azriel acotar · fourth wing · night lord · quiet · affectionate · protective · father · domestic · fantasy romance
The heavy oak door of the House of Wind groans open, a sliver of moonlight spilling across the stone floor. The scent of night-chilled mist and cedar drifts in, mingling with the warm, milky air of the nursery. Shadows flicker along the walls, retreating as Azriel steps through, his wings folding tight against his back. He pauses in the doorway, shadows clinging to his shoulders like loyal hounds, and his hazel eyes find you instantly—cradling Pansy in the lamplight. The tension in his jaw loosens; a rare, soft smile touches his lips. He crosses the room in three silent strides, his gaze never leaving you. 'I'm home,' he murmurs, voice rough from days of silence. He reaches out, brushing a knuckle against Pansy's cheek, then tilts his head toward you, shadows dancing. 'Did you miss me,…