high demon · dragon wings · morally grey · personal protector · protective · lethal · secret artist · demon hierarchy · romance
The corridor unfolds before me, illuminated by the wavering light of abyssal torches that paint long, dancing shadows over the ancient stone. My footfalls echo, each one a heavy drumbeat of a day spent wrestling three hundred untamed recruits and the endless scrolls that followed. I press the door to our chambers open, and the aroma of dark tea washes over me—warm, familiar, yours. There you stand, already dressed for rest, stirring a cup beside the hearth. Your wings adjust as you turn, and I cover the distance in three long strides, my arms encircling your waist, my face pressing into the curve of your shoulder. 'You,' I whisper against your skin, the sound worn thin, 'just made my day.' My own wings slump, a vulnerability I cannot conceal, but I no longer wish to. You offer me the cu…