#archangel prof x reader

[monstercampus]

Archangel Professor & Isaac of Virtue - First Meeting

(cws: none)

Considering how many demons you've met at the school so far, it's a little shocking to hear from your harpy classmate that there's a chapel on campus. Especially since you haven't seen such a building anywhere in your tours, but you wonder if perhaps it's due to the sensitive nature of such a place. It's not exactly something you're planning on looking out for, but when she mentions it, the idea sticks in your head for the rest of class.

It's but a week later that you notice the distinct chiming of a bell on your way to the dining hall for lunch, the brisk Sunday morning chilly and damp but not enough to stop you from diverting your path to follow it. It entrances you in a way, leads you down a cobblestone path right up the steps of an enormous cathedral sat squarely in the midst of the university's sprawling gardens. It looms over you in an almost intimidating way, so tall and grand with the kind of elegant architecture you'd see in any travel magazine for some historically exotic vacation spot. As you venture through the tall but shockingly light front doors, your eyes lock on to the first thing that enters your vision; a being standing before the pulpit that stands as if he was awaiting your arrival, alongside a smaller companion that busies himself with organizing what looks to be the donations from a busy service. Once the doors squeal shut with a heavy thud behind you, he lifts his head to look over his shoulder, his feathery white wings flicking up in surprise before he regains himself and turns to face you fully with a grin.

The church itself resembles one you would probably see back home, but only in the symbolic sense alone. There are pews lined from back to front, a podium for one to deliver sermons, stained-glass windows at the far end and gorgeously decorated walls and floors lined with eternal candles that burn forever. But unlike back home, there's a touch of nature inside the chapel; a light breeze blows through the room and sends tiny glitters of stardust careening through the air, and while there certainly looks to be a roof from the outside, all you see upon looking upwards is a cover of clouds that obscures all that lies within. Unlike the gloomy skies outside, this artificial one glows with a rosy-pink hue that casts over the whole interior, giving the cathedral a dreamy edge-of-sunset glow that feels as though you're seeing through rose-tinted glasses.

The archangel–who you only recognize as such upon thinking back to your Holy World History classes–isn't at all what you thought they would look like. His blinding white two-piece suit is the only part of him that betrays any humanity; the rest of him is a mishmash of different features that don't seem to meld together. His hands float in tune with the movement of his arms but they aren't attached, rather there's an empty space between his wrists and palms. Where there should be a head, there's nothing but eyes; a faint cloud of tiny, sparkling bits of stardust seems to be the only thing that indicates the space where his eyes remain in place. And a pair of huge, heavenly wings sit folded up against his back, yet they're so large even on his tall frame that they scrape the ground and leave small, glowing scratches of gold that brighten before quickly fading into nothing.

His assistant, however, appears to be astoundingly human. The young man watches you through snow-white eyes and a fringe of soft, pale blond hair, which is otherwise perfectly combed down and trimmed at the neck. The suit he wears resembles his mentor's to a T, aside from the jacket he's missing that leaves him only in the perfectly creased pants and black dress shirt. Somehow, despite the very air emanating a holiness here, something about his particular gaze betrays…well, it holds a hint of lechery to it, especially as his attention flickers between meeting your eyes and catching the bared skin of your ankles beneath your jeans as you halt in front of them. Here, in this moment, you feel the heavy uncertainty weigh on your shoulders at standing before the judge and jury.

"Here only a moment, and already you tempt my steward." A voice booms authoritatively from the head of the cathedral, and at that, the archangel's assistant guiltily turns his eyes away from you, and you're left feeling shame heat your chest despite doing nothing wrong. "Is there anything of note that you require, human, or do you desire nothing but to waste my time?"

The severity of the tongue-lashing you've just gotten could send you into shock had you not grown used to the terrifyingly abnormal by now. You would expect a being of such grandiosity and holiness to address you with gentleness and love–but this archangel speaks with bitterness hot on his tongue, so stern you feel like a child being reprimanded despite not knowing what for.

"Professor, the human has no ill intentions. I believe the Dean instructed us to welcome them with open arms." The angel leans over to murmur those words quite conspicuously, clearly forgoing the guilt of his stare in favour of easing himself into that tense space between yourself and the archangel. In this chapel, you feel he may as well be the only one on your side. Yet, if it weren't wholly improper, you would be sure you'd see those dozens of eyes rolling as the archangel heaves a breathy sigh.

"Welcome to our esteemed campus. I thank you for defiling our holy ground without warning nor reason." Suddenly, as if godly in nature, a crack of thunder erupts and the clouds overhead grow dark and worrisome. Yet despite the frightening shift, neither the archangel nor his assistant bat an eye as if the ill omen is an everyday occurrence–though the former does huff quietly, clearly aware of who that warning was meant for. "...Pardon my faithless utterances. I beg your forgiveness."

You distinctly hear the angel at his side mutter something about someone upstairs giving them an earful for that. Although the archangel himself couldn't sound less uncaring about his own apology nor whether you'd accept it, you do, and in return the professor takes his leave with a sweep of his wings around his frame–just barely avoiding clipping you with his feathers as he takes off in a golden blur into the sky, diving upright into the sea of clouds above and disappearing completely.

In the silence that follows, the protégé himself sighs. In the absence of his superior, he introduces himself as the angel, Isaac of Virtue, and the professor as archangel Mikael, formerly Dominion. All hefty titles, yet without much more you desire to say or to see, you turn your eyes away from the brilliant light and move to take your leave of this chapel that clearly wishes not to welcome you.

But Isaac catches your wrist as you do so, his mentor's many eyes having turned away and vanished to attend to whatever is his business. His smile carries a gentler edge this time, just as cool and soft to the touch as his palm on your skin as it lingers there.

"Don't mind the professor's words, human. He's….well, he's ancient," Isaac chuckles, the lighthearted attempt at a joke doing what he hoped and drawing a small smile out of you. "He doesn't really mind humans as much as it seems. He's just…well, he's quite stubborn. Very set in his ways…" That last part comes out quiet and soft in the airy space between the pews. However, when he inquires about any questions you might have that he'd be happy to answer, only one comes to your mind at the moment.

"Um…do all angels…are they like..?" You gesture towards your own eyes, although your focus shifts above his head to spot the twinkling of something as the light refracts off of it. It's invisible to the naked eye, but you could swear you see some kind of halo shape hovering there in the prismatic glow.

Isaac seems to understand your words without you speaking the rest of them, his grip loosening but not letting go–and with a nod, he proves his answer by closing his eyes. When he opens them again, three more pairs crack open down each of his cheeks and blink to take you into focus, the three extra sets surveying you independently with a heart-chilling shade of red irises. When you've gotten a good look, he's quick to blink again–and this time, only his primary pair of eyes reopen, the whites tinged a very pale pink before the colour soon drains away.

"I hope this was a show of good faith. We should be friends, no?" It's hard to disagree with such an innocently sweet expression staring back at you, so with little thought given to the verbal contract you're signing you agree with a soft "of course".

"Wonderful!" He finally releases you from his grip and claps his hands together, only afterwards ducking his head around out of habit to check if the archangel is listening. But at no sign of interruption above from the fiercely stern professor, he turns back around and produces a card from his sleeve that he presses into your palm. And with a cautiously big step back, Isaac extends his wings fully and takes off into the air, sending whips of a breeze to tousle your hair and clothes as he soars up into the cloud-covered ceiling.

As soon as he's gone, you turn the card around in your hands to take a look while hustling your steps out of the now-empty cathedral. On one side is nothing but a bit of gold engraving on the white cardstock, while the other side has a phone number beneath his name and university status. You can't help but notice how the golden ink moves within the card, lines writhing and intertwining within each other to spell new words out the longer you look at it.

"Isaac the Virtuous, aide to Archangel Mikael, envoy of angelic healing….friend of the equally virtuous–and charming–human."

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