#emotions are looming and creeping closer too but not yet fully arrived

[flintstill]

I have had two recent dreams in which Bench Boy’s mother has featured way more than he has. One before finding out and one just the other night.

I have never even met the woman.

Bench boy was only in the background in the first one, and only referred to in the second

[thelastdrop]

Personal

The cameras snapped wildly as the celebrities came down the red carpet dressed in some of their finest clothes. This is your first major premier you’re attending as a lead journalist for your small entertainment news outlet. To say you were a little intimidated by the whole thing was a bit of an understatement. You’d always dreamed of being here, but with every reporter looking out for themselves it left little room to admire your surroundings. 

So far many of the stars have arrived and you’d yet to get even a quote from any of them. Just some second hand notes you were able to take while overhearing them talk to other reporters. You know that going back without a single quote to bring to your editor would earn you an earful and probably put you at the back of the rotation for the next event.

Honestly though the best thing about this premier in particular is that one of the hottest up-and-coming actresses is in the supporting role for this film. Your first time seeing her on the big screen took your breath away. She possessed such natural beauty and had a smile that could light up a room. Not only that, but the range of emotions she was able to portray with such control astonished you. All you wanted was to have her wave in your direction and personally you could call it a successful day.

Just as the cameras died down the next car pulled up to the edge of the red carpet. The black limousine’s door is opened from the outside. Through the various heads of different people standing around you, a single long tan leg steps out from behind the door and onto the carpet below it. Almost as if you were in a movie yourself at this moment you see her head pop out giving everyone their first look at-

“IT’S YOO JEONGYEON!” you hear a female voice cry out from the collection of fans lining either side of the red carpet.

A gust of wind blows from behind you, feeling everyone’s attention be drawn to the stunning woman taking her first steps down the red carpet. A roar from the fans quickly erupts as they scream and yell things at the actress. 

While every other actress you’d seen before her tonight was wearing a very gaudy and outlandish dress, Jeongyeon was wearing a very modest outfit compared to them. A white long sleeve button up shirt with a long black collar and black bow with two long ribbons rounded out the top of her outfit. Her bottoms were simply some high waisted shorts with six gold buttons on the front of them.

Smiling that bright smile you vividly remember seeing on the big screen she waves and greets fans, signing whatever they put in front of her. It is difficult to not want to sit there and admire her as she patiently and deliberately takes her time with the fans in attendance. All you could do was hope you’d get the same kind of attention when she finally reached the reports area right outside of the theater.

“Ah looks like we aren’t going to get a statement from her again this time.” you hear a male voice from behind you say.

“Fuck! I really wanted to get something from her I could bring back with me.” another male voice says in response to him.

You turn and face the two men behind you.

“What do you guys mean?”

“What is this your first premier with Jeongyeon?” the taller one on the right asks.

You nod your head in response.

“She barely has any time to talk with reporters because of all the time she takes mingling with her fans,” the other man says in an annoyed tone.

Damn. Looks like you aren’t getting that quote. You turn back and watch as Jeongyeon continues to make her way towards your group at a slow pace. While you’re sad you still find it incredibly endearing to watch her interacting with as many people as she can. If you’re going to write about anything tonight, it’s going to be that. 

Finally Jeongyeon makes her way in front of the photographers and has her picture taken what seems like almost a million times in a few seconds. She then turns and walks in the direction of the reporters, looking down for a moment to recover from the barrage of flashes she just looked at. As she looks up, your eyes meet.

You’re positive she’s staring right at you and not someone around you. Those gorgeous dark brown eyes were locked onto you and your eyes were locked onto her. Just like they had been for the past 15 minutes. A small smirk creeps over her face and she pulls her straight brown hair behind her ear and turns to look forward, making her way past you all and into the theater. 

Jeongyeon whispers something in the man’s ear that is walking beside her. With a quick nod he heads in a straight line towards our group and stops in the middle of everyone, so they can all hear him.

“Miss Yoo would like to say she thoroughly enjoyed working on the film. She was honored when she was chosen for the role and hoped she portrayed her character to the best of her abilities.” 

Groans and moans of disappointment fill the gathering as they seem to once again have been shafted out of another chance to hear from Jeongyeon herself.

“I know, I know. I’ll be sure to tell her she should make more of an effort to come and see you all more often,” he jokes with all of us treating us like we’re some family member that doesn’t get enough attention.

The mood of the crowd lightens up quickly as the next limousine pulls up. Since you know Jeongyeon was your last real shot at getting a quote, you flip your notepad shut and begin to put it in your bag when you notice the same man walking in your direction now.

“Excuse me. Sir!” ye calls out in your direction.

You look around you and then point to yourself while looking at him.

“Yes you,” he says, stepping closer to you so you are next to one another. “Miss Yoo would like for you to have a one on one interview with her.”

“A-A what now?” you ask dumbfounded.

“A personal interview,” he says with a bit of a chuckle. “You know the thing where you ask her some questions and write down her response on your notepad. Don’t you do this for a living?”

“A what now?” you repeat yourself still in a daze at what he’s telling you.

“Listen, just go to this room,” he grabs your hand, puts a piece of paper in it, then closes it, “at the Steel Circle Hotel after the movie is over and knock. Tell her you’re the reporter she asked to do the one on one interview with.”

You look down at the papers crumpled up in your hand then back at him without making a sound.

“Well if you don’t have any questions for me I should really catch back up with Miss Yoo inside. Good luck later.” he says with a slight bow before turning and briskly walking into the theater.

You open your hand and see 3 numbers “829.”

A WHAT NOW?

---

825. 827. 829 here it is. You stand in front of the egg shell colored door and stand there for a moment. Your hands get a little clammy as you look at the looming door in front of you. Could this be some sick prank that Jeongyeon’s assistant is pulling on you? After all that was your first major red carpet event and you aren't sure if this is something that was normal.

Suddenly you hear the elevator doors ding down the hall. The noise causes you to reflexively reach out your hand and knock on the door. Fear washes over your entire body. Your heart starts to race as you wonder if you just made a grave mistake.

“Who is it?” you hear a gentle, feminine voice call out from behind the door.

You stand there and start almost running in place. You throw your hands over your face and drag them down, continuing to wonder if you’re making a huge mistake right now.

“Hello?” the voice calls out again.

“Duhh. Sorry. Hi, I’m the reporter Jeongyeon asked to have a one on one interview with.” you spurt out closing your eyes as you say the words.

You hear the lock on the door flip and the handle move. One eye peaks open and sees the stunning Jeongyeon standing in front of you. Both of your eyes slowly open as you fully take her and all of her beauty in from this short distance.

“You sure got here fast. I just got back myself.” she says with a smile while taking one of her earrings out. “Well don’t just stand there, come on in.”

Jeongyeon holds the door open with her body leaving you a space to slide by her and into the hotel room.

“Ugh, yeah sure. Excuse me.” you mumble as you sneak by her.

Once you’re in the hotel room, you look around and see some personal belongings strewn about the room.

“I’m gonna get a little more comfortable if you don’t mind waiting out here for a couple minutes,” Jeonyeon says as she reaches for her other earring and moves into the doorway of the bathroom.

“No not at all.” you say after clearing your throat.

Jeongyeon smiles and ducks into the bathroom. You hear the sound of the sink running and look for somewhere to sit down. With her clothes and luggage taking up most of the normal seats, you take a seat on the edge of her bed and pull out your notepad and a pen.

“If you wanted to ask me a few questions while I’m in here that’s fine. Just nothing too deep,” Jeongyeon calls out in a semi-seductive tone from inside the bathroom.

“Ugh okay then. Well first off you were great in the movie. I’d heard mention from a few people saying you have a shot at winning best actress in a supporting role this year as they were leaving.”

“Oh that’s such an honor to hear. I really thought the director made it so easy to understand my character and play her role out, so most of the credit goes to him.”

“Personally I wouldn’t be as humble as you. You seem to know just how good you are, but you always pass the spotlight off to someone else. Why is that?”

“Hmmm I’m not sure. I really don’t notice myself doing things like that so often.”

You hear the water stop and sit up straight in your seat.

“I was wondering if you’d like to change up the interview a little bit. I like being more personal in my interviews. It helps me get to know the reports I work with.” Jeongyeon says as she exits the bathroom and comes into your view.

Your jaw nearly hits the floor as you look at her. Jeongyeon stands before you in a set of green lace lingerie. She places a hand on her hip and lets you soak her in for a moment before walking over to you on her bed. Throwing one of her long toned legs over you, she straddles you while lightly placing her arms around your neck.

You can’t say anything as you look the breathtaking woman up and down while she grinds against your lap.  

“Well it looks like somebody wants to have my type of interview.” Jeongyeon coos feeling your cock harding in your pants and pressing against her pussy.

You can’t control yourself any longer. Dropping your pen and notepad you dive into her cleavage, kissing and licking her soft, smooth skin. Jeongyeon lets out a fit of giggles as you wrap your arms around her torso and pull her body further against your own. 

While you love how the lingerie looks on her, you need it off now. You pull yourself out of her heavenly cleavage and hook your fingers under her bra, lifting it over her head and tossing it to the ground. 

Placing your hands under her thighs you lift her before spinning and dropping her onto the bed. Looking down at Jeongyeon hungrily, you make quick work of your already loose tie and shirt. Undoing your belt and dropping your pants you watch Jeongyeon run her hands up the curves of her body before grabbing her tits and arching her back off the bed.

“Hurry up slowpoke. I want to see what you’re hiding from me.”

“Take those panties off and I’ll do a lot more than show you.”

With a satisfied smirk removes her panties as you pull your remaining clothes off. Jeongyeon hums in satisfaction as she sees your cock standing tall. She opens her legs and holds them open, inviting you to enter her.

Crawling over top of Jeongyeon you capture her lips for the first time. Jeongyeon kisses you back and brings her hands to your head, running them through your hair and pulling you deeper in. 

Guiding your dick into Jeongyeon’s wet cavern, the hopeless woman lets out a long, muffled moan as your cock stretches her out.

“Oh fuck baby…” Jeongyeon moans as you slowly slide in and out of her, reaching deeper into her with every thrust.

Her tits begin to bounce erotically in front of your face as your thrusts start to intensify. Wrapping a hand around one, you flick your tongue against her hardened nipple. Soon you feel Jeongyeon wrap her legs around your waist as she holds her body tightly against yours.

You release her nipple and hook your arms under her legs. Placing her ankles on your shoulders, you lean further into Jeongyeon to give yourself a better angle.

“What’s this big boy? You going to go deeper now?” she teasingly asks.

“You ready?” you say while smirking at the sexy woman.

“Fuck yes I’m ready, don’t hold back baby.”

With that said, you start rapidly pounding into her. Jeongyeon's moans get louder and she begins shuddering a bit as she nears her own peak. The sound of your hips hitting hers is music to your ears as you give one almighty thrust and bury yourself to the hilt, feeling her velvet walls tighten around your cock.

"Oh fuck!" she cries out.

With that, hot liquid rushes over your cock coating it in her love as she begins quivering.

You slowly roll your hips in and out of her while she rides out her orgasm. Once her high has subsided, you go back to pounding into her with the same vigor as before. It doesn't take long before the walls of her cunt recoats your dick with another fresh layer of love juice.

"Your pussy feels so fucking good Jeongyeon. It feels like you're milking me for all I've got."

"Don't stop, harder, faster, please. Don't stop."

Your cock grows even harder inside of her as you give her exactly what she desires. She begins clawing at your back and shoulders as you push yourself closer and closer to the edge. With a few more slams, you feel yourself reach your limit as you cum hard within her. Jeongyeon pants as you continue your relentless assault, not allowing yourself to stop until the last waves of orgasm leave you.

The two of you rest there for a moment, basking in the glow of your combined fluids before you slowly slide out.

“I hope you got some material to use.”

A/N - Sorry this one is a little later than the other 2, but it took me a while today to think of a good scenario. But I’m very happy with what I was able to come up with so I hope you all are too. I also once again may have gone a taaaaaad bit over the 2k mark lol. I also wanted to make sure I did Jeongyeon justice for locke since I promised him god knows how long ago I’d do a Jeongyeon piece. 3 down, 6 more to go. Hope you all enjoy reading it~

[daedriclorde]

A Thief in Wolf’s Clothing, Part III: Chapter 5, “Is It True?”

Summary: As Kjolti and Aela return from their mission, it becomes clear that something is very wrong. Can they save Farkas? And will Kjolti be able to face the truth?

Read it here on Ao3!

Chapter 5, “Is it True?”

A tension hung between them the rest of the journey home. It was dusk when Whiterun came into view across the plains, the keep looming in the distance. 

“We’ll be back in time for a meal,” Kjolti said longingly. A hot meal and cold mead was sorely needed after their journey. 

“I’ll be glad to sleep in my own bed tonight,” Aela replied, breaking her silence. The women looked at each other meaningfully; all was forgiven.

Kjolti smiled. “I can practically smell Tilma’s cooking from here!”

Aela laughed and breathed in deep. “Smells like roast and—“ she stopped short, frowned, and sniffed again.

“Roast what? Elk, I hope,” Kjolti joked.

“Shut up.” Aela sniffed again.

“Fine, boar, whichever.”

“I said shut up! Can you smell that?”

Kjolti closed her eyes and breathed in deep. There was a vaguely familiar scent on the air.

“One of our brothers is out here.” She sniffed again. “It’s Farkas, but something’s off,” she said tenuously.

Aela looked concerned. “I think we ought to hurry.” The was more unsaid in her eyes.

The pair hastened through the plains. Kjolti’s heartbeat quickened. What was Farkas doing? He never hunted alone these days, not without her. What changed?

Aela sniffed again. Kjolti followed suit. They exchanged a glance and Aela opened her mouth to speak when the silence was broken by a wild howl.

It chilled both of them, sending shivers down their spines. A cold wind battered them, bringing an undeniable scent with it.

Frozen momentarily, Kjolti was the first to bring it to words.

“He’s going feral.”

Only a heartbeat passed before Aela and Kjolti took off running toward the sound and scent of their shield-brother. Another howl sounded, this one more wild than the last. It was a distinction only a werewolf could hear, but they knew the difference well.

No no no, Kjolti’s mind raced. No, Farkas, not now. You can’t. Wait for me, wait.

Another five agonizing moments passed before they saw his form in the distance.  He was annihilating a deer with a single swipe of a claw. 

Aela transformed. So comfortable was she in her beast form, that it only took her a heartbeat to shift her skin. 

“Be careful, Aela!” Kjolti called. She would not shift. She needed to be human to bring Farkas back.

Aela arrived to Farkas in a few impossibly long bounds. He did not recognize her, and turned to face off with her. Kjolti spat an oath. This was bad.

Kjolti was grateful that Aela was such a strong werewolf. She had taken the blood so long ago that it flowed easily through her veins, the wolf skin as natural as her human form. Aela bellowed fiercely at Farkas and circled him, dodging his attacks and dealing out several of her own. Kjolti continued to run toward them, cursing her slowness on two legs, burdened by heavy armor. But she knew she might be grateful for its protection once she got closer to Farkas.

Aela was attacking very strategically. She tried to immobilize him, by attacking his legs first. She avoided the major veins and arteries. Kjolti quickly understood her intent. Aela was wearing him out, slowing him down. Trying to weaken him, but not critically injure him.

It wasn’t working very well. So close to going feral, Farkas had gone berserk. He seemed not to feel or notice the blows Aela dealt, as serious as many of them were. Kjolti breathed in, smelling the wildness in his scent. She ran faster, sweat coating her skin. 

It seemed like an eternity before she got there. Aela continued to circle and distract Farkas, trying to wear him out. But Kjolti’s arrival caught his attention, and Farkas turned and unleashed a menacing snarl at the easy prey that had wandered to him. Aela was too far away to intercept.

Farkas lunged toward Kjolti. Fear seized her. She had seen Farkas fight in his beast form, was accustomed to his ferocity, but it had never been directed at her before. 

His long claws reached out and raked her across her midsection.

Kjolti thudded to the ground, hard. Blood filled her mouth.

Aela reached Farkas and tackled him, grappling with him for a long while.

Kjolti looked down. Her armor was rent open, but it had stopped his deadly claws from ripping her apart. Such a blow would have killed her quickly. Even so, she felt as if several of her ribs were bruised, if not broken.

She pushed herself up, spitting out blood and cursing.

Farkas flung Aela from him, and she shot backwards with a whimper.

This is not good.

“Farkas!”

His ears flattened.

“Farkas! It’s me! Kjolti!”

He turned to face her, savagery in his eyes.

Gritting her teeth, she pulled her helmet off. This might be very stupid.

She shook her hair out. “It’s me, Farkas. Your friend Kjolti. Your shield-sister.”

Farkas snarled and stalked toward her.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” Kjolti muttered under her breath, panicking. “Farkas. Come back to us.”

Aela attacked him from behind. He shoved her off again, and continued to creep closer to Kjolti.

“It’s me,” She opened her arms wide. “You know me.”

Something in his eyes flickered.

“It’s okay, Farkas.” 

He growled low. Kjolti gathered her nerve and jumped toward him, surprising them both.

She grabbed his face in her hands, massive as it was. He snapped at her. Kjolti pulled back, nearly in enough time. His teeth grazed the tip of her nose, slicing the skin open and releasing a trickle of blood.

Her eyes watered in that annoying way when one gets hit on the nose, but she maintained her grip.

“Farkas,” she cooed softly. She ruffled his ears. “Don’t go,” she pleaded. “I need you.” Praying it wouldn’t be the last thing she did, Kjolti pressed her forehead to his.

Her skin met course fur. 

A few heavy breaths filled the air.

His scent changed, his muscles relaxed. Kjolti released him and stepped back as Farkas became human again.

Aela dropped her beast form and walked over to him. Farkas was shaking in a cold sweat. He was staring at Kjolti intensely. She couldn’t read his expression, couldn’t parse it for the emotions within. But she felt the raw power of the look, and didn’t like what she felt.

Aela knelt and wrapped her arms around Farkas, still shivering. Kjolti stepped back. She fetched a blanket from her pack and handed it to Aela, who pulled it over Farkas.

They sat like that for what felt like an eternity. Finally, Farkas blinked, seeming to be present again.

Aela looked at him sympathetically. “Let’s go home, brother.”

He said nothing, but nodded.

The three began to journey to Whiterun. The sun had set, and the cool night air chilled them. Kjolti reached out to touch Farkas’s arm, but he flinched back from her touch.

Something isn’t right.

Kjolti looked over to Aela, who had seen the exchange. She shrugged, but it was clear that she could tell something was off. 

They finished the walk in silence. It didn’t feel right to ask Farkas what happened, not yet. They were just glad to get him home, alive and human.

Aela and Kjolti helped him downstairs and began guiding him to his room when Farkas finally spoke. 

“I can make it myself from here,” he said gruffly.

Aela gave him an appraising look. “You know where to find me if you need me.” Worry filled her voice.

Farkas nodded in response. Aela glanced at Kjolti with a loaded look, and walked away.

Kjolti hesitated, then followed suit and headed to her room.

“Kjolti,” Farkas murmured. She stopped and turned to him.

“Did I hurt you?” Though fully human, there was a strangeness in his eyes.

“No, Farkas, I’ll be fine.”

“You’re bleeding,” he pointed out.

She gave a half hearted smile. “It’s just a scratch.”

He nodded. “Kjolti?”

“Farkas?” She smiled.

“Is is true?”

“Is what true?”

His brown eyes bore into her. “Did you and Vilkas kiss? Are you the Dragonborn?”

Kjolti felt like all her blood drained from her veins. Farkas’s stare was relentless.

Be honest.

She closed her eyes. “Yes. And yes.” She opened her eyes.

Farkas looked fifty years older, his face gaunt and worn. He said nothing, didn’t so much as look at her. He just turned to his room, shuffled inside, and shut the door.

Kjolti felt her cheeks flush in shame. She entered her room, closed and locked the door, and sat on her bed. The dragon in her chest was clawing at her insides, and the tears that she had been holding back for hours finally spilled down her cheeks.

***

She awoke hours later to pounding at her door. Kjolti moaned and rolled over. The shouting continued.“Kjolti! Get up!”

Spewing all sorts of profanities, Kjolti rose, flicked the lock off and threw open the door.

“What in all the divines’ names do you want?” she growled.

Eorland stood before her, holding Wuthraad. Now faced with a very disheveled Kjolti, the old man turned sheepish.

“Um. It’s time.”

Kjolti was disgruntled. “Time for what?”

Eorland thrust Wuthraad into her hands. “The others are waiting for you upstairs. You’re going to the tomb of Ysgramor. To cure Kodlak.”

Kjolti blinked and looked down at the reforged great axe in her hands. “The others?”

Eorland started to walk away, and called over his shoulder. “Yeah, you know. The youngins. You, Aela. Vilkas, Farkas. Only makes sense, you’re the strength of the Companions, and you all get along so well.”

Kjolti swallowed, the events of the previous night solidifying into a solid rock in her stomach. “Right.”

[imagine-darksiders]

Guardian, pt 2.

Aaaaaat LAAAAAST! <3 

Really hit bad writer’s block recently, but tried to push through it with this fic. Not sure how to feel about it though. :/ 

----

Despite the arduous day you'd had; what with being shrunk by an ancient author who had a thing for practical jokes, had the life frightened out of you and suffered the emotional trauma of almost being crushed by an angel with a real distaste for humans; Sleep is surprisingly hard to come by.

Azrael's intricately decorated bed chambers are dark, comfortably warm, quiet and there's a gentle smell of clean cotton wafting up from the silky pillow that Nathaniel had carefully placed you down on. Yet still you toss and turn, comfortable but restless, worried and anxious. With a soft moan, you shuffle over yet again, turning to face the arched doorway, standing at which is your gargantuan, golden-armoured companion.

If you squint, you can make out Nathaniel's silhouette shifting every so often, his head swivelling this way and that around the room. With every sweep, he stills when he's facing the pillow and you can feel rather than see the pale gaze that rests on you for a long moment before it moves away once again. He must know you're still awake, especially since one of the reasons you're struggling to sleep had all but exploded down in Azrael's study not too long ago.

You'd no idea when the horseman actually arrived but you certainly knew of his presence when the relative peace and quiet was interrupted by a deafening uproar of, “She's WHAT!?”

You sprang upright in bed with a timid gasp and stared fearfully at the doorway, fully expecting Death to come charging in at any second, a whirlwind of agitation. But Nathaniel took one look at your diminutive, trembling form down there on the pillow and, with a protective rumble, planted himself squarely in the entrance, barricading it with his enormous bulk and impressive wingspan. Sending the back of his head a conflicted smile, you settle back into the soft pillow and pull the snip of Azrael's cloth up to your chin.

From what you can hear, there's a very one-sided conversation going on between Death and the archangel, the latter of whom is completely inaudible, even to your sensitive hearing. Whereas the former is so loud, you can hear him grumbling and ranting from all the way up here. 

And he does not sound happy.

A long bout of silence stretches into the night until, all of a sudden, there comes a loud thud from downstairs, sharp enough that Nathaniel visibly stiffens and reaches for his sword. Glancing over his shoulder, he sighs when you try to disguise a whimper as a cough and avert your gaze nervously.

Thunderous footsteps shudder the bed when he moves back into the room and stops beside you, where he slowly gets to one knee in an effort to be closer.

In the pale moonlight filtering through the door to the outer balcony, you can see the way Nathaniel’s eyes are etched with concern and shadowed heavily with distress. You swallow thickly, fighting the urge to slam your eyes shut in a vain attempt to dispel the inevitable wave of nausea at seeing such a huge mass suddenly loom into your entire field of view.

Noting your clenched jaw and how your hands are fiddling nervously with the light, silken bed sheet, the enormous angel slows his movements considerably, an effort that doesn’t go unnoticed. You smile appreciatively up at him, palms turning sweaty when his face lights up at the sight of it. 

 As though he were handling the finest china, he extends a finger to brush lightly down your bare arm. 

It’s a gesture he hopes is comforting. 

He’s seen Azrael use a similar technique on you whenever you’ve been upset in the past and with any luck, the familiarity will help to calm your nerves. In a gentle voice, he murmurs, “Will you be alright if I lend Azrael a hand in pacifying your horseman?” - and a part of you wants to laugh aloud that an angelic warrior of Nathaniel’s size and calibre is asking you for permission to leave. 

Panic spikes in your chest at the thought of being alone like this but you hate the fact that Azrael is currently having to deal with the irate horseman - alone - even more. Still, despite the creeping feeling of dread whenever you consider that you’re going to have to face your nephilim friend sooner or later, you rationalise that, out of anyone present, you’ve probably got the best chance of calming him down. 

After all, you’d been through a lot together. 

 Death had rescued you from your dying Earth, kept you alive at every turn. You’d even been to Hell and back together, literally. And then, when you thought you’d lost him forever, he came back to you. He could have just left you, alone and mourning, along with a newly restored humanity. But he had come back.

You’re hoping these facts would quell your newfound fear of the horseman, but although you trust him not to lay a finger on you, you’re still nervous. 

Regardless, you refuse to let your other friends deal with your mistakes by themselves. So, with jittery nerves and a warbling voice, you timidly lower the soft bed-cloth from your chin and gulp, looking up into Nathaniel’s inquisitive eyes. “Do...do you want me to come?” 

 You’re ashamed of the relief that washes through you when he immediately shakes his head. 

“No,” the angel responds, a little too sharply, “I don’t want him to-” Nathaniel hesitates, his mouth hanging open slightly as he searches your face. 

You stare up at him expectantly, cocking your head to the side.“Don’t want him to what?” 

 “…Nothing. It’s nothing,” he eventually sighs, ruffling your hair in a warm breath. Tapping the pillow beside you, he fixes you with one of his commanding frowns. “Now, stay here. You’re not to move.” 

 You stretch your neck up to peer over his arm at the long drop from Azrael’s pillow to the marble floor. “Duh.” 

 With a smirk, Nathaniel pushes himself to stand and turns, lumbering over to the door. Giving you one last, uncertain glance over his shoulder, the giant angel hurries from the room, calling softly, “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay…” Your quiet reply falls pointlessly into the dark chamber and is lost amongst the miles and miles of silken bedsheets. Somehow, the abrupt lack of  your mountain-sized friend manages to make you feel even smaller. His handsome grin doesn’t distract you from your diminutive stature and the heavy wings on his back no longer fill your ears with the pleasant sound of their rustling feathers. The shadows seem darker, longer and far more menacing. The one that appears on the balcony even seems to actually be moving. You fear that you may have been too hasty in your assumption that you’d be alright on your own for five minutes….

You blink, pressing yourself further into the pillow and your anxiety skyrockets as the dark shape on the floor begins to take on a proper, recognisable form. 

Swaying gently on the balcony’s arch, the thin, blue drapes do little to hide the enormous silhouette from view. It approaches them and your breath hitches when a hand slowly reaches out to pull the flimsy fabric out of the way.

A tall, winged figure, framed by moonlight, steps softly into the room and turns this way and that in clear search of something. On the bed, you’ve fallen deathly still, unable to breath and utterly incapable of making a sound through the thick terror clogging up your throat. 

“N -…Na- Nath!-” you whimper stutteringly, your breathing erratic and forced, especially as the stranger’s head snaps in your direction.

Pure, unadulterated horror chills you to the bone when the figure suddenly speaks in a voice like ice and hate that hisses softly through the bedchamber, flooding your body with chills and goosebumps.

That’s a voice you recognise.

“Hello again, little accident.”

-----

Azrael knows that you and Death are close. He knows of the bond you both share; the kind of bond that can only be forged through trials of fire, through surviving an impossible journey together and discovering that you've somehow become friends along the way.

But until the horseman arrived late that night and found out what happened to you, Azrael had no idea just how deep that bond ran.

“She's WHAT?!”

Death's outburst disturbs Dust from his perch upon his master's shoulder and sends him fluttering down onto the desk in the corner with a disgruntled squawk.

“Please, old friend,” the angel urges softly, motioning for Death to lower his voice, “She is well enough, in herself-”

“Well enough?” the other all but screeches, “According to you, she's no bigger than a rat!”

“Ah – Hmm, a mouse would be more accurate,” he corrects hesitantly, earning himself a heated glare, fierce enough to cow even the bravest of angels. But Azrael remains unfazed, instead drawing himself up and exhaling softly. “Horseman-”

Before he can get a word in edgeways, Death interrupts brusquely. “Where is she?”

The angel's eye twitches. “Hopefully she's managed to stay asleep.”

“Azrael-” Stepping forwards, Death growls impatiently “-Where. Is. Y/n?”

With another deep sigh, Azrael tries to placate the tempestuous horseman, although he can already tell he's fighting a losing battle. So, he strategically aims for Death's soft spot. “I will take you to her, gladly,” he promises, “just....not yet. You must understand, she's exhausted and needs to rest.”

Though the horseman's fiery glare does falter slightly, he shakes his hesitation off and snaps, “She can rest when I've seen for myself that she's alright.” Striding forward, he steps around the angel, heading for the door that leads to the rest of his lavish home. However, he doesn't get far before Azrael glides between him and the doorway, planting himself in a position that halts Death's approach completely. “If you must-” he says quickly as the horseman's eyes flash madly and his muscles tense and bulge, -then I can't stop you. Though there is something I must tell you first. I doubt Y/n will mention it and I'd rather you heard it from me..”

“What is it?”

Wings and brow drooping with worry, Azrael explains quietly. “Horseman, I'm afraid after her accident, Y/n was...attacked.”

Even though he fully expected some kind of violent reaction, he still flinches when Death's fist suddenly collides with the golden pillar beside the door, crunching the marble and causing cracks to spiderweb around his bandaged knuckle. The archangel hums, discontent as he glances at the ceiling. If you weren't awake before, you almost certainly would be now.

Slowly, eerily, Death pulls his hand back and inspects it for a moment, then gradually closes his long fingers into a tight fist, leather bindings creaking deafeningly in the silence. “I want. A name.”

Shaking his head, Azrael gives a regretful frown. “This is a Heavenly matter. Believe me, I am dealing with it. The only obstacle is that the culprit – blessedly - never managed to actually hurt Y/n and all we have is a biased witness in Nathaniel. The Council of Angels will want proof.”

“To Hell with your council,” the horseman snarls, “an angel threatened my charge, I would know his name!”

“Death, we are all eager for justice. Why, Nathaniel told me if Y/n hadn't been conscious or present, he'd have run her attacker through and been done with it.”

Death sneers behind his mask. “He should have. Y/n would've had no trouble watching them die.”

Knitting his slender eyebrows together, the angel gives him a stern frown. “That girl has seen enough death for a lifetime. You should know better than to dictate how much she should see.”

And Death can't quite respond to that.

So instead, he sighs and begins to ask if he can finally go and see you, but the sound of heavy, clanking armour approaching from the white staircase draws his attention.

Both turn to face the direction of the noise, only to find Nathaniel emerging from the candle-lit gloom of the hall. The broad-shouldered angel squeezes himself through the archway, forcing Azrael back into the main room.

“My Lord.” He bows his head, thumping a fist against his golden breastplate and addressing the taller angel. Though when he turns his steely gaze to Death, he appears troubled, eyeing the crater in the pillar. “Death.”

“Nathaniel.”

Swiftly, Azrael places a hand on the larger angel's forearm, asking in a hushed whisper, “Is everything alright?” His lips tug down worriedly. “Y/n...Is she -”

“She is fine.” The warrior claps the other angel reassuringly on the shoulder, at the same time shooting Death a frustrated huff. “She's trying to get some precious sleep.”

Fuming, the horseman glares between the two angels, attempting to keep his temper in check. Not for the first time, the rider is taken aback by his own behaviour. It's not as though he has any reason to worry about your safety anymore. Your journey with him had ended the moment he fell into the Well of Souls. So why hadn't he just left you alone to live out the rest of your days on Earth? Why didn't he stay away? If he weren't so cynical, he might admit what it really is. Friendship, plain and simple. After all, one doesn't go through the kind of things that you two have without growing closer as a result. He's come to learn to actually enjoy being around you. He becomes spiritless in your absence and apprehensive when you're in danger.

Death groans internally upon realising that this niggling feeling in his chest has only gotten worse now that he's learnt you're a mere three and a half inches tall. Wonderful.

A sharp hiss breaks the horseman from his musings and draws everyones' attention to the angry ball of ebony feathers perched on the desk. The crow is staring through the arch doorway, hopping up and down sporadically and flapping his wings in a frenzy as he continues to hiss and squawk like a bird possessed. In an instant, Death's head snaps towards the door as well and – like a missile - he hurtles through it, forcing Azrael and Nathaniel to fling themselves aside to avoid being bowled over.

“Horseman?” the angelic warrior blurts out, “what-”

“You left her alone!?” comes the outraged response. The two angels share a look of dawning dread before flying after Death, not bothering to waste time with stairs.

They both reach the top by the time he races through the bedchamber door and starts calling your name, a strained edge in his usually unflappable voice. A moment later, Nathaniel barrels into the room as well, heart in his throat. Azrael is close behind, his graceful features twisted into a picture of worry. Reflexively, the archangel sends a mental command into the room and light springs from seemingly nowhere, illuminating each dark corner in warm, white light. 

Suddenly, the angels find themselves barred from further advancement by the horseman's sinewy arms which are flung out to each side, forcing them into an abrupt halt.

Nathaniel opens his mouth, more than ready to demand that Death move aside but a soft gasp from Azrael gives him pause and he instead squints into the dark bed chamber, following the archangel's mortified stare with a growing feeling of dread.

What he sees brings his blood to an instant boil.

Kushiel is skulked beside the bed, one hand levelling a deadly-sharp halberd at the three newcomers whereas the other is clenched into a tight fist and held out before him like an affronting taunt.

Sandwiched right inside the crushing grip, writhes a tiny, helpless human. Only your head and shoulders are visible, poking out the top of his hand.

Even across the room, Nathaniel's keen ears pick up on your rapid, wheezing breaths and the little grunts you make as you thrash weakly and desperately in a fruitless effort to dislodge yourself. Tiredly, your eyes flicker from Azrael, down to Death before finally roving up to meet the wide, blazing glare of Nathaniel.

The angel holding you increases the pressure after you manage to raggedly squeak out, “G...gu...guys?”

It's the sheer volume of fright and pain in your voice that kicks their instincts into overdrive.

From his newfound perch on the frame at the bottom of the bed, Dust caws and squawks agitatedly, digging his talons into the silver metal. 

The chamber fills with static in response to a sudden surge of magical energy that emanates from Azrael's crackling fingertips and dances across his palms. Death drops his arms in favour of grabbing the scythes hanging from his belt, eyes flashing a bright, burning orange and the hate filled glare he's sending Kushiel is so laden with carnal desire, the sight of it makes you want to cower behind the angel's thumb.

Finally, there's Nathaniel.

In all the time you've known him, you've never seen the warrior scared. You've seen him worried, certainly. Anxious. Apprehensive. Even shaken. But never had there been a day that you looked at him and found fear.....Until now.

His eyes - always so unfaltering in their strength – lock you in a gaze and his breath catches. Terror? No – something more like torment spirals up from his stomach and into his throat, stealing the words back from the tip of his tongue. A desperate plea that you be let go dies when the crushing reality of this situation barrages his consciousness. 'If he kills her-' He struggles for breath. '- it'll be all. My. Fault.'

Silence stretches on for an eternity. None of your friends dare move, Kushiel's head is whipping to keep each of them in his sights, refusing to give them any sort of opening whilst you can only take deep, gulping breaths and try to push past the pain in your ribs, fighting to stay conscious for lack of oxygen.

After another beat of quiet, it's eventually Death who speaks. “Now, I've never been one for dramatics,” he says light-heartedly, pulling a snort from the almost blacked-out human, “but if you don't let her go, I promise you – there will be nowhere you could run that I wouldn't find you. There isn't a hole deep enough to hide you from my wrath. You touch one hair on that human's head, and I swear – by the time I'm done - you'll be begging me to throw you to Oblivion.”

You sob in distress when Kushiel moves his thumb on top of your head and presses down. Hard. Azrael gasps and Nathaniel cries out abruptly, “Stop that! You're hurting her!” while Death blinks, compulsively letting go of one scythe and stretching his sinuous hand out towards you.

Angry, cornered and mad with a fleeting pinch of power, the angel gives Death a twisted grin. “So, the rumours are true... The mighty reaper - Death himself - has gone soft!”

Choosing to ignore the attempt to bait him, Death mutters to Azrael, “Am I right in assuming that this is the angel who attacked Y/n before?”

The archangel nods slowly.

“Marvellous. Saves me hunting him down behind your back.”

His eyes never leaving yours, Azrael lifts his hands and spreads his fingers wide, a gesture meant to soothe your cornered captor.“Put the human down,” he softly urges, “and this goes no further....”

“This?” Kushiel hisses as he shakes his fist, jostling you around violently. “What this is....is sick!” “You should never have allowed this one to desecrate the White city!”

“Desecrate it!?” Nathaniel laughs harshly, “She helped save it!”

You begin to struggle again as Kushiel's grip tightens exponentially and he snarls, although he doesn't offer a retort because even he – deluded as he is – cannot deny that fact. Jamaerah the Scribe doesn't lie.

“What madness has claimed you?” Azrael shakes his head, “Humanity is not our enemy, why do this?”

Disturbingly, Kushiel's tongue darts out to lick his lips. “They are beneath us, Azrael. They do not deserve the privilege of walking among giants.”

“Because they are a younger species?” the archangel attempts to reason, "Kushiel, I have long since been taught that we are not so superior as we may want to believe. Trust me, this human is every bit our equal.”

“This one's presence is an insult to our kind. There are those of us who remember when we were worshipped by these miserable whelps, not comparable to them.”

Azrael, Death and Nathaniel all stiffen when Kushiel tosses you into the air before snatching you out of it again roughly with a smug laugh. A gasp of agony escapes you at the rough treatment and the hard press of his fingers against your fragile sides.

You're getting really tired of being thrown around like a rag doll and belittled by this guy. “You can punish me after she's dead,” he smirks, squeezing hard enough to make you shriek, “you can even kill me. But in the end, Heaven will thank me for this.”

“You're insane!” Nathaniel bellows, shifting clunkily on his feet, uncertain whether he should risk diving straight in or not.

Kusheil laughs, “No, Nathaniel. I am enlightened. And you will be too, starting with this one's death!” In an instant, you find yourself being held high above the triumphant angel’s head whilst he cackles madly. 

So far, you have had a really terrible day. 

But damned if you're going down without a fight.

“Alright! That's it!” you manage to hiss through gritted teeth, “I did not survive the end of the goddamn world – only to get crushed by some asshole angel with a major superiority complex!” Your volume increases with each word and at the very apex of your outcry, you lurch forwards and sink your teeth deep into the exposed flesh of Kushiel's thumb.

You suppose it was the shock of an unexpected assault rather than any real pain that caused him to screech and reflexively fling you away from him, across the room.

The effect is instantaneous. Letting out an almighty roar, the angel all but tosses you across the room....and in the blink of an eye, the room bursts into a flurry of motion.

Death – eyes trained on your swiftly falling body – dives forward with arms outstretched and at the same time, Nathaniel lunges around him towards Kushiel. Azrael, having anticipated that the horseman would prioritise catching you, sends a spear of thick, magical energy right at Kushiel's head. It hits the angel square in the face, snapping his head back and giving Nathaniel enough time to body-slam him into the far wall with both wings and nostrils flaring furiously.

The sensation of falling is just as horrifying as you imagined it would be. For a long while – too long – there is only the rushing air, gut-wrenching panic and a high pitched keening that you suddenly realise is emanating from your throat. And then, after what feels like an eternity spent in free-fall, you at last hit something solid and cold.

But it isn't the ground.

Whatever it is dips when you land on it, following the line of your descent so as to soften the impact. Despite the extra effort, you still end up with the wind knocked out of you.

Trembling from over-brimming adrenaline, you gradually start to become aware of several voices all booming above you, though your ears are ringing, your head is nauseatingly reeling and your ribs feel like they're on fire. Softly, you moan and crack your eyes open, blinking blearily down at your hands. A rush of relief has you shaking even more violently. You're alive! You touch a hand to your chest and gush out a breathless laugh, regretting the action almost instantly due to the pain in your ribs. High overhead, someone is urgently rasping your name.

Unfortunately, upon looking up, the relief in your chest is quickly snuffed out and replaced with a spike of apprehension.

Two bright, unwavering eyes that glow like twin pools of molten lava stare back at you.

Swallowing audibly, you drop your gaze to the pale, elongated fingers cupped beneath you as you wither under the reaper's heavy glare. You're embarrassed to find yourself wishing for Nathaniel's steady hands instead. The angelic warrior is at least predictable, often deliberate and he has always – always – been nothing but gentle and warm with you, even before you were struck with this shrinking hex. Death, however, is a little less calculable. He just....lacks Nathaniel's integrity and Azrael's kindly gentleness. You trust Death - you'd trust him with your life. But standing at barely four inches tall, it's hardly any wonder that your survival instincts perceive Death as a threat – because in truth – that's what he is, what he's always been.

And so, your breathing comes heavier and you work yourself into another small panic, too anxious to meet the horseman's eyes.

For a moment, Death just cradles your heaving body with cupped hands, staring down at you, content in the knowledge that you're alive.

A strained grunt breaks his unnerving calm. Slowly, he drags himself around to find the intruder held fast against the wall by the much larger Nathaniel.

Carefully transferring you to one hand, Death uses the other to draw his scythe and stalks dangerously across the room, lifting it high above his head as he reaches Kushiel, seconds from bringing the blade down between his yellow eyes.

“Horseman, stop!” Azrael's voice rings out, halting him in his tracks.

Through gritted teeth, Death tilts his head slightly, though his fierce stare never leaves your attacker. “What reason,” he seethes, “could you possibly have for defending this...this murderer?”

Calmly, as if he's trying to soothe a wild animal, the archangel approaches and meets your eyes from Death's hand. His eyebrows knit together and he pulls his lips into an apologetic grimace, replying, “Believe me horseman, I want this angel punished as much as you do -” He frowns at Death's skeptical snort. “ - but it is not our place to decide if he lives or dies. He will be put to trial, at the very least.” The angel's gaze turns soft and you feel as though he's speaking predominantly to you now. “He will not escape punishment.”

Nathaniel remains unusually quiet, his heavy chest pressing harder into Kushiel's and he bares his teeth close to his face.

“A trial!?” Death barks, “He should be executed. And how fitting that his executioner should already be here....” The hand holding you grows colder at his words. Or perhaps its just your imagination.

Before he can advance further though, Azrael speaks again. “Death, this is a time of peace. The first moment in a long, long time that we aren't all at each other's throats. If you – a rogue horseman – kill this angel without grounds, then I cannot protect you from the repercussions.”

“I don't need your protection, Azrael,” Death growls, “and neither does he deserve it! He tried to kill my -” Death pauses to glance down at you. There's something tender in his eyes that almost puts your mind at ease. “ - my friend,” he finishes quietly, sounding surprised at himself.

If you hadn't been shrunk by a mischievous, angelic author from the past, you'd say that was the most shocking thing to happen today. Although you knew the horseman considered you a friend, he'd never really admitted it...Not aloud and certainly not in front of witnesses.

You stare up at him - awed - if not still completely unnerved.

Kushiel coughs roughly, shoving against Nathaniel but merely getting crushed against the wall again by his impressive bulk. “Alas, I did not kill your pet human,” he spits, lips curled into an ugly snarl, “

He flinches when the warrior cracks his fist into the wall inches from his head. “Don't you dare insult her!”

Death raises his scythe again.

“This is not the way we do things here,” Azrael urges softly.

For a long, tense moment, the reaper stands there, poised for a kill and the room holds its breath.

Azrael hovers to his left, eyebrows furrowed in disapproval. Nathaniel has his forearm pressed up against Kushiel's throat as he moves slightly to the side to make room for the horseman's blow, the promise of murder in his pale eyes. The pinned angel – for the first time – is staring hard at the scythe, something in his expression that rather satisfyingly resembles fear.

And finally, the horseman moves his fervid gaze down to you, where you hang in his delicate grip. There's an uncomfortable pang in his chest when he sees that you're staring at him in much the same way as Kushiel is.With barely disguised horror.

Under that innocent gaze, Death falters. With a quiet sigh, he lets his eyes slip shut and at last, lowers his scythe. As soon as he does, everyone else lets out a deep breath.  

Apparently, the diffusion of the immediate danger makes Kushiel keen to push his luck because he sneers down at you and manages to choke out around Nathaniel's arm, “This is not a victory, gnat! The council of angels has no love for humanity either. They will rule in my favour and the next time we meet, your guardians may not be around to protec- GACK!”

He's swiftly cut off by a gigantic fist that collides with the side of his skull and knocks him completely unconscious in a single, ferocious punch.

With a low moan, he slumps forward as Nathaniel takes his hand back, pressing a kiss to his knuckles and stepping aside, allowing the limp body to collapse to the ground in an undignified heap.

“Nathaniel,” Azrael scolds, though even he can't quite keep the amused lilt out of his voice. Huffing, the warrior merely rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck, muttering hotly, “He had it coming.”

Now that the threat has been (somewhat) neutralised, Death returns his focus to you. He notes that your breathing is shallow and comes in quick, sputtering bursts and you have your arms wrapped loosely around your ribs, face scrunched up in obvious pain.

“Y/n?” A voice at his back has the horseman's eyes narrowing to savage, orange slits and he abruptly whirls about, rounding on Nathaniel. “You. Left. Her!” he seethes, long fingers caging over your head and trapping you between his palms.

Ignoring the nearly imperceptible pounding of little fists at his fingers, Death's head lowers and he hunches his shoulders predatorily, glowering at the shame-faced angel, who opens his mouth and tries to respond. However, nothing of any substance comes out following the realisation that he actually agrees with Death.

“...Yes,” he murmurs defeatedly, never taking his eyes off the horseman's clasped hands, “I did.” Despite his honest response, Death isn't finished. “What if she'd been killed?”

“Horseman,” Azrael calls, the only one not deaf to your quiet, wheezing pleas for release. Ignoring his warning, Death jerks his head to the archangel. “You said this will last no more than a few days?”

“I – well, yes. But Death, you -”

“Good. I'm taking her with me.”

The sound of both angels protesting drowns out your own gasp.

“Now, be reasonable-.”

“No! You can't!”

He appraises the both of them cooly, eyebrows raised. “I'm sorry, I hadn't realised you two had become the authority on this.”

Nathaniel's entire posture shifts from desperate to defensive in the blink of an eye. Wings flared and jaw set, he takes a heavy step towards Death. “Don't you take her from m-” He spares Azrael a side-long glance. “...from us.”

At last removing one of his hands and transferring you securely into a fist, the horseman stabs a long, slender finger up at the warrior's face. “Don't you presume to dictate what I can and cannot do,” he seethes dangerously, “I did not spend months trying to keep this human alive just to lose her to your neglectful incompetence.”

Nathaniel bristles but whatever retort he may have had is cut short by Azrael exclaiming, “Death, for Heaven's sake, loosen your grip!”

The two warring parties whip their heads down to look at you.

Tiny fingers scrabble weakly against the tough hide of Death's curled thumb. A little chest heaves in and out raggedly, incapable of making a full inhale and a pair of watery eyes stare into his imploringly.

And you're shivering fit to burst.

The cold of Death's hand does very little to help your body recover from the shock it's gone into after almost having been killed by Kushiel. Wincing disconcertedly, the horseman unfurls his fist and glides over to the bed, sliding you slowly from his palm onto the soft sheets. He kneels close, steeling his hollow heart against the way you drag yourself backwards to put some distance between yourself and that intimidating, enormous bone-mask.

Watching the display with sad eyes, Azrael turns to give Kushiel a distasteful glance before beckoning to Nathaniel. “I don't suppose you'd mind bringing him to the barracks? I shall accompany you - of course - and explain what... what occurred.” Nathaniel nods and stoops to grab the downed angel by his arms. Suddenly, a shrill voice cries out, “Wait!” startling him into roughly dropping the body.

All three of them swivel about to face you, staring expectantly.

Embarrassed, sore and ashamed of yourself for your onset cowardice, you twist your face away from Death, avoiding his gaze entirely. “Can...can Nathaniel stay instead?” You squeeze your eyes shut rigidly, whispering, “Please?”

The horseman blinks in rapid succession, an objection or even an outright refusal catches on the tip of his tongue as he stares at you, not hurt – per se – but he does look...lost. Or perhaps 'abandoned' would be more apropos.

“Of course,” the angel in question breathes, stepping around Kushiel to move beside the quiet horseman. He reaches out a bare hand and gently rests the tips of his fingers on your back to prop you up. You miss the huff of air that Death releases as he pushes himself to stand. Without a word, he stalks over to the unconscious angel and throws him unceremoniously over his shoulder like a clanking, metal sack of potatoes. Urgently, you feel the need to apologise, to explain yourself. But the words just sound hollow and empty in your mind. What on Earth could you say? 'Hey Death, sorry but I can't be around you right now because you're too capricious and I don't feel safe with you whilst I'm this small?'

It'd offend him greatly.

So instead, it's with a heavy heart that you watch your friend stroll past Azrael and out through the chamber door with Dust fluttering down onto his shoulder as he goes, not once even sparing you a glance.

‘Fair enough,’ you miserably think, blinking up at the teal-robed angel who seems to have drifted close to you without you really noticing, an elegant hand resting delicately over his heart. You notice his eyes sweeping over you with impressive speed and acuity - not so subtly assessing the damage. 

When you squirm under the excessive study, pain lances up your sides and you’re unable to catch the undignified grunt that leaps up your throat. Azrael winces and extends a finger to touch it briefly against your shoulder. “I am sorry. I want to heal your pain.” One of Nathaniel's fingertips ghosts gently over your ribs. “But at your current size, I fear my magic's potency could do more harm than good.”

“It's alright,” you cough, your sides protesting the motion, “Nothing's broken...I think. Just bruised.”

Neither of them look comforted by that in the slightest. If anything, the archangel's eyebrows fall even further down his forehead.

“Look, I’ll be okay. I have Nathaniel with me...” you trail off and bite your lip, looking out through the arched doorway. As an after thought, you shyly ask, “D’you think he’ll be alright?” indicating after Death. 

The archangel hums, disconcerted. Looking down at you, his lips tilt into a reassuring – if uncertain – smile. “Worry not, I’ll speak with him,” he pauses, then quietly adds, mostly to himself, “...

if

he's in the mood to listen..” Gracefully, he drifts after the horseman but not before stopping in the doorway to cast a sorrowful look over his shoulder.

“Hmm,” he grumbles, “I shall be back shortly. Nathaniel, if there's any trouble while I'm gone, find a healer – but don't leave her alone. Keep her still and rested. Above all, keep her safe.”

Despite the dulcet tone, there's an edge to his voice that unsettles your stomach. The warrior must have felt it too, because he inclines his head to stare at the hem of Azrael's long robes rather than meet his stern gaze. “Aye,” is all he utters.

And with that, Azrael folds his wings regally across his back and disappears through the door after Death.

In the dimly lit room, you heave a sigh that's equal parts relief and exhaustion.

Nathaniel keeps his head down, eyes fixed on the edge of the bed rather than you. Eventually, you give up trying to catch his gaze and settle on shifting your stance, trying to alleviate the throbbing in your torso. Pursing your lips, you tap a finger against the sheets, glancing at the monumental hand that rests too far for you to reach. The longer you go without saying something to him, the longer he has to try and blame himself. “It wasn’t your fault,” you call as casually as possible. 

A heavy sigh is all that answers as it slips from between his full lips and washes over you, gentle as a warm breeze.

"Nobody could have known that Kushiel would-” 

“I made a mistake-” the goliath suddenly forces out through gritted teeth. His hands curl into fists on the bed, pulling the pale scars taught across the surface of his skin. Finally, he drags his gaze up to meet yours. “-and it almost got you killed.” With a metallic clang, his shoulders slump and wings droop to the floor. 

The sight might be adorable if it wasn’t so tragic.

With a grunt, you push through your discomfort to crawl over to one of Nathaniel’s hands and give one of the small, white scars a soft pat, smiling up at him. “Buuuut, I’m still here, aren’t I?”

The warrior scrutinises you for a moment before shaking his head. “But you almost weren’t....I am unfit to be your guardian,” he croaks.

This time, you smack your hand against his knuckle, although it’s hard, you’re sure he barely felt it. “Hey,” you call, “Look at me.” 

Nathaniel’s hesitates but eventually turns his flinty gaze back to you, surprised to find that your eyebrows are pulled together insistently and a forgiving smile is lifting your cheeks. “Look at me. I’m fine - well. You know....mostly.” His expression wilts, urging you to continue. “You’re a good person, Nathaniel! And you always have the best intentions. You were just trying to help Azrael, you can’t blame yourself for things that are beyond your control.” 

Subtly, he quirks a knowing brow at you. “Much like you shouldn’t blame yourself for the hex?” 

You snort scornfully, crossing your arms. “Oh no, that was pure idiocy. I could’ve just not opened the book. You couldn’t help that Kushiel is a complete psychopath.” 

He peers down at you for a while, his expression hard and unreadable. Then, just as you’re about to speak up, he reaches up to self-consciously rub at the scar beneath his eye and asks, “So....You would still trust me? Even though I wasn’t here to protect you when you needed me?” 

Embarrassment flushes across your face and you have to dodge his sincere look. “Yeah! Course I do!” you mumble awkwardly, “You’re my friend! So...so I guess I.... -you know- I’ll always need you, or whatever..” 

And despite the cold ache of guilt that gnaws at his resolve and the horseman’s words still ringing in his ears, Nathaniel blinks once, then slowly returns your smile. There isn’t a trace of blame in your eyes and you still want to be his friend. His self pity can wait until you’ve returned to your normal stature. For now, he’ll just have to be satisfied with making sure you’re comfortable. 

Speaking of which -

“Hey, easy. Be careful,” he urges as you start getting to your feet, “Azrael said you need to-”

“Oh, Azrael's just being a worry-wort. I'm pretty sure no bones are broken and I'm perfectly capable of standing on my own.” Your shallow laughter rings delicately in his ears, pulling his brows into a deep frown.

“You're hurt,” he rumbles with a sigh, “You always seem to be getting hurt.” Regardless, he proceeds to lower his impressive head until his chin almost brushes against the silk. At the closeness and the hugeness, your heart starts to hammer once again, roughly jolting your sides with each beat. Shoving your apprehension (and sore ribs) aside, you step bravely up to the angel's face, peering dazedly into his endlessly emotive, milky-white eyes. Hesitantly and slower than a glacier, he tilts his chin down so that you can reach out to rest a minuscule hand on the bridge of his nose. He has to resist the urge to sigh contentedly. Every time you engage him in an tender act, no matter how small you are, he revels in it. Angels are not altogether openly affectionate creatures, even amongst one another. It felt as though they each have a quota for how much they could give in one day and they are all severely rationing it. Until you came along with your odd, Earth ways and your affinity for touching, he hadn’t realised just how starved for it he’d really been. Nathaniel squeezes his eyes shut with a grin. 

“Thank you,” you smile earnestly, “for saving me.”

Blinking, the angel exhales softly through his nose and murmurs, “You saved yourself.” The pair of enormous lips graze against your clothes as he talks. “That was quick thinking, what you did. And it was extraordinarily brave. All I did was apprehend Kushiel..” He pulls his mouth up into a grimace at the memory of you sailing down towards the hard ground. "Death was the one who caught you though..And I must ask-” Here, he pulls away slightly, causing your hand to slide down his nose to stop on the tip. “Why did you choose to stay with me? Why not the horseman? I was under the assumption that you two were close friends?” 

“We were!” you flinch back, dropping your hand, “I mean, we are! I..ugh - I don’t know!” The outburst sends pain shooting up your back, so - far more slowly and quietly - you take a step back from Nathaniel’s face to rub your temples. “I just...I just wanted you, okay?” Pausing, you stretch your lips into a thin line, looking to the doorway. “I just hope Death’s not too angry with me...” 

“Come now,” the angel chuckles, “You’ve seen him angry, yes? That was not anger.” 

“Well, disappointed then. I hate that I couldn’t even hide that I was scared of him.” 

“I think it’s only natural,” Nathaniel shrugs his impressively wide shoulders, causing the bed to creak with the movement, “Your mind perceives a threat and fear is the response. And your instincts don’t lie; the horseman is dangerous.”

Frustrated, you lower your head, muttering, “Not to me, he’s not....and I know that.. So why don’t I feel like it?” 

The angel opens his mouth to say something else but, out of tired desperation, you stretch up and quickly place your hand on the corner of his upper lip, causing him to fall silent. “Can...can we just drop it?” you murmur, ashamed to have admitted, aloud, that you’re afraid of your best friend. “Please?” 

Nathaniel’s jaw snaps shut at your touch. He takes in how hard you’re trying to remain standing and how your eyes have become watery and unfocused, pointed at your own feet. 

“....Alright,” he exhales softly, earning himself a grateful smile. 

You blink when he stands again and reaches up and begins unfastening the clasps on his chest-plate and shoulder pauldrons. He pulls off each, heavy piece of armour with expert precision, even stooping to unclip the leather straps that keep his thigh-guards in place until at last, he stand before you, a veritable mountain of a man, in only a thin, white, sleeveless undershirt and a pair of loose-fitting, brown trousers. The sight would be impressive if you were at your regular height. As it is, you just about stop your jaw from dropping. Hundreds of feet of brown muscle tower above you, nearly every limb harbouring pale scars of varying length and depth. He raises a brow when he catches you staring and smiles warmly at the way you quickly jerk your head to the side and stare at the wall instead.  

With that, he rests his hand on the bed, palm up and watches carefully as you crawl tentatively into the centre and sit down, sighing in contentment at the sensation of being utterly secure. Safe in the warm hold of your gigantic companion, you try to fight a losing battle against the lull of sleep, made even more difficult because the angel keeps using the fingertips on his other hand to rub small circles into your back through the thin shirt. 

Nathaniel stands slowly, turning around and sinking down onto the bed. Briefly, he wonders if Azrael will mind him putting his boots on the bed sheets before giving a mental shrug and laying back against the pillows, keeping you steady in his hand until he releases you delicately onto his shirt. You never imagined you’d be sitting on your favourite angel’s chest, separated from his hot skin only by a thin piece of cloth, yet here you are. 

The warrior studies your face for a while as he raises a hand and begins to rub tiny circles into your back with the very tips of his fingers. You realise too late that he’s trying to get you to nod off, obviously conscious of the stress today has put you through. Already you can feel the alluring spell of sleep tug at your eyelids. Using his forefinger, he guides you onto your stomach and hushes you when you try to push back against the heavy weight only to grunt at the pang in your ribs. 

“Don’t fight me.” His rumbling voice vibrates in his chest and hums beneath your hands, followed by the booming, slow thumps of his heartbeat which lulls you further into lowering your head onto his shirt, too finished with the day to put up much of a protest. 

Long after you’ve fallen asleep, Nathaniel’s smile remains etched across his face, happier than he’s been in a long time to be able to hold you so close. 

He only hopes Azrael can smooth things over with Death and the Council of Angels quickly and relatively easily, for your sake. If Kushiel goes free, the angel may have no choice but to allow the horseman to take you away. .. . .