Queen B 👑

Started on: May 1st, 2025

Last Updated: May 25th, 2025

Total Works: 4

❤️ = flirty

🔥 = Angsty

🔥🔥 = Spicy

🔥🔥🔥 = SMUTTY

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Part One: The Party 🔥🔥

Part Two: The Concert 🔥

Part Three: The Interlude 🔥🔥

Part Four: The Ex 🔥🔥🔥

Part Five: The Cash App King ❤️

Part Six: The Wreckening (NOT RELEASED) 🔥🔥🔥

Part Seven: The Game Night (NOT RELEASED) 🔥

Part Eight: The Uber & The Undoing (NOT RELEASED) 🔥🔥🔥

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This Series has been beyond fun to Create! The more interactive you guys are the more say you will get in how the story unfolds.

I will post updates and Release Dates here as they come!

Please Note that the parts as listed are subjected to change depending on how my creativity and y'alls flows through the story!

Let me know if you want to be added to the Tag List!

Summary: Not the Cash app king

Warnings: Fluff, flirting 

Word Count: 2438

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

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Part Five: The Cash App King 

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.

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Azzie: Babygirl, can we switch date night from Friday to Saturday? I gotta re-up Friday and the plug’s out in the sticks.

You: No 🤪

Azzie: I’ll make it worth it. ❤️🥵

You: Fine 😉😘 but I expect multiple rewards — and at least a few better involve your mouth.

Azzie: Always. 👅 Ride with me?

You: Always 🥰

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Later that day…

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.

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The next morning…

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.”

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Later that night…

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.

It was something else.

Something official.

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Unsurprisingly, the date was phenomenal.

Well thought out. Intentional.

You started at a Michelin-star restaurant in Houston — the kind of place that made you question everything you thought you knew about food.

After dinner, you strolled through a quiet park threaded by a river, conversation flowing like water — light, easy, warm.

Your fingers were laced with Azriel’s. You leaned into him as you walked, and he let you.

Honestly? You thought he was going to ask you to be his girlfriend at dinner.

You wouldn’t have been mad. 

He paid for your nails — was that to throw you off the scent?

Hell of a way to do it. Cash App King.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, eyes tracking you like he already knew the answer.

“Nothing,” you said. “Just how you’re the Cash App King.”

He laughed — deep and low, the sound vibrating inside your chest like music.

“I know, right? It’s reparations for your bum-ass exes.”

You both cracked up, and the ease between you felt so effortless it nearly made you ache.

When you reached the other side of the trail, he steered you toward a row of shops. Then straight into one labeled Dance Jam.

You slowed your steps, still holding his hand — but realization hit you like a brick wall.

“Az… what are we about to do?”

He stopped, looking proud as hell. “We’re taking salsa lessons, princess”

“…What?”

You could barely process the words.

 Salsa lessons?

I’d mentioned that dream maybe once. Maybe.

My ex? I

’d asked him a hundred times. Offered to pay. He refused every single time.

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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.

You laughed.

You danced.

And you fell even harder for him with every step.

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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 —

Everything was perfect. No—beyond perfect.

Tag list:

@casiiopea2

@sttvrdustt

@fuckingsimp4azriel

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

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Part Four: The Ex 

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.

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Back inside your apartment, Azriel was pacing.

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.

“Maybe I’d like to.”

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 It wasn’t flirtation. Not really.

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.”

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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.

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“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.”

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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 didn’t remember falling asleep — but at some point, you both had.

His body was draped half over yours, head tucked into the crook of your neck, your fingers still 

tangled in his hair.

One of his arms lay across your waist, heavy like dead weight… but you didn’t mind.

You let yourself drift back under, wrapped in warmth, safety, and the steady rhythm of his breath 

against your skin.

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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.”

He grinned. “I’d bark for you but you knew that.”

Then he placed a kiss to your forehead.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tag List 

@casiiopea2

@sttvrdustt

@fuckingsimp4azriel

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

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Part Three: The Interlude

“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.

And gods, your body ached in response.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“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.

“All done,” he murmured, stepping back.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“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.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Wanna smoke?” you asked.

“Of course,” he replied without hesitation.

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.”

Your heart thudded in your chest.

“Really?” you asked, genuinely stunned.

“Yeah.” That was all he said.

And it was enough.

So all you said back was, “Oh.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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.

Tag list: @casiiopea2

@sttvrdustt

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. 

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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.

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“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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.”

You weren’t sure if you did…

But for him, you were going to try.

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“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.

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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.

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When you got back to your apartment, Azriel — ever the gentleman — walked you to your door. You unlocked it, then turned to look at him.

He stood there, hands in his pockets, eyes burning.

“Do you want to come in?” you asked, biting your lip. 

He ran a hand through his hair, clearly just as nervous as you.

“I’d love to, but I don’t want you to think you have to—”

Before he could finish, you grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him inside. He gasped, stumbling over the threshold.

Your eyes flicked down. Yeah. He was definitely into that.

You smirked. “You like to be handled?”

 His voice was low, rough. “Not usually.”

“Hmmm,” you replied, already turning toward your bedroom.

He just stood there, stunned — completely wrecked by how little it took for you to undo him.

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Tag List:

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!

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Part one: The party

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.

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You texted Azriel later that night.

This is some good shit.

He replied almost immediately:

I’m happy you like it. Let me know when you need to re-up.

Azriel couldn’t explain it — but every time his phone buzzed and it wasn’t you, something in him sank a little.

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Days passed before you needed to re-up again.

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.

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The car fell into a comfortable silence, music playing low from his playlist — until “Ghetto Gatsby” by Brent Faiyaz came on.

You blinked. “Now what do you know about Brent?” you asked, looking at him sideways with just a touch of disbelief.

He raised a brow. “What — because I’m a white boy, I don’t know good music?”

You shrugged, smirking. “I mean...”

He laughed and turned the volume up.

Then he started singing.

His voice was low, slightly rough. It wasn’t perfect — it was better. Real. Sexy in a way that made your stomach dip.

You felt something then. Something warm and stupid and giddy — the kind of feeling you’d never admit out loud. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

So instead, you joined in. Singing right along with him.

One song turned into two. Then three. Then a whole rotation.

You kept trying to put each other onto something new, but somehow — every single time — the other already knew it. Already loved it.

Your taste in music? Scary similar. Song after song, lyric after lyric, it felt less like a discovery… and more like recognition.

Like this wasn’t the first time your souls had sat in a car together.

In the middle of you both vibing to Charlie, Last Name Wilson, his phone rang — loud and obnoxious. Azriel cursed under his breath and answered.

“What?”

A male voice came through the speaker. “You said you’d be here an hour ago. Not trying to rush you, but I got shit to do.”

Azriel winced. “My bad — got caught up. Be there in twenty.”

He hung up and turned back to you, smiling — a little too pleased with himself.

“You’re coming to the party tonight, right?”

“Yeah. Me and a couple friends,” you said, trying to sound casual.

“Good.”His voice dropped just slightly. Smile slow. Wicked. Flirtatious.“I’d hate to give you free weed and you not show up to thank me.”

You raised a brow. “If you need the money, just say that.”

He barked a laugh as you reached for the door handle.

“See you tonight,” you said with a grin, stepping out.

You didn’t look back — but you felt him watching. All the way to your door. Then the engine roared, and he peeled out like it hurt to leave.

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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.

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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.

And it was.

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“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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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The party finally died down.

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?”

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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.

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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.

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You must’ve been more tired than you thought, because the next thing you felt was the bed dipping behind you — and it scared you half to death.

You flinched. “Shit!”

Azriel chuckled under his breath. “How did I scare you? You’re literally in my bed.”

“I was asleep! I didn’t expect movement!”

“I’m the only other person here. Who else would it be?” he teased.

You grumbled, “Shut up,” and smacked his arm.

He laid down beside you with very obvious effort to not touch you — arms at his sides, body stiff like he was preparing for battle. You waited a beat.

Another.

You turned your head.

“…Are you breathing?”

“I’m trying not to,” he said, voice dry.

You squinted. “Okay. Well that’s a choice.”

He sighed, still facing the ceiling. “I didn’t want you to think I was making a move. Just because I invited you into my bed doesn’t mean I assumed—”

“So… you invited me into your bed to not touch me?” scooting just the tiniest bit closer.

“I didn’t want to be that guy. You said you were tired. I respect that.”

You inched back until your spine brushed against him, warmth blooming between your bodies. His breath stuttered.

“You know,” you said softly, “I already had my graceful rejection speech lined up. You’re kind of robbing me of a really good performance.”

He huffed a laugh.

You tilted your head slightly. “Are you afraid of me?”

“No,” he answered quickly. Then, after a pause: “Maybe a little.”

You smiled to yourself. “You’re trained in like, twelve forms of combat.”

“And yet here I am, terrified of offending you with a misplaced cuddle.”

You scooted back just a little more until your full body was nestled against his. “If I didn’t want to be here, Azriel, I wouldn’t be in your bed.”

He didn’t respond right away.

Then his arm slid slowly, carefully, around your waist — his hand resting lightly on your stomach.

He didn’t pull you closer. He just... stayed there.

You breathed in, letting the tension ease from your body.

And then you felt it.

A subtle pressure — barely there, but enough.

You didn’t move.

You looked over your shoulder at him — eyes closed, lips curled into a smug little smile like he knew exactly what he was doing.

He was tracing lazy circles on your stomach, never straying too far, never going anywhere too scandalous.

Still... it was enough to make your breath catch.

“And if I wanted to turn you around,” he whispered, voice like velvet, “and finally see what that pretty mouth tastes like?”

His hips shifted just slightly, pushing up against you — not rough, not overt, but enough.

Enough to feel him.

Hard.

Everywhere.

Your body shuddered, breath hitching, but the response was stuck in your throat. You didn’t move. Couldn’t.

You weren’t sure if it was fear, desire, or something else entirely — but gods, it had a grip on you.

And then, just like that, he softened again — his lips brushing your neck, his voice low and warm.

“You look good in my clothes,” he murmured, nuzzling into the curve of your neck.

And with his arm still wrapped tight around your waist, you both drifted into sleep.

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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.

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Then you heard it.

“Gods, you taste like heaven,” said a voice that sounded exactly like Cassian’s — followed by a moan so loud it could’ve shattered glass.

“I want you to cum on my tongue so many times you forget your own name because you can’t stop chanting mine.”

Another moan.

You groaned into your pillow. “End me. Take one of the weapons off your wall and stab me. Is that Cassian and Nesta?”

As if on cue, she moaned his name. Loudly.

You gagged. Azriel just laughed.

“I’ve lived with Cassian my entire life,” he said, already climbing out of bed. “He’s never come quietly.”

He turned on the TV and pulled up a playlist, cranking the volume until the traumatizing sounds had at least a beat behind it.

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“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.”

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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. 

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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.