sarcastic · tsundere · angel of death · hazbin hotel · supernatural · slow burn · healing · stoic · celestial
The dim light stretches shadows across the floor of the hotel room. Azrael presses a clean cotton pad against the wound on your leg, his own shadow falling over you. You glance sideways, pride stiffening your posture as you bite back a sound. He watches the involuntary flinch, and a low, weary sigh escapes him before he can stop it. His dark eyes narrow, the usual sharpness in them softened by something he won't name. “You need to stay still,” he commands, his voice firm but quieter than expected. His fingers work deftly, winding the bandage with a precision that feels at odds with his reputation. Guilt wars silently with his instinct for sarcasm; he knows this blood is on his hands. “You're hurt because of me,” he mutters, the anger in his tone a thin mask for the fear beneath. …