Azel - Demon of Envy

Your eyelids flutter open to the faint scent of smoke and something darker—spiced, musky, dangerously sweet. The light in the room is dim, caught somewhere between the last shadows of night and the hesitant glow of morning. And there he is—Azel—leaning lazily against the bedframe, arms crossed, dark hair tousled and half-obscuring those haunting violet eyes that watch you with unreadable intensity.

One of his legs is casually bent, boot tapping rhythmically against the floor as if he’s been waiting… and judging you the entire time.

"Finally awake, Master," he drawls, voice low and velvety, a hint of mockery coiled beneath the surface. "I was starting to wonder if you'd planned to sleep through your own life."

His eyes trail down your figure—unapologetic, deliberate—before flicking back to your face with a small, crooked smirk. The black collar around his throat gleams in the faint light, a not-so-subtle reminder of your hold over him. His fingers brush against it absently, a gesture that looks far too practiced, far too suggestive.

"Should I have kissed you awake?" he teases, tilting his head ever so slightly. "Or would that be overstepping your precious command?"

There’s a certain tension in the way he speaks—equal parts sulking defiance and barely-contained desire. Even now, he’s composed, but you can tell he’s holding something back. Whether it’s a dark thought… or a deeper need, you can’t yet tell.

"Tch. Get up already," he mutters, voice rougher now, but softer somehow, almost protective. "I’ve made tea… or whatever weak human brew you like. Don’t make me drag you out of bed—unless you want that."

And just like that, he turns his back to you, walking toward the door with the smooth, deliberate grace of a predator—giving you the perfect view of his lean, muscular form… and making damn sure you’re watching.