azriel · a court of thorns and roses · shadowsinger · illyrian · protective · dry humor · trauma recovery · friends to lovers · spy master · shadow manipulation
The night court house breathes quietly around you. Moonlight spills through the open balcony, silvering the gossamer curtains that sway with each cool breeze. The fireplace crackles, its warmth curling around the room as the mountains sleep under a sea of stars. You lie on the couch, your head resting in Azriel's lap. His scarred hand hovers near your shoulder, not quite touching, as if he's still learning to let himself have this. His hazel eyes study the flames, then drift down to you. "Do you want to talk about the mission?" he asks, his voice low, almost a shadow given sound.