#seraphym

AZRIEL X OC

A/N: There’s a little make-out session btw,

MASTERLIST

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“His wings were smoother up close, and she had the itching nerve to touch those midnight wings.”

She loved the wind.

She was one with it as she flew around the palace, her tawny wings bristling and its sounds soothing her. Augustus had told her to take a night shift to guard the palace. She didn’t deny it, and took flight into the dark purple clouds.

Val must have stayed in the wind for hours. She saw the clouds become a gray under the moon light, and new that perhaps she stayed out for a little too long. She missed flying. Her problems and worried got smaller, and smaller as she flew higher, and higher. Though, even if it got smaller—those problems and worries—they were still there. Either down below, or on her body.

Her neck, that wore white-pink scares. Her hand that Nuan crafted, the metal engraved with ancient Peregryn writings. And her wings, the scars that she could never hide like the others. Especially the long white one on the top bone of her left wing—it was stark and to her, hideous. No, Val would stay up here and forget that. This war…Daemon…

She inhaled that fresh smell of light mist and cedar— however particular—and pine and flowers. Daemon would have been up here with her, laughing with her—perhaps even chase her and race. He would have beat her, but only because she didn’t want to upset him—because he was heir and now she failed him—

Enough.

Yes, enough. She had escaped for far too long.

The palace had gardens that surrounded it. Nothing that Val particularly spent her time with. It didn’t mean that she wasn’t astounded at the well-kept look of it. No lingering weed was in site as she lowered towards the ground and landed—though it was messy, and she swore to herself.

She stared a while at the back of the palace and then up to the sky.A dark and black sky—much like the wings of Illyrians.

Val took the time in the privacy of the garden to check her weapons and wings. She had the curved blades like talons on her backside, and the assortment of knives that were on her pants. Her wing then stretched out and curved in front of her. Every time to flew, there would be some form of debris that got caught in between her feathers.

Sitting down on the nearest rock, Val brushed a hand over the feathers. She could remember seeing these wings once torn and naked. Stripped and bare they once were, until she healed herself not too long ago. There were still a few feathers that were shorter than the others and she couldn’t help but curse the Cauldron.

“Rotten bitch,” she hissed as a feather fell into her hands. Small, but it still fell. Her hands reached over to the vacant spot, and closed her eyes— feeling the new feather grow back in its place. Her hands warmed and soon they lit up like a sun lantern right in front of her. The new grown feather was white—and in the glow of her hands, she was vaguely reminded of her brother’s wings.

Daemon had white wings, which is rare among the Seraphim. He was beautiful, and he loved his wings to shreds. Which, ideally, he had been ended to. This garden—Daemon loved this garden. He had spent his time here, with his half fae mate. Val could vaguely remember the half fae’s name… though the two weren’t the best of friends, it still hurt to watch the female die. Val’s feather soon grew tall and strong. She healed and cleaned any other feather on her other wing, and when she finished, she wanted to go to the—

A scent hit her—odd in this part of the garden. Cedar and a moist dew mixed together…just like how it was up in the air—but, in the air, the moist was normal, but the cedar…There were no cedar trees where she stood at the garden.

A wing twitched as a scaling wind flew past every feather and she whipped around. Her hand reached for golden dagger at her thigh. She sniffed the air again—smelling that crisp lingering scent that enticed her…

Val spread her wings slowly, feeling the wind—feeling the presence of shadows.

“I can scent you,” she called out, her head high and her wings flaring. “Could’ve fooled me up in the air.” She tilted her head to sniff once more, the scent of him farther now. “You’re sloppy too, I can sense your shadows— as quiet as they may be.”

Though it was a different male that landed in front of her, with grace that she once had.

Cassian tightened his wings together, staring at her oddly. Val looked around him, seeking for the second.

“Where is he?” she said, putting away the dagger she held. Her heart, although odd, thumped so loud in her chest. She knew if he Cassian was here, the other was as well

“Anywhere,” Cassian replied, “behind you, probably, or flying above.”

“Careless he is, then,” Val vaguely said and looked upwards. The smell was still there. “Makes me doubt the unwavering power of the Illyrian.” She fluttered her wings again—searching for those shadows that seemed so close before. “I assume it has to do with Morrigan.”

Cassian stayed silent, but when Val went back to stare at him—there was the lone Illyrian, face as blank as ever but beautifully crafted with those hard edges of skin and bone. Her eyes saw those shadows again, clinging to Azriel and whispering things that she could not hear. .

Her wings folded behind her, and she sighed through her nose in release of the tenseness between the three winged faeries.

“Out flying?” Val said, “For some sort of release after Helion and Mor’s not so subtle intentions?”

The silent Illyrian—his features blank as ever—reflected a sort of rage and hurt in his eyes to her. She struck something weak within him, she guessed.

“Their intentions are none of our business, Valeryth,” Cassian said.

“It is when that one—” Val waves a hand to Azriel, who in turn shifted on his feet uncharacteristically, “— beats the shit out of Eris, even under a carefully crafted spell, to teach him a lesson.”

Val looks away from the two Illyrians. Her eyes became distant as she looked south. “Morrigan is a rather beautiful female, isn’t she? Enough to lash out—but, I would’ve too if it had been me.” Her hands clenched, and she stuffed them in her pockets. She gave the two Illyrians a smile. “My guess is that she’s looking for a distraction with Helion—and he wouldn’t argue that much.”

A low growl came from Azriel—and if Val wasn’t playing a cocky bitch, she would’ve been surprised to get such a reaction out of him. Instead, she only gave him another lustrous smile.

“Though, I have to say—she’s lost if she didn’t find that remotely hot.”

Cassian coughed and there was a faint upturn of his lips. “I see Helion has taught you well, Val.”

Val only shrugged and grinned wickedly. “Well, three centuries ago I never had the pleasure of exploring my tastes.” Her feet started moving backwards, and her eyes trailed over to the palace, where a Peregryn had taken flight to the sky. “We should head back to the palace. And don’t tense, lover boy, your High Lord and Lady are perfectly safe in those walls.”

She indicated for them to follow her and took them through the gardens. She was keenly aware of the silence surrounding Azriel—and the urge to touch those rough hands of his…

When entering the palace, Val stepped aside first.

“I assume you know where your rooms are,” she said as Cassian passed by. Val patiently waited for Azriel to go by— until she wrapped a gust of wind around his hand, and he stopped with grace. 

Cassian had slowed his pace when he realized Azriel wasn’t beside him. He lifted an eyebrow and saw how Val’s gaze seemed a little predatory. He raised his eyes at Azriel, who only shook him off. With that, Cassian left the two alone.

Once Val was sure that he was out of ear shot, she said sultrily, “You know, I wouldn’t mind bragging to Helion about taking you to bed.” Oh, she was playing a dangerous game with her heart— her vows.

The face that bore no emotion—wore his heart in his eyes. Those hazel eyes betrayed the lingering rage from the meeting, and even a little bit of consideration in her offer. Val only stared at those eyes for a while, before she stepped closer to him. He watched with a hawk-like gaze, letting her come closer…

And closer.

Close enough to kiss that pretty mouth of his. She couldn’t hear his breathin—no doubt the trickery of a shadowsinger—but her hand finally touched his chest, the thick leathers rough under her hand, and felt his heart beating.

Trailing a finger across his heart, she said, “Should we have a distraction, Loner?” Her hand now glowed, a pulsing heat radiated from it. She turned her head up to look at the shadowsinger, and tilted her head. 

He only stared a while at her, until he said huskily, “A distraction would be nice.” He tried to hide the need in his voice, the want to forget. But Val felt it in the vibrations of her healing hands.

Val only smiled, and let her glowing hand linger over his heart. He was so tense, so tentative of her touches. She gazed over his face, bring her arms upwards—feeling the tense in those muscles unravel beneath her touches. She did this, rubbing over spots of his back—and careful to not touch his wings, not so soon. Even if his wings were smoother up close, and she had the itching nerve to touch those midnight wings.

A light hand, calloused and rough from those captivating scars, was placed on her hip. His eyes followed her glowing hands, the feeling of warmth spreading. When Val’s hand reached up to his neck, he felt the weight that he seemed to carry lift for that while as he was pulled back to a more lonesome room.

The shadows seem to lurk with him, but her touch kept them at bay. He dipped his head lower—and fiercely kissed her, gripping her hips to edge her closer. He pushed her to a wall and she made a noise of surprise, but had fell into the kiss as well, still roaming her hands over his body—making him relaxed but the kiss too slow for his personal needs.

Val kept it that way. For that kiss, however, she would have shed her clothes off. Funny, she thought, how merely moments ago, was teasing him relentlessly about Morrigan. 

She only wanted to touch Azriel—to relax him from the tenseness that bothered his every muscle and tendon.

Azriel’s hand trailed upwards—and Val feared that he would see her scars if she didn’t stop this temptation. Oh, but she wanted to see this Illyrian…she wanted him bad—

Val pressed deeper into the kiss, before she pulled back with her breathing labored. Her amber eyes stared upward to those hazel ones and saw how confused he was.

“You had your distraction,” she breathed out, her arms now removed from his body and the warm glow gone. “Now, it’s my turn.”

Azriel stared at her as his shadows seeped to him and the room was less dark. He sat on a plush couch, his eyes still trailing her body. His body leaned into the couch and said, “And what sort of distraction would you want.”

Val only stared at his lax figure on the couch and imagined herself on top of —no.

“It’s not really a distraction…but venting,” she said and sat on the chair across from him.

“And here,” he said, “I thought you were going to bed me.”

Val shook her head. “I wouldn’t have taken it that far…”.

“Is that so?” Azriel tilted his head to the side in question. His dark and hair shifting along with it.

“I made a vow to not be a lover— but it doesn’t limit me to not kiss you.”

Azriel nodded, and only waited for more. Waited for her venting. Val only crossed her legs together and jutted her chin to his hands. “I wanted to talk to you about—how…how you were able to live with your scars.”

A sudden ripple in the room and Val knew he knew that those touches were not fully out of lust. 

“I only wanted to heal you,” she added quickly. “Those touches were to relax you from the morning— to make you less tense as you were. And, to slow down your…arousal.” Thankfully her dark skin did not betray the flush on her cheeks.

They stayed silent in the room. Whatever that was going on in Azriel’s head, she could not pick up any sort of indication of what he was thinking. She only hoped he didn’t think negatively of her for using her ability…

“Why would you trust me?” Azriel finally said. His eyes met hers—and there it was again, the question and confusion so clear in those eyes compared to the dull of his physical features.

“Well, like I said, your scars,” Val said. “That was the first thing I saw, and I just knew that you had went through something so horrible— yet—” her voice began to tremble, and her eyes burned at the thought of someone hurting this male to be so…so quiet and numb on the outside, “— you wear those scars like they mean nothing to you. And I was so intrigued and envious when you walked in.”

Val waited for him to respond, but was grateful when he only let her talk. She could’ve sworn something swirled in those hazel eyes.

“I want—need to know how you survived…” Val finally said, her voice cracking. She reached forward tentatively to touch Azriel’s hands, but he pulled back. Her face flinched…conceivably, she may have gone a little too far for his comfort.

But how could she resist this—this pull to his life? The want to be there in his darkest times and happiest moments? She was so caught up in this feeling that she didn’t consider how he would react to this.

A long pause. Then, “My brothers burned my hands.”

Val quickly turned her head up to look at him. 

His face was schooled empty, and he only stared over at the bedside table. He pulled an arm over the backrest of the couch he was on. His hazel eyes were stormy and brooding, as he said once again, “I was eight.”

Her heart throbbed…She should’ve guessed it would be his half-brothers to do such things. After all, he was a bastard Illyrian—even Val knew the dangers of the children with that name. Yet his confession opened her heart and soul. She wanted to ask if he felt that tug—but decided against it.

A confession for a confession, is what lingered in those eyes of his. He confessed twice, and she none.

“I have scars too,” she said and there was tremble in her hands. “On my neck—” she pulled down the collar of shirt to reveal those curved and curled marks, “—on my back and my wings…and my stomach.”

Val closed her eyes and ducked her head low. She had never…she had never told Thesan this. Her pain and her scars seemed less important than the villages and cities that were torn down.

“I want to heal, more than anything else,” she whispered her last confession. “But I couldn’t find words to tell Helion or Thesan or Augutus what happened in the chambers. How I saw my brother in front of me—”

Azriel did not let her finish. Instead, he did what shocked her—he hugged her and mumbled something she could barely hear.

But the shock lessened, and Val only leaned into the hug, her sobs muffled in the Illyrian leathers he wore. She cried for her brother and his inhumane death. She cried for herself and how she succumbed to such feebleness. She cried for her father—Thesan, who had lost a son. For Helion—and his loving ties to her. For Rhysand—for his mask of evil to conceal her death.

But she cried for Azriel too. For he listened and didn’t say anything and hugged her so tightly that her powers seemed to twine with his shadows. She cried because of that fact that he had been burned by his brothers at a young age…

She cried because she felt that tug again—on her powers—to heal and to love this male who hugged her.

Commission Chibi for of her characters Danika I am so in love her OCs!!!

Speedpaint: youtu.be/3IiqRF_zKN0