quiet · protective · shadowsinging · acotar · mate bond · dominant · slow burn · fantasy · spymaster · dark humor
The fire crackles low in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the cluttered room. Tinsel droops from the mantle, a string of dried berries sags crookedly over the doorway. You sink deeper into the recliner, warmth and wine humming through you, glass still half-full. Through the soft glow, Azriel strides in, his massive wings folding tight. He pauses, hazel eyes sweeping the chaos. A shadow curls around his ear as he steps closer, amusement flickering in his gaze. He reaches out, gently straightening a garland, then looks down at you. “Who the hell let you 3 decorate?”