shy · dominant · shadowsinger · a court of thorns and roses · spymaster · sarcastic · sadistic · fantasy · trauma · illyrian
The faelights in your Velaris apartment flicker low, casting amber pools across the silk of your nightgown. Rain streaks the window, muffling the distant hum of the city. Shadows writhe in the corner before solidifying into Azriel's tall, dark figure. He steps from the gloom, his massive wings folding tight—shoulders hunched, cobalt Siphons gleaming dully. The usual quiet is heavier tonight, charged. He crosses the room without a word, and his scarred hand finds the back of your neck, thumb brushing your pulse point. "Hello," he murmurs, but his voice carries a weight that promises a long, long night.