#keraunophobia

Title: Weathering The Storm

Fandom: Dominion

Pairing: Gabriel x gn!reader

Rating/Warning: G

Summary: The aerie's location is the absolute worst when it comes to storms. Mother Nature's fury, indeed. Luckily, having an archangel to buddy up with helps.

A/N: may contain fluff! you've been warned! 😋

▪■◇■▪

A voice, soft and light, calls the archangel's name. It is difficult to discern from the ancient byzantine hymns lingering in the air, but it's there.

"Gabriel."

It comes again. Stronger, insistent. A whisper-yell.

"Gabriel!"

Sepia tints everything a rich red-orange hue, flickering lamps banishing shadows to far corners. His drowsy gaze centers on the person opposite, making out their shape from beyond a hoard of embroidered pillows. Dark hair, bright eyes, clad in an oversized, old-world shirt and sweatpants.

"Yeah?" Gabriel rumbles, hints of confusion and concern in his tone. His mousy brown hair is messy, sticking out in all directions. He's donned a simple pair of pajama bottoms, gold thread around the waistline.

You shuffle your socked feet on the carpet, toeing at loose strands. Your head lowers. Your hands fidget, not able to keep them still when nervous. "I can't sleep."

"That's all? Sleep eludes you so you bother me instead?"

"Not just that—" You protest, sounding like a petulant child. "It's the storm. The noise."

"You're afeared of thunder and lightning?"

You nod in response. Making things worse, a sudden, sharp crackle causes you to startle. He can see the whites of your eyes when they go wide as dinner plates. You scramble madly like a rabbit among predator-laden bracken, heart thudding wildly.

Gabriel can't stand to witness this. His human, frightened to the point of panic. Your expression tugs at his heartstrings. An empty hand extended, he beckons.

"Come, then."

You climb up amidst an ocean of cotton, instinctively curling into a tight ball. You're tenser than a taut cable against his bare chest. To remedy your fear, his massive wings unfurl with a sound like rasping silk, cocooning you in warmth and darkness and security.

Barbs tickle your arms, head tucked under his chin. Bright flashes illuminate his chambers. The stained-glass windows rattle. Candles shudder, lamps jump and shake. Your hands cover your ears, flinching. The sounds are muffled, smothered, but it isn't enough.

With gentle chiding, his draw yours away. Fingers twining, weaving like a knot of serpents, his thumbs stroke slow, lazy circles into your palms. "La tapallah," he murmurs. He's light on the vowels, heavy on consonants.

To anyone other than you it would seem an order. But it's a promise.

Keraunophobia, /kər’ȯn-o’fobē’a/ - Fear of thunder.