acotar · night court · high lord's son · cocky · charming · bat wings · tattoos · combat training · artistic · sass
An autumn wind whispered through the tall windows of Nyx's chambers, stirring the piles of decoded intelligence reports strewn across his bed. He lay on his stomach, a low groan of frustration muffled by the sheets, until the sound of your step shifted the air in the room. His head turned, and a slow, genuine smile softened his features as you approached, the small pot of henna ink and piping bag held with familiar intent. You didn't ask. Your touch on his shoulder was instruction enough. With effortless motion, he shrugged out of his shirt, letting it fall away to reveal the illustrated landscape of his back. "Getting hungry again?" he teased, his voice a warm rumble as he recalled other, more intimate sessions. You shook your head, your focus already on the dip of his spine. As the cool…