Four.
Azriel x reader
a/n: I hope you have as much fun reading this dynamic as I did writing it 🧡💛
warnings: non-sexual(?) bondage; mild flirting? Or them just being comfortable around each other idk; not proofread
word count: 1,755
~~~~
“What-? …Azriel, what is this?”
Attached to the ceiling are an array of narrow hoops and bars, a variety of leather bands clipped and looped to each metal ring that appear to be part of some kind of athletic training ritual. Tucked off to the side is a rack of weights, a few cords of white and black rope bound neatly at its foot, with a single strip of dark charcoal ribbon resting atop a gleaming dagger.
Yes, you should have asked before entering. But more importantly, he’s been given more than a stern talking to about keeping his physical activities to an absolute minimum.
Training is one-hundred percent off the table.
Your lips purse, levelling the male at your back with a glare mixed between irritation and disapproval. It’s always the same with those three, rushing the healing process before they’re fully recovered. On more than a few occasions the dedication to their discipline has set them back further than if they’d simply remained inactive and patient.
“Now, correct me if I’m wrong, Shadowsinger, but you’ve been told in no uncertain terms that you’re on mandatory leave until further notice.” It’s an effort not to snap at him. How many times does this have to happen before they learn to listen?
Azriel raises a brow, arms folded across his chest nonchalantly, and you shift your jaw in frustration, stepping aside to remind him of the state of his room.
The door swings open, and hazel eyes sweep across the training equipment. A furrow is between his brows when his attention returns to you, which—it’s a lot, from Azriel. You brace for whatever argument he’s currently brewing up in favour of making an exception for whatever practices he’s been secretly persisting with.
“I’m not even allowed to fuck?” He asks, flatly.
You blink, eyes hurriedly flicking between him, the training equipment, and back to him. But—no. That’s definitely for training. There are weights in the corner—he’s not fooling you.
“Azriel,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose, walking further into his room to stand beside the rack. “I’m not stupid. This is for your own sake, and a direct order from your High Lord. Please just take it easy for once?”
“The order was—” Azriel drawls, following you across the floor, pausing less than a foot away— “no training; no physical exertion. A sex ban was not included.”
“You’re going to look me in the eyes and tell me these are for sex?” You reply. “They’re weights. For lifting. Don’t even get me started on those,” you say, dryly, nodding to the rings and bars attached to the ceiling, clearly used for pull-ups.
Hazel eyes don’t even glance at the bars. “You think those have decent grip? They’re not made to be held on to.” He raises a brow, tilting his head in the direction of the leather bands, “but indulge me: what are those for?”
You roll your eyes, exhausted. “Some kind of resistance training?”
“Sure. You sound like you know exactly what you’re talking about.”
“It doesn’t matter what they do, they’re clearly for—” you gesture aimlessly with your hands— “physical exercise. Which you’re not permitted to do.”
Instead of arguing, Azriel sighs, reaching for something behind the rack then walking over to the bands hanging from the ceiling. His back and wings block your vision, but the sound of metal clicking greets your ears and you almost groan. If he tries to prove it’s not exercise by doing the exercise, you might lose it.
The Spymaster looks at you over his shoulder. “Over here.”
You roll your eyes, but obey. At least he’s not insisting on doing it himself.
“Arms out,” he says. He seems to be expecting you to fully commit to the demonstration.
“Azriel.” You take in a long, deep breath. “Is this really necessary? You’re behaving…”
He steps behind you, and you yelp as shadows roughly tug your wrists through two holes cut into this new leather piece he’s clipped to the bands. Removed from the chest is a stretched horizontal oval, perfectly settling around your breasts, and a slight heat warms the tops of your ears. It’s nice the gear is inclusive, but does it have to be cut so…flatteringly?
At your back, Azriel tugs the leather tight around your torso, bracing one hand between your shoulders while the other pulls on the ties, tightening the straps until they’re comfortably flush to your body.
“Azriel, what is this?” You ask, glancing up to where the harness is attached to the bar in the ceiling. “If you’re expecting me to go along and actually do whatever exercise you’re clearly expecting me to try…”
“I’m showing you the opposite, actually,” Azriel mumbles somewhere from behind you. “You really looked at these and thought they’re designed for movement?” As he says it a second bit of leather is wrapped around your hips, shadows looping more bands around your thighs as more metal is clicked into place, straps tightened to be snug around your upper legs.
“I said resistance training, didn’t I?” You retort grumpily, making to turn and glare at him but a large hand on your hip holds you in place. “Though I’ll admit I can’t fathom how you’re supposed to work these things.”
“You’re not supposed to be the one working.”
“So you are the one doing it.”
“Doing what?”
“The physical activity,” you snap, glaring a hole in his head as he walks around to your front, apparently finished with whatever bonds he was fastening before.
“Uh-huh. Hold still. I’m going to tighten them.”
“Tighten them? Tighten wh- fucker!”
You scream as he tightens the leather bands that are attaching the harness around your hips to the ceiling, abruptly careening forward. The bastard had anticipated it, and you grab onto the arm he has offered, nails clawing at his forearm as your feet are lifted off of the ground.
“You’re- Fuck you, Az,” you mutter, holding onto him for dear life now you’re in danger of being dropped from mid air. “What is this? Some kind of core work out? This is ridiculous.”
“I told you. It’s for fucking.”
“How the hell are you supposed to fuck like this? You’re halfway horizontal and can hardly move.”
“You’re not the one who would be doing the fucking,” Azriel comments dryly.
Oh.
He was telling the truth.
“Well-…” you fumble, busying your mind with trying to get a better grip on the arm he’s offering, clinging on tight to minimise the swaying. “…This still seems like it’d require you to be pretty active.”
“Cauldron, just admit you jumped to conclusions.”
“My ‘conclusions’ were correct.”
“Were they?”
“Yes.”
“Fine.”
Your brows furrow, but then he makes to pull away and you panic, digging in your nails as you clutch on to him tight. “Azriel, don’t you dare.”
“Can you admit you were wrong?”
“I wasn’t wrong.”
“Then enjoy your peaceful rest in those suspensions. Mother knows you could use it.”
“Azriel.”
“Mhmm?”
You try to glare at him—and maybe dig your nails into his skin a little harder—but he just raises his brows expectantly, a small curve to his lips.
“How dare you laugh,” you mutter.
“Please. You look like a cat above water.”
You scowl. “If you insist on continuing with your bedroom activities can you at least keep them to the bed? Not halfway from it stood upright.”
“Can you admit you were wrong?” He repeats.
A sullen line works its way into your lips.
A huff of laughter comes from somewhere above you, then he’s settling to a crouch, coming closer to your level. You fumble, hands anxiously grabbing at him until they’re settling semi-securely atop the broad width of his shoulders. Amused, hazel eyes meet your own, and you stubbornly purse your lips.
“I was telling the truth,” Azriel tells you, humour glinting in his gaze.
Your jaw shifts, eyes flitting about his room. “You’ve never listened before. Can you blame me for not believing you?”
“Is that your attempt at an admission? It’s piss poor.”
“Forgive me for trying to do my damn job Azriel. It’s not easy having to manage three fucking Illyrians who all think they know best.”
“You’re really convincing me with this,” Azriel drawls.
“Well it’s actually pretty comfortable here. If I had a pillow it wouldn’t be half bad, so you won’t be getting an apology from me anytime soon.”
“That so?”
“It’s so.”
“You’re exhausting.” There’s something fond in his expression.
“Maybe next time you should try having a conversation with me instead of sneaking off to do exercises,” you mutter.
“‘Exercises’.”
“Shut up. Get me down from here.”
Azriel smirks, and your scowl deepens. “Do you think you’re funny? Because you’re not.”
“I’m not laughing at myself,” he replies, pointedly, bringing heat to your cheeks. “You’re an ass.”
“You called me a fucker earlier.”
“That too.”
“Hm. First correct thing you’ve said.”
“You’re going to be so miserable if you ever get put under my care,” you snap.
“Now you’re flirting?”
“That wasn’t flirting!”
“Mhmm?”
“Mhmm.”
“You’re blushing.”
“That’s the blood going to my head from being suspended at this angle,” you retort.
Azriel watches you quietly, and you gingerly shift your hands.
After a while, you break the silence. “…Can you get me down now? My arms are hurting.”
“You’re ridiculous,” he chuckles, but sure enough shadows dart to the straps holding you aloft, easing their tension until your feet are back on the floor.
As soon as the harnesses are undone and removed, you’re hastily stepping away, keeping a healthy distance from the bonds. Though a part of you misses the weightless feeling—that had been nice at least.
Azriel unclips the leather from the hanging bands, returning them to their places behind the weight rack.
You shift on your feet. “I’m still concerned you’re overexerting yourself, Az.” The Shadowsinger shoots you a look over his shoulder, and you glare back at him for not waiting until you’re finished. “That being said, I’m glad it’s not…” you trail off.
He cocks a brow, waiting patiently with that knowing glint in his eyes.
The urge to scowl nearly creases your skin, but you resist, sighing. “At least you’re healthy, and not bleeding out on a battlefield somewhere.”
Azriel’s lips curve, and he shakes his head faintly. “At least you can almost admit you were wrong,” he muses, a gleam in his eyes. “It’s good enough for now.”
~~~~
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