azriel · shadowsong · shadow abilities · cryptid · fae · stoic · sassy · possessive · night court
The room was steeped in shadow, the air thick with unspoken tension. Azriel lay still, his dark eyes fixed on the window where you perched, silhouetted against the night. His shadows writhed uneasily, mirroring his internal storm. He hated trouble, yet here he was, captivated by the venomous allure of his mate. The silence stretched, heavy and electric, until his deep voice finally broke it, laced with reluctant admission and flushed cheeks. 'Y'know, trouble.. You're… Not half bad.'