Notes: This is Part Five of the series "The Plug". See the Masterlist for the rest of the parts. Hope you guys love it! Sorry it’s so long in between uploads I have been working on other creative projects but I do have a coupe oth
A few weeks had passed since your first date with Azriel. Since then, he’d planned one every Friday — each one intentional, well thought out, and somehow better than the last.
You were falling for him. Hard. And he was doing the same.
After the run-ins with his ex — and the deep, vulnerable conversations that followed — being open with each other came naturally. There was no pressure. No performance. Just trust.
Being with Azriel was easy.
You hadn’t had “the talk” about exclusivity, but it didn’t matter. You were exclusive. Neither of you was seeing anyone else — hadn’t been before that first date, and definitely hadn’t started after.
Through those late-night conversations, you’d learned Azriel hadn’t dated anyone seriously since Vivienne. Or, as you liked to call her now: the devil.
The blunt hung lazily between your fingers, smoke curling out the window while Azriel scrolled through his phone, pretending not to look at you every five seconds. Music played low — something vibey, something moody, a little SZA, a little Brent — the kind of playlist that said I definitely curated this with you in mind, but he’d deny it if you asked.
You took a slow drag and glanced sideways. “So this is our big Friday night, huh? Weed runs and sitting in a parking lot?”
Azriel smirked. “I told you what I had planned. Plus, this is quality time. Even if it is illegal.”
You snorted, passing him the blunt. “I think it’s crazy… that I’ve slept in your bed three nights this week, and the others you slept in mine, you’ve seen me in a bonnet, I’m the reason you now own a bonnet — and you still haven’t asked me to be your girlfriend.”
He froze mid-puff. Coughed once. “Excuse me?”
You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I mean, if you’re not trying to be my man, just say that. I can stop saving you the last Capri Sun in my fridge.”
Azriel stared at you like you’d kicked his puppy. “You’ve been saving me Capri Suns?”
“Don’t deflect.”
He went quiet for a second — not in a bad way. Just thoughtful. Then he took another hit and said, “It’s not that I don’t want to be official.”
“Okay…”
“It’s that I don’t want to half-ass it. You deserve more than a half-smoked blunt and a ‘you tryna be my girl?’ in a parking lot next to a questionable dumpster.”
You blinked. “Azriel.”
“I’m serious,” he said, turning to look at you fully. “You’re not just someone I’m seeing. I’m into you. Like, stupidly. The kind of into you that makes me want to do this right.”
You swallowed, suddenly too aware of the way your heart was thudding. “You’re such a softie.”
He smiled, soft and a little shy. “Only for you.”
There was a pause. A beat. A shared look that felt like something leaning over the edge of falling.
You nudged his shoulder with yours. “Well… whenever you’re done planning your very dramatic girlfriend proposal, just let me know so I can get my nails done.”
He laughed, relief flashing across his face. “Noted.”
You snatched the blunt back. “Also, for the record? I would’ve said yes even if you had asked me here. Parking lot vibes and all.”
Azriel grinned. “Yeah, but now you’ll have to wait and wonder.”
You squinted. “Wait and—wait, are you planning something?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You basically just said that.”
He leaned back in his seat, smug as ever. “Smoke your blunt and mind your business, princess.”
You were still smiling when he reached over to hold your hand.
When you woke up, you noticed two things immediately: a Cash App notification on your phone… and the fact that Azriel was no longer in bed.
Cash App: Azriel sent you $150. Open the app for more details.
You blinked. Sat up. Clicked the notification.
“ 💅” Stared at the emoji like it held all the answers to the universe.
Then you threw on your robe and padded out of the room — only to find Azriel in the kitchen, shirtless, looking like your future husband.
His hair was pushed back but somehow still flowing. He was humming to himself, flipping something on the stove. Your dog was curled in her bed, full and clearly walked, radiating post-breakfast bliss.
“Azzie…” you drawled, crossing your arms.
He turned slowly, all smug, golden skin and bare chest, like he knew he looked good. Like he knew what you were about to say and was already proud of himself for it.
“Yes, Princess?” he said, leaning casually against the counter, arms crossed like he was posing for a damn cologne ad.
“Why is there $150 in my Cash App with a nail emoji?” you asked, deadpan.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he replied, completely unbothered.
You narrowed your eyes. “Oh. Okay. Cool.” You turned like you were going to walk away. “I’ll just go spend it on a new man then.”
He smirked, pushing off the counter to come stand behind you, arms wrapping around your waist. “As long as he hands out money like reparations, I support you.”
You tried not to smile. Failed.
He kissed your neck. “Go get your nails done, lover girl.”
You’d been ready for fifteen minutes — not that you were watching the clock or anything.
Your makeup was flawless, nails freshly done (thanks, Cash App King), and the outfit you chose? Perfect. Not too try-hard. Not too casual. Sexy enough that if Azriel didn’t have something big planned tonight, he was going to have to reschedule it… from the floor of your apartment.
You were putting on your earrings when you heard the knock.
Not a text. Not a buzz. A knock. Old school. Deliberate.
When you opened the door, you almost dropped dead.
Azriel stood there like he knew he looked good — tall, broad, and mouth-watering in a black button-down with the sleeves rolled to his forearms. The shirt was open just enough to show off a teasing sliver of chest tattoo, like it wasn’t even fair. Gold jewelry glinted at his throat and wrists, subtle but expensive. And gods… the cologne. Spicy, smoky, warm — like sex and sin bottled into a fragrance.
“Hey,” he said, voice low, eyes raking over you slowly — from your heels to your lips and back again. “Damn.”
Your stomach flipped. “You clean up alright.”
He chuckled, stepping closer, his hand reaching up to gently brush your earring. “You look unreal. If you say you got ready in ten minutes I’m gonna have to propose right now.”
You grinned. “Took fifteen.”
“Dangerous,” he muttered, eyes still drinking you in. “I brought something for you.”
You blinked. “Aside from the nail money?”
He pulled something from behind his back — a single white rose wrapped in tissue, petals soft and perfect.
You took it, biting your lip. “A rose? What is this, The Bachelor?”
Azriel leaned in, voice brushing your ear. “Nah. If it was, I’d already be down on one knee asking for your final blunt.”
You laughed, shoving his shoulder gently. “You’re annoying.”
“And yet here you are — about to get in my car, looking like a goddess, knowing damn well I’d sell my soul for a taste.”
You shook your head, cheeks burning. “What are you on tonight?”
He smiled — wide and boyish and smug as hell. “Good weed. Good intentions. Great plan.”
You raised a brow. “Should I be scared?”
He leaned in and kissed your cheek, then whispered, “Terrified.”
And just like that, he stepped back and held out his hand.
“Ready to go, Princess?”
You took it — heart pounding, lips smiling, already knowing tonight wasn’t just another date.
Azriel smiled softly, brushing his thumb over your hand. “I remember you saying it was something you always wanted to try. So… tonight’s your night. Dancing queen. Enjoy it.”
He kissed your temple and wrapped his arm around your waist, guiding you inside.
“Hola!” a woman greeted from behind the counter. “Azriel, yes?” She stepped around with a warm smile and offered her hand.
Azriel shook it. “That’s me.”
“Follow me. I’m Swayla, and I’ll be your instructor tonight.”
Wait
I’m dreaming. This is a dream.
Did she just say her name?
I don’t even know what the fuck she just said.
We’re going this way? OK. Sure.
The studio was beautiful — two mirrored walls, calm lighting, soft music already playing. Cozy and intimate.
Azriel guided you to a bench, then dropped to one knee in front of you.
You blinked. “What are you doing?”
He didn’t answer. Just gently lifted one leg into his lap and began unstrapping your heels.
Right on cue, Swayla returned holding a shoebox. “Pre-ordered by this young gentleman,” she said, popping it open. “Just for you.”
That’s when you snapped out of your fog.
Inside: a stunning pair of professional ballroom shoes, glittering like they knew they were about to change your life.
You looked from the shoes to Azriel. He looked so proud — but not in an ego-driven way.
More like: I love you. I will do anything for you. And yes, I am that nigga (even though I’m white).
“Azriel—” was all you could manage before you leaned in to kiss him.
He kissed you back, whispering against your lips, “Anything. Everything. For you. Always.”
Tears welled up, but you blinked them away as he fastened the shoes to your feet with reverent care.
“Ready?” he asked, standing and offering you his hand.
“Yes,” you said — even though you were dizzy, overwhelmed, and completely, undeniably in love with this man.
Swayla guided you through the basics.
Azriel was impressed by how fast you caught on.
You were impressed by how he even made stepping on your toes sexy.
After a night more amazing than you could put into words, you and Azriel arrived back at your apartment.
He walked you to the door, but the second you got there, something in him shifted — a nervous kind of stillness that sent butterflies fluttering low in your stomach.
That change in energy made your own nerves buzz. You unlocked the door and swung it open — only to immediately burst into tears.
Soft music floated through the air. Balloons hovered near the ceiling, weighed down by strings tied to tiny photos of you and Azriel, rolled joints, and quotes about love, friendship, and a few ridiculous ones about you being the hottest stoner he’s ever met.
Flameless candles flickered around the room, scattered between rose petals that created a glowing path to the center of your apartment.
You hadn’t even stepped all the way in. Azriel stood behind you, patient — but visibly anxious.
“Are you gonna go in?” he whispered, right by your ear, warm and quiet and so very him.
You turned, tears already streaking down your face, then looked back and took one step inside.
Azriel’s hand pressed gently to your back, guiding you further until you were standing in the middle of a heart-shaped candle formation, petals curling around your feet.
Then he spoke.
“Y/N,” he said, voice steady even though you could see his chest rising faster than usual, “from the second I saw you, I knew you were special. I’ve never wanted to love someone more. Never wanted to pour myself into someone without fear.”
You were already crying again.
“You’re beautiful. You’re sexy. You’re brilliant. You’re the funniest smart-ass I’ve ever met,” he continued. “And I plan on making you happy for as long as you’ll let me.”
Then, slowly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. Your whole body went stiff.
He noticed. Of course he did.
“Relax,” he said with a soft laugh. “It’s not a ring.”
You let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you were holding.
Then he opened the box.
Inside was a stunning tennis necklace — delicate, expensive, utterly perfect — with a single gold A hanging from the center.
Your breath hitched.
I think I might pass out.
Is it crazy that I would’ve said yes even if it was a ring?
Wait—he asked me to be his girlfriend.
“Well obviously yes.”
Then you launched yourself into his arms.
He caught you effortlessly, one arm wrapping tight around your waist, the other still holding the box.
“Fucking finally,” you whispered against his skin before kissing him breathless.
And in that moment — wrapped in his arms, surrounded by soft light and love —
Summary: When Reader fakes an orgasm Azriel has no choice but to teach her not to lie to him, but not with words.
Warnings: smut | 18+ | pwp | dom!Az / Brat!Reader | Brat tamer/taming | cunnilingus | slight impact | slight breathplay | creampie | p in v | overstim | controlled orgasm | clit sucking | slut shaming | slight dollification | there’s so many ts freaky
Word count: 6.5k
A.Note: Please read the warnings!!! This is nasty, literally all smut, mdni.
I should have known better.
Should have known that Azriel, with all his centuries of honed observation and razor-sharp instincts—his ability to read people down to the slightest flicker of emotion—would notice.
I thought I had hidden it well, that he had been too lost in his own pleasure to realize I hadn't unraveled beneath him the way I usually did. That the tremor in my voice, the sharp edge of my cries, hadn't quite matched the ones before. I told myself he wouldn't catch the fleeting moment where my body had tensed but never truly shattered, where my release had been nothing more than an illusion painted for his sake.
I don't even know why I did it. Azriel had always been so attuned to me, so devoted to my pleasure. Maybe it was the exhaustion weighing down my limbs, the ache of an endlessly long day pressing against my bones. Maybe it was the way he had looked at me tonight—so desperate to bring me over the edge with him. I hadn't wanted to bruise his pride.
But he knows.
He doesn't say anything. Not as he cleans me up with steady, reverent hands, the warm cloth dragging over my skin with the same care he always gives me. Not as he helps me into my nightgown, his touch lingering a little longer than necessary. But I feel it. Feel it in the way his hazel eyes darken, their golden flecks burning as they study me in that quiet, unreadable way.
Still, he says nothing. Not when he turns off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into a cocoon of darkness. Not when I turn to him, pressing a soft kiss against his lips in an attempt to quell the unspoken weight between us.
He kisses me back, slow and deep, but his shadows betray him. They curl tighter around his frame, restless like they are whispering secrets meant only for him—secrets I cannot decipher.
He doesn't say anything for a long while. Holds onto the knowledge, lets it simmer beneath his quiet exterior, tucked away where I almost believe it will stay.
For a moment, I think I've gotten away with it.
But when morning comes, the silence finally fractures.
"Why did you fake it?"
The question lands like a stone in my chest, sending my heart into a frantic rhythm. His voice is steady—too steady. Like he's been awake all night just waiting to ask.
I blink at him tiredly, feigning confusion. "What?"
Azriel doesn't waver. "You didn't come. Why'd you fake it?"
Blunt. Direct. The weight of his stare alone is enough to pin me in place. He's clearly been sitting with this, turning it over in his mind, dissecting it in that way only he can. And now, he wants answers.
"I—I didn't—"
He tilts his head slowly, and my breath catches. Not a word passes his lips, but the movement alone is enough of a warning.
"Try again, love." His shadows swirl around us despite the morning light filtering through the curtains.
I stay silent.
Azriel exhales, his grip on my waist flexing. "I've been up all night trying to figure out why you'd feel the need to fake something like that. Especially with me." His voice is soft, but it cuts through me all the same. "And I can't. So tell me—why?"
"I didn't want you to feel bad," I murmur, barely above a whisper. "You treat me so well, all the time. I didn't want you getting hung up on this one night."
But here we were—doing exactly that.
His jaw tightens, tension carving sharp lines into his face. The early morning light filters through the curtains, soft and golden, but there is nothing soft about the way he's looking at me. Still, his hands find mine, fingers intertwining. The roughness of his scars against my skin is familiar. Comforting.
"Do you think so little of me?" The words are quiet, but no less devastating.
"No." I snap my gaze to his, panic flickering in my chest. "No, never, Az."
His thumb skims over my knuckles before he brings my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss there. "Then why lie?" he asks, the warmth of his breath lingering. "Do you not trust me to take care of you? Do you not want me to?"
His voice dips lower, and my stomach clenches. He truly had to be thinking about this all night to draw up these conclusions.
"I do," I rush to reassure him. "Of course I do. I was just—I was tired, that's all." I lean closer, brushing my lips against his in a gentle kiss.
He doesn't pull away. Doesn't let go of my waist. But when he tilts his head, the look in his eyes shifts into something sharper. Something hungry.
"You tired now?"
His mouth finds mine again, deeper this time. Slow, deliberate, teasing.
I exhale softly. "No."
Azriel mirrors my smile, but there's something different about his. Something sharper. More feral.
"Good."
And before I can react, he's got me beneath him, arms pinned above my head, a wicked gleam in his hazel eyes.
A gasp catches in my throat as Azriel moves, fast and fluid, flipping me beneath him before I can so much as blink. My wrists are pinned above my head, his scarred fingers wrapped firmly around them, the weight of his body pressing me into the mattress.
His wings flare slightly, blocking out the golden slant of morning light, leaving nothing but the two of us in the shadows. His shadows.
They curl around his frame like living threads of darkness, writhing in time with his slow, deliberate breaths. The way he looks at me now—hazel eyes molten, jaw tight, lips slightly parted—sends a shiver down my spine.
"You really thought I wouldn't notice, didn't you?" His voice is low, rough, but not angry. No, the way he says it—the way he watches me squirm beneath him—is something else entirely.
I swallow hard. "Azriel, I—"
"You were exhausted." He hums as if considering my excuse. "Didn't want to hurt my feelings." A soft scoff leaves him, his nose brushing the shell of my ear. "What a sweet little lie."
I shudder, my fingers flexing uselessly beneath his grip. "It wasn't—I just—"
"Didn't think I could handle the truth?" He trails a hand down my side, fingers whispering over the thin fabric of my nightgown, tracing every dip, every curve. "Or did you think I wouldn't take care of you properly?"
I shake my head quickly, but he catches my chin between his fingers, forcing me to look at him.
"You know I don't like being lied to, love," he murmurs, voice silken and dark. "Especially not about this, you forgot though."
His thumb drags over my bottom lip, and my breath hitches. He watches me, eyes burning, gaze sharp enough to cut.
"Let's fix that, yeah?"
His grip on my wrists tightens just as his free hand moves lower, skimming over my stomach, my thighs—slow, teasing, deliberate.
"You're going to be honest with me from now on." A soft kiss, barely there, pressed to my throat. "You're going to let me take care of you the way I always do." Another kiss, lower this time, lingering over my pulse.
"And you, love," he whispers, teeth grazing against my skin, "are going to learn exactly what happens when you try to keep something like that from me."
His shadows coil around my ankles, holding me in place, and then—
I lose the ability to think.
"Az," I breathe, my body arching instinctively beneath him, trying to chase the warmth of his touch. But he holds me still, his fingers barely skimming where I need him most, his shadows curling tighter around my wrists and ankles like they, too, are in on his cruel game.
Azriel hums, amused. "You sound a little desperate, love."
I glare at him, but it's hard to make it convincing when I'm squirming beneath him, my pulse racing, my breath coming too fast. "You're being cruel."
His lips curl at the accusation. "Am I?" His fingers dance along the edge of my nightgown, slipping just beneath it before retreating just as quickly, his touch featherlight. "Seems to me I'm just teaching a valuable lesson."
"You're insufferable."
Azriel chuckles, the sound low and sinful, sending a ripple of heat through me. "You weren't saying that last night."
Heat floods my face. "Maybe because last night, you weren't tormenting me."
His brows lift, feigning innocence. "And yet you didn't come. Seems to me you like the tormenting." He dips his head, kissing a slow, searing path along my collarbone. "But if you'd prefer, I could stop."
A smirk plays at his lips as he starts to pull away as if testing to see just how desperate I really am.
I scowl, tightening my legs around his waist, locking him in place. "Don't you dare."
His laughter is warm against my skin, and the next thing I know, his fingers are on my thighs, tracing slow, torturous circles. "That's more like it," he murmurs approvingly. "Now, tell me, love—" his lips ghost over the shell of my ear, his voice nothing but a delicious rasp, "—you going to fake it again?"
My brows furrow as I peer up at him through my lashes.
"No," Azriel grins, wicked and knowing. "I'm not going to stop until you're too wrecked to even think about faking it again."
A sharp inhale. A rush of heat.
His hands tighten, and his voice drops to a whisper, his words dripping with sinful promise.
His fingers move with calculated precision, unbuttoning my top one slow pop at a time. I help him shed it, my own hands sliding beneath his shirt, mapping the warm, golden skin stretched over taut muscle. The ink of his tattoos shifts under my touch as he pulls the fabric over his head and tosses it aside.
I lean in, capturing his lips, but he meets me halfway, claiming my mouth with a hunger that steals my breath. His tongue sweeps past my lips, exploring greedily, and I moan softly into him.
Then, suddenly, my wrists are pinned to the mattress, bound by the whisper-soft strength of his shadows. A gasp catches in my throat, my body instinctively tugging, but it's futile. Azriel merely smirks, his fingers skating down my sides, toying with the band of my panties, the heat of his touch sending sparks across my skin.
I lift my hips in a silent plea, urging him on, but he only chuckles, slow and deep. "Patience, love," he chastises, his fingers hooking beneath the fabric.
"Please," I whisper, desperate.
Azriel hums in approval but moves achingly slow, peeling the lace from my body like he has all the time in the world. His knuckles brush against my thighs as he drags them down, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.
"I want you to feel everything," he murmurs, lips ghosting over my collarbone, where a faint mark from last night still lingers. A reminder. A promise.
"Az," I whine, shifting against the restraints, needing more, needing him.
He tsks, dark amusement glittering in his hazel eyes. "I know, I know," he coos, dragging his mouth along my skin, teasing me with every slow, lingering kiss. "But you can be patient can't you?"
I nod, breathless, eyes locked onto his as he trails lower.
"Good," he praises, but his voice dips into something more commanding. "And you understand I can't reward your bratty behavior?"
"Yes," I whisper.
His brows arch. "Yes, what?"
"Yes, sir."
Azriel's smirk is wicked, his satisfaction rolling off him in waves. "There's my girl," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my stomach before lowering himself further between my thighs. "Now stay still for me, yeah?"
I nod, back arching as I ready myself.
His breath is warm against my skin, teasing, taunting, and when his lips ghost over where I need him most, a helpless whimper spills from my lips. I tip my head back into the pillows, unable to watch, unable to handle the way he's taking his time, savoring the way I fall apart beneath him before he's even truly touched me.
"Sweet girl," he murmurs, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "So needy. Just couldn't get off, could you?"
I shake my head pitifully. "No," I manage, my voice barely above a breath.
He clicks his tongue, pressing a featherlight kiss to my inner thigh. "It's okay, love," he murmurs, and then his grip tightens on my hips, holding me still as he finally, finally drags his tongue through my slick folds.
A choked moan tumbles from my lips, my back arching further off the bed, but his shadows keep me grounded. He hums in approval against me, the vibration sending a fresh wave of heat coiling low in my stomach.
"Azriel," I moan, writhing, tugging uselessly at the darkness binding my wrists. "Please."
He smirks against me but doesn't answer, just hikes one of my legs over his shoulder, deepening his assault. His tongue flicks over my clit with precision, his mouth sealing around the sensitive bundle of nerves, sucking just hard enough to have me keening.
I can't move. Can't grind against him, can't chase the pleasure building inside me—because he's making sure that my release comes entirely from him.
That realization has me spiraling even faster.
"Az—Azriel, please," I gasp, my thighs trembling as the coil tightens, winding impossibly tight.
His grip on my hips bruises, his scarred fingers pressing into my skin as his tongue circles my clit again and again.
"Go ahead, love," he rasps against me, his voice thick with satisfaction. The vibrations of his words against my swollen, aching cunt are all it takes to send me over the edge.
I shatter, a sharp cry tearing from my throat as my orgasm crashes through me, my body locking up before melting into the mattress. My vision whites out, pleasure consuming me in wave after relentless wave.
Azriel doesn't stop. Doesn't let up. He guides me through it, slow and deliberate, savoring every aftershock.
"There it is," he murmurs, his lips pressing a final, lingering kiss to my sensitive folds before glancing up at me, utterly wrecked beneath him. "My girl looks so pretty when she comes."
The flat of his tongue gathers my arousal on his tongue, cleaning me. A soft, broken whimper is the only response I can manage.
But Azriel isn't done. Not yet. Not until I've learned my lesson.
I panted softly, still trembling as he kissed his way back up my body, his mouth hot and unrelenting against my flushed skin. Every inch of me is still humming from the waves of pleasure he's wrung out of me.
His lips trail over my breasts, pressing a kiss to one before he takes the stiff peak into his mouth, his tongue swirling in slow, torturous circles. The same tongue that had just shattered me now teases and soothes in equal measure, and I bow into his touch, a soft gasp spilling from my lips.
"Azriel," I rasp, tugging against my dark restraints.
His shadows hold firm, but he lifts his gaze to me through his lashes, those hazel eyes molten with desire. My breath catches, and I swear I feel the heat of his stare everywhere. His tongue flicks against my nipple, sharp and purposeful, and my thighs instinctively fall back open for him.
He smirks, releasing my breast with a wet pop before kissing his way up, up, until he finds my lips. He swallows my soft whimper as his tongue slides past my lips, letting me taste myself on him. The intimacy of it makes my head spin, and I kiss him back greedily, nipping at his lower lip when he pulls away.
His breath is warm against my mouth as he murmurs, "Inside?"
"Yes," I breathe, my voice barely more than a whisper. "I need you inside me."
His lips quirk up in a lazy, knowing smile. "Yeah? You need it?"
"Please," I whimper, my desperation laid bare.
Azriel hums, kissing me again, slow and deep, before pulling away. The sound of his belt unbuckling, the rustle of fabric as he shoves his pants down—it sends a thrilling pulse of anticipation through me.
I was so attuned to him, his sounds, the feel of him. The heat of him between my thighs, the way he strokes himself once, twice, teasing me with the promise of what's to come.
Then he's there, pressing the thick head of his cock against my slick entrance, and I nearly sob with need.
"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice dark with satisfaction as he teases me, sliding just the tip inside before pulling back. "So wet, so ready—"
"Az," I whine, my hips tilting, seeking him.
His hand presses down on my stomach, holding me still. "You take what I give you, love. Nothing more."
I moan at his words, at the sheer dominance in his tone, and then he pushes in, stretching me inch by inch until he's seated fully inside me. He takes his time, driving me wild in the process, each slow thrust pulling a desperate sound from my lips. My walls flutter around him, trying to draw him deeper, but he holds himself back, teasing, torturing.
By the time he finally sinks to the hilt, I'm panting, trembling beneath him, my body molded perfectly to his.
A low groan rumbles through his chest, his head dropping to the crook of my neck as he rolls his hips once, dragging a sharp gasp from me. "Fuck," he breathes, his voice wrecked. "So tight. Always so fucking perfect for me."
I whimper, my body adjusting to the delicious burn of being so completely filled, stretched to the limit around him.
Azriel pulls back slowly, almost entirely, before thrusting forward again, his pace agonizingly slow, like he's savoring the way I squeeze around him.
"You feel that?" he murmurs, his lips brushing against my ear, his voice dark, wicked. "How deep I am?"
"Yes," I pant, my wrists straining against my restraints, desperate to touch him, to claw at his back, to do anything other than lie there and take it.
But that's exactly what he wants.
He rolls his hips again, dragging himself against that spot inside me that has my toes curling, my back arching off the bed.
"You lied to me, love," he reminds me, his tone thick with amusement, with something darker, more possessive. "So now I get to decide how long you last."
A whimper slips from my lips, and he chuckles, low and satisfied.
"You'll take what I give you," he murmurs, his fingers digging into my hips, holding me still even as I writhe beneath him. "And you'll thank me for it."
Then he pulls back and thrusts into me hard, setting a punishing rhythm that steals the breath from my lungs.
He grips my thighs, spreading me wider, fucking into me so deep I swear I can feel him everywhere, in my bones, in my blood.
"So good, you're always so good for me," he groans, his voice rough, barely held together. His restraint is a fragile thing, and gods, knowing I could break him with a single plea makes me throb around him.
"So cruel of me," he muses, his thrusts slowing, dragging out my torture, "to come inside this pretty pussy last night without making sure my girl got her release, hm?"
All I can do is whimper, my head tipping back, body trembling as he fucks me slow, deep, each deliberate roll of his hips making me feel every inch of him.
The rhythmic sound of the bed slamming into the wall and his low, guttural grunts fill the room, the air thick with heat, with the wet, obscene sounds of him driving into me. I bite into my lower lip to stop myself from sounding so damned desperate, but we both know—Azriel knows—just how wrecked I am.
The proof of it is between my thighs, soaking his cock, dripping down onto the sheets.
His hand slides down my stomach, his fingertips ghosting over my clit, not quite touching, just enough to make me sob in frustration.
"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice full of wicked delight. "Fucking dripping for me." His thumb swipes through my slick folds, pressing teasingly just above where I need him most. "So messy, love. So needy."
I whimper, arching into his touch, desperate for relief.
Azriel tuts, shaking his head. "Oh no, sweetheart. You don't get to come yet."
I whine, a broken, desperate sound, and he just chuckles, pulling his hand away entirely.
"You wanted to lie to me," he reminds me, his lips brushing over my jaw as his cock twitches inside me. "Now you get to feel what it's like to be left aching, desperate, needing."
I sob, my head thrashing against the pillow, but he just keeps fucking me, slow and deep, making me take every inch of him without giving me a single ounce of relief.
I fucking love it.
Azriel smirks against my throat, dragging his lips down the column of my neck, his cock still buried deep inside me, thrusting slow, deep, controlled. My body is writhing beneath him, my nails digging uselessly into my palms as his shadows keep me bound.
"Poor thing," he murmurs, nipping at the spot just below my jaw, his tongue soothing over the sting. "You sound so fucking desperate."
I whimper in response, my thighs trembling, my cunt clenching down around him in a futile attempt to pull him deeper, to coax him into fucking me the way I need.
He chuckles, low and dark, dragging his cock out so slow before sinking back in, every inch stretching me open again, every movement meant to drive me insane.
"You said you'd be good for me," he muses, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Said you understood why I had to punish you."
I nod frantically, my breath hitching as he rolls his hips again, the angle perfectly devastating.
"Then why," he murmurs, his lips brushing over my ear, "are you whining like a slut, love?"
A full-body shudder rolls through me at his words, and he laughs—a wicked, pleased sound—because he knows exactly what that does to me.
"Oh?" His grin is evident in his tone. "You like that?"
"Azriel," I rasp, my voice ruined, my body burning.
"Sir," he corrects smoothly, his hand wrapping around my throat, applying just the lightest pressure.
"Sir," I breathe, and fuck—I shouldn't be this turned on, shouldn't be this gone just from the way he's talking to me.
He hums in approval, dragging his nose along my cheek before whispering, "That's my girl."
And then he stops moving.
I let out a cry, bucking my hips, desperate for anything, but his grip on my throat tightens just slightly as a warning.
"Ah, ah," he tuts, shaking his head. "You'll take what I give you, remember?"
"Yes, sir," I whimper, my head falling back.
His thumb brushes over my lower lip. "Such a good girl." He tilts his head, pretending to consider something. "Maybe I should make you beg for it properly."
"I—" My voice catches as he barely rolls his hips, just enough for me to feel him inside me without giving me any real relief.
"I think I will," he murmurs, his thumb pressing against my lips. "Go on, love. Beg."
"Please, sir," I whisper, my voice barely audible.
He tuts, shaking his head. "Oh, sweetheart, you're not even trying. You know you can do better than that."
He pulls out entirely, making me sob in frustration, in unbearable, aching need.
"Again," he commands, his tone all silk and steel.
"Please," I gasp, my back arching, my legs trembling. "Please, sir, I need you so bad, I—fuck—I can't—"
He groans, his cock twitching against my entrance, and finally—finally—he slams back inside me, knocking the breath from my lungs.
"That's it," he praises, setting a brutal, punishing rhythm that has my nails digging into my palms, my mouth falling open on a soundless moan. "That's my fucking girl."
I'm ruined beneath him, my body alight with pleasure, with torment, with the unbearable need to come. And he knows.
His hand drops between us, his fingers finding my clit, and I wail, my body bowing off the bed as he circles the swollen bud with just the right amount of pressure.
"You wanna come, love?" he murmurs, his breath hot against my skin.
"Yes, sir," I sob. "Please, please, please—"
His pace falters, just for a second.
"Fuck," he rasps, his cock twitching inside me. "You sound so pretty when you beg for me."
"Then please," I cry, the pleasure coiling so tight I can't take it anymore.
He presses his forehead against mine, his thrusts turning erratic, desperate.
"Come for me, love," he breathes. "Now."
And fuck—I shatter.
My orgasm crashes over me like a tidal wave, my body seizing, my back arching, my walls fluttering wildly around him as I scream his name.
But Azriel—he doesn't stop.
Not even for a second.
"That's it," he growls, his fingers still working my clit, dragging my pleasure out, making my body shake, making me wail. "Give me another one, sweetheart. I know you can."
My body jerks, as my breath stutters and my thighs tremble violently from the sheer intensity of my release, he just keeps going.
"Too much," I gasp, my body writhing beneath him, every nerve ending alight with unbearable pleasure. "Sir—"
His hand tightens around my waist, his hips still slamming into me, his cock dragging against that spot inside me that makes my vision white out.
I sob, my body tensing as another wave of pleasure builds, impossibly fast, impossibly sharp.
"What's wrong, love?" he murmurs, his lips brushing over the shell of my ear. "You were so eager for it just a moment ago."
His fingers press against my clit, rubbing tight, devastating circles, making my body twitch beneath him.
"I—fuck, I can't—"
Azriel just grins, leaning down to kiss my temple, so mockingly sweet.
"You can," he purrs, his voice dripping with cruel satisfaction. "You were just begging for it, I know you can."
I whimper, my head tossing to the side, my brain too fogged to even process anything beyond the ruthless way he's using me.
"Look at you," he muses, his tone full of wicked amusement. "Fucked so dumb you can't even think straight."
I moan at his words, my legs trembling around his waist.
He laughs, low and mean, his fingers still ruthlessly working my clit, even as my entire body shakes from the overstimulation.
"What was that, love?" His teeth graze my jaw, sending another shudder down my spine. "You like being used like this?"
I sob, my head tossing back, unable to form words, unable to do anything with my hands and ankles bound. I loved it, he knew I loved it.
"Fuck," he groans, his thrusts growing erratic, his grip on my wrists bruising. "You're so fucking perfect like this—just my little plaything to fuck as I please."
I wail, my body burning, pleasure suffocating me as another climax threatens to rip through me. The pleasure was wringing me out dry.
His fingers press against my clit, merciless, relentless.
"You gonna give me another one, sweetheart?" His voice is taunting, his lips brushing over my ear. "Gonna come on my cock again, even though it's too much?" He mocks.
I nod frantically, tears slipping down my temples, my body convulsing from the unbearable pleasure.
He smirks, so fucking smug.
"That's what I thought," he murmurs. "My perfect little slut."
I gripe, clenching around him tightly.
Azriel moans, his cock twitching inside me, his thrusts growing sloppier, more frantic.
"One more," he growls, his hand wrapping around my throat, squeezing just right. "Give me one more, love. Be good for me."
I don't even have the breath to scream. And then he snaps his hips forward, his fingers moving faster, and I fucking lose it, another orgasm ripping through me, dragging me under, drowning me in white-hot bliss.
I just shatter, my body breaking apart, my vision going dark at the edges as pleasure obliterates me.
And Azriel—he fucking laughs, still thrusting, still pushing me, ruining me.
"That's my girl," he purrs. "Always so good for me."
Azriel pulls out slowly, almost tenderly, and I slump against the mattress, my body wrecked, trembling with the aftershocks of everything he's done to me. My wrists ache from pulling against the shadows, my legs barely responding to me as I try to catch my breath.
I think—finally. He's done.
But then his hands are on me again, flipping me onto my stomach in one fluid, effortless motion, his strength overpowering.
"Didn't think I was done, did you sweet girl?" he murmurs, his voice like a dark promise as he hauls me up onto my knees.
I barely have a second to process before his hand presses against my back, forcing my chest down, stuffing my face into the pillows.
I gasp, my arms pinned uselessly beneath me, my body still twitching from overstimulation as I feel him behind me—feel the hard press of his cock sliding between my soaked folds, teasing, not yet giving me what I know he's about to.
"Azriel," I mumble, my voice muffled against the pillows, wrecked and pleading.
He tuts at me, his grip tight as he spreads my knees wider, forcing me open for him.
"You think you can take another round?" His voice is full of mockery, his hand running slowly over my hip before gripping me there, holding me in place. "You've been so good for me, taking everything I've given you—you wouldn't let me down now would you?"
"No sir," I moan softly, my body already shuddering with anticipation as he lines himself up, the head of his cock nudging against my entrance.
I barely have time to pant out a desperate, "Sir," before he thrusts inside me, deep, the new angle making me see fucking stars.
I scream, my fingers clenching uselessly into the sheets as he fills me completely, pressing so deep it makes my entire body tremble.
"Fuck, that's better," he groans, his hands sliding up to grip my waist as he pulls out almost entirely before slamming back in, his pace instantly ruthless.
My mouth drops open in a silent moan, my mind blanking as he uses my body, fucking me like he owns me, like he's never going to stop.
"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" he murmurs, his voice dark, smug. "To be bent over like this, my cock so deep inside you, you can't even think?"
I sob against the pillows, my body already climbing toward another release, my overstimulated nerves sparking with unbearable pleasure.
Azriel just laughs, his hands gripping my hips as he forces my legs to stay open, refusing to let me close them, refusing to let me hide from how utterly ruined I am.
"You're so fucking perfect like this," he breathes, leaning down so his chest presses against my back, his teeth grazing my ear. "Taking me so well, love. My perfect slut."
I keen, my walls clamping down around him, my entire body melting under his words, his touch, his fucking torment.
"That's it," he purrs, his fingers sliding down between my legs, finding my clit, rubbing it in cruel little circles. "Come for me again, sweetheart. I want to feel you break on my cock."
He keeps his pace brutal even as I flutter around him, his grip on my hips unrelenting as he fucks me into the mattress, each thrust shoving me deeper into the pillows, like he's trying to mold me to the shape of his cock.
And all I can do is take it. Take the way he ruins me, the way he stretches me open again and again, making me feel so fucking full I can't even think.
"You hear yourself, sweetheart?" he taunts, his voice dark, drenched in amusement as he listens to the wrecked little sobs spilling from my lips. "Crying for me while you drip all over my cock like a good whore."
I sob again, pleasure and overstimulation making my body shake, making my mind fog over with nothing but him.
"F-fuck, Az," I whimper, my fingers clawing uselessly at the sheets.
His hand cracks against my ass, making me jolt forward on a choked-out cry.
"Sir," he corrects again, his tone firm, his free hand sliding up my back, tracing the arch his thrusts are forcing me into.
My walls clench around him so tight it drags a deep, filthy groan from his chest.
"You like that?" he purrs, smug as sin, rolling his hips in slow, torturous circles, making sure I feel every inch of him. "Like knowing I could fill this pretty little cunt up—watch you swell with my seed?"
I whimper, my toes curling at the thought, at the absolute filth pouring from his lips.
And then his hand is sliding down, pressing to my lower stomach—right where he's buried deep inside of me.
A guttural groan rumbles from his chest, his fingers flexing as he feels where he's stretching me open, where he'd fill me up if he let himself go.
"Fuck," he breathes, his grip tightening on my hip as he thrusts again, shoving deeper just to feel the bulge of himself inside me. "So fucking deep, love. You feel that?"
I nod weakly, my eyes rolling back, my body trembling as another broken sob leaves my lips.
He laughs, wicked and cruel.
"Already so fucked out, aren't you?" he taunts, dragging his palm over my stomach, pressing harder just to make me feel how deep he is. "Poor little thing—just a dumb, desperate mess on my cock."
I keen, my legs shaking, my body completely wrecked and at his mercy.
He twitches, my body arching as he presses into a spot that makes my vision go white, my mouth falling open in a pitiful pant. "Sir, feels, so good," I whimpered.
"Yeah? Greedy girl, going to come again?" He taunted, lips brushing against my shoulder, his sweat-slicked chest kissing my bowed back.
"Please—can I?" His pace didn't slow, even if I knew he was getting closer, he grew more and more sloppy but he did not slow.
"Wait f'me, I'm almost there," He whispered into my skin.
I clenched around him, unable to help myself, wanting to help him get there. My arms shook, near to giving out as I panted into the bed sheets, gripping the pristine white cloth in my fist to stop myself from moving up on the bed.
He twitched inside of me again, growing eager. "Inside," I breathe softly. "Fill me," I beg.
"Yeah? Want me to claim this cunt?" He whispered, lips grazing over the shell of my ear.
"Please, sir," I beg, bottom lip wobbling.
"Okay love, come—come f'me," He chokes slightly, consumed by his need for release. I doubted I could hold onto that edge for much longer, and the sound that left me during that final orgasm was louder than the rest, primal in a way. He twitched once more, and as I clenched tightly around him from the cresting of my orgasm, he came too, painting my walls white with his thick release.
He thrust slowly, gently, easing me down from the white-hot high that still had my body trembling. My whimper was soft, and breathless, as he finally pulled from me, his release spilling from me, warm and slick against my thighs. If not for his steady hands cradling me, guiding me down onto the mattress, I might've collapsed completely.
"Not too much?" His voice was hushed, rough around the edges, like he was just as wrecked as I was, despite that Illyrian stamina keeping him upright. A calloused hand brushed through my likely tangled hair, tucking it behind my ear so he could see me clearly.
I tried to form words, but all I could manage was a breathless, "No." A slow inhale, then, "Felt s'good." My voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper, and even that much effort felt like too much.
He hummed softly, pressing a lingering kiss to my temple. "You did so good," he murmured against my skin before slipping his arms beneath me. I barely had time to react before I was in his embrace again, lifted with ease. "Let's get you cleaned up."
I nodded weakly, my limbs boneless, and let him carry me into the bathroom. The cool marble of the counter met the flushed heat of my skin, soothing, grounding. I watched him through heavy-lidded eyes, admiring him in this quiet aftermath. The way his jaw clenched in focus as he wrung out a damp cloth. The tenderness in his touch as he wiped me down, extra careful between my thighs. The contrast of his rough, battle-worn hands moving with such exquisite care.
He combed through my hair next, untangling the knots his fingers had left earlier, his motions steady, unhurried. Every stroke, every pass of his hands over my body, was reverent. Devotional.
He kissed me softly then, tasting of cedar and salt, of something uniquely him. His hands skimmed my sides, his touch a whisper of heat against my skin.
"Six times." His voice was smug, but quiet, like he was half-talking to himself.
I blinked up at him, dazed. "Hm?"
"You came six times." His lips quirked into a knowing smirk, his fingers tracing idle patterns along my thigh.
Heat flooded my already flushed cheeks, my stomach twisting with something like mortification and pride all at once. If he knew so easily, then surely he knew immediately last night when it wasn't real.
"You were counting?"
He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Had to make up for last night."
I huffed a small, breathy laugh. "You did."
His smirk softened as he kissed me again. Slow. Deep. A promise.
"How do you know?" I murmured against his lips, pulling back just enough for our noses to brush. "When I come?"
His gaze darkened, and something in his expression made my stomach flip. "You make this pretty face," he said, voice dropping, thumb tracing my bottom lip. "You couldn't fake it if you tried."
I swallowed hard, heat pooling low once more.
"And you always moan my name," he continued, pressing a slow kiss to my throat. "Every single time." His lips dragged over my pulse, felt the way it jumped. "Without fail, it's always my name on your lips."
I could feel my blush creeping lower, my skin burning everywhere he touched.
"You didn't last night," he murmured, voice a lazy drawl like he was enjoying my embarrassment. "Wasn't hard to figure out."
I groaned, dropping my forehead against his shoulder, but I couldn't help but laugh at myself. He chuckled too, the sound a warm rumble against my skin.
I pressed a kiss to his temple, letting my hands roam down his back, enjoying the feel of his muscles beneath my touch.
"So," I mused, still breathless, still utterly spent. "Breakfast?"
Summary: Fire alarms ruin the mood but not more than unEXpected interactions.
Warnings: Angsty, Nudity, MDNI, Modern AU, Explicit, smutty, fluffy??? idk
Word Count: 3498
Notes: This is Part Four of the series "The Plug" Part One is HERE , Part Two is HERE and Part three is HERE. I am so happy that you guys are loving it. The more interactive you guys become the more say you can have in how the story unfolds. I already have a few other parts in the works but once I post those I can open some polls for you guys to vote in in your are interested. This was originally going to be posted on a schedule but then like happened so unfortunately it's like when I have time and I remember. Anyways, I hope you LOVE this part <3
You were standing outside with your neighbors, the sound of firetrucks blaring in the distance, growing louder by the second.
Azriel stood next to you looking like sin — shirtless, golden skin glowing under the streetlights, sweatpants riding low on his hips, arms crossed like he hadn’t just spent the last hour testing every ounce of his restraint.
You hated how good he looked. Hated more how many other people noticed. Women were gawking. A few guys, too. And you were trying not to get in your head about it.
Then a voice cut through the noise. High-pitched. Too loud.
“Azriel!”
You turned.
A tall, beautiful woman with long brown hair and piercing blue eyes sauntered toward you like she was gliding on air. Her pajama shorts left almost nothing to the imagination. Her crop top committed the same offense.
You didn’t recognize her — but you didn’t need to.
Your stomach dropped.
She reached him and threw her arms around his neck. Azriel flinched. Then peeled her off like her touch burned, stepping back fast enough to make it clear: this wasn’t welcome.
“Hey,” he said, curt. Cold. No smile.
He stepped closer to you, but didn’t touch you — which made your brain spiral. You didn’t like that. You didn’t like any of this.
“I thought you moved away?” he asked, eyes sharp.
You stayed quiet, watching. Tracking every expression. Every word. Every touch. She was too comfortable. Way too comfortable.
“I did,” she said, breezy. “I was on a modeling tour for the last six months. But I’m back now.” She smiled. “We should hang out.”
Azriel let out a humorless laugh. “Why would we do that?”
“Because I miss you, Az.” Her voice softened. Her hand slid over his arm — too familiar, too intimate.
You wanted to gag.
“That makes one of us,” he said, tone dark.
You might’ve laughed if you weren’t frozen in place, still trying to make sense of what the fuck was happening.
“Vivienne,” he said, voice sharp now. “Did you forget what you did? Why we broke up?”
And just like that — your heart stuttered.
Broke up?
Your stomach sank. This was his ex.
She was gorgeous. Model-gorgeous. And she had history with him — history you didn’t have.
You tried to keep your expression neutral, but the insecurity crawled up your spine anyway.
Azriel hadn’t looked at you once since she walked up. Not even a glance. Like he didn’t want to see whatever was written on your face.
“Please, Vivi,” he said. “Do us all a favor and walk away.”
Then — finally — he reached for you. Wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you closer.
You wanted to pull away. You really did. But you held your ground. You couldn’t let her see she’d rattled you.
Vivienne’s eyes flicked down to where Azriel touched you. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.
“My number’s the same,” she said. “And I still live in the same place. In case you change your mind.”
Then she turned, walking away like she hadn’t just derailed your whole fucking night.
Azriel turned to you immediately. Eyes wide. Brows tight.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “That was my ex. A long time ago.”
You didn’t say anything.
“She cheated on me,” he added, running a hand through his hair. “With her ex. That’s why I ended it.”
“Oh.” It was all you could say.
You didn’t doubt him. Not even for a second. But that didn’t stop the wave of nausea that rolled through you.
She was beautiful. He used to love her. And she’d hurt him.
You weren’t sure what made you feel worse — the reminder that someone could hurt him like that…
…or the tiny, ugly voice that told you maybe she could do it again.
Not just moving—pacing. Like his shadows were crawling under his skin. Like he needed somewhere to put all the emotion still clinging to him from outside, but nowhere felt safe.
You leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “You okay?”
“Fine,” he muttered. “Perfect.”
Liar.
You waited a beat. “You want to talk about what just happened?”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” he said, too fast. “She’s gone. It’s done. I don’t care.”
You tilted your head. “Then why are you acting like someone lit a fire under your ass?”
That got him. He froze, eyes flicking to you with something close to frustration.
“Because I don’t want you to think I’m not over her,” he snapped.
You blinked.
“I mean, I am over her,” he added, voice a little less sharp now. “It’s just… this is the first thing that’s felt good in a long time. And I don’t want to mess it up.”
He ran a hand through his hair. Rubbed his jaw. Looking anywhere but at you. “You mean more than a hookup. I just… I guess I don’t know how to do this right.”
You stepped toward him. Slow. Measured. “Start by looking at me when you talk.”
He did.
“Now breathe,” you said, your hand brushing lightly over his chest. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Azriel sat down hard on the edge of your couch, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. “We were together for two years,” he said. “And the last six months of it were hell.”
You sat next to him, close—but not too close.
“I knew she was distant. I knew something was off. But I didn’t want to believe it. I ignored every red flag until they piled up and suffocated me.”
Your heart squeezed.
“She cheated on me. With her ex. And when I found out, she told me I didn’t give her butterflies anymore.” His voice dropped. “Said I was… boring.”
Your fingers twitched. You wanted to reach for him—but you gave him the space to finish.
“I know it shouldn’t still bother me. But it does. It does because the second I saw you, I knew I was fucked. And not in the fun way.”
That made you laugh softly, which earned the ghost of a smile from him.
“You’re funny,” he said, finally meeting your eyes. “And smart. And gorgeous. And you look at me like I matter. That’s terrifying.”
You reached for his hand. Twined your fingers with his.
“You do matter,” you said. “And if you think I’m gonna hurt you like she did? You don’t know me at all.”
He looked at your joined hands like they were anchoring him to the earth.
It was a quiet truth—one that made your heart twist and expand all at once.
You didn’t respond right away. Just sat with it. Let the silence between you thrumming with something heavy and real.
Then you said, “You can.”
Azriel’s eyes flicked up to meet yours. There was something in them that hadn’t been there earlier. Something raw. Something that looked a lot like hope.
“You don’t scare me,” you told him, voice steady. “Your past doesn’t scare me. The fact that you’ve been hurt doesn’t scare me.”
You reached up, brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead.
“You trying to pretend it didn’t hurt? That scares me.”
His breath hitched. “I don’t want to be that guy,” he whispered. “The one who carries his baggage into something new. Who punishes the next person for what the last one did.”
You shook your head. “Then don’t. But don’t lie about where your head is at. I’m not asking you to be perfect, Azriel. I’m just asking you to be honest.”
He looked like he might say something—then stopped.
Instead, he leaned in.
Slowly. Carefully. Like he didn’t want to spook the moment.
And then he rested his forehead against yours.
Not a kiss. Not quite.
Just touch. Intimate. Grounding.
“I don’t know what this is,” he said softly. “But it’s the first thing that’s made me feel again.”
You nodded against him. “Then let’s feel it. Together.”
The two of you sat on the couch in your sanctuary, passing a joint between you, the air hazy and quiet except for the sound of trust unfolding.
Azriel told you everything.
About Vivienne — the good, the bad, the brutal.
About the therapy he started after she left. How it stopped being about her and became about him. About healing wounds he didn’t even realize he’d been living with.
He told you about his childhood. His mother. His step brothers. The ones responsible for the scars on his hands.
And you listened.
You cried. He cried.
Your heart cracked open for him.
You couldn’t fathom how anyone — anyone — could look at him and not see how much he mattered.
When the words finally ran out, he looked at you. Really looked.
And in your eyes, he found no pity. No judgment. Only love.
Only understanding.
Only safety.
“You deserve the world, Azriel,” you whispered, reaching for his hand and squeezing tight. “You deserve happiness. Peace. Someone who won’t flinch when you hand them your heart.”
He brought your hand to his lips and kissed it, soft and reverent. “So do you.”
You sat there like that for a long moment—fingers intertwined, hearts wide open—letting everything you couldn’t say out loud pass between your eyes instead.
I see you. I care about you. You are safe with me.
“Let’s go lay down,” you said, rising from the couch and offering him your hand.
Azriel took it, trailing after you like a sad, beautiful puppy — all smoldering eyes and slouched shoulders.
As soon as you reached the bed, you shoved him backward. Hard.
He landed with a grunt, laughing low under his breath.
“Do you want to talk about it more,” you asked, stepping between his legs and resting his head against your chest, “or do you want a distraction?”
He tilted his head up, and the look he gave you? Wicked. “Depends. What kind of distraction are we talking about?”
You smirked and shoved his chest again, this time pushing him all the way back against the pillows. He leaned up on his elbows, eyes locked on you as you climbed onto the bed and straddled his hips.
His hands found your waist, thumbs dragging slow circles over your skin, moving lower… then higher.
That sorrow from earlier? It was gone. Replaced by something molten. Hungry. Ferocious.
You dragged your hands up his chest, watching the way his muscles twitched beneath your touch, the way his breath came quicker.
He stared at you like he needed you to stay exactly where you were, like your skin was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
You felt him harden beneath you, his cock pressing against your core.
You trailed your fingers up over his chest, his throat, into his hair — and when you tugged, his head hit the bed with a blissed-out groan.
You leaned in, lips grazing his but not quite kissing him. “You wanted me to beg, remember?” you whispered. “Wanted to make me wait?”
His voice was cracked and dark. “Yes.”
“Then make me beg, Azzie.”
That was all it took. One second you were on top — the next, he was flipping you onto your back, the air knocked out of you, a soft moan rising to meet him.
You threaded your fingers through his hair again, trying to pull him down for a kiss — but he paused. Still hovering.
“Do you want me to kiss you?” he asked, voice slow and teasing.
You nodded, biting your lip. “Yes, Azriel. Please, kiss me.”
He smirked and leaned in like he was going to… then pulled back completely.
“You didn’t tell me where to kiss you.”
Then he grabbed your pants by the ankles and dragged them off with agonizing slowness.
The moment they hit the floor, he moaned — loud. He’d forgotten you weren’t wearing underwear.
He pushed your legs apart gently, eyes locked on your cunt.
His eyes darkened. “So wet for me already. And I have barley even touched you.”
He kissed your inner thigh, then higher. Not there — almost there. And then started kissing his way up your body.
By the time he reached your breasts, you were writhing. He kissed one nipple, so softly it made you whine. Then the other.
“So sensitive,” he whispered, sucking just enough to leave you gasping.
He worked his way up your neck, biting and kissing until you were squirming, begging for more — and then he kissed you.
Finally.
It was soft, and filthy, and slow — like he was memorizing your mouth with his.
“Everything about you…” he murmured, brushing his lips over yours, “was made for me.”
He kissed you again. “Your lips.”
Then he kissed you again, running his tongue over yours. “Your tongue.” He pulled back to say before sucking your tongue into his mouth
You both moaned.
He dragged his nose up your neck and inhaled. “The way you smell, the way you sound, the way you fucking taste — you drive me insane.”
He pulled back just enough to whisper against your skin. “I want to give you things no one ever has. I want to show you how it feels to be loved and ruined properly.”
Your body was undone. He had rewired your beliefs with every word, every kiss, every touch. He worshipped you.
“Azriel,” you breathed.
His kisses trailed down, slow and purposeful, until he was hovering over your soaked core.
“Is this where you want me to kiss you?” he asked, voice like gravel. He placed a featherlight kiss right on your folds.
“Yes,” you gasped. “Azriel, please. Stop teasing me.”
“I thought you wanted to beg,” he said, feigning innocence.
He bit the inside of your thigh — not hard, but enough to make you cry out.
“I thought you wanted me to make you desperate.”
“You’re going to kill me,” you groaned, thighs trembling, hips already rolling up toward him.
He just smiled, dark and slow. “Then die for me, princess.”
Just then, he licked a long, slow stripe up your center. You yelled—back arching, fists tangling in his hair.
He chuckled against you, then did it again—slower this time. Like he was savoring it. Memorizing you.
Again. And again. And again. Each lick stole a groan from your throat.
Then he circled your clit with his tongue, and you cried out his name, yanking his hair harder.
He moaned in response—deep and guttural—like tasting you unraveled him too.
He kept going. Licking, sucking, teasing that aching spot until you looked down and found his eyes already locked on yours.
He sucked harder and your head fell back with a loud moan.
“Gods,” he murmured against you, barely audible, “you taste perfect. Like the only meal I’ll ever need.”
Oh. Oh he likes it.
He dove his tongue into your core so deep you lost all sense.
Oh, fuck he loves it.
You whimpered his name again, grinding harder now—riding his face.
He let you. Loosened his grip on your hips and laid his tongue flat, letting you take what you needed.
Every moan from you echoed in him—his own groans vibrating against your core.
You used your grip in his hair to pull him impossibly closer, grinding harder, chasing that high that felt so close.
He could feel it. Taste it. The way you throbbed against his mouth.
He didn’t stop. Didn’t slow.
Then he sucked your clit into his mouth again—and it shattered you.
You came with a cry, and he kept going—relentless. Starved. Worshipful.
Only when your body jerked and twitched from overstimulation did you push at his head, gasping for air.
He chuckled but relented—placing one last reverent kiss to your clit before kissing his way up your body.
He reached your mouth and kissed you, deep and slow.
You moaned into it—tasting yourself on his lips, on his tongue. It made the kiss messier. More intimate.
You stayed like that for a long while, kissing slow and sloppy—like you had nowhere else to be but tangled together like this.
You woke up in the exact position you'd fallen asleep in — Azriel half on top of you, his arm heavy across your waist heavy but in the best way.
Both of you were sweating where your skin touched, but the heat was almost comforting. Intimate. Endearing.
He stirred gently, pressing a soft kiss to your neck and nuzzling in closer.
“Good morning,” you whispered, dragging your nails down the length of his spine, then back up again.
“I could wake up to you every day,” he murmured into your skin.
“Me too,” you replied. “But if I don’t walk the dog right now, she’s never going to forgive me.”
You both looked over — and there she was, sitting in her bed across the room, glaring.
Azriel laughed. “Yeah, that’s clearly your dog. Why is she glaring like that?”
You smacked his arm playfully. “It’s past her usual walk time,” you said, twisting out of his arms and swinging your feet to the floor.
“I’ll come with you,” he offered, dragging himself up — half of him still sprawled over the edge of your bed.
“Wow,” you teased, slipping your feet into your slippers. “Can’t stay away from me for one second.”
You headed to the door, your dog trotting beside you with Azriel not far behind.
The three of you walked to the dog park inside your complex, letting her run until she was panting, tongue lolling happily.
And then… on the way back to your apartment… you saw her.
Vivienne.
Dressed in yoga pants and a crop top — casual, effortless, and somehow still threatening. It didn’t matter what she wore. You felt like you could see what lay beneath it — and that unsettled you more than you wanted to admit.
Azriel spotted her next.
He groaned audibly, the grin he'd been wearing all morning evaporating in an instant.
You could just barely hear him muttering something under his breath about the Cauldron striking her down where she stood — which made you chuckle despite yourself.
Last night’s anxiety — the fear, the insecurity — it had all melted away.
Because Azriel had opened up to you.
He’d let you in.
And then, he'd worshipped your body like you hung the stars and the moon.
Vivienne sauntered towards you like she had one mission and it was Azriel.
Your dog growled, low and immediate. It didn’t stop her.
Azriel’s hand tightened on yours. His entire body tensed before he even looked up.
He exhaled slowly. “Cauldron, take me now,” he muttered under his breath.
You smiled at the drama. “Come on, I want to see how this plays out.”
She stopped right in front of you both, eyes barely flicking your way. “Didn’t think I’d see you so soon,” she said to Azriel. “Guess the mother had other plans.”
“Unfortunately,” he deadpanned.
Vivienne twirled a piece of her hair. “I’m back in town for a bit. We should catch up.”
You quirked a brow, amusement tugging at your lips. “Wow. Bold of you to flirt with a man while he’s holding someone else’s hand.”
Vivienne finally looked at you. Assessed. Smiled like she was above it all. “I’m not flirting. Just reminiscing. Old flames and all.”
Azriel’s voice dropped, calm and cold. “You cheated on me. Repeatedly. That flame’s been dead. Cremated, actually.”
You muffled a laugh.
Vivienne’s lips twitched. “I said I was sorry.”
“You said you were sorry after I found the texts. Not before.”
You were quiet, letting him speak — but when she reached out and touched his arm, you stepped forward. Not aggressive, just… present.
You said casually, “Someone clearly never taught you about boundaries”
Vivienne blinked. “Excuse me?”
Azriel peeled her hand off him and stepped next to you, his arm sliding around your waist.
“You heard her,” he said. “You don’t get to touch me. Not anymore.”
She looked between you both, realization sinking in.
“My number’s the same,” she said, recovering quickly. “In case you change your mind.”
Azriel snorted. “I’d rather set myself on fire.”
Vivienne’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. She turned on her heel and walked away, spine stiff and face unreadable.
You let out a breath. “Well. She’s gonna be journaling about that one.”
Azriel turned to you, looking like he might kiss you senseless right there. “I’ve never been so turned on.”
You smirked. “Don’t look at me like that or I will make you beg in front of my dog.”
Hey y’all sorry the master list has not been updated and more parts haven’t been posted it! Honestly, I am in the midst of a major spiritual awakening and so yeah lol
Summary: A quiet night in after a life changing date with Azriel. Smoke in the air, hearts on the line. You were half-dressed, wholly undone, and toeing the line between tension and release — until everything changed.
Warnings: Angsty, Nudity, MDNI, Modern AU, Explicit
Word Count: 2,346
Notes: This is Part three of the series "The Plug" Part One is HERE and Part Two is HERE. I am so happy that you guys are living it. The more interactive you guys become the more say you can have in how the story unfolds. I already have a few other parts in the works but once I post those I can open some polls for you guys to vote in in your are interested
“I’m going to shower,” you said, stepping out of your room in a short silk robe, two towels slung over your arm. “Would you like to join?”
You didn’t wait for his answer.
You just turned and walked into the bathroom, leaving the door open like a promise.
He followed.
In the mirror, you caught a glimpse of him as he entered — already unbuttoning the black shirt he’d worn to dinner. The top few buttons were undone, exposing the black wife beater beneath, but your eyes stayed locked on his in the reflection. You didn’t look away as he undid another button. Then another.
Your breath caught with each one.
Heat curled low in your stomach as he slid the shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.
You turned on the shower. Extra hot — just how you liked it. Steam started to billow, rising like tension off your skin.
Still facing away, you let the robe slip from your shoulders.
It fell in a puddle around your feet.
And without a word, you stepped into the shower — water hot enough to sting, but exactly what you needed.
Through the already-fogging glass, you watched him undress from the corner of your eye — and he watched you, eyes locked on your silhouette like you were something sacred.
When he was finally naked, he slid the door open and stepped in behind you.
He didn’t touch you.
You glanced over your shoulder, catching him standing there — eyes trailing up and down your body like he couldn’t decide where to land. Like it was all too much and not enough at the same time.
You chuckled and reached past him to grab your loofah, squeezing a generous pump of body wash onto it. You stepped out of the water, letting him take your place beneath the stream as you started to scrub your skin.
He faced the water, head tilted back, letting it pour over his body. You watched as he ran his hands through his hair, muscles flexing under the spray, water carving lines down his back. Your gaze slid lower — admiring the curve of his ass, the strength in his thighs.
He shifted just enough to give you space under the water again — but didn’t return to the far side of the shower. You stood there together, bodies turned sideways so the water could hit both of you.
Then your eyes met.
His gaze burned. He looked like he was barely holding himself back.
You reached for the spare loofah hanging on the hook and handed it to him. He raised a brow.
“I’m not a monster,” you said, voice softer than you meant it. “It’s new, I put it in here for you.”
He smiled — something warm flickering in his eyes — and took it from you. Pumped soap into it. Began to wash.
You definitely couldn’t look away now.
He scrubbed his neck, his shoulders, chest, stomach… every inch of him gleaming under the water. Then he reached behind himself to scrub his back.
And then… his hand drifted lower.
To his cock.
He washed it slowly. Thoroughly. Stroking himself with the loofah like he didn’t care that you were watching — or maybe because he knew you were.
His cock was hard, thick, the veins standing out.
You licked your lips, your thighs pressing together, your mouth slightly open.
He rinsed off, then stepped out of your way, letting you stand fully under the water. But neither of you moved beyond that.
You couldn’t take your eyes off each other.
His gaze was burning — body visibly tense, chest rising and falling with the effort of restraint, like he was holding himself back from doing something reckless. From touching you. From devouring you.
“Can I wash your hair?” Azriel asked, voice soft, eyes full of something that made your chest ache.
“Yeah… but it’s curly so—”
“I’ll be gentle,” he promised, cutting you off.
You turned so your back was to him. A moment passed, then you heard the sound of him opening the shampoo, the quiet squirt of it into his palm.
Then you felt it—his hands in your hair. Strong, sure, gentle.
He started slow, massaging your scalp with the pads of his fingers. When his hands slid up the back of your neck to the base of your skull, a soft moan slipped from your lips.
He did it again.
“You like that?” he whispered, voice brushing against your ear like silk.
A shiver ran down your spine.
“Mhm,” was all you could manage.
He kept going, raking his fingers through your curls with practiced patience—even though he’d never done this before. He was careful. Tender. Reverent.
He spun you around, tilted your head into the water. His hands helped rinse the shampoo from your hair, never tugging, never rushing.
Then came the conditioner. He worked it in gently, then grabbed the wide-tooth comb from the hook and began detangling—slow, careful strokes that made your heart ache with how gentle he was being.
“You’re good at this,” you murmured.
“I’ve never done it before,” he admitted. “But I wanted an excuse to touch you.”
You looked over your shoulder, met his gaze. Honest. Soft. Smiling.
“You didn’t need an excuse, Azriel. I told you that.”
He turned you back toward the spray and rinsed out the conditioner, one arm sliding around your waist, pulling you against him.
His cock was hard between you, but he didn’t move. He just stood there, hand in your hair, face so focused it made something bloom in your chest.
He didn’t even see you watching him—how gentle, how present, how careful he was with you.
It wasn’t just the steam warming your body.
It was him.
That was what made your skin hum. Your lips curled into a smile—and when he finally looked up, his matched yours.
“My turn,” you said, voice sly, a smirk tugging at your lips.
He raised a brow. “Not sure you can reach all the way up here, princess.”
You scoffed. “I have long arms.”
He laughed and turned under the water, letting you grab the shampoo.
You ran your hands up his neck, through his scalp, just like he’d done to you. His low hum in response made your core clench.
When he turned to face you, eyes fluttering shut as your fingers scraped through his curls, he bit his bottom lip. Hard.
You scrubbed a little harder. He groaned.
“Thought so,” you whispered.
You rinsed his hair, then repeated the same with the conditioner—combing carefully through each tangle.
When you were done, you shut the water off and stepped out, grabbing a towel from the rack. You handed him the other.
You dried off and lotioned up in comfortable silence—until you turned around, holding the bottle out.
“Can you get my back?”
He smirked, pumped lotion into his hands, then began to rub. Shoulders, neck, down your spine. His hands were warm and firm—steady pressure that sent heat sparking down your legs.
You walked into your room naked. He followed, towel around his waist.
“These are yours,” you said, holding out his sweatpants and shirt. “I washed them.”
He took the pants, but left the shirt in your hands.
“Keep that,” he said, eyes soft.
You slipped it on immediately, the fabric still warm from the dryer—and from him.
He smiled as he pulled the pants on, watching you like you were something sacred.
You paused in the doorway, glancing over your shoulder. “Come with me.”
He was already halfway to you before you finished the sentence.
You led him to a room off the dining area, swinging the door open to reveal your personal sanctuary — art-covered walls, cascading plants, soft tapestries, fairy lights glowing overhead, and a couch that practically begged you to melt into it.
You dropped onto the cushions with a content sigh, Azriel following close behind. He took the seat beside you as you reached for your stash box, pulling out a pre-rolled joint and a lighter. You sparked it up, took a couple slow pulls, then passed it to him.
“I’m honestly really impressed,” you said, folding your legs criss-cross and settling deeper into the couch.
Azriel took a hit, exhaling smoke with a smile. “I know — that concert was insane.”
“It was,” you agreed, watching him. “But that’s not what I meant.”
His brow lifted, smirk forming. “No?”
Your eyes didn’t waver. “I was naked. Dripping wet. In a steamy shower. And you didn’t so much as kiss me.”
That got his attention. His eyes sharpened, flicking to your lips as he passed the joint back to you.
“Did you want me to kiss you?” he asked, voice low.
You tilted your head like you were seriously considering it. Took a slow drag. Blew the smoke out, passed him the joint— and smiled.
“Honestly?” you murmured. “I’ve been waiting for you to fuck me.”
Azriel choked — violently — coughing into his fist as he scrambled to hand the joint back to you.
“Oh—I… wow. I wasn’t expecting you to say that so directly,” he said, laughing nervously, running a hand through his hair.
You had officially made Azriel nervous.
And gods, you liked that. That you had this man squirming.
You took another hit, slow and purposeful, and watched him. “So you don’t want to?”
His eyes dropped to his lap — where the answer was pressing very obviously against his sweatpants.
“Of course I do,” he said quickly. “I just… didn’t want to rush it. Not with you.”
You blinked. “Rush it?”
He nodded, voice softer now. “I didn’t want you to think all this — the date, the concert, the flowers — was just to sleep with you. I did it because… I knew. From the second I saw you. I wanted you. But not just for a night.”
After a long but comfortable silence, Azriel spoke again
“Did you just want to fuck me?” he asked, not quite meeting your eyes.
“No,” you rushed to say. “I’ve ju-,” you trailed off. “ I can wait if that’s what you wanna do.”
“Well,” he said, voice low, uncrossing your legs and gently tugging you to lie down beneath him. “My plan was to take my time with you, hold out until you were begging for it...”
You inhaled a sharp breath.
He plucked the joint from your hand, set it in the ashtray, and shifted above you — his knee nudging your legs apart until he was settled between them.
“You are so beautiful,” he murmured, running a hand over your damp hair. “And so patient.”
Then his lips dropped to your neck, placing a soft, lingering kiss there.
You gasped, arching your chest into him. He chuckled against your skin.
“Gods,” he whispered, hot breath skating across your neck. “You are so needy.”
You whimpered, already aching for more.
He leaned in, voice brushing your ear. “Is this what you want?”
Then he licked up your neck and sucked your earlobe into his mouth.
A moan slipped out of you, unfiltered and real.
“I guess it is,” he said, voice a slow tease, kissing along your jaw, hovering just above your mouth.
“Azriel, just kiss me already,” you whispered — breathless, begging.
And he did.
Soft at first. Just lips on lips, barely there.
He pulled back, and you chased him.
He kissed your forehead, then nuzzled your nose. “The way you beg… the way I can feel your body trembling beneath me.”
He kissed you again, deeper this time.
His tongue brushed your bottom lip and you opened for him — tongues meeting, tasting, both of you moaning.
Your hips rolled against him, bodies grinding, breaths coming fast.
One hand slid down to your thigh… then your ass… squeezing.
He bit your bottom lip, and you moaned his name into his mouth. He groaned in return.
“The way you say my name… I’d do anything to hear that again.”
He leaned in, resuming the kiss — hungrier now.
Fuck, I am so wet, I think it is seaping into his pants.
“I can feel how wet you are through my pants,” he murmured into your mouth like he had heard your exact thoughts.
You whimpered, your body answering for you.
“I know what you want, princess,” he breathed. “But I told you I didn’t want to rush.”
He dipped to your neck, licking, sucking, biting.You knew he’d leave marks. You didn’t care.
His mouth moved lower, tugging your shirt down just enough to kiss and suck your collarbone.
You tugged his hair — and he purred against you. That sound alone made your whole body clench.
Then, slowly, he leaned down and grabbed the hem of your shirt with his teeth. Dragged it up your body, inch by inch, his bottom lip warm and wet against your skin.
Just as he reached your ribs —
BEEP.
BEEP.
BEEP.
The fire alarm went off. Loud. Relentless. Unforgiving.
You both jolted. Azriel groaned and dropped his head to your shoulder, kissing it like he was mourning the loss.
“Why now?” you groaned aloud.
He laughed, pulling you upright with both hands.
The alarm didn’t stop.
You grabbed a pair of pants, threw them on, and scooped up your dog.
Outside your building, surrounded by annoyed neighbors, you sighed. “Well, that kind of killed the mood.”
Azriel wrapped both arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered, breath hot on your ear. “I plan on finishing what we started.”
Your whole body shivered — and you smiled like he’d already won.
Summary: Azriel asked you on a date and Now It's time to go 🤪🥵🫠
Warnings: Drug use, MDNI
Word Count: 4,370 words
Notes: Thank you so much for the positive feed back on part one. I hope you guys Love part two. Another shout out to the inspiration for the series @tarotsoul
Part Two: The Concert
You needed three things: food, a nap, and the perfect outfit for tonight. In that exact order.
You made something quick to eat, then passed out cold — still wearing Azriel’s clothes.
He’d begged you to give back his favorite sweatpants but let you keep the shirt. Said it looked better on you anyway.
When you woke up, you stood in front of your closet with the kind of focus usually reserved for final exams or hostage negotiations. You weren’t just getting dressed — you were setting the tone.
You pulled out piece after piece, debating the vibe. Sexy but effortless? Cool but not trying too hard? You needed something that said: Yes, I’m with him. But also… I’m the prize.
You landed on a black high-waisted skirt that snatched your waist and made your ass look unholy and a simple black shirt.
There was a knock on your apartment door at exactly 6:55 p.m.
When you opened it, Azriel was standing there — bouquet in hand, flowers vibrant and full... with two perfectly rolled blunts sticking out of the top.
Your brain short-circuited.
Who even does that?
Who shows up dressed in all black, gold jewelry catching the hallway light, smelling like expensive cologne and bad decisions — holding a bouquet that said “I like you” and blunts that screamed “but I’m still him?”
And gods, he looked good.
Don’t stare, you told yourself. Be cool. He’s just your plug who planned you a full date and looks like sin. Be. Cool.
“You wanted to match me, I see?” you said, quirking a brow with a wicked smirk.
“What?” he replied, blinking like you’d pulled him out of a trance.
“You wanted to match me,” you repeated — not a question this time.
“Yeah, I guess so,” he said, running a hand through his hair, smiling like he couldn’t help it.
“Sorry, you just look…” His gaze raked over you again, slow and deliberate, making you shiver.
“Amazing. Simple but—” he trailed off.
“These are for you.”
He held out a bouquet — tulips and peonies in soft pinks, sunny yellows, and creamy whites.
But what really caught your eye?
The two perfectly rolled blunts sticking out the top like a stoner’s love letter.
You took the bouquet from him, your fingers brushing his, heat flaring instantly in your cheeks.
“These are beautiful,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “And the blunts? A perfect touch.”
You turned to head back inside.
“Let me put these in water and grab my purse. Unless… you wanna smoke here?”
“We can smoke in the car on the way to dinner,” he said, stepping inside the door frame but not crossing it. “I made a reservation — and I don’t want to be late.”
You nodded like it was no big deal, even though your brain short-circuited again.
Reservation.
Like a real date.
With a man who smelled like lust and intention.
You moved to the kitchen, putting the flowers in water with trembling fingers, trying not to overanalyze the bouquet-with-blunts situation — which, somehow, made your heart flutter more than just flowers alone.
A man who knows my soul and my vices? Dangerous.
You darted into your room for your purse, nearly tripping over your own feet.
Breathe. It’s just a date. With someone who rolls perfect blunts and makes dinner reservations. Chill.
You slung your bag over your shoulder and grabbed your keys like it wasn’t a miracle your hands still worked.
“I’m ready,” you said casually.
He opened the door for you. Waited as you locked it.
Your brain was screaming.
Your ex once ‘planned a date’ by texting ‘you up?’ and then Venmo requested you for tacos. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. But you didn’t let it show.
You smiled — composed. Perfectly chill. Even though something soft and stupid and hopeful had already started unraveling in your chest.
This might not just be a plug. This might be a problem.
When you got to his car, Azriel opened the door for you — hand on the small of your back, guiding you in like a gentleman straight out of a fever dream.
You reached across and opened his door from the inside. “Aren’t you considerate?” he said, sliding in with a smirk pulling at his mouth.
“I am a lady, after all,” you replied, laughing softly.
He started the engine, then reached into a hidden compartment in the center console, pulling out a perfectly rolled blunt and a lighter. He slipped the blunt between his lips and handed you the lighter — leaning in just enough for you to spark it as he pulled out of the lot. He took two long pulls before passing it to you.
You accepted it like second nature. Inhaled. Held. Exhaled. Smooth.
“I love a hotbox,” he said, cracking the windows slightly, “but I don’t want to do too much. I don’t know your tolerance yet.” You rolled your window all the way back up and hit the blunt again. He scoffed. “Brave girl,” he teased — and rolled his up, too.
The entire ride to the restaurant was spent in thick smoke and even thicker vibes.
You passed the blunt back and forth while vibing to This is [Favorite Artist] on Spotify.
At one point, he started mouthing the lyrics — and of course, he knew every single word.
When you finally pulled up to the restaurant, Azriel put the blunt out in the ashtray.
“Don’t move,” he said, already getting out.
You watched him toss the keys to the valet like he did this all the time. Like it was nothing.
He came around to your side, opened the door, and extended a hand.
Scarred. Strong. And sexy for reasons you could not understand. You took it — warm palm sliding against yours — and let him help you out of the car like this was something you did every Friday.
Dinner was delicious. Easy. The conversation flowed like you’d done this a hundred times before — talked about everything and nothing, trading stories and teasing jabs with no effort at all.
At one point, your hands had found each other on the table — his thumb slowly brushing over your knuckles in lazy, hypnotic circles.
When the check came, you reached for your purse without thinking. “Want to split it?”
Azriel looked at you like you’d just insulted his ancestors.
“No?” you laughed. He didn’t answer. Just handed the waiter his card like the matter wasn’t up for debate.
“At least let me cover the tip,” you offered, fishing out some cash. You had it in hand — ready to count out your best guess at twenty percent (since he didn’t even let you glance at the total) — when he gave you a look so serious, you paused.
“If you set so much as a dollar on this table,” he said, deadpan, “you will lose that hand.”
You snorted. A blush already creeping up your cheeks.“It’s fine, Az. I don’t mind helping,” you murmured, still holding the cash.
He shook his head once. “I don’t know what you’re used to, but I can promise you — you will never spend a dollar around me.”
His tone was calm. But there was something behind it — something that made your skin warm.
Assertive. Decisive. Protective in a way you hadn’t known you liked until just now.
“Fine,” you said, stuffing the bills back into your purse, “but I’m willing to risk my hand to buy you a drink at the concert.”
That made him laugh. Then he dropped a hundred dollar bill on the table like it was nothing.
Your eyes went wide. “That’s a twenty percent tip?”
He smirked. “No. But being on an amazing date with the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met makes me extra generous.”
His hand slid around your waist, gently guiding you toward the exit — and just like that, your brain short-circuited again.
On the drive to the concert, you were buzzing with excitement — still listening to great music, still smoking the last of the blunt.
When it finally burned out, Az tapped the ash into the tray and set it aside. His hand drifted across the center console, hovering just above your thigh… then quickly pulled back like he’d touched fire.
You laughed. “Are you afraid if you touch me it’ll burn or something?”
“No,” he said quickly, voice low. “I just… wasn’t sure if it was okay. It all feels so natural with you, I forgot I can’t just… touch you.”
You reached for his hand, gently pulling it toward you and placing it on your thigh — then layered yours on top.
The light turned red. He stopped the car and looked over at you, eyes dark and unreadable.
“You can always touch me, Azriel,” you said softly.
A mischievous grin tugged at his lips. “Oh yeah?”
“Not like that,” you rushed to clarify. “I mean yes, like that too—ugh. You know what? Never mind. You can never touch me again.”
“Okay,” he said, all fake seriousness, starting to pull his hand away.
You snatched it right back, narrowing your eyes. “Don’t you even think about it, Azriel.”
He laughed then — full and low and so pleased with himself you couldn’t help but smile.
You and Azriel pulled into a dark alley, and he cut the engine. Without a word, he stepped out and walked around to your side, opening the door for you like always.
You eyed the alley suspiciously. “Oh yeah. This isn’t ominous at all.”
He smirked. “I know I told you I’m a trained killer, but I’m not going to hurt you. I would never.”
And you believed him.
“Perks of dating your assassin-plug,” he added with a wink, lacing his fingers with yours as he led you deeper into the alley and around the corner.
There, a door guarded by two massive men came into view.
Azriel dapped them both up, passed each a small baggie like it was nothing, and they stepped aside.
Still holding your hand, he pulled the door open and led you inside.
The room was dark and hazy — black leather couches, low lighting, smoke hanging heavy in the air.
People clocked Azriel immediately. A slow ripple of recognition moved through the room.
One by one, guys came up to greet him — handshakes, back claps, low murmurs of “Good to see you, man.”
You stuck close to his side, trying not to stare as the crowd slowly parted.
And there they were.
Your favorite artist. Sitting casually on one of the couches, chatting like they didn’t have millions of fans losing their minds over them every day.
Your heart rate spiked. Your stomach flipped.
Azriel noticed instantly.
He slipped his arm around your waist, fingers brushing your lower back as he leaned in and whispered, “You got this.”
“Oh shit,” your favorite artist said, eyes lighting up as soon as they spotted Azriel.
They jumped up from the couch and pulled him into a hug — one he returned effortlessly, still holding your hand.
“This is Y/N,” Azriel said, glancing over at you.
Your favorite artist turned to you, already grinning. “Can I give you a hug?”
You panicked a little. Internally, you were screaming. But you managed a nod.
They wrapped you in a tight, familiar hug, and you felt like you might actually combust. Your all-time favorite artist was hugging you. This was real life.
“Y’all wanna smoke?” they asked, already turning back to the couch.
Azriel guided you to a love seat beside them, sitting down and keeping a gentle hand on your thigh, thumb brushing slowly over the fabric.
Then — like magic — he pulled a Ziploc bag from a hidden pocket you hadn’t even noticed and tossed it to the artist.
They caught it, popped it open, and took a long whiff.
“This is why you’re my favorite,” they said, grinning.
“Yo, Za — get this man right.”
A large guy walked over and handed Azriel two crisp hundred dollar bills. Azriel tried to give it back. “That’s too much.”
“Never for you,” the artist said, already pulling a blunt from behind their ear. “You always come through with the gas.”
Azriel gave a reluctant nod and pocketed the cash.
The blunt was lit. Smoke filled the air. And even though you were there — sitting in that room, on that couch, beside that man — it didn’t feel real.
You were floating. Somewhere between a dream and the best night of your life.
And then, after a few more rounds of laughter and smoke, Azriel took your hand and led you to your private box.
The lights dimmed. The crowd roared. The concert began.
The concert was phenomenal. Azriel had his arms around your waist the whole time, swaying with you to every beat, grinding when the tempo dropped, whispering sweet, dizzying things in your ear that made your knees weak.
After the show, he guided you backstage, where you wrapped your favorite artist in praise, still grinning like you were floating.
“Stay for the after party,” they said to you both.
“We would,” Azriel replied, dapping them up, “but duty calls.”
The artist pulled you into one more hug — a little tighter this time — and your heart did that fluttery thing again.
By the time you made it back to the car, you were lightheaded. That post-concert high that didn’t always hit — but tonight, it hit hard.
Azriel opened the passenger door, waited until you were in and buckled, then closed it gently. He slid in beside you, started the car… but didn’t drive. Not right away. He looked at you like you were something rare. Something luminous.
“I’d buy you the whole world if it meant seeing you look this happy,” he said — voice softer, deeper than you’d ever heard it.
“Tonight was amazing,” you said, reaching across the console to squeeze his hand. “Thank you so much.”
The drive home was quiet — not awkward, but warm. Chill music filled the space, your hand resting on top of his again as he rubbed slow, lazy circles into your thigh.
Summary: Azriel asked you on a dat and Not It's time to go
Warnings: Drug use, MDNI
Word Count: 4,370 words
Notes: Thank you so much for the positive feed back on part one. I hope you guys Love part two. Another shout out to the inspiration for the series @tarotsoul
Part Two: The Concert
You needed three things: food, a nap, and the perfect outfit for tonight. In that exact order.
You made something quick to eat, then passed out cold — still wearing Azriel’s clothes.
He’d begged you to give back his favorite sweatpants but let you keep the shirt. Said it looked better on you anyway.
When you woke up, you stood in front of your closet with the kind of focus usually reserved for final exams or hostage negotiations. You weren’t just getting dressed — you were setting the tone.
You pulled out piece after piece, debating the vibe. Sexy but effortless? Cool but not trying too hard? You needed something that said: Yes, I’m with him. But also… I’m the prize.
You landed on a black high-waisted skirt that snatched your waist and made your ass look unholy and a simple black shirt.
There was a knock on your apartment door at exactly 6:55 p.m.
When you opened it, Azriel was standing there — bouquet in hand, flowers vibrant and full... with two perfectly rolled blunts sticking out of the top.
Your brain short-circuited.
Who even does that?
Who shows up dressed in all black, gold jewelry catching the hallway light, smelling like expensive cologne and bad decisions — holding a bouquet that said “I like you” and blunts that screamed “but I’m still him?”
And gods, he looked good.
Don’t stare, you told yourself. Be cool. He’s just your plug who planned you a full date and looks like sin. Be. Cool.
“You wanted to match me, I see?” you said, quirking a brow with a wicked smirk.
“What?” he replied, blinking like you’d pulled him out of a trance.
“You wanted to match me,” you repeated — not a question this time.
“Yeah, I guess so,” he said, running a hand through his hair, smiling like he couldn’t help it.
“Sorry, you just look…” His gaze raked over you again, slow and deliberate, making you shiver.
“Amazing. Simple but—” he trailed off.
“These are for you.”
He held out a bouquet — tulips and peonies in soft pinks, sunny yellows, and creamy whites.
But what really caught your eye?
The two perfectly rolled blunts sticking out the top like a stoner’s love letter.
You took the bouquet from him, your fingers brushing his, heat flaring instantly in your cheeks.
“These are beautiful,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “And the blunts? A perfect touch.”
You turned to head back inside.
“Let me put these in water and grab my purse. Unless… you wanna smoke here?”
“We can smoke in the car on the way to dinner,” he said, stepping inside the door frame but not crossing it. “I made a reservation — and I don’t want to be late.”
You nodded like it was no big deal, even though your brain short-circuited again.
Reservation.
Like a real date.
With a man who smelled like lust and intention.
You moved to the kitchen, putting the flowers in water with trembling fingers, trying not to overanalyze the bouquet-with-blunts situation — which, somehow, made your heart flutter more than just flowers alone.
A man who knows my soul and my vices? Dangerous.
You darted into your room for your purse, nearly tripping over your own feet.
Breathe. It’s just a date. With someone who rolls perfect blunts and makes dinner reservations. Chill.
You slung your bag over your shoulder and grabbed your keys like it wasn’t a miracle your hands still worked.
“I’m ready,” you said casually.
He opened the door for you. Waited as you locked it.
Your brain was screaming.
Your ex once ‘planned a date’ by texting ‘you up?’ and then Venmo requested you for tacos. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. But you didn’t let it show.
You smiled — composed. Perfectly chill. Even though something soft and stupid and hopeful had already started unraveling in your chest.
This might not just be a plug. This might be a problem.
When you got to his car, Azriel opened the door for you — hand on the small of your back, guiding you in like a gentleman straight out of a fever dream.
You reached across and opened his door from the inside. “Aren’t you considerate?” he said, sliding in with a smirk pulling at his mouth.
“I am a lady, after all,” you replied, laughing softly.
He started the engine, then reached into a hidden compartment in the center console, pulling out a perfectly rolled blunt and a lighter. He slipped the blunt between his lips and handed you the lighter — leaning in just enough for you to spark it as he pulled out of the lot. He took two long pulls before passing it to you.
You accepted it like second nature. Inhaled. Held. Exhaled. Smooth.
“I love a hotbox,” he said, cracking the windows slightly, “but I don’t want to do too much. I don’t know your tolerance yet.” You rolled your window all the way back up and hit the blunt again. He scoffed. “Brave girl,” he teased — and rolled his up, too.
The entire ride to the restaurant was spent in thick smoke and even thicker vibes.
You passed the blunt back and forth while vibing to This is [Favorite Artist] on Spotify.
At one point, he started mouthing the lyrics — and of course, he knew every single word.
When you finally pulled up to the restaurant, Azriel put the blunt out in the ashtray.
“Don’t move,” he said, already getting out.
You watched him toss the keys to the valet like he did this all the time. Like it was nothing.
He came around to your side, opened the door, and extended a hand.
Scarred. Strong. And sexy for reasons you could not understand. You took it — warm palm sliding against yours — and let him help you out of the car like this was something you did every Friday.
Dinner was delicious. Easy. The conversation flowed like you’d done this a hundred times before — talked about everything and nothing, trading stories and teasing jabs with no effort at all.
At one point, your hands had found each other on the table — his thumb slowly brushing over your knuckles in lazy, hypnotic circles.
When the check came, you reached for your purse without thinking. “Want to split it?”
Azriel looked at you like you’d just insulted his ancestors.
“No?” you laughed. He didn’t answer. Just handed the waiter his card like the matter wasn’t up for debate.
“At least let me cover the tip,” you offered, fishing out some cash. You had it in hand — ready to count out your best guess at twenty percent (since he didn’t even let you glance at the total) — when he gave you a look so serious, you paused.
“If you set so much as a dollar on this table,” he said, deadpan, “you will lose that hand.”
You snorted. A blush already creeping up your cheeks.“It’s fine, Az. I don’t mind helping,” you murmured, still holding the cash.
He shook his head once. “I don’t know what you’re used to, but I can promise you — you will never spend a dollar around me.”
His tone was calm. But there was something behind it — something that made your skin warm.
Assertive. Decisive. Protective in a way you hadn’t known you liked until just now.
“Fine,” you said, stuffing the bills back into your purse, “but I’m willing to risk my hand to buy you a drink at the concert.”
That made him laugh. Then he dropped a hundred dollar bill on the table like it was nothing.
Your eyes went wide. “That’s a twenty percent tip?”
He smirked. “No. But being on an amazing date with the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met makes me extra generous.”
His hand slid around your waist, gently guiding you toward the exit — and just like that, your brain short-circuited again.
On the drive to the concert, you were buzzing with excitement — still listening to great music, still smoking the last of the blunt.
When it finally burned out, Az tapped the ash into the tray and set it aside. His hand drifted across the center console, hovering just above your thigh… then quickly pulled back like he’d touched fire.
You laughed. “Are you afraid if you touch me it’ll burn or something?”
“No,” he said quickly, voice low. “I just… wasn’t sure if it was okay. It all feels so natural with you, I forgot I can’t just… touch you.”
You reached for his hand, gently pulling it toward you and placing it on your thigh — then layered yours on top.
The light turned red. He stopped the car and looked over at you, eyes dark and unreadable.
“You can always touch me, Azriel,” you said softly.
A mischievous grin tugged at his lips. “Oh yeah?”
“Not like that,” you rushed to clarify. “I mean yes, like that too—ugh. You know what? Never mind. You can never touch me again.”
“Okay,” he said, all fake seriousness, starting to pull his hand away.
You snatched it right back, narrowing your eyes. “Don’t you even think about it, Azriel.”
He laughed then — full and low and so pleased with himself you couldn’t help but smile.
You and Azriel pulled into a dark alley, and he cut the engine. Without a word, he stepped out and walked around to your side, opening the door for you like always.
You eyed the alley suspiciously. “Oh yeah. This isn’t ominous at all.”
He smirked. “I know I told you I’m a trained killer, but I’m not going to hurt you. I would never.”
And you believed him.
“Perks of dating your assassin-plug,” he added with a wink, lacing his fingers with yours as he led you deeper into the alley and around the corner.
There, a door guarded by two massive men came into view.
Azriel dapped them both up, passed each a small baggie like it was nothing, and they stepped aside.
Still holding your hand, he pulled the door open and led you inside.
The room was dark and hazy — black leather couches, low lighting, smoke hanging heavy in the air.
People clocked Azriel immediately. A slow ripple of recognition moved through the room.
One by one, guys came up to greet him — handshakes, back claps, low murmurs of “Good to see you, man.”
You stuck close to his side, trying not to stare as the crowd slowly parted.
And there they were.
Your favorite artist. Sitting casually on one of the couches, chatting like they didn’t have millions of fans losing their minds over them every day.
Your heart rate spiked. Your stomach flipped.
Azriel noticed instantly.
He slipped his arm around your waist, fingers brushing your lower back as he leaned in and whispered, “You got this.”
“Oh shit,” your favorite artist said, eyes lighting up as soon as they spotted Azriel.
They jumped up from the couch and pulled him into a hug — one he returned effortlessly, still holding your hand.
“This is Y/N,” Azriel said, glancing over at you.
Your favorite artist turned to you, already grinning. “Can I give you a hug?”
You panicked a little. Internally, you were screaming. But you managed a nod.
They wrapped you in a tight, familiar hug, and you felt like you might actually combust. Your all-time favorite artist was hugging you. This was real life.
“Y’all wanna smoke?” they asked, already turning back to the couch.
Azriel guided you to a love seat beside them, sitting down and keeping a gentle hand on your thigh, thumb brushing slowly over the fabric.
Then — like magic — he pulled a Ziploc bag from a hidden pocket you hadn’t even noticed and tossed it to the artist.
They caught it, popped it open, and took a long whiff.
“This is why you’re my favorite,” they said, grinning.
“Yo, Za — get this man right.”
A large guy walked over and handed Azriel two crisp hundred dollar bills. Azriel tried to give it back. “That’s too much.”
“Never for you,” the artist said, already pulling a blunt from behind their ear. “You always come through with the gas.”
Azriel gave a reluctant nod and pocketed the cash.
The blunt was lit. Smoke filled the air. And even though you were there — sitting in that room, on that couch, beside that man — it didn’t feel real.
You were floating. Somewhere between a dream and the best night of your life.
And then, after a few more rounds of laughter and smoke, Azriel took your hand and led you to your private box.
The lights dimmed. The crowd roared. The concert began.
The concert was phenomenal. Azriel had his arms around your waist the whole time, swaying with you to every beat, grinding when the tempo dropped, whispering sweet, dizzying things in your ear that made your knees weak.
After the show, he guided you backstage, where you wrapped your favorite artist in praise, still grinning like you were floating.
“Stay for the after party,” they said to you both.
“We would,” Azriel replied, dapping them up, “but duty calls.”
The artist pulled you into one more hug — a little tighter this time — and your heart did that fluttery thing again.
By the time you made it back to the car, you were lightheaded. That post-concert high that didn’t always hit — but tonight, it hit hard.
Azriel opened the passenger door, waited until you were in and buckled, then closed it gently. He slid in beside you, started the car… but didn’t drive. Not right away. He looked at you like you were something rare. Something luminous.
“I’d buy you the whole world if it meant seeing you look this happy,” he said — voice softer, deeper than you’d ever heard it.
“Tonight was amazing,” you said, reaching across the console to squeeze his hand. “Thank you so much.”
The drive home was quiet — not awkward, but warm. Chill music filled the space, your hand resting on top of his again as he rubbed slow, lazy circles into your thigh.
Summary: Azriel asked you on a date and Now It's time to go 🤪🥵🫠
Warnings: Drug use, MDNI
Word Count: 4,370 words
Notes: Thank you so much for the positive feed back on part one. I hope you guys Love part two. Another shout out to the inspiration for the series @tarotsoul
Part Two: The Concert
You needed three things: food, a nap, and the perfect outfit for tonight. In that exact order.
You made something quick to eat, then passed out cold — still wearing Azriel’s clothes.
He’d begged you to give back his favorite sweatpants but let you keep the shirt. Said it looked better on you anyway.
When you woke up, you stood in front of your closet with the kind of focus usually reserved for final exams or hostage negotiations. You weren’t just getting dressed — you were setting the tone.
You pulled out piece after piece, debating the vibe. Sexy but effortless? Cool but not trying too hard? You needed something that said: Yes, I’m with him. But also… I’m the prize.
You landed on a black high-waisted skirt that snatched your waist and made your ass look unholy and a simple black shirt.
There was a knock on your apartment door at exactly 6:55 p.m.
When you opened it, Azriel was standing there — bouquet in hand, flowers vibrant and full... with two perfectly rolled blunts sticking out of the top.
Your brain short-circuited.
Who even does that?
Who shows up dressed in all black, gold jewelry catching the hallway light, smelling like expensive cologne and bad decisions — holding a bouquet that said “I like you” and blunts that screamed “but I’m still him?”
And gods, he looked good.
Don’t stare, you told yourself. Be cool. He’s just your plug who planned you a full date and looks like sin. Be. Cool.
“You wanted to match me, I see?” you said, quirking a brow with a wicked smirk.
“What?” he replied, blinking like you’d pulled him out of a trance.
“You wanted to match me,” you repeated — not a question this time.
“Yeah, I guess so,” he said, running a hand through his hair, smiling like he couldn’t help it.
“Sorry, you just look…” His gaze raked over you again, slow and deliberate, making you shiver.
“Amazing. Simple but—” he trailed off.
“These are for you.”
He held out a bouquet — tulips and peonies in soft pinks, sunny yellows, and creamy whites.
But what really caught your eye?
The two perfectly rolled blunts sticking out the top like a stoner’s love letter.
You took the bouquet from him, your fingers brushing his, heat flaring instantly in your cheeks.
“These are beautiful,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “And the blunts? A perfect touch.”
You turned to head back inside.
“Let me put these in water and grab my purse. Unless… you wanna smoke here?”
“We can smoke in the car on the way to dinner,” he said, stepping inside the door frame but not crossing it. “I made a reservation — and I don’t want to be late.”
You nodded like it was no big deal, even though your brain short-circuited again.
Reservation.
Like a real date.
With a man who smelled like lust and intention.
You moved to the kitchen, putting the flowers in water with trembling fingers, trying not to overanalyze the bouquet-with-blunts situation — which, somehow, made your heart flutter more than just flowers alone.
A man who knows my soul and my vices? Dangerous.
You darted into your room for your purse, nearly tripping over your own feet.
Breathe. It’s just a date. With someone who rolls perfect blunts and makes dinner reservations. Chill.
You slung your bag over your shoulder and grabbed your keys like it wasn’t a miracle your hands still worked.
“I’m ready,” you said casually.
He opened the door for you. Waited as you locked it.
Your brain was screaming.
Your ex once ‘planned a date’ by texting ‘you up?’ and then Venmo requested you for tacos. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. But you didn’t let it show.
You smiled — composed. Perfectly chill. Even though something soft and stupid and hopeful had already started unraveling in your chest.
This might not just be a plug. This might be a problem.
When you got to his car, Azriel opened the door for you — hand on the small of your back, guiding you in like a gentleman straight out of a fever dream.
You reached across and opened his door from the inside. “Aren’t you considerate?” he said, sliding in with a smirk pulling at his mouth.
“I am a lady, after all,” you replied, laughing softly.
He started the engine, then reached into a hidden compartment in the center console, pulling out a perfectly rolled blunt and a lighter. He slipped the blunt between his lips and handed you the lighter — leaning in just enough for you to spark it as he pulled out of the lot. He took two long pulls before passing it to you.
You accepted it like second nature. Inhaled. Held. Exhaled. Smooth.
“I love a hotbox,” he said, cracking the windows slightly, “but I don’t want to do too much. I don’t know your tolerance yet.” You rolled your window all the way back up and hit the blunt again. He scoffed. “Brave girl,” he teased — and rolled his up, too.
The entire ride to the restaurant was spent in thick smoke and even thicker vibes.
You passed the blunt back and forth while vibing to This is [Favorite Artist] on Spotify.
At one point, he started mouthing the lyrics — and of course, he knew every single word.
When you finally pulled up to the restaurant, Azriel put the blunt out in the ashtray.
“Don’t move,” he said, already getting out.
You watched him toss the keys to the valet like he did this all the time. Like it was nothing.
He came around to your side, opened the door, and extended a hand.
Scarred. Strong. And sexy for reasons you could not understand. You took it — warm palm sliding against yours — and let him help you out of the car like this was something you did every Friday.
Dinner was delicious. Easy. The conversation flowed like you’d done this a hundred times before — talked about everything and nothing, trading stories and teasing jabs with no effort at all.
At one point, your hands had found each other on the table — his thumb slowly brushing over your knuckles in lazy, hypnotic circles.
When the check came, you reached for your purse without thinking. “Want to split it?”
Azriel looked at you like you’d just insulted his ancestors.
“No?” you laughed. He didn’t answer. Just handed the waiter his card like the matter wasn’t up for debate.
“At least let me cover the tip,” you offered, fishing out some cash. You had it in hand — ready to count out your best guess at twenty percent (since he didn’t even let you glance at the total) — when he gave you a look so serious, you paused.
“If you set so much as a dollar on this table,” he said, deadpan, “you will lose that hand.”
You snorted. A blush already creeping up your cheeks.“It’s fine, Az. I don’t mind helping,” you murmured, still holding the cash.
He shook his head once. “I don’t know what you’re used to, but I can promise you — you will never spend a dollar around me.”
His tone was calm. But there was something behind it — something that made your skin warm.
Assertive. Decisive. Protective in a way you hadn’t known you liked until just now.
“Fine,” you said, stuffing the bills back into your purse, “but I’m willing to risk my hand to buy you a drink at the concert.”
That made him laugh. Then he dropped a hundred dollar bill on the table like it was nothing.
Your eyes went wide. “That’s a twenty percent tip?”
He smirked. “No. But being on an amazing date with the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met makes me extra generous.”
His hand slid around your waist, gently guiding you toward the exit — and just like that, your brain short-circuited again.
On the drive to the concert, you were buzzing with excitement — still listening to great music, still smoking the last of the blunt.
When it finally burned out, Az tapped the ash into the tray and set it aside. His hand drifted across the center console, hovering just above your thigh… then quickly pulled back like he’d touched fire.
You laughed. “Are you afraid if you touch me it’ll burn or something?”
“No,” he said quickly, voice low. “I just… wasn’t sure if it was okay. It all feels so natural with you, I forgot I can’t just… touch you.”
You reached for his hand, gently pulling it toward you and placing it on your thigh — then layered yours on top.
The light turned red. He stopped the car and looked over at you, eyes dark and unreadable.
“You can always touch me, Azriel,” you said softly.
A mischievous grin tugged at his lips. “Oh yeah?”
“Not like that,” you rushed to clarify. “I mean yes, like that too—ugh. You know what? Never mind. You can never touch me again.”
“Okay,” he said, all fake seriousness, starting to pull his hand away.
You snatched it right back, narrowing your eyes. “Don’t you even think about it, Azriel.”
He laughed then — full and low and so pleased with himself you couldn’t help but smile.
You and Azriel pulled into a dark alley, and he cut the engine. Without a word, he stepped out and walked around to your side, opening the door for you like always.
You eyed the alley suspiciously. “Oh yeah. This isn’t ominous at all.”
He smirked. “I know I told you I’m a trained killer, but I’m not going to hurt you. I would never.”
And you believed him.
“Perks of dating your assassin-plug,” he added with a wink, lacing his fingers with yours as he led you deeper into the alley and around the corner.
There, a door guarded by two massive men came into view.
Azriel dapped them both up, passed each a small baggie like it was nothing, and they stepped aside.
Still holding your hand, he pulled the door open and led you inside.
The room was dark and hazy — black leather couches, low lighting, smoke hanging heavy in the air.
People clocked Azriel immediately. A slow ripple of recognition moved through the room.
One by one, guys came up to greet him — handshakes, back claps, low murmurs of “Good to see you, man.”
You stuck close to his side, trying not to stare as the crowd slowly parted.
And there they were.
Your favorite artist. Sitting casually on one of the couches, chatting like they didn’t have millions of fans losing their minds over them every day.
Your heart rate spiked. Your stomach flipped.
Azriel noticed instantly.
He slipped his arm around your waist, fingers brushing your lower back as he leaned in and whispered, “You got this.”
“Oh shit,” your favorite artist said, eyes lighting up as soon as they spotted Azriel.
They jumped up from the couch and pulled him into a hug — one he returned effortlessly, still holding your hand.
“This is Y/N,” Azriel said, glancing over at you.
Your favorite artist turned to you, already grinning. “Can I give you a hug?”
You panicked a little. Internally, you were screaming. But you managed a nod.
They wrapped you in a tight, familiar hug, and you felt like you might actually combust. Your all-time favorite artist was hugging you. This was real life.
“Y’all wanna smoke?” they asked, already turning back to the couch.
Azriel guided you to a love seat beside them, sitting down and keeping a gentle hand on your thigh, thumb brushing slowly over the fabric.
Then — like magic — he pulled a Ziploc bag from a hidden pocket you hadn’t even noticed and tossed it to the artist.
They caught it, popped it open, and took a long whiff.
“This is why you’re my favorite,” they said, grinning.
“Yo, Za — get this man right.”
A large guy walked over and handed Azriel two crisp hundred dollar bills. Azriel tried to give it back. “That’s too much.”
“Never for you,” the artist said, already pulling a blunt from behind their ear. “You always come through with the gas.”
Azriel gave a reluctant nod and pocketed the cash.
The blunt was lit. Smoke filled the air. And even though you were there — sitting in that room, on that couch, beside that man — it didn’t feel real.
You were floating. Somewhere between a dream and the best night of your life.
And then, after a few more rounds of laughter and smoke, Azriel took your hand and led you to your private box.
The lights dimmed. The crowd roared. The concert began.
The concert was phenomenal. Azriel had his arms around your waist the whole time, swaying with you to every beat, grinding when the tempo dropped, whispering sweet, dizzying things in your ear that made your knees weak.
After the show, he guided you backstage, where you wrapped your favorite artist in praise, still grinning like you were floating.
“Stay for the after party,” they said to you both.
“We would,” Azriel replied, dapping them up, “but duty calls.”
The artist pulled you into one more hug — a little tighter this time — and your heart did that fluttery thing again.
By the time you made it back to the car, you were lightheaded. That post-concert high that didn’t always hit — but tonight, it hit hard.
Azriel opened the passenger door, waited until you were in and buckled, then closed it gently. He slid in beside you, started the car… but didn’t drive. Not right away. He looked at you like you were something rare. Something luminous.
“I’d buy you the whole world if it meant seeing you look this happy,” he said — voice softer, deeper than you’d ever heard it.
“Tonight was amazing,” you said, reaching across the console to squeeze his hand. “Thank you so much.”
The drive home was quiet — not awkward, but warm. Chill music filled the space, your hand resting on top of his again as he rubbed slow, lazy circles into your thigh.
Summary: This series was wholly inspired by @tarotsoul Light & Smoke series (which I love). This is my take on An Ariel X Reader storyline. It is set modern day and Azriel is your new plug and maybe something more?
Warnings: Angsty, mentions of smoking, partying and drinking, MDNI, flirty, IDK what else but I am sure there are other ones I could've added lol. This is my first fan fiction so go easy on me
Word Count: 8,933
Notes: This is my first take on fan fiction so go easy on me. Thank you again @tarotsoul for the inspiration for this series. This is part one of three as of now but I would love to continue the series further. Not sure when I will post part two yet. Hope you guys enjoy!
You had an extremely long day and the last thing you wanted to do was drive to the dispensary, so you decided to hit your plug in your apartment before leaving work.
You: You around?
Rhysand: Nah, out of town for the week. Hit my brother, Azriel — 832-785-6215. Tell him I sent you.
You: Bet.
You texted his brother.
You: Hey, Rhys told me to text you. Got any smoke?
Azriel: Yeah, wya?
You: I stay in the 610 apartments off Washington Ave. I’ll be there in about 20.
Azriel: Say less. I’ll meet you there.
You were happy he could come to you. When you got to the house, you had time to walk your dog and change into something more comfortable. You decided on a lilac two-piece workout set since you were going to the gym later that night. Your phone buzzed on the counter while you made yourself a snack.
Azriel: Outside the gate.
You: Bet. On my way down.
Azriel: Black Mustang in the corner.
You spotted the car the second you stepped outside.
You walked up to it — couldn’t see who was inside — and as you reached it, the passenger door opened.
You slid in.
The smell of dank and his cologne hit you at the same time.
Then you looked at him… and your brain malfunctioned.
Sharp jaw. Piercing hazel eyes.
Your gaze tracked over him — the way his muscles flexed as he moved, the tattoos snaking out from under his shirt and up his neck, disappearing again under the collar.
Then down. To his black joggers.
Somewhere in that mess of ogling, you remembered you should probably say something.
“Hi,” you said, snapping your eyes back to him — only to realize he was already staring at you the same way you’d been staring at him.
“Hi,” he echoed, meeting your gaze. Then he cleared his throat.
“What do you need?” he asked, reaching into the center console to grab a scale and a few baggies.
“Uhhh… what do you do for a seven?” you asked.
“Well, for regular customers I do fifty. But for the pretty ones? I can do thirty,” he said — not looking at you, casually weighing and bagging your smoke like it was just another day.
You blushed. “Are you sure?”
You reached into your wallet anyway, pulling out the full fifty and handing it to him.
He counted it, then handed you twenty back.
“Certain.”
He passed you the baggie, his fingers lingering just a little too long.
“Just text me when you need to re-up. Rhys he’ll be out of town for a while.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
You climbed out of the car, biting your lip and trying to fight the smile already tugging at your face.
You thought about texting Rhys. He lived right next door. It would’ve been easier. More convenient.
But the truth was... you wanted to lay eyes on Azriel again.
Rhys was FIONE. Like… piercing violet eyes, sculpted jaw, “I know I look good” kind of fine.
But you and Feyre were great friends — and you would never look at her man like that.
His brother, though?
Holy. Shit.
Rhys was throwing a party that night, and Feyre had already invited you. But before you showed up, you needed to pregame — a blunt or two to settle your nerves.
You: Hey Az, me again. You around for a re-up?
Two minutes later...
Azriel: At Rhys’s. Be there in two.
You: Bet. Meet you outside.
A few minutes later, he pulled up in the same spot as last time — and just like before, the passenger door was already open, waiting for you.
You walked up, thick clouds of smoke rolling out, and slid inside.
“Damn,” you said, coughing once, your eyes stinging.
“Sorry,” he muttered, clearly exhausted. “Long day.”
He reached for the ashtray like he was about to put out the fattest blunt you’d ever seen — then paused. Thought better of it.
“Wanna hit it?” he asked, offering it to you.
You hesitated. Then reminded yourself:
You are not a little bitch.
You took it from him.
He smiled, clearly amused.
“Don’t look so scared,” he teased.
“I can hold my own,” you shot back.
He flipped up the center console and pulled out a gallon-sized Ziploc, packed full, plus a scale.
“How much today?” he asked, his eyes never leaving you as you took two long pulls from the blunt, held it… and exhaled smooth, clean smoke.
No cough. No flinch. Just calm, confident combustion.
He was impressed. Honestly? He was a little turned on.
“Uhhh… I got fifty again,” you said, ashing it and hitting it one more time.
He nodded and weighed out way more than fifty dollars worth. Then he split it between a couple baggies — each one stamped with some loud, artsy label — and slid them right onto your lap.
You handed him the fifty. He peeled off twenty and held out the remaining thirty.
You didn’t take it.
“Stop doing that,” you said, frowning. “This is your income.”
He chuckled. “This is just for fun — keeps me from getting bored. Trust me, I don’t need it.”
Still, he kept holding the thirty out for you to grab.
You finally did — hesitantly — already planning to “accidentally” leave it behind on the seat.
You reached for the door handle. “Thanks,” you said, meeting his gaze.
“Finish this with me?” he asked, holding the blunt out toward you again.
You considered and then you sank back into the seat. Took it from him. Took a drag.
“Do you always give discounts and smoke with your clients?” you asked, half-joking — but curious.
Azriel didn’t miss a beat. “Only the ones I’m interested in taking on a date.”
Your skin flushed instantly. You took another long pull from the blunt just to keep your mouth from saying something stupid.
“Is that your way of asking?” you teased, passing it back to him.
He smirked. “Depends. Is the answer yes or no?”
You tapped your chin dramatically. “I don’t usually date my plugs… but I guess I could make an exception for the tall, handsome, brooding ones.”
He laughed at that. “Brooding, huh?” He took a hit, leaned back. “I think I’ve been pretty generous — but feel free to give me the thirty back if you disagree.”
You tossed the bills at him. Both of you laughing now.
Somehow, without even looking, he folded the cash back up — and slid it into the front pocket of your jeans.Not in a way that crossed any lines.But definitely enough to make your breath catch.
“Azriel, I can’t just take it for free,” you said, frowning.
“Yes, you can. But if you tell anyone, I’ll tell them you robbed me at gunpoint.”
You gasped. Then laughed so hard you snorted — which only made him laugh harder.
“Fine. It’s more embarrassing for you that way anyway. Robbed by a small, timid girl,” you said, feigning innocence.
“I don’t see a timid girl anywhere around here,” he said, low and soft — then passed the blunt back to you.
An hour and one shared bottle of wine later, you and your two best friends were vibing — high, tipsy, and halfway through getting ready.
Your outfit was simple but criminal. A sexy cropped tee that hugged your chest just right, and sparkly denim jeans that refused to humble your ass in any way. Your waist looked snatched. Your thighs? Loud. And your ass? Brazen.
“Damn girl, double cheeked up on a Friday?” Nesta said, smacking your ass hard enough to make you yelp.
You laughed. “You know I’ve been in the gym. Making gains.”
She gave your ass one more dramatic once-over. “You’re gonna get somebody in trouble tonight.”
That’s when Mor strutted out in a signature tight red dress — equal parts slutty and divine. Hair curled. Lip gloss loaded. Legs for days.
“Let’s go get fucked up,” she said, grabbing her purse and kicking the door open like a queen who knew damn well she looked good.
Rhys lived close enough that walking just made sense — especially considering how much drinking was about to happen.
By the time you got there, the house was already alive. Music pulsed through the walls, smoke clung to the air, and people were grinding in corners like it was midnight instead of barely ten.
The bass thumped through your shoes. Laughter echoed from every direction.
You walked through the front door like you belonged there — because you did — sparkly jeans glinting under the hallway lights.
And Azriel?
He saw you the second you stepped into the kitchen.
He didn’t smile at first. He didn’t need to.
Just stood there — blunt in hand, hooded eyes trailing slowly up and down your body.
His gaze was a slow drag. Like he was trying to memorize something he'd only just realized he never wanted to forget.
Then, finally, he lifted two fingers in a small wave — subtle, like it was just for you.
“Hey,” Azriel said, standing up as soon as you approached.
He pulled you into a casual side hug — warm, slow, and entirely too comfortable for someone who’d technically only met you once.
He passed the blunt to the guy next to him and turned to your friends.
“This is Nesta, and this is Mor,” you said, gesturing behind you.
Azriel extended a hand to both of them — polite, smooth — and your friends? Oh, they were struggling.
Nesta blinked like she’d just seen a ghost. Mor? Mor was borderline drooling.
You shot them both a look. Pull it together. I know he’s FIONE. Breathe.
“Nice to meet you,” Mor said, recovering first and wiping her mouth like it was casual.
“You as well. I’m Azriel,” he replied smoothly. “This is my brother Cassian. And over there’s Rhys, with his girl Feyre.”
As soon as Cassian saw Nesta, he stood like he’d just heard his name called at a fight.
He shook her hand — eyes locked, completely bypassing Mor — not that she cared.
Her eyes were already across the room, locked in a mutual eye-fuck with a tall girl she’d been pretending not to be obsessed with for months.
You could practically feel the tension tightening around the kitchen like a slow inhale. This party just got interesting.
“Smoke with us?” Azriel asked, nodding to the open seat beside him.
You sat down without hesitation, your friends sliding into the chairs nearby like it was already your table. The second your ass hit the seat, Feyre spotted you — letting out a shriek that could only mean bestie joy.
“Finally!” she cried, practically sprinting over to throw her arms around you.
You laughed and hugged her back. “Feyre, this is Mor and Nesta.”
She hugged them both like they’d known each other for years, then strutted back to Rhys’s lap, snatching the blunt out of his hand like she paid rent there.
You barely noticed. Azriel still hadn’t stopped looking at you. Not once. Not since you walked in.
His elbow rested on the table, chin tilted slightly as if you were the only thing in the room worth noticing.
Nesta was giggling at something Cassian whispered in her ear — which was alarming in and of itself.
You stared at her.
“You okay?” Azriel asked, passing the blunt to you.
“Yeah. It’s just…” You took the blunt, inhaled slow. “I’ve known her my entire life and I have never heard her giggle. Laugh? Yeah. But giggle?”
Azriel smiled, ran a hand through his hair. “Guess my brother’s got some game after all.”
You chuckled — and blew the smoke out slow, your eyes meeting his again. And again, he didn’t look away.
The second blunt was nearly done, and you felt it — that warm, floaty kind of high where everything felt just a little easier, a little looser. You leaned back into your seat, a smile pulling at your lips.
Azriel disappeared for a second and returned with a red solo cup — not from the kitchen, but from a secret stash hidden behind the liquor bottles in Rhys’s bar.
“Do you just have a hidden drink supply?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as you took the cup.
“I don’t share my good shit with party strangers,” he said with a wink.
You took a sip, and your eyes widened. Smooth. Dangerous. Oh, he’s trying to get me in trouble.
Mor had finally wandered off to the girl she’d been mentally undressing all night. Nesta and Cassian were nowhere in sight — and that could only mean one thing.
“You wanna dance?” Azriel asked, suddenly much closer — voice low, right in your ear.
The question wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t casual. It was an invitation and a dare wrapped into one.
You bit your lip and nodded, eyes locked on his. You already knew what your answer was the second he leaned in.
He took your hand and guided you to the living room, where the lights were low and the air was thick with sweat, smoke, and bass. People were grinding like they were trying to solve something with their hips. Couples were making out against walls like this was their last night on earth.
And then there was you. And him.
He turned you around and pulled you into him by your hips — firm, possessive, like he meant it. You let him guide the rhythm, his hand resting just low enough to remind you he wanted you, but not so low it was questionable. His other hand came to your waist, holding you in place as you moved together.
You could feel every breath he took behind you. The heat of him. The way his fingers flexed on your skin like he was thinking about being bad.
And gods, you liked it. You liked it too much.
He didn’t say a word. Didn’t need to. The tension said it all.
You didn’t know how long you’d been dancing. Could’ve been three songs or ten — all you knew was that Azriel was still pressed behind you, his hand resting heavy on your hip, and you weren’t planning on going anywhere.
Then, from the corner of your eye, you saw it.
Nesta. Coming down the stairs. Hair a mess. Shirt buttoned wrong. Eyes glazed over like she’d just seen God — and then promptly rode him.
Cassian followed two steps behind her, wearing the smuggest fucking grin you’d ever seen.
“Oh my god,” you said under your breath.
Azriel leaned down, breath brushing your ear. “Guess we know what they were doing.”
And that’s when it hit you.
Not the image of them, exactly — no.
It was the mental image of you and Azriel doing what they just did.
His mouth on you. His hands gripping your thighs.
His voice in your ear, growling your name like a prayer.
Your legs nearly gave out right then and there.
“There you are,” Nesta said, finally reaching you, Cassian’s hand glued to her waist like he’d forgotten what air was.
“I’m not the one who disappeared,” you said, pulling her close and doing your best to act normal — like your entire brain wasn’t short-circuiting.
She fell into the rhythm easily, grinning, glowing.You leaned in close.
“What happened?” you whispered, feeling like a giddy teenager.
She didn’t even try to be coy. “Oh, nothing… He got on his knees for me like he worshiped the ground I walk on and I don’t think anyone else will ever do it better. I think I might love him.”
You cackled — the kind of laugh you’d be embarrassed about if you weren’t so high. Cassian met your eyes from over Nesta’s shoulder, and based on the way he was smirking, he’d heard every word.
“Let’s smoke,” he said, tugging Nesta away again.
Azriel’s hand returned to your lower back as you followed, guiding you through the crowd like you were his and everyone else was background noise.
And the way his fingers lingered? Yeah. He’d heard it, too.
Azriel’s hand never left your back as you followed Cassian and Nesta to the garage — guiding you through the crowd like he was afraid someone might steal you if he let go.
Rhys and Feyre were mid-beer pong battle against two other guys, both teams down to one last cup. Tension was high. So was everyone else.
Azriel slid a blunt from behind his ear and sparked it like it was instinct.
“Join us,” Cassian called, already dragging a chair out for Nesta.
Azriel glanced between the empty lawn chair beside him and his lap — then pulled the chair closer for you, giving you the choice. You sat in the chair but within minutes, your legs were draped over his thighs anyway, and he was tracing lazy circles over your calf with his thumb.
Nesta, however, had other plans. She didn’t sit down — she basically pushed Cassian into the seat across from you, sending him down with a grunt and a dazed laugh.
He didn’t complain. Just wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled into her neck like he’d been waiting years to do it.
They looked like a couple who’d been together forever — despite having met hours ago.
Dangerous energy. Honestly, you respected it.
You passed the blunt around, light conversation drifting through the circle as Feyre finally nailed the last cup. Rhys howled and climbed across the table to kiss her. The losers groaned dramatically.
The garage door creaked. Mor floated in, looking... unholy. Like she was walking on post-sex clouds and had no intention of coming down anytime soon.
She flopped into the last open chair and sighed like she’d just won the lottery.
“Are you okay?” you asked, biting your cheek to hold back a grin.
“Never better,” she murmured.
“I’m guessing you finally stopped eye-fucking that girl and did something?” Nesta asked, half teasing, half smug.
Mor’s eyes cracked open. “A lady never kisses and tells.”
Beat. Wink. “But let’s just say she’s not here because she can’t walk.”
Rhys raised a brow. “Where exactly did you leave her?”
“I don’t know. Some bed with grey sheets and weapons all over the walls.”
Silence.
Azriel blinked. “You had sex in my bed?”
“It was the only room with the door unlocked,” Mor said with zero shame.
Azriel’s jaw tightened as he took a slow sip of his drink. “Guess that’s what I get for not locking it.”
His eyes flicked to you. You must’ve looked horrified, because he leaned in and whispered, “It’s fine.”
Then, louder: “I’ll just burn the bed down.”
Everyone cracked up. You nearly choked on your drink.
Mor had disappeared with her conquest of the night, Feyre and Rhys had wandered off without a word, and Nesta? Nowhere to be found — Cassian was also missing… probably somewhere not wearing a shirt.
You and Azriel were still tucked away in the garage, right where you started. Your legs were stretched across his lap, both of you high as hell and entirely too comfortable.
He’d rolled an absurd number of blunts — at one point you threatened to take his rolling try away — but you smoked every single one with him anyway. By the end, your body felt like melted butter, and your cheeks hurt from smiling too much.
Azriel finally leaned back in his chair and sighed.
“No pressure,” he said, his voice a little sleepier than before, “but I’m so high I might knock out mid-sentence. And despite the fact that Mor defiled my bed tonight, it’s still calling my name.”
He gently lifted your legs off his lap and stood, stretching like a cat.
“If you want, you can crash with me,” he added. “Or in the guest room. Or I can walk you home. Whatever makes you feel safe.”
The way he said that made your heart stutter — a man offering options like that was dangerous.
“I don’t have anything to sleep in,” you murmured, glancing down at your jeans, “and no toothbrush.”
Azriel smiled, already heading toward the stairs.
“I can fix both of those things — unless wearing my clothes is a problem?”
You stood and followed him without hesitation. “The clothes are fine. But I draw the line at using your toothbrush.”
He laughed, full and warm. “Relax. I’ve got standards. You think I don’t have spare toothbrushes?”
His room was huge. Clean. Uncomfortably neat for a man who’d smoked six blunts and still looked like sin. The weapons on the wall made it feel a little like a museum. Or a hitman’s personal showroom.
You stopped in your tracks. “Be honest. Are you secretly a serial killer?”
“No,” he said immediately. Then: “I’m an assassin.”
You blinked. “See, the problem is that I half believe you.”
He just chuckled and opened a dresser drawer, pulling out basketball shorts and a t-shirt.
“I am trained in Taekwondo and Mixed Martial arts and I may know my way around a few different weapons but it’s all for protection, to feel powerful, strong, in control.”
“Here,” he said, handing the clothes to you. “They should be comfy.”
Then he stepped into the bathroom, voice trailing behind him. “I’ll start the shower… and throw a towel in the warmer.”
Your brows lifted. A towel warmer?
Of course he had one.
He stepped back into the room a moment later, holding up a brand new, still-sealed toothbrush.
“I’m not a monster,” he said. “And I respect oral hygiene.”
You stared at him, then burst out laughing. “You have a towel warmer?”
He gave you the most casual shrug. “Obviously. What kind of savage doesn’t?”
Then he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.
“Do you want to shower?” he asked.
You looked up at him, one brow lifting. “Mmm… are you asking me to take a shower with you?”
Azriel blinked. “What? No—no, I meant for you. Alone. Unless you—no. Definitely alone.”
You smiled, slow and dangerous. “You sure? Because that sounded like an invitation.”
He ran a hand through his hair, clearly flustered. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
You took the clothes from his hands, brushed past him. “Only if you’re lucky.”
The bathroom door clicked shut behind you — and yeah, you were still grinning.
When you stepped out of the bathroom, hair damp and skin still warm from the steam, Azriel was already lying on the bed — shirtless, of course, pants still on, one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting on his chest.
And he was snoring. Softly.
You stared at him, half amused, half endeared. “Finally,” he murmured without opening his eyes. “I was fighting for my life trying not to fall asleep.”
“Oh please, it’s been ten minutes,” you muttered.
You dropped your clothes in a pile, pulled on the oversized t-shirt he gave you, and slid into bed beside him.
“That towel warmer? Life-changing.”
“Told you,” he said with a sleepy grin. “I’ve got standards.”
You snorted. “You’re gonna judge me when I don’t even have matching bath towels?”
“Absolutely. Monster behavior.”
He rolled off the bed and headed toward the bathroom. You watched him go — and yes, shamelessly stared — and he definitely caught you looking as he disappeared behind the door with a knowing smirk.
You woke up still a little high, eyes snapping open as you realized — this wasn’t your room.
Then you felt him. Warm breath against your neck. Your body was sweating at every point of contact between the two of you — but you didn’t care.
You let yourself relax into him, your hand lazily rubbing up and down his arm. Within seconds, you were asleep again.
The second time you woke up, it was slower — softer.
Azriel was already awake, quietly watching you. Still tracing circles on your stomach the way he had the night before.
His face looked different now. Relaxed. Peaceful. A sleepy smile pulling at his lips like he hadn’t realized he was smiling at all.
“Good morning,” he said, voice low and warm.
“Good morning,” you echoed, eyes still half-lidded.
“Why are you staring at me?” you asked, peeking at him over your shoulder.
“You looked so peaceful. I wanted to enjoy it before you woke up and started using that smartass mouth of yours.”
You rolled to face him, his arm still slung over your middle, hand resting easily against your waist.
“You clearly like this smartass mouth,” you said, watching his gaze flick down to your lips.
He licked his own, then met your eyes again.
“I do like a girl who can put me in my place,” he murmured, almost like he was testing how it would feel to admit it.
And gods, the way those words lit your whole body on fire.
You wanted to kiss him — gods, did you — but something in you hesitated. You didn’t want to come on too strong.
So you just laid there, eyes locked, the air thick between you.
His fingers brushed the nape of your neck, scratching lightly at your scalp with one hand while the other traced slow, rhythmic circles across your back.
The silence wasn’t uncomfortable.
It was charged. Soft. A kind of peace you didn’t know you were craving until it wrapped around you.
“So…” Azriel murmured, lazily running his nails up and down your arm.
“So…” you echoed, tone teasing.
“How about that date?”
“Where?”
He grinned. “Well… actually, your favorite artist is in town tonight. I usually serve them when they’re here, and they asked if I wanted to come through. VIP.”
You sat up so fast the covers shifted. “That’s not funny.”
He blinked. “Who’s laughing?”
You stared. “Wait—you’re serious?”
“Thought that was obvious when I brought it up.”
“No—I mean, yes! I definitely want to go. I’m just… slightly starstruck.”
“I think it’s cute.”
“I think you’re ridiculous,” you mumbled, flopping back into the bed.
“Dinner before, Seven sharp.”
“Funny you mention dinner when I haven’t even had breakfast.”
As if on cue, the song ended and your stomach growled.
You both burst out laughing.
“Come on,” he said, climbing out of bed. “Let me make you something.”
You sat at the island chopping fruit while Azriel worked at the stove, flipping pancakes like it was a Sunday tradition. Bacon sizzled. Eggs popped. The smell alone could bring someone back from the dead.
Then the door creaked open — and in walked Cassian and Nesta, both very obviously fresh off the battlefield.
They smelled like sex and satisfaction and zero shame.
Cassian snatched a piece of bacon off the plate without asking, and Nesta dropped into the barstool beside you like she hadn’t just been spiritually rearranged upstairs.
No one said a word. Then your eyes met hers.
Cassian, unbothered as ever, broke the silence. “Oh—sorry if you could hear us.”
Nesta whipped her head toward him with a death glare.
You tried not to gag.
Nesta turned bright red. Azriel’s shoulder shook with silent laughter beside the stove.
You cleared your throat. “No, it’s fine. Just another thing to unpack in therapy.”
Cassian winked at Nesta. She smiled at him.
You looked away, grimacing at your fruit.
You were happy for her.
Really.
But she was like your sister. And hearing her get railed was a violation of your human rights.
After breakfast, Cassian dropped you off at your apartment before taking Nesta to hers — or at least, that’s what you told yourself about what they had planned.
Your neighbor had walked and fed your dog that morning, but you still took her out again once you got home.
Mid-walk, your phone buzzed.
Azzie: Just got some new smoke. Wanna light up before dinner?
You blinked at the name. You hadn’t remembered saving his number — let alone saving it as Azzie. But gods, it made you smile.
You: Duh! Lowkey panicking I can’t believe we have VIP tickets
Azzie: Just one of the many things I’ll do for you
You: <3 <3 <3
Then your phone lit up again — this time, a FaceTime call from Mor.
You answered… and immediately regretted it.
The screen filled with a very naked Savannah — the girl Mor had railed in Azriel’s bed — now naked in her bed.
You didn’t see anything that required censorship… but you still felt emotionally damaged.
High lords, Attors, Amren, and everyone in between. No one wants to fuck with him. I love it.
“Amren and Mor told me that the span of an Illyrian male’s wings says a lot about the size of … other parts.” “They also said Azriel’s wings are the biggest.”
“But it was from Azriel that Keir cringed. From the sight of Truth-Teller.”
“Amren bared her teeth at him. Azriel’s beautiful face didn’t so much as shift.”
“Even as Azriel spoke, that frozen rage dulled his face. And Eris was wise enough to finally pale at the sight. Perhaps that was why Eris had kept knowledge of my powers to himself. Not just for this sort of bargaining, but to avoid the wrath of the shadowsinger. The blade at his side.”
“There was no kindness on Azriel’s face as the snow settled—the immovable mask of the High Lord’s shadowsinger. The Attor began trembling, and I almost felt bad for it as Azriel stalked for him. ”
“And the shadowsinger leaned down to whisper something in his ear that made Eris blanch further.”
“The other lords kept glancing to the shadowsinger in dread and rage and disgust. He only leveled that lethal gaze back at them.”
“But it was Azriel who said, his voice like cold death, “Be careful how you speak about my High Lady.” Surprise flashed in Tamlin’s eyes—”
“She doesn’t need anything,” Azriel answered without so much as looking at Lucien.”
“Azriel dug his knee—and all his weight—into Eris’s gut. He was silent, utterly silent as he ripped the air from Eris’s body. Beron’s flames struck the blue shield, over and over, but the fire skittered off and fizzled out on the water. Any that escaped were torn to shreds by shadows.”
“People often made the mistake of assuming Cassian was the wilder one; the one who couldn’t be tamed. But Cassian was all hot temper—temper that could be used to forge and weld. There was an icy rage in Azriel I had never been able to thaw.”
“Chain me to a tree, Rhys,” Azriel said softly. “Go ahead.” He began checking the buckles on his weapons. “I’ll rip it out of the ground and fly with it on my damned back.”
Summary: This series was wholly inspired by @tarotsoul Light & Smoke series (which I love). This is my take on An Ariel X Reader storyline. It is set modern day and Azriel is your new plug and maybe something more?
Warnings: Angsty, mentions of smoking, partying and drinking, MDNI, flirty, IDK what else but I am sure there are other ones I could've added lol. This is my first fan fiction so go easy on me
Word Count: 8,933
The Plug — Master List
Notes: This is my first take on fan fiction so go easy on me. Thank you again @tarotsoul for the inspiration for this series. This is part one of three as of now but I would love to continue the series further. Not sure when I will post part two yet. Hope you guys enjoy!
You had an extremely long day and the last thing you wanted to do was drive to the dispensary, so you decided to hit your plug in your apartment before leaving work.
You: You around?
Rhysand: Nah, out of town for the week. Hit my brother, Azriel — 832-785-6215. Tell him I sent you.
You: Bet.
You texted his brother.
You: Hey, Rhys told me to text you. Got any smoke?
Azriel: Yeah, wya?
You: I stay in the 610 apartments off Washington Ave. I’ll be there in about 20.
Azriel: Say less. I’ll meet you there.
You were happy he could come to you. When you got to the house, you had time to walk your dog and change into something more comfortable. You decided on a lilac two-piece workout set since you were going to the gym later that night. Your phone buzzed on the counter while you made yourself a snack.
Azriel: Outside the gate.
You: Bet. On my way down.
Azriel: Black Mustang in the corner.
You spotted the car the second you stepped outside.
You walked up to it — couldn’t see who was inside — and as you reached it, the passenger door opened.
You slid in.
The smell of dank and his cologne hit you at the same time.
Then you looked at him… and your brain malfunctioned.
Sharp jaw. Piercing hazel eyes.
Your gaze tracked over him — the way his muscles flexed as he moved, the tattoos snaking out from under his shirt and up his neck, disappearing again under the collar.
Then down. To his black joggers.
Somewhere in that mess of ogling, you remembered you should probably say something.
“Hi,” you said, snapping your eyes back to him — only to realize he was already staring at you the same way you’d been staring at him.
“Hi,” he echoed, meeting your gaze. Then he cleared his throat.
“What do you need?” he asked, reaching into the center console to grab a scale and a few baggies.
“Uhhh… what do you do for a seven?” you asked.
“Well, for regular customers I do fifty. But for the pretty ones? I can do thirty,” he said — not looking at you, casually weighing and bagging your smoke like it was just another day.
You blushed. “Are you sure?”
You reached into your wallet anyway, pulling out the full fifty and handing it to him.
He counted it, then handed you twenty back.
“Certain.”
He passed you the baggie, his fingers lingering just a little too long.
“Just text me when you need to re-up. Rhys he’ll be out of town for a while.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
You climbed out of the car, biting your lip and trying to fight the smile already tugging at your face.
You thought about texting Rhys. He lived right next door. It would’ve been easier. More convenient.
But the truth was... you wanted to lay eyes on Azriel again.
Rhys was FIONE. Like… piercing violet eyes, sculpted jaw, “I know I look good” kind of fine.
But you and Feyre were great friends — and you would never look at her man like that.
His brother, though?
Holy. Shit.
Rhys was throwing a party that night, and Feyre had already invited you. But before you showed up, you needed to pregame — a blunt or two to settle your nerves.
You: Hey Az, me again. You around for a re-up?
Two minutes later...
Azriel: At Rhys’s. Be there in two.
You: Bet. Meet you outside.
A few minutes later, he pulled up in the same spot as last time — and just like before, the passenger door was already open, waiting for you.
You walked up, thick clouds of smoke rolling out, and slid inside.
“Damn,” you said, coughing once, your eyes stinging.
“Sorry,” he muttered, clearly exhausted. “Long day.”
He reached for the ashtray like he was about to put out the fattest blunt you’d ever seen — then paused. Thought better of it.
“Wanna hit it?” he asked, offering it to you.
You hesitated. Then reminded yourself:
You are not a little bitch.
You took it from him.
He smiled, clearly amused.
“Don’t look so scared,” he teased.
“I can hold my own,” you shot back.
He flipped up the center console and pulled out a gallon-sized Ziploc, packed full, plus a scale.
“How much today?” he asked, his eyes never leaving you as you took two long pulls from the blunt, held it… and exhaled smooth, clean smoke.
No cough. No flinch. Just calm, confident combustion.
He was impressed. Honestly? He was a little turned on.
“Uhhh… I got fifty again,” you said, ashing it and hitting it one more time.
He nodded and weighed out way more than fifty dollars worth. Then he split it between a couple baggies — each one stamped with some loud, artsy label — and slid them right onto your lap.
You handed him the fifty. He peeled off twenty and held out the remaining thirty.
You didn’t take it.
“Stop doing that,” you said, frowning. “This is your income.”
He chuckled. “This is just for fun — keeps me from getting bored. Trust me, I don’t need it.”
Still, he kept holding the thirty out for you to grab.
You finally did — hesitantly — already planning to “accidentally” leave it behind on the seat.
You reached for the door handle. “Thanks,” you said, meeting his gaze.
“Finish this with me?” he asked, holding the blunt out toward you again.
You considered and then you sank back into the seat. Took it from him. Took a drag.
“Do you always give discounts and smoke with your clients?” you asked, half-joking — but curious.
Azriel didn’t miss a beat. “Only the ones I’m interested in taking on a date.”
Your skin flushed instantly. You took another long pull from the blunt just to keep your mouth from saying something stupid.
“Is that your way of asking?” you teased, passing it back to him.
He smirked. “Depends. Is the answer yes or no?”
You tapped your chin dramatically. “I don’t usually date my plugs… but I guess I could make an exception for the tall, handsome, brooding ones.”
He laughed at that. “Brooding, huh?” He took a hit, leaned back. “I think I’ve been pretty generous — but feel free to give me the thirty back if you disagree.”
You tossed the bills at him. Both of you laughing now.
Somehow, without even looking, he folded the cash back up — and slid it into the front pocket of your jeans.Not in a way that crossed any lines.But definitely enough to make your breath catch.
“Azriel, I can’t just take it for free,” you said, frowning.
“Yes, you can. But if you tell anyone, I’ll tell them you robbed me at gunpoint.”
You gasped. Then laughed so hard you snorted — which only made him laugh harder.
“Fine. It’s more embarrassing for you that way anyway. Robbed by a small, timid girl,” you said, feigning innocence.
“I don’t see a timid girl anywhere around here,” he said, low and soft — then passed the blunt back to you.
An hour and one shared bottle of wine later, you and your two best friends were vibing — high, tipsy, and halfway through getting ready.
Your outfit was simple but criminal. A sexy cropped tee that hugged your chest just right, and sparkly denim jeans that refused to humble your ass in any way. Your waist looked snatched. Your thighs? Loud. And your ass? Brazen.
“Damn girl, double cheeked up on a Friday?” Nesta said, smacking your ass hard enough to make you yelp.
You laughed. “You know I’ve been in the gym. Making gains.”
She gave your ass one more dramatic once-over. “You’re gonna get somebody in trouble tonight.”
That’s when Mor strutted out in a signature tight red dress — equal parts slutty and divine. Hair curled. Lip gloss loaded. Legs for days.
“Let’s go get fucked up,” she said, grabbing her purse and kicking the door open like a queen who knew damn well she looked good.
Rhys lived close enough that walking just made sense — especially considering how much drinking was about to happen.
By the time you got there, the house was already alive. Music pulsed through the walls, smoke clung to the air, and people were grinding in corners like it was midnight instead of barely ten.
The bass thumped through your shoes. Laughter echoed from every direction.
You walked through the front door like you belonged there — because you did — sparkly jeans glinting under the hallway lights.
And Azriel?
He saw you the second you stepped into the kitchen.
He didn’t smile at first. He didn’t need to.
Just stood there — blunt in hand, hooded eyes trailing slowly up and down your body.
His gaze was a slow drag. Like he was trying to memorize something he'd only just realized he never wanted to forget.
Then, finally, he lifted two fingers in a small wave — subtle, like it was just for you.
“Hey,” Azriel said, standing up as soon as you approached.
He pulled you into a casual side hug — warm, slow, and entirely too comfortable for someone who’d technically only met you once.
He passed the blunt to the guy next to him and turned to your friends.
“This is Nesta, and this is Mor,” you said, gesturing behind you.
Azriel extended a hand to both of them — polite, smooth — and your friends? Oh, they were struggling.
Nesta blinked like she’d just seen a ghost. Mor? Mor was borderline drooling.
You shot them both a look. Pull it together. I know he’s FIONE. Breathe.
“Nice to meet you,” Mor said, recovering first and wiping her mouth like it was casual.
“You as well. I’m Azriel,” he replied smoothly. “This is my brother Cassian. And over there’s Rhys, with his girl Feyre.”
As soon as Cassian saw Nesta, he stood like he’d just heard his name called at a fight.
He shook her hand — eyes locked, completely bypassing Mor — not that she cared.
Her eyes were already across the room, locked in a mutual eye-fuck with a tall girl she’d been pretending not to be obsessed with for months.
You could practically feel the tension tightening around the kitchen like a slow inhale. This party just got interesting.
“Smoke with us?” Azriel asked, nodding to the open seat beside him.
You sat down without hesitation, your friends sliding into the chairs nearby like it was already your table. The second your ass hit the seat, Feyre spotted you — letting out a shriek that could only mean bestie joy.
“Finally!” she cried, practically sprinting over to throw her arms around you.
You laughed and hugged her back. “Feyre, this is Mor and Nesta.”
She hugged them both like they’d known each other for years, then strutted back to Rhys’s lap, snatching the blunt out of his hand like she paid rent there.
You barely noticed. Azriel still hadn’t stopped looking at you. Not once. Not since you walked in.
His elbow rested on the table, chin tilted slightly as if you were the only thing in the room worth noticing.
Nesta was giggling at something Cassian whispered in her ear — which was alarming in and of itself.
You stared at her.
“You okay?” Azriel asked, passing the blunt to you.
“Yeah. It’s just…” You took the blunt, inhaled slow. “I’ve known her my entire life and I have never heard her giggle. Laugh? Yeah. But giggle?”
Azriel smiled, ran a hand through his hair. “Guess my brother’s got some game after all.”
You chuckled — and blew the smoke out slow, your eyes meeting his again. And again, he didn’t look away.
The second blunt was nearly done, and you felt it — that warm, floaty kind of high where everything felt just a little easier, a little looser. You leaned back into your seat, a smile pulling at your lips.
Azriel disappeared for a second and returned with a red solo cup — not from the kitchen, but from a secret stash hidden behind the liquor bottles in Rhys’s bar.
“Do you just have a hidden drink supply?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as you took the cup.
“I don’t share my good shit with party strangers,” he said with a wink.
You took a sip, and your eyes widened. Smooth. Dangerous. Oh, he’s trying to get me in trouble.
Mor had finally wandered off to the girl she’d been mentally undressing all night. Nesta and Cassian were nowhere in sight — and that could only mean one thing.
“You wanna dance?” Azriel asked, suddenly much closer — voice low, right in your ear.
The question wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t casual. It was an invitation and a dare wrapped into one.
You bit your lip and nodded, eyes locked on his. You already knew what your answer was the second he leaned in.
He took your hand and guided you to the living room, where the lights were low and the air was thick with sweat, smoke, and bass. People were grinding like they were trying to solve something with their hips. Couples were making out against walls like this was their last night on earth.
And then there was you. And him.
He turned you around and pulled you into him by your hips — firm, possessive, like he meant it. You let him guide the rhythm, his hand resting just low enough to remind you he wanted you, but not so low it was questionable. His other hand came to your waist, holding you in place as you moved together.
You could feel every breath he took behind you. The heat of him. The way his fingers flexed on your skin like he was thinking about being bad.
And gods, you liked it. You liked it too much.
He didn’t say a word. Didn’t need to. The tension said it all.
You didn’t know how long you’d been dancing. Could’ve been three songs or ten — all you knew was that Azriel was still pressed behind you, his hand resting heavy on your hip, and you weren’t planning on going anywhere.
Then, from the corner of your eye, you saw it.
Nesta. Coming down the stairs. Hair a mess. Shirt buttoned wrong. Eyes glazed over like she’d just seen God — and then promptly rode him.
Cassian followed two steps behind her, wearing the smuggest fucking grin you’d ever seen.
“Oh my god,” you said under your breath.
Azriel leaned down, breath brushing your ear. “Guess we know what they were doing.”
And that’s when it hit you.
Not the image of them, exactly — no.
It was the mental image of you and Azriel doing what they just did.
His mouth on you. His hands gripping your thighs.
His voice in your ear, growling your name like a prayer.
Your legs nearly gave out right then and there.
“There you are,” Nesta said, finally reaching you, Cassian’s hand glued to her waist like he’d forgotten what air was.
“I’m not the one who disappeared,” you said, pulling her close and doing your best to act normal — like your entire brain wasn’t short-circuiting.
She fell into the rhythm easily, grinning, glowing.You leaned in close.
“What happened?” you whispered, feeling like a giddy teenager.
She didn’t even try to be coy. “Oh, nothing… He got on his knees for me like he worshiped the ground I walk on and I don’t think anyone else will ever do it better. I think I might love him.”
You cackled — the kind of laugh you’d be embarrassed about if you weren’t so high. Cassian met your eyes from over Nesta’s shoulder, and based on the way he was smirking, he’d heard every word.
“Let’s smoke,” he said, tugging Nesta away again.
Azriel’s hand returned to your lower back as you followed, guiding you through the crowd like you were his and everyone else was background noise.
And the way his fingers lingered? Yeah. He’d heard it, too.
Azriel’s hand never left your back as you followed Cassian and Nesta to the garage — guiding you through the crowd like he was afraid someone might steal you if he let go.
Rhys and Feyre were mid-beer pong battle against two other guys, both teams down to one last cup. Tension was high. So was everyone else.
Azriel slid a blunt from behind his ear and sparked it like it was instinct.
“Join us,” Cassian called, already dragging a chair out for Nesta.
Azriel glanced between the empty lawn chair beside him and his lap — then pulled the chair closer for you, giving you the choice. You sat in the chair but within minutes, your legs were draped over his thighs anyway, and he was tracing lazy circles over your calf with his thumb.
Nesta, however, had other plans. She didn’t sit down — she basically pushed Cassian into the seat across from you, sending him down with a grunt and a dazed laugh.
He didn’t complain. Just wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled into her neck like he’d been waiting years to do it.
They looked like a couple who’d been together forever — despite having met hours ago.
Dangerous energy. Honestly, you respected it.
You passed the blunt around, light conversation drifting through the circle as Feyre finally nailed the last cup. Rhys howled and climbed across the table to kiss her. The losers groaned dramatically.
The garage door creaked. Mor floated in, looking... unholy. Like she was walking on post-sex clouds and had no intention of coming down anytime soon.
She flopped into the last open chair and sighed like she’d just won the lottery.
“Are you okay?” you asked, biting your cheek to hold back a grin.
“Never better,” she murmured.
“I’m guessing you finally stopped eye-fucking that girl and did something?” Nesta asked, half teasing, half smug.
Mor’s eyes cracked open. “A lady never kisses and tells.”
Beat. Wink. “But let’s just say she’s not here because she can’t walk.”
Rhys raised a brow. “Where exactly did you leave her?”
“I don’t know. Some bed with grey sheets and weapons all over the walls.”
Silence.
Azriel blinked. “You had sex in my bed?”
“It was the only room with the door unlocked,” Mor said with zero shame.
Azriel’s jaw tightened as he took a slow sip of his drink. “Guess that’s what I get for not locking it.”
His eyes flicked to you. You must’ve looked horrified, because he leaned in and whispered, “It’s fine.”
Then, louder: “I’ll just burn the bed down.”
Everyone cracked up. You nearly choked on your drink.
Mor had disappeared with her conquest of the night, Feyre and Rhys had wandered off without a word, and Nesta? Nowhere to be found — Cassian was also missing… probably somewhere not wearing a shirt.
You and Azriel were still tucked away in the garage, right where you started. Your legs were stretched across his lap, both of you high as hell and entirely too comfortable.
He’d rolled an absurd number of blunts — at one point you threatened to take his rolling try away — but you smoked every single one with him anyway. By the end, your body felt like melted butter, and your cheeks hurt from smiling too much.
Azriel finally leaned back in his chair and sighed.
“No pressure,” he said, his voice a little sleepier than before, “but I’m so high I might knock out mid-sentence. And despite the fact that Mor defiled my bed tonight, it’s still calling my name.”
He gently lifted your legs off his lap and stood, stretching like a cat.
“If you want, you can crash with me,” he added. “Or in the guest room. Or I can walk you home. Whatever makes you feel safe.”
The way he said that made your heart stutter — a man offering options like that was dangerous.
“I don’t have anything to sleep in,” you murmured, glancing down at your jeans, “and no toothbrush.”
Azriel smiled, already heading toward the stairs.
“I can fix both of those things — unless wearing my clothes is a problem?”
You stood and followed him without hesitation. “The clothes are fine. But I draw the line at using your toothbrush.”
He laughed, full and warm. “Relax. I’ve got standards. You think I don’t have spare toothbrushes?”
His room was huge. Clean. Uncomfortably neat for a man who’d smoked six blunts and still looked like sin. The weapons on the wall made it feel a little like a museum. Or a hitman’s personal showroom.
You stopped in your tracks. “Be honest. Are you secretly a serial killer?”
“No,” he said immediately. Then: “I’m an assassin.”
You blinked. “See, the problem is that I half believe you.”
He just chuckled and opened a dresser drawer, pulling out basketball shorts and a t-shirt.
“I am trained in Taekwondo and Mixed Martial arts and I may know my way around a few different weapons but it’s all for protection, to feel powerful, strong, in control.”
“Here,” he said, handing the clothes to you. “They should be comfy.”
Then he stepped into the bathroom, voice trailing behind him. “I’ll start the shower… and throw a towel in the warmer.”
Your brows lifted. A towel warmer?
Of course he had one.
He stepped back into the room a moment later, holding up a brand new, still-sealed toothbrush.
“I’m not a monster,” he said. “And I respect oral hygiene.”
You stared at him, then burst out laughing. “You have a towel warmer?”
He gave you the most casual shrug. “Obviously. What kind of savage doesn’t?”
Then he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.
“Do you want to shower?” he asked.
You looked up at him, one brow lifting. “Mmm… are you asking me to take a shower with you?”
Azriel blinked. “What? No—no, I meant for you. Alone. Unless you—no. Definitely alone.”
You smiled, slow and dangerous. “You sure? Because that sounded like an invitation.”
He ran a hand through his hair, clearly flustered. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
You took the clothes from his hands, brushed past him. “Only if you’re lucky.”
The bathroom door clicked shut behind you — and yeah, you were still grinning.
When you stepped out of the bathroom, hair damp and skin still warm from the steam, Azriel was already lying on the bed — shirtless, of course, pants still on, one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting on his chest.
And he was snoring. Softly.
You stared at him, half amused, half endeared. “Finally,” he murmured without opening his eyes. “I was fighting for my life trying not to fall asleep.”
“Oh please, it’s been ten minutes,” you muttered.
You dropped your clothes in a pile, pulled on the oversized t-shirt he gave you, and slid into bed beside him.
“That towel warmer? Life-changing.”
“Told you,” he said with a sleepy grin. “I’ve got standards.”
You snorted. “You’re gonna judge me when I don’t even have matching bath towels?”
“Absolutely. Monster behavior.”
He rolled off the bed and headed toward the bathroom. You watched him go — and yes, shamelessly stared — and he definitely caught you looking as he disappeared behind the door with a knowing smirk.
You woke up still a little high, eyes snapping open as you realized — this wasn’t your room.
Then you felt him. Warm breath against your neck. Your body was sweating at every point of contact between the two of you — but you didn’t care.
You let yourself relax into him, your hand lazily rubbing up and down his arm. Within seconds, you were asleep again.
The second time you woke up, it was slower — softer.
Azriel was already awake, quietly watching you. Still tracing circles on your stomach the way he had the night before.
His face looked different now. Relaxed. Peaceful. A sleepy smile pulling at his lips like he hadn’t realized he was smiling at all.
“Good morning,” he said, voice low and warm.
“Good morning,” you echoed, eyes still half-lidded.
“Why are you staring at me?” you asked, peeking at him over your shoulder.
“You looked so peaceful. I wanted to enjoy it before you woke up and started using that smartass mouth of yours.”
You rolled to face him, his arm still slung over your middle, hand resting easily against your waist.
“You clearly like this smartass mouth,” you said, watching his gaze flick down to your lips.
He licked his own, then met your eyes again.
“I do like a girl who can put me in my place,” he murmured, almost like he was testing how it would feel to admit it.
And gods, the way those words lit your whole body on fire.
You wanted to kiss him — gods, did you — but something in you hesitated. You didn’t want to come on too strong.
So you just laid there, eyes locked, the air thick between you.
His fingers brushed the nape of your neck, scratching lightly at your scalp with one hand while the other traced slow, rhythmic circles across your back.
The silence wasn’t uncomfortable.
It was charged. Soft. A kind of peace you didn’t know you were craving until it wrapped around you.
“So…” Azriel murmured, lazily running his nails up and down your arm.
“So…” you echoed, tone teasing.
“How about that date?”
“Where?”
He grinned. “Well… actually, your favorite artist is in town tonight. I usually serve them when they’re here, and they asked if I wanted to come through. VIP.”
You sat up so fast the covers shifted. “That’s not funny.”
He blinked. “Who’s laughing?”
You stared. “Wait—you’re serious?”
“Thought that was obvious when I brought it up.”
“No—I mean, yes! I definitely want to go. I’m just… slightly starstruck.”
“I think it’s cute.”
“I think you’re ridiculous,” you mumbled, flopping back into the bed.
“Dinner before, Seven sharp.”
“Funny you mention dinner when I haven’t even had breakfast.”
As if on cue, the song ended and your stomach growled.
You both burst out laughing.
“Come on,” he said, climbing out of bed. “Let me make you something.”
You sat at the island chopping fruit while Azriel worked at the stove, flipping pancakes like it was a Sunday tradition. Bacon sizzled. Eggs popped. The smell alone could bring someone back from the dead.
Then the door creaked open — and in walked Cassian and Nesta, both very obviously fresh off the battlefield.
They smelled like sex and satisfaction and zero shame.
Cassian snatched a piece of bacon off the plate without asking, and Nesta dropped into the barstool beside you like she hadn’t just been spiritually rearranged upstairs.
No one said a word. Then your eyes met hers.
Cassian, unbothered as ever, broke the silence. “Oh—sorry if you could hear us.”
Nesta whipped her head toward him with a death glare.
You tried not to gag.
Nesta turned bright red. Azriel’s shoulder shook with silent laughter beside the stove.
You cleared your throat. “No, it’s fine. Just another thing to unpack in therapy.”
Cassian winked at Nesta. She smiled at him.
You looked away, grimacing at your fruit.
You were happy for her.
Really.
But she was like your sister. And hearing her get railed was a violation of your human rights.
After breakfast, Cassian dropped you off at your apartment before taking Nesta to hers — or at least, that’s what you told yourself about what they had planned.
Your neighbor had walked and fed your dog that morning, but you still took her out again once you got home.
Mid-walk, your phone buzzed.
Azzie: Just got some new smoke. Wanna light up before dinner?
You blinked at the name. You hadn’t remembered saving his number — let alone saving it as Azzie. But gods, it made you smile.
You: Duh! Lowkey panicking I can’t believe we have VIP tickets
Azzie: Just one of the many things I’ll do for you
You: <3 <3 <3
Then your phone lit up again — this time, a FaceTime call from Mor.
You answered… and immediately regretted it.
The screen filled with a very naked Savannah — the girl Mor had railed in Azriel’s bed — now naked in her bed.
You didn’t see anything that required censorship… but you still felt emotionally damaged.
SUMMARY: A run in with the cops is another reminder of the horrors Azriel faced through his childhood. Maybe one day hell open up about it, but not today. Today, he's solely focussed on helping you out of a bad trip.
WARNINGS: swearing, reoccurring themes of use of recreational drugs (weed), greening out, teasing, flirting, kissing, dirty talk, use of toys hehe, slapping/spanking, spitting, dom!Az, mentions of Az's abusive childhood.
WORD COUNT: 8.2k
SERIES MASTERLIST
When Azriel was a young boy, he dreamt of becoming a guitarist. It didn’t matter to him then if he was famous or not. Just so long as he was good enough to be able to replicate famous rifts with his own spin, and create his own music, too.
For his fifth birthday, his mother bought him a children’s guitar, complete with the plastic pics and a leather strap with his initials etched into the fine fabric. He knew, even at that age, that the gift had cost his mother a small fortune. But she didn’t care how much it set her back. The look of pure shock and excitement on her boy's face was worth every single penny she spent.
He could still remember the untold amounts of sleep he would forfeit to learn a new chord or finally string more than three together at once. By seven years old, he could recreate the first half of Simple Man by Lynyrd Skynyrd—albeit choppy and slightly out of time—and memorise the chords by heart.
His half-brothers had never liked that about Azriel. His talent and passion for music and the guitar. Even at the ages of five and four, they did not like Azriel. More often than not, they’d plant broken vases and stained cushions for their parents to find, and blame them on Azriel. They knew their father would take away his guitar for a few days to a week as punishment.
But even then, a week wasn’t long enough. Their hatred for Azriel stemmed long before his love for guitar had grown. From the moment his half-brothers learned how to talk, Az was on the daggered end of their spiteful tongue and manipulative masterminds. As young as he was, Azriel wasn’t blind to the cause of it. He wasn’t blind to his step-father’s hatred for him, that he then instilled in his own blood sons.
Being what they called a ‘blood traitor’ would always be their main justification for what they did. Azriel had never admitted to anyone the second reason his brothers set his hands alight. But the other thought behind it—the more vicious and calculated thought—was to burn not just his hands, but his dreams, too.
For months after the incident, Azriel’s hands remained bandaged. He could hardly use them for everyday tasks like dressing and washing and eating. And when they had finally healed enough for the bandages to be permanently removed, he couldn’t play his beloved guitar.
The strings were too harsh on his sensitive skin. It hurt so much just pressing down on the chords on the neck, let alone pinching the pic for longer than thirty seconds at a time. Azriel had to learn how to play all over again, covered in blisters and burnt flesh. And then his marred skin began to harden and callous and every strum was more painful than before.
He often wondered if this would still be his life path had the burning never happened. If he would have still met Rhys and Cass, if he would still be selling drugs. He knew he wouldn’t be this well-off financially, but at what cost? What did all of this money mean when it was just him? When he wouldn’t be able to fulfil his biggest dream in life?
He mostly thought about it all in times like this, when he was spontaneously pulled over by the cops for what they called a “random stop and search”, though they had never given a plausible cause for it. And today would be no different.
“You stalking me again, Reynolds?” Az asked in a rugged tone as he exhaled the smoke from his cigarette.
Officer Reynolds, one of the few officers that continuously pulled Az over and searched his vehicle, leaned against the open window with his arms crossed. His blue eyes gleamed with hope of catching something on him this time, though Az knew Reynolds would walk away with another few grey hairs to add to his collection.
Reynolds was a strange looking man. Not in his features, but in the glint of his eyes and the disturbing tug of his lips whenever he offered a grim smile. He radiated nothing but offsetting energy, one that stunk of noncy behaviour and less than ethical tendencies.
His iced eyes darted quickly across Azriel’s lap and the passenger's seat, coming up short and settling his gaze on the man again.
“Random stop and search, nothing personal.” He grinned that awful smile but Azriel paid no mind to it. “Step out of the car, licence and registration.” Azriel was already reaching into the glovebox for his paperwork before Reynolds could even speak.
He handed them over, opening the door as the officer stepped away, and stood with his hands on the hood of his Mustang. Azriel knew the drill. He’d been patted down and had his car searched more times than he could count in the past six months alone.
And each and every time, Reynolds always came up short.
“Got any weapons in the vehicle?”
Azriel rolled his eyes, looking over his shoulder as Reynolds began to pat down his stomach and thighs. “Do I look like the type that needs a weapon?”
A dry chuckle slipped from the officers lips as he patted harder down Azriel’s calves and ankles before turning to his full—albeit short—height. “What about narcotics? Any drugs that I should be aware of?”
Az grunted with another roll of his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Officer Reynolds didn’t offer a response. Instead, he bent his body into the driver's side of the Mustang and began stifling through every nook and cranny that his swollen hands could reach.
Azriel’s foot tapped impatiently as he waited and waited for the search to end. They wouldn’t find a damn thing, especially because of the new addition Azriel had recently added to his modded car.
But that knowledge of the secret compartment didn’t stop his muscles from tensing just slightly when Reynolds wrapped his puffed fingers around the foot mat and peeled it up.
Azriel’s stash was well hidden; wrapped and locked in an extended box beneath his footwell that managed to also keep the scent out. He knew it was a matter of time before they started bringing a K9 with them on their searches, so Azriel had to be prepared for that well in advance.
Especially with how strong the new strain smelt.
With a huff, Reynolds haphazardly threw the foot mat back down and struggled to clamber out of the car. And just like Azriel suspected, he came up short.
Reynolds handed him back his paperwork and rested his hands back on his belt, fingers itching for his baton to give Az a taste of the frustration he caused him. Azriel didn’t so much as bat an eye at it. He knew Reynolds wouldn’t touch him. Not if he wanted to keep both his stumpy legs in use.
“You know, this is getting pretty old. How do I go about filing a harassment charge?”
Reynolds scoffed. “Good luck with that.”
If there was one thing Az liked about having his brothers home, it was the lack of talking his mind did. There was no silence for his brain and thoughts to gang up on him, to have him question every thought and decision he’d ever made.
Music and guitar usually helped to quiet those demons—the shadows that he had no control over—but the frustration from his earlier encounter with Reynolds had the desire for playing at the bottom of his list.
Instead, he settled for Nesta’s demand to braid her hair. She knew him better than she let the others know. Since they first met years ago, he became the brother she never had, that she never knew she needed. She was quick to learn his quirks and mannerisms; what they meant and how he felt.
And he learnt the same for her.
“You’re doing it too loose,” Nesta huffed, picking at her nails from her seat on the carpet between Azriel’s parted thighs. He huffed, flexing his fingers and undoing the braid.
“Last time you told me it was too tight and it gave you a migraine,” he retorted back with an exasperated huff.
They argued like real siblings, too.
“Just do it a little looser than last time.”
Azriel split her hair into three sections once more and slowly started to braid, overlapping the sections and tugging a bit tighter than his previous attempt. Nesta hummed in approval.
They didn’t pay much mind to the others. Rhys and Feyre were cuddled on the loveseat opposite them, Cassian on their left with a bulky pair of headphones on his head as he smashed the buttons of the gaming remote beneath his fingers.
He was growing frustrated that he was losing, but it didn’t help that his hands were so massive that the pad of his thumb was big enough to press all the buttons at once.
“Hey, Az… there’s this girl I know…” Azriel’s grunt cut Feyre off before she could say anything else. He tied Nesta’s braid and tapped her shoulders, signally he was done.
“Not this again, Fey,” he groaned.
A sheepish smile sat on her full lips, a gentle tint of pink blushing the apples of her cheeks. “I really think you guys would get along, though. She’s super laid back and so gorgeous.”
Nesta moved from between Az’s thighs on the ground and clambered back onto the sofa, reaching for her tumbler of gin and tonic. Azriel was used to this, to Feyre trying to set him up. Each time, he’d always shut her advances down, but that never stopped her.
Feyre considered it a challenge, and she wouldn’t stop until Azriel agreed to go on a date. Just once, and she’d back off. She was fairly confident that one date would be all it would take for Azriel to fall for her mysterious friend.
“I don’t need to be set up,” he spoke, finality in his tone.
Rhys cocked a brow at how quickly Az dismissed his girlfriend but said nothing. He knew Feyre could get a bit too much with it sometimes, but Rhys himself still had hopes that maybe one day, Az would bite the bullet and just agree.
But Azriel had no plans to do that. He didn't want to be set up on a blind date, and he most certainly did not need nor want his friends involving themselves in his love life—or lack thereof. It wasn’t that he struggled with girls, Mother, no. Not once in his life did Azriel ever have a shortage of pussy.
If he wanted it, he would get it. On his own. Without his brother's girlfriend’s self-involvement.
His phone chimed from his back pocket, and not bothering another glance at Feyre, Azriel retrieved it to read over the message.
You: you weren’t kidding. This shit is strongggg x
His heart rate quickened as he read the text again and again. Azriel hadn’t heard from for three days—since that kiss—and now he was reminiscing on the taste of your mouth on his.
Azriel: I did warn you
You: maybe next time you could write a reminder on my baggie?
A grin stretched across the expanse of his lips, eyes glittering at how quickly you responded. The act didn’t go unmissed by Nesta, who grinned against her staw and wiggled her toes against the side of Azriel’s thigh. She knew that face—that look.
“Azzy doesn’t want to get set up because he already has a crush on someone.”
All eyes snapped to Azriel and Nesta at her words, eyes so wide they almost bulged from their heads. They all knew Az was a ladies man, that although he kept his sex life private, he was well endowed in that aspect. But what they had never really seen was Azriel with a crush.
With someone who was more than a booty call or a fling.
Az narrowed his eyes at Nesta, a hard expression removing his previous smile. The phone in his hand began to vibrate and a quick glance at it had your number filling the screen through an incoming call.
His heart stammered.
“I don’t have a crush. It’s just a client.” He stood from the couch, his scarred thumb hovering over the answer button.
Nesta grinned maniacally, taking another sip of her gin. “A lady client?” Azriel’s response was a pillow launched at Nesta’s face before leaving his family and shutting himself away in his bedroom.
Az took a deep breath then swiped his screen to accept the call. “Hey,” he greeted, bringing the phone to his ear. “You doing okay?”
There was a pregnant pause for a moment before your airly laugh breathed down the line and Azriel’s throat began to close up at the sound. “I think I’ve greened out a little,” you giggled, almost painfully. “Everything is spinning and heavy and when I close my eyes, I get seasick… is that normal?”
Az pursed his lips, biting back his own smile. The fact that you’d managed to text full sentences and then call him suggested you hadn’t greened out too badly. And by the light self-deprecating laugh at your own situation, he knew you weren’t falling in too deep of a hole.
“It should pass soon, it shouldn't get worse than how you feel now. Where are you?”
“I’m at home so I’m okay. I just didn’t know what was the best thing to help.”
Azriel shouldn’t have let your words affect him the way they did. They shouldn’t have warmed his heart and sent it soaring in his chest. But in your slightly vulnerable predicament, out of everyone that smoked in your life and would understand, it was him that you called for advice.
Not your friends, not your ex. Him.
“Honestly? Food and water.”
Another pause of silence had Azriel thinking a bit too much again. If you were calling him for advice, this was likely your first time greening out, and he wondered if you’d even be able to handle making yourself food alone.
After a moment of consideration, he spoke again. “Want me to stop by?”
Azriel could hear your soft breath through the call. “Isn’t that crossing a line?” you asked in a gentle voice.
He frowned, brows pinched. “What line?”
“I’m your client, you’re my plug,” you reminded him, and something about it sent a sour taste to the back of his throat.
“You’re my friend,” he offered.
He wondered if you considered that or not, and by the pause of silence once more, he got his answer.
“I am?” The soft tone of your question hurt him more than it should’ve. It shouldn’t have hurt him at all.
“Am I not yours?”
You were considering it, though. In your book, he was definitely your friend. He’d comforted you just a few nights ago after the fiasco with your sister's secret wedding, had bought you food and then… He’d kissed you. Or had you kissed him?
You supposed he was your friend, but you didn’t think you meant anything more to him than being just another client. Clearly, you were wrong.
“Yeah… I guess you are.”
The corners of Azriel's lips tugged upward slightly. “Great, so send me your address and I’ll stop by with some food.”
Perhaps you should’ve told him no, that it truly wasn’t necessary and you could just pick at a couple of leftover cookies you’d baked yesterday. But you didn’t. You wanted to see him again, wondered so desperately if that kiss had meant anything at all… if it would happen again.
“I have a spare set of keys in a security lock outside. The code is 4369, let yourself in.”
You didn’t know how much time you had to try and sort yourself out before Azriel would arrive. But as hard as you tried, every time you raised your head you were met with an onslaught of nausea and dizziness.
You spent around five minutes attempting to regulate your breathing to rid those feelings, but your body remained stomach down on the couch with your face squished against a pillow.
If you could stomach the feeling of your eyes being closed for longer than five seconds at a time, you probably could’ve fallen asleep. But alas, the sound of a key entering the lock of your front door had your eyes widening a little further and heart stammering against your ribs.
“Knock, knock.” Azriel’s voice dripped with honey as he spoke into the expanse of your open plan living-kitchen area.
Though you couldn’t see him from your position, you could hear the faint rusting of a takeout bag in his hand as he closed the door quietly and kicked off his shoes at the door.
You didn’t need to call out to him for Az to see you. Sprawled on the sofa, just off to his left, he grinned comically, ignoring the unfamiliar swell in his chest. His feet padded closer to the couch, settling the food on the coffee table and the smell of hot, fried chicken wafted through your senses.
Azriel helping you sit up and handing you the same meal you ordered the last time you saw one another was a bit of a blur. But the second the food hit your tongue and your tastebuds exploded in delight, the nausea slowly dwindled from your senses.
“You are my saviour,” you moaned around the food, eyes fluttering closed and none the wiser to Azriel’s growing blush.
Sat in comfortable silence, Azriel didn’t want you to focus on anything other than feeling yourself again. Within a few minutes, you’d both finished your food and your face didn’t seem so sunken and pasty.
Now, you looked wonderfully blitzed, skin a little brighter than before and a sparkling sheen to your bloodshot eyes. Yeah, you were out of the woods, your body warm and relaxed.
“You feeling okay?” he finally managed to ask, shoving the last fry between his lips as you nodded at his question.
“I feel perfectly baked now.”
A laugh spluttered from his lips at your words as he wiped his scarred hands clean on a paper napkin. For the first time in the past twenty minutes, Az allowed his eyes to gaze across the expanse of your rather cosy living room.
Soft, golden lighting that warmed the room, plants of varying shapes and colours tucked into every corner and crevice available. Mismatched furniture and draping vines.
It was cute, all of it. Very you. The wall facing the couch was hidden beneath tall bookcases that were filled to the brim with every type of book he could imagine. Even with squinted eyes, he could make out a few familiar authors amongst your shelves.
“Have you read all of those?” He threw his gaze to you, wonder and slight adoration in his eyes, though you were sure you imagined the latter.
“Mhm,” you hummed around your drink. “Some more times than I can remember.”
You watched him stand from the couch, his tall frame approaching your collection. He was dressed in black again – his simple jeans and sweater combo – and his hair was perfectly tousled and swept down his forehead.
Eyes on him, his finger traced the spines of your beloved possessions, settling on one in particular that made your breath still in your chest. Azriel gently pulled it off the shelf, hazel eyes examining the near-pristine cover.
“Careful,” your soft voice warned him. “It’s worth three grand.”
Azriel’s eyes almost bulged from his head as he turned to you with the most bewildered expression you’d ever seen. It took every ounce of control not to burst into laughter.
“What?”
“It’s 134 years old. I restored it the best I could. You should’ve seen it when I found it.”
Azriel’s brows pulled into a confused frown. “Restored it?”
“Yeah, that’s what I do for work.”
When his frown didn’t ease, you cleared your throat to continue. “I work between an auction and a museum in the city. I find the old books and restore them, then sell them through the auction, or they go to the museum.”
His once furrowed brows raised, his eyes darting back to the book in his hand as if he was inspecting the eighth wonder of the world. Azriel finally turned back to you with a smile that borderlined a smirk.
“That’s actually pretty cool.”
A satisfied yet sheepish smile found its way to your lips, cheeks warming under the intensity of his gaze. Azriel slid the book back onto the shelf and continued his observations.
If you were being honest, it was a little too intimate for your liking. No one in your life had ever taken such interest in your books, not your friends or past lovers. It wasn’t like your love for books was much of a secret, but no one had taken the time to get to know them.
To know your books was to know you.
You shouldn’t have been surprised that Azriel was the person to do so. In the short time you’d known him, you realised he was full of surprises.
“What about you?” Your voice greeted his ears softly as you cleaned up the trash from your food. Azriel casted barely a look over his shoulder, eyes caught on your limited edition fantasy book set. A part of you begged to take Azriel’s attention off them. “What do you do for work?”
That seemed to earn his full attention, causing him to turn to face you fully. With an amused smirk, he followed you a few feet into the open kitchen. “You know what I do for work.”
Ah.
“You don’t have anything…legal…to keep on the books?”
He tried to hide his amusement at your words, but to no avail. Azriel’s smirk only grew and he found himself wondering if his answer might make you think differently of him.
“If you wanna talk…legalities…then I’m an investor in the stock market.”
It was your turn to hold the raised eyebrows – a look that Azriel was quick to mirror. “What?” He asked. “You don’t think I could work in stocks?”
“Do you?” You pressed.
Azriel’s grin widened slightly. “I do. And I’ll have you know that I’m very good at it.”
You didn’t want nor need to know any more. You weren’t about to outright ask how much money he had, and if he told you out of his own desire, you were certain it would only make you feel like pure shit.
Your apartment and belongings weren’t much but they were yours. Everything you had, you worked for. You could do without knowing how many thousands he had sitting pretty in his bank.
Azriel noticed that distant look in your eyes and took a seat at your island. The last thing he wanted was to make you feel uncomfortable. And if he was being perfectly honest, it was appallingly refreshing to speak with a woman about his side-hustle without them swooning or prying for more details.
And it appeared that it was only now that either of you were realising how different things were the last time you saw one another. When your lips pressed against his and he kissed you back with just as much want and vigour.
As if remembering that searing moment, your face and chest began to warm. You were quick to turn away from him, needing a moment to compose yourself and the tight feeling in the pit of your stomach.
You tried desperately to ignore the ache between your thighs at the memory, instead opting to focus your attention on the half empty box of cookies on the counter. Flipping the lid, you offered one to Azriel who took it without much prompting.
“Tell me if I’m crossing a line, but if you make enough money investing in stocks, why do you still deal?”
Azriel’s eyes fluttered closed as he took a bite out of the chocolate chip cookie, and you found your eyes zeroed in on the way his plump lips moved and his broad shoulders slacked slightly.
His eyes opened to focus on yours. “These are incredible.” You offered a smile, waiting. “Dealing is what got me the money to be able to invest. Don’t get me wrong, I’m good at it, but I lost a lot to get where I am. Dealing is steady income for now. It’s not something I plan to do forever.”
You didn’t probe any further, satisfied with the answer he provided and not wanting to push your luck. Your eyes were drawn to his mouth again, flashes of memories littering your mind as your body warmed once more.
Clearing your throat, you desperately tried to blink away the haziness he seemed to make you feel.
“You can smoke out on the balcony, if you want.”
Azriel finished the last of his cookie and leaned forward on the counter. “I didn’t bring anything.”
Your head tilted slightly to the half-smoked joint on your counter, stubbed out and back in your open tin. “Smoke the rest of that. It’s too strong for me and I know your tolerance is higher than mine.”
Azriel laughed; hearty and rich and deep. It tickled up your spine and reached around your neck and jaw to tug the corners of your lips into a smile. The effect he had on you was growing to be a slight problem.
“You wanna come? Fresh air will help.”
He watched you pinch the joint and lighter from your tin and lead him through to your bedroom. It was decorated similarly to the rest of your apartment–twinkling fairy lights and books and plants–and out on the small balcony, you’d managed to cram a rattan loveseat and table with vines wrapped around the short iron guard rail.
“Here.” You handed him the joint and lighter. “I’ll be back out, I’m just going to change.”
Azriel sparked up the joint between his lips, taking a long drag as you returned to your room. The smoke hit the back of his throat sharply, almost knocking him sideways. Even he hadn’t smoked a joint this packed and strong in a while. It was no wonder you’d had a wobble with it.
He took a seat on the rattan furniture, admiring the little view your balcony offered. The summer air kissed his skin, even as late as the evening was. The warmth of it had him shrugging off his sweater and throwing it over the table, taking another deep pull.
If Azriel was honest, he was quite thankful for the moments reprieve from your presence. He needed to take a second to calm himself down. Az couldn’t remember the last time he partook in something like this with someone who wasn’t his brothers or their girls.
This was more of a common thing with Nesta, smoking and eating together. Never Feyre, she always preferred a glass of wine, and occasionally Mor would smoke with him when she was passing through town. Never a random girl, never a new friend.
But that moment's reprieve was ripped away far too quickly, because you were sauntering back onto the balcony and stealing the breath right from Azriel’s smoked lungs.
He was fucked. Comepletly and utterly fucked. He’d never seen you look so relaxed, dressed in an oversized t-shirt and a pair of mismatched socks. Your hair was thrown up lazily and stray pieces fell out to frame your face.
Your legs, however, he couldn’t stop gawking. Soft skin and a whole lot of thigh. Azriel forced his gaze to your face again as you took a seat beside him on the loveseat, leaning your back on the armrest and bringing your knees up to your chest.
Mother above, he could feel his cock begin to strain in his pants, his eyes begging to sweep your body once more to see what lay between your slightly parted legs. From his peripheral vision, he could see you cross your ankles, effectively shielding yourself.
But Azriel was good at reading people, and by the slight flush of your cheeks and the way your eyes grew more hooded by the second, he was more than certain you knew what you were doing and the affects your actions had on him.
He took another pull of the joint. “You weren’t kidding,” he mumbled, “this shit is strong.” A bubbly laugh fell from your lips at the way his eyes squinted when the drug settled into his lungs.
“I did warn you.”
Azriel offered it to you, watching your inner turmoil as you weighed out your options until pinching it from his fingers. “One pull will be enough to keep me buzzed for the night.”
He watched your lips thin as they clamped down on the roach. He watched your chest rise as your lungs filled with the thick tar until you pulled the joint from your lips and exhaled slowly. You handed it back to him, cutting yourself off completely for the night.
Azriel took it between two pinched fingers, keeping his eyes on your slightly flushed face as he took another few drags before stuffing the cherry out in the ashtray. His gaze found purchase on your lips again as he mirrored your position on the loveseat, though Az didn’t tuck his knees to his chest.
“Are we gonna talk about it?” He asked.
You blinked at him, head tilted slightly to the left. “Talk about what?”
The way his taunting smirk grew made you shift uncomfortably. You had an inkling as to what he meant, but you hoped if you played dumb, he would drop it. Clearly not.
“About the last time we saw each other.”
Yup. There it was.
That familiar warmth spread across your face and chest again in waves of anxiety and embarrassment. You couldn’t handle this type of conversation right now. You were mortified enough as it was, you didn’t need to reminisce about your stupid mistake, nor the way he kissed you back as though his life depended on it.
You let out a long sigh. “I was kind of hoping you’d forgotten about it.”
Azriel quirked a brow. “Forget about it?” he asked. “You expected me to forget a kiss like that?”
It felt like all the air had been completely sucked from your lungs. You could hardly breathe, struggling to string a coherent reply together. Azriel continued to smirk at you, bathing in the way he clearly made you feel. Like he was getting off on your flustered state.
The state he put you in.
“It’s been replaying in my head for days.” Azriel’s admission sent your mind into a frenzy. You had no idea what to do with that information or how it was supposed to make you feel.
What you did know, was that familiar burning in the pit of your stomach, that daunting ache between your clenched thighs. And the way Azriel's eyes darkened and slowly traced the silhouette of your figure, you got the hint he felt the same way, too.
“Yeah?” Your words came out as barely a whisper, lashes fluttering as the weed you’d just smoked began to settle into your bloodstream.
Azriel inched a hand tentatively toward your ankle, the tips of his scarred fingers brushing against your cotton socks. The touch had your body keening for more, your legs twitching as he slowly wrapped a large hand around your lower leg.
“Yeah,” he replied, almost breathless.
He was testing the waters, desperate to get a feeler as to what you wanted from this interaction. Azriel watched you closely, cataloguing every response your body gave his touch. How goosebumps broke across the silky skin of your legs, how your cheeks flushed slightly and lashes fluttered at him.
“Is that all you’ve been thinking about?” Your husky voice finally broke through the silence. Az raised a brow at your boldness. “Or do you let your mind wander to what else could’ve happened?”
If it weren’t for the stifling warmth in the air, Azriel was sure he would’ve come in his pants from your words alone. Because he knew that meant you’d been letting your mind wander to something more.
You allowed him to gently tug your leg down, resting the back of your calf across his thigh. Your covered cunt was surely exposed, but Az didn’t look. Not yet. A sneaky peek wouldn’t be enough to satiate the appetite he had grown for you.
He needed to bathe and bask and bury himself in your scent. Mould his body to your body, meld his soul to your soul. Even then, he would never be able to feel you as closely as he craved.
“You want me to tell you what places my mind has wandered to?” His eyes were glued to your mouth, watching as your tongue slid out to wet your lips before tugging the bottom one between your teeth.
It was with a surge of complete arousal and haze that had you uttering, “I want you to show me.”
Azriel’s lips were on yours not a moment later when he surged forward to trap your small frame beneath his large one on the loveseat. You could barely make sense of where you ended and Azriel began.
His scarred hands cupped your face, his tongue massaging hotly against your own. Your legs had wrapped around his waist, ankles locked across his back to keep him close to you.
It was unlike any kiss you’d experienced before. Passion and need and desire. Pure want and carnage. Like nothing could ever stop him from tasting you again. Like he was savouring every single piece of you.
“If you want me to show you…” he muttered against your lips, “I suggest you let me take you inside.”
You pulled away just enough for your noses to bump and make out a blurry picture of him before you. Swollen lips, mussed up hair that you hadn’t realised you’d been running your fingers through.
“Worried someone might see?” You panted in a teasing tone.
His eyes shadowed impossibly darker. “I don’t like to share.”
Squirming beneath his thick body, your fingernails scraped across his broad shoulders, scratching at the cotton of his t-shirt. “It’s not sharing if they’re just watching.”
Azriel nipped your bottom lip. “Well, I’m a greedy man, and I don’t want anyone else watching you come on my cock but me.”
A breathless moan tumbled off your tongue like hot honey, your eyes fluttering closed at the words he spoke. You hoped this was just the tip of the iceberg with him. Prayed that he was as filthy as he was gorgeous.
Without another second to get lost in your thoughts, Azriel was gripping your hips, lifting you as he stood. Your legs around his waist tightened as your arms snaked to circle his neck.
Even in the dark, he moved swiftly, settling your body onto your mattress without missing a beat. He crawled back between your thighs, the moonlight kissing his tanned skin through the cracks of your window.
His lips were on yours again, searing and eager. Azriel poured every ounce of need and desire into it, massaging your tongue and licking against the roof of your mouth. He tasted like the cookies you’d baked, a hint of smoke and a tang of bud.
It was intoxicating. He was intoxicating.
Your fingers tugged at the curled tendrils on the nape of his neck, ushering him impossibly closer. His body flattened atop yours, the grooves of his abs pressing deliciously against your stomach and chest.
Gods, he was solid. Built like a fucking Greek God and your fingers itched to trace the delicate intricacies of his golden skin.
“Azriel,” you panted against his lips. “If you don’t touch me right now I’m going to burst into flames.”
A dry chuckle left his throat as he dragged his mouth across your jaw and down to your neck; kissing and licking and sucking. He nipped at a sensitive spot, begrudgingly tugging himself off your frame.
Sitting on his knees between your open thighs, he was a fucking sight. His chest heaved as he took a breath, his eyes dark and hair an unruly mess. Excitement was getting the better of you. So much so that when his scarred fingers looped in the neck of his shirt and tugged it up, you all but foamed at the fucking mouth.
An unexplainable sound squeaked from the back of your throat. He was fucking beautiful. His skin was flawless, abdomen toned with divots of muscle, and dark ink of swirls that adored his chest.
You could physically feel your arousal seep from your cunt, could feel your clit throb in desperate need for him. You could hardly breathe, your lungs almost crushed by his sheer beauty.
You could stare at him forever.
“Are you going to be good for me?” His rugged voice broke you from your trance. You blinked at him. Once, twice.
Gone was the flirtatious Azriel who once made you blush from teasing. Gone was the light warmth in his smile and cheeky glimmer in his eyes.
The Azriel before you was cold now. Calculated. He oozed power and dominance and your pussy clenched in anticipation of the pleasure he might inflict on you.
The Azriel before you held all the control. And you’d gladly surrender whatever you had left to offer.
“Yes,” you whimpered in response.
He didn’t reply. Not with words. Azriel’s large palms flattened on your inner thighs as he pried your legs further apart. The calluses of his marred fingers scratched at your silky skin as they inched closer and closer to your core.
His fingertips grazed at the soaked fabric of your panties. “Look at you, pretty girl.”
Your lashes fluttered closed, lips parted open, head rolled back. Gods, you wanted his voice on a loop in your brain for the rest of eternity. If he was going to continue talking, you wouldn’t last long.
“Look at your dripping little cunt.”
You couldn’t hold in the whimper, nor the way you clenched on nothing—so desperate to be filled by him.
“I’m going to take my time with you.” You knew it wasn’t a threat, but Christ did it sound like one. You were far too pent up to be touched in any way that wasn’t with a cock buried deep inside you.
Foreplay could come next time, you’d let him spend hours devouring you if that was what he truly wanted. Not now, not when you were borderline going to sob.
“Fuck me, Az.”
He stilled, eyes on you as his hands halted on your inner thighs. “Please,” you whimpered, “I need you to fuck me. You can do what you want to me next time.”
Azriel cocked a brow, the familiar hint of him returning to his face for a brief moment. “You promise?”
Neither of you allowed yourselves longer than a few brief moments to bask in the vow of a next time. Not when he ghosted his fingers across your cunt and you nodded your head quickly, desperately.
“There’s condoms in the drawer.” Your words came out a breathless pant as Azriel’s toned body leaned over yours. He rifled through your nightstand, blindly reaching for a foil packet when his fingers grazed against something else. Something silicone.
His eyes found yours in the night, a mischievous glint that darkened his honeyed hazel iris’. Your lips parted. “What?”
From your angle, you couldn’t see what he held in his hands. Not until Azriel leaned back on his knees between your parted thighs, and the moonlight bounced off the hot pink toy in his palm.
Oh, fuck.
Without breaking your gaze, Az gently stroked the tip of the six inch object against your panty-covered cunt. You were soaking through the fabric, your thighs trembling on either side of his legs.
There was no way this was happening. No way he was going to–
“I think I wanna fuck you with this instead.”
You couldn’t argue with him, couldn’t even muster a single word to leave your lips. No one had used a sex toy on you before, much less a fucking dildo. And yet here Azriel was, eager to please you in the dirtiest ways possible. Even if it denied him his own pleasure.
“Az—“
He held his free hand in the air.
“Let’s call it a compromise.” His tone suggested there was no room for argument. You clamped your lips shut and continued to take deep, ragged breaths through your nose.
“If you’re a good girl with this toy, I’ll reward you with my cock later.”
Later. As in, he wasn’t planning on making you come just once…
You nodded once more, vigorously.
If it was down to Azriel he would’ve tied you up and taken his time with you anyway. He would’ve told you not to be a spoiled brat and to take whatever he gave you like a good girl.
But he couldn’t do that, not yet.
He couldn’t deprive you of the one thing you desperately wanted. But he could take away the thing to cause the most pleasure. Replace his cock with a toy. Watch you come all over it. And then ruin you until you creamed all over him and sobbed from overstimulation.
Azriel’s cock leapt in the tight confinements of his pants. He was desperate to free himself, touch himself. Have you touch him. He’d imagined the feeling of your lips around his dick for days, let his mind wander to what you’d look like on your knees for him.
He needed to be patient, he’d be able to stuff your throat full soon enough. He was sure of it. Then he’d let you sit on his tongue and suffocate him until you were both seeing stars.
“Please, baby.”
Your pleading voice broke him from his trance and Azriel wrapped two fingers around your panties and pulled them to the side, baring yourself to him.
And what a sight you were.
Swollen and soaked. Your pussy glistened under the moonlight, your hips rolling lazily as if trying to chase the touches he wouldn’t grant you. Az wanted nothing more than to bury his face in your warmth and stay there all fucking night.
But he didn’t touch you, at least not with his own body and skin. Azriel motioned the toy to your heat, teasingly sliding through your slick folds to collect your arousal. You jolted at the sensation, shuddering beneath his looking touch.
Azriel leaned over your body, one arm supporting his weight beside your head, the other coaxing the toy through your head, nudging the head against your pulsing clit.
“You’re gonna keep your eyes on me, and you’re gonna imagine it’s my cock fucking your tight little pussy.” Your chest arched into his, nipples pearled beneath the thin fabric of your t-shirt.
“Do you understand?” There he was again, that dominant and overpowering Azriel you saw just moments ago.
You nodded, lips blubbering slightly. “Yes.”
He cooed you softly, his head dipping down enough to brush his nose against yours. Azriel lined the dildo to your entrance, teasing your hole deliciously before gently pushing through your tightness.
Your lips parted, brows knit as your body grew taut. His honey gaze dripped into yours, melding you to him as Azriel rolled his hips to mirror what he would do if he was the one fucking you.
“Such a good girl, taking that cock.”
Your eyes fluttered closed at his praise, head rolling back into the pillow until his weight shifted above you and a briefly sharp sting met the side of your cheek. Your eyes flew open again, wide and confused.
Azriel looked down at you, his hand now gripping either side of your cheeks, his gaze much darker than before.
“I told you to keep your pretty eyes on me.” And then he sheathed the toy deep in your cunt.
A shriek of pleasure tore through your throat, hands reaching for the warm skin of Azriel’s shoulders. Your nails dragged across the muscles that rippled beneath your touch, scratching at the surface with a cry.
“Fuck!”
Azriel began with slow thrusts, allowing you a few brief moments to accumulate to the intrusion. Not much time, but enough. Because after the fourth thrust, he picked up the pace.
The noises were obscene, your high pitched cries and moans and the squelching of the toy that fucked your sopping cunt.
Everything was too intense to comprehend. The fullness you felt, the lack of control you possessed. And the way his eyes bore into yours, as though he was claiming your soul to melt with his own. He was hauntingly beautiful, even in his dark demeanour.
In your hazy state, it looked like even the shadows curled around his figure. As though he was their master, too.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous, baby,” he praised. “Taking that cock like a good little girl.”
His voice dripped with sex and arousal, and when he shifted his hips once more, you could feel the thick and solid bulge of his length in his trousers. You wanted nothing more than to feel it, taste it.
You clamped tightly around the toy, dragging scratches and marks down Azriel’s golden skin. “Please let me come.” You had never begged to come before, had never even asked. But you felt no shame in pleading to the God above you for your release.
You’d give him anything he wanted.
Azriel’s own breath grew shaky, unready. “Open your mouth,” he commanded. You listened and complied immediately, eager to please him.
He leaned closer, pinching your face harder before spitting into your mouth, onto your awaiting tongue. Then he was kissing you, biting you, claiming you.
Your entire body felt like it burst into flames, hot fire licking at you from the inside out. You couldn’t breathe. Your entire being completely locked and consumed as you came around the toy with a frantic sob of his name.
Azriel couldn’t cope, couldn’t handle the sound of his name on your lips as you came around something that wasn’t him. Every ounce of self control was crumbling down at the sight of you—of your eyes still fixed on his, your jaw slack and your supple body arching to meet his.
He’d never seen anything so fucking sinful yet heavenly at the same time. Never felt so connected to someone without even touching them. He couldn’t take it, needed to touch you, feel you, taste you.
Az pulled the toy from your pussy, dragging it up between your bodies as you desperately attempted to catch your breath. He held it to your mouth, and without command, your tongue swirled around the length of it, tasting your own release with your eyes still boring into his soul.
And now he had an even more vivid image of what you’d look like sucking his cock.
Before Azriel could get a taste for himself, that cursed blaring of his phone broke through the heaving silence. He didn’t hear it at first, not until it stole your attention from him.
“Your phone,” you muttered breathlessly, barely coherent.
Azriel dropped the toy to the side of the bed, his hands gentle on your body and face now. “Ignore it,” he breathed softly.
His lips met yours in a taunting kiss, one so stark opposite to the way he’d treated you just moments ago. The versatility of this man was going to give you whiplash.
But the phone blared again. And again. And suddenly, neither of you could ignore it anymore. His forehead rested against yours, a frustrated sigh tumbling off his lips.
“You should go.”
He closed his eyes. He didn’t want to.
“You don’t wanna come with me? Do some drop-offs?” He was tempting you, desperately wanting to spend more time in your presence, especially if it potentially ended like this again.
You hummed, considering it. But your body was spent and the idea of being in his car and not being able to have your hands all over him at any moment you pleased sounded like torture.
“Next time?” You posed it as a question, though the hope in Azriel’s eyes proved that he was more than happy to not only fuck you again, but to spend time with you, too.
“Yeah?”
You nodded. “Mhm.”
He nosed at your cheek, planting a teasing open-mouthed kiss to your jaw, nosing back up to your ear. “You look fucking breathtaking when you come.”
Your eyes fluttered closed when he pulled away, your thighs trembling as he knelt and then clambered off your bed. Azriel watched your spent body for a moment, the way your thighs rubbed together as you squirmed, no doubt still horny.
It pained him to leave you like that, wanting more. But if he didn’t leave now, he likely never would. And that wasn’t something he could afford to do right now.
So without another word, he bent down to press a kiss to your mouth, and then he left—still high on both the drugs and you.
A/N: I can’t even put into words how excited I am for this to be back and to be writing this again!! I’m hoping to have 5 or 6 parts to this series and I have 90% of it planned out too!! Updates may be irregular as I do have a job and a child and a busy life but I will do my best. If you’d like to be added to the tag list, please send me an ask and I’ll get you added for future parts <3
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