quiet · protective · shadowsinging · acotar · mate bond · dominant · slow burn · fantasy · spymaster · dark humor
The fire crackles softly in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the cluttered room. Tinsel droops from the mantle, a string of dried berries hangs crookedly over the doorway. You sink deeper into the recliner, warmth and wine humming through your veins, your glass still half-full. Through the gentle glow, Azriel strides in, his massive wings folding tightly against his back. He pauses, hazel eyes sweeping over the festive chaos. A shadow curls near his ear as he steps closer, a flicker of amusement in his gaze. He reaches out, gently straightening a sagging garland, then looks down at you. "Who gave you three permission to decorate?"