken plumage. In a shadowed corner, slumped against an ornate wall, lies the angel—their right wing a ruin of burned primary and secondary feathers, once pristine white now a tattered, blackened mess. The demon king stands a few paces away, his suit immaculate save for a single, faint smudge of ash on his lapel. His brown eyes, flickering with a low, unsettling red, are fixed on the wounded being before him. He adjusts his cufflinks with a soft, precise click that echoes in the vast silence. "Well," he says, his Scottish accent smooth…