#angel reader

This is a reupload from a fic I posted here back in December. I can't remember why I deleted it but I wanted it out there again 😵‍💫

˚₊‧꒰ა ✦ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You grunt, trying to stretch to reach back at your unruly mounds of feather. Having found some scrap in a box discarded in the hallway by your cell, you'd managed to fashion a comb with teeth hopefully adapted well enough to preen your wings. Though they were serving a monumental challenge. You hadn't the flexibility to tame them. It was nigh on impossible to lurch back to reach the base at your scapulas. Being cursed with wings by some anonymous force whilst being rocketed across a space rift was bad enough, not knowing how to keep them healthy was even worse. You're basing this preening thing off of assumptions. You've seen birds dig around in their feathers with their beaks. Perhaps it's a necessary step you must take, too?

"Struggling with that?" Comes a voice which was becoming regrettably familiar. You straighten up relinquishing the stray feathers you'd been gripping to try to pull your wing towards you.

"...no." what were you supposed to say? 'Oh yes, please help me! I implore you to touch my wings and put me in your debt!' Absolutely no chance.

"That's odd. It seems from where I stand that you require some assistance in maintaining your wings." Dottore folds his arms, sailing through the threshold of the doorway.

"Really?" You gape at him, laying the sarcasm on thick.

"Yes. It's apparent you do." He halts between your sagging, messy wings. They instinctively fold, much as you do, hunching uncomfortably.

"I know personal space isn't your thing but..." You sigh. Was there really any point? It was just rather poignant to have some guy who's in charge of the institute which has imprisoned you to assume you'd spread your wings and thus make yourself vulnerable to him. Whilst you're wearing pajamas if that wasn't already bad enough. You donned a pair of pale pink bottoms and a lace trimmed camisole. It's what you wore when you descended, they let you hold onto it, graciously.

"Hm?" He tilts his head, presumably not in earnest. You lament that he either wasn't listening, or he's trying to dismiss you on purpose.

"Give me that pick, or whatever you fumbled together." Dottore hoped you'd have little avenue to protest if he was pointed. He notes how you skirt around topics rather than being direct. Though he isn't entirely aghast when you continue to clutch the makeshift comb to yourself.

It didn't seem logical for him to be so eager to help. As far as you could gather, the doctor was solely interested in ventures which expanded his horizon of knowledge or exhilarated him. He was a feared figure all over this world and felt above most human fancies.

"Why are you interested in this? Just get your crony to do it." You had a hypothesis that he could be insisting himself into you in a bid to learn more about you. You assume it'd be fascinating to be around the only figure from another world, who wouldn't want to form a connection to you in order to learn more? It seemed the only logical explanation.

"Why would I delegate to a subordinate when an opportunity of this nature presents itself to me?" Dottore seems chagrined at your proposal. "It's a unique chance to view the complexities of a celestial intervention up close. Who am I to dismiss such an uncommon chance to do so? Would you expect much less from me?"

It'd be opportune for him to voice his intentions and thoughts out loud, he supposes. Predictability wasn't an attribute he'd willingly brand himself with but it would, even if just a fleeting guise, earn him faith, which he could exercise as leeway into probing you further. As far as young mortal women went you could be the most extraordinary he's seen, despite your reluctance to share the spectacular abnormalities which made you so interesting.

Running a thumb along the ramshackle comb you still enveloped with your nimble fingers, you brew quietly on his questions. "You tell me. It's not like I know you." Unless it was his intention to establish familiarity and coax you into recognising patterns, thus perieving him as less of a threat.

The doctor catches your gaze as you look back, knees still to your chest. "I'm sure we'll get to know eachother. It is my intention to know you and your machinations learned from being raised and exposed to a world foreign to this one." Even if he's donning a mask, you note his peculiarly piercing stare, your own eyes are reluctant to tear away their contact.

"So I'm just an interesting slab of knowledge for you to cut into?" You raise the pick to your eyes, closer, jabbing a fingertip into one of the teeth.

"You make it sound crude." Dottore titillates. "The pursuit of knowledge is anything but. It's an art, in its own way." You stiffen when a cold glove plants itself firmly onto your traps, goosebumps swell beneath the surface of your skin. It scoots you a little more towards the edge of the mattress you're perched on.

The doctor still stood tall beside you, looming in a less than hospitable way. You gauge that he is quite noticeably loftier than you, the difference was more apparent in this position.

You swivel to confront him, fidgeting endlessly with your dismal construction of a comb which could ameliorate your pitiful wings. Dottore lurches down to pluck it from your hands with a firm finger and thumb. His lip twitches as he turns it every which way in his hands. "What a poor attempt at assembling something." As someone well suited to masterful mechanical projects forged from veteran minds in the field, it was a steep contrast to hold this in his palm. To actually behold something of this nature was almost satisfyingly different to the mundane craftsmanship he recognised to a tedious point. The Harbingers shakes his head, now was not the time for stray thoughts to dance.

"I digress, it may be adequate, just this once. I suppose."

"I didn't even...-" you cut yourself off with a groan. There wasn't much of a point, you discern. His resolutions seem steelier than ships.

Instead, you comply. Maneuvering to kneel with your back to him. Your head dips as your eyes zero in on the pallid wall.

The first, clinical contact feels like an electric shock, a soft jolt to the system. Your wings, originally scrunched, begin to relent their defensive gesture. They instead ease their white mass, standing high enough for Dottore to reach without bending down at all.

"Birds and feathered creatures perform preening in order to pick out build ups of oil. If one didn't, the consequences could be dire. It may affect waterproofing, thermal regulation and cause general itching."

His hands glide over the feathers, nimbly tending to them. The feeling is oddly satisfying, scratching an itch you haven't been able to quite get to.

Your wings jitter faintly at the gossamer touch and your eyes threaten to flutter shut. Though you cannot let yourself become too malleable in his palms. There was no way you could trust him enough to do so. Despite the serenity his droning seems to bring like a gentle haze on a spring morning, the white lights in the cell are a troubling reminder of your circumstances.

"I'm not a bird. I just have wings." You fold over your knees, bringing them to your chest having shuffled to find a more agreeable position than kneeling.

"Of course." Dottore continues to sift through your feathers almost fervently. The teeth of the makeshift comb card through, taking some of the less savoury patches of feather.

"The craftsmanship of this is... An undesirable. It's a security risk that you even got into a container of metal scrap."

"Thanks..." You retort dryly. Someone was probably getting an earful, judging by his tone.

"This will happen every few weeks or so. I'll update my schedule. Perhaps I'll find time to do it myself." Regular intervals of connection were imperative to formulating the bond needed. He would have to enable various channels of communication.

You spread sluggishly your wings. They felt remarkably lighter. Dottore notes the cautiousness at which you exercise them. It was no surprise to him, there's little avenue for you to practise operating them in this area.

He slips out of the room with little fanfare. The quiet click of the door heralds your solitude.

Right!! I was thinking the same thing boo 🪽✌️🥹

⚔️ Storms Coming ⚔️

⚔️ Pairing: Yandere!Helluverse x Exorcist!Fem!Reader

⚔️ Genre: Romance

⚔️ Warning: Mental Breakdown

⚔️ Summary: While discussing about Hell's next move, you were trying to keep it together as everything were sparingly out of control out of your hands.

⚔️ Fandom: Helluverse

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Full blown panic was uprising in the courtroom much quicker than you can imagine as soon as everything was brought up to all the higher angels.

The attempted apology, Charlie's and Vox's declaration of war, the uprising of Hell, including the Exterminations that had happened days ago that been kept a secret from the other angels.

"This is a disaster!"

"How could all of this happen?!"

"What if Hell wants revenge?!"

"How long had the Exterminations been happening behind our backs?!"

Everything you had ever thought of, every soul you thought you could save, all that you had believed in redemption, came crashing down as the reality of the situation was slapping you in the face.

You were shaken by the revelation that stood infront of you as you hardly tried to pull yourself together as you could feel everyone's worries about the matter.

You need to desolate the noise around you before it becomes too much than it already is.

"SILENCE IN THE COURTROOM!!!" You shouted as you spread your out to order silence. The room immediately went quiet. "Sera, will take in all your questions in my position for whatever this means to us all. In the meantime, I need to be.... in my studies at the moment to handle for our next move for all..."

Without another word, you flew out of the courtroom as Sera took charge as you rushed into your studies, slammed the doors behind you...

....And broke down, emotionally and physically.

Everything was becoming too much for you.

Everyone was panicking, and the word have not yet been spoken of throughout the whole kingdom of Heaven.

"This...there's no way I can keep this hidden forever..." You said to yourself, repeating the first sentence over and over as you looked out the glass windows. "....How am I supposed to handle all this?! ....How can I even start to fix this...?!"

Tears started to flood your vision as you were overwhelmed with these thoughts in your mind.

That's when your song started playing within you. "...Nobody knows, who we're dealing with... They won't let it go, forget or forgive... The fear in me, its terminal... there's no melody, but to lose it alll..."

You were going hysterical around the room as you started throwing and smashing things around."...I still have job a do, I mindset is incomplete.. ...All foolish ideas of considering making peace..."

"...My people gonna pay, for we did those days, for what we took away..." You screamed, so loud that the everything made of glass exploded sending shards falling on to the floor.

"Storms coming, I can see the clouds, no prayer is gonna save you now! And the whole place is gonna come down like gravity, like gravity...!" You then started smashing things on the wall.

"Eye for a eye says you owe me a debt, demands blood, would I get my hands wet...?"

You land back on the ground as you drop to knees, pulling at your hair as they grew back quicker then a heartbeat. "The floods comin' and all I can see is tragedy, like gravity!"

Your shadow grew onto the wall as it hung above you. "To think I'm the heavenborn savior, would I be still when hell returned a favor... Take the ones we need, make me watch them bleed, will I break thinkin' how I could've save them?"

That's when you suddenly started thinking about Adam & Lute, who had died in the hands of Charlie and Vaggie, the ones who tried to warn you of this. "Wishin' they were there when we needed them, The only souls who ever warned them, maybe I should get a little heated, too? And understand why I should do what I need to do?"

At that very moment, you thought of your six children, the sons and daughters of the seven virtues of heaven.

The thought of them waking up into a world where demons & sinners were the new higher ups, scares you more than anything.

"Storms coming, I can see the clouds...."

...Which just increases your stressfulness.

"...No prayer is gonna save you now, and the whole place is gonna fall down like gravity, like gravity..."

You didn't what's going to happen, all you knew is that you need to protect your sons & daughters, no matter what....

"Eye for a eye says you owe me a debt, demands blood, would I get my hands wet...? The floods comin' and all I can see is tragedy, like gravity!"

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work coming soon . . . meet angel reader. castiel’s sister. lover of pink. prettiest girl in the world.

she smells like lavender & vanilla. made of lace and bows. your favorite angels favorite angel. bisexual. hime gyaru. deer coded.

( she can be written with dean, sam, rowena, or arthur but willing to write her platonically with cas. open to requests for her. )

© heldbycas — do not repost , steal , or edit my work

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

I’m sure a lot of us who have been in the Cod fandom have heard of the Monster AU by bluegiragi on Twitter so that is where this whole thing is set. I have not read the comics, I don’t like using twitter it pisses me off so whatever “cannon” there is, is scrubbed clean. This is my AU

˚₊‧꒰ა. 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

Intro

Waking up [Pt 1]

Angel head cannons

Sick Angel

Pillows

Hoodie

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˚₊‧꒰ა. 𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝑨𝑼

Angel is written from Male POV. I see a lot of x reader fan fics written through fem POV but when authors write fics through male POV it is seen as something weird. I personally strive to break that stigma and it is easier for me to write him as such.

Avid hater of second POV, he does not have a name past being revered to as Angel. You name him what you want

Open to requests for any ideas you may have for Angel ♡

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Refs for the rest of the 141 in this AU. All of these are made by bluegiragi on Twitter. I really recommend checking out their stuff, it’s gorgeous

Sick Angel

Angel Masterlist

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I was going though it tonight that mean this poor little dumpster of religious trauma is going through it too

Premise is simple. Angel boy is sick

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John Price could smell when his hoard was off. His hoard being his boys. So as soon as he felt that Angel was any sort of sick, he would come and see him.

He found the man in a sorry state. Wings wrapped tight around his body, body tucked into the little cabin of the shower in the corner of the bathroom.

His skin looked pale, clammy, forehead resting against the knees which he tucked against his chest. His whole body trembled with chills, even though the room wasn’t actually that cold.

“What’s all this then?” Price muttered, softly enough to not spook the bird. He brings up his hands and presses them against the angel’s forehead. “You’re burning up, kid.”

Angel doesn’t reply, just presses into the hand with a small whimper.

“How are you feeling?”

“I think I’m dying…”

Price lets out a chuckle at the dramatics but immediately stuffs it down, and Angel’s eyes flick up at him like a wet angry kitten hearing his pitiful state get laughed at. He was dying after all.

“Alright, let’s not stare holes into my soul” He shifts, then hooks his arms under Angel’s armpits and heaves him up out of his hiding spot. “God damn it, when did you become so heavy?” he grunts, but carefully starts walking out of the bathroom, making sure to not bump and bruise his wings.

Angel lets out a pitiful whine, his head dropping onto the older man’s shoulder, wings drooping pathetically. “Price, I’m nauseous…”

“I know, sweetheart.”

“Price, it hurts…”

“I know, hun.”

“Price, can you fix me?”

“Nothing some medication and sleep can’t fix, Angel.”

Ten minutes later Angel was curled up on the bed, fed his medicine — nausea easing enough for him to quiet down into an angel-shaped lump — watered, shoved into shorts that won’t overstimulate his already sensitive nervous system, and wings drooped all around the large round surface of his bed. John tucked the boy’s head against his chest, the smell of deep wooden cigar smoke making Angel feel more calm.

“Better?” Price places his large hand on the top of Angel’s head, making a few strands fall over his eyes.

“Yeah…”

“Good.”

⸻

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick out of everyone, he was the most prepared. Flu season sucked for everyone, so he kept cough drops on him — totally not because Angel cracked through them like candy — and of course other things for colds like fever breakers and anti-nausea meds. All provided by their medical officer, who was more than happy to have someone on the team who actually cared about not getting anyone sick.

Gaz clocked the fact that Angel was sick immediately. As soon as he said he wasn’t hungry at dinner, even when usually, yes, he did eat slowly, but at least he ate. Actually, he clocked it before Angel got sick. The moment Soap got sick, he was already expecting that the next week Angel would succumb to the same fate. After all, Soap, as much as Kyle loves him, was a bit of a slob, especially when it came to sneezing and coughing in close proximity to people.

Gaz followed after Angel after dinner, noting how the angel’s wings trembled in almost unnoticeable chills and he was practically dragging his feet across the floor. Before Angel could slip back into his room, Gaz stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Hey there, Angie. Are you alright, mate?”

Angel muttered something under his breath about feeling a bit under the weather and how he needed to sleep it off. Lies. Gaz could feel the heat the usually cold man was radiating under his hand.

“Come on, let me at least measure your temperature. You feel warm.” Gaz pushed him inside the room, shutting the door.

Five minutes later Angel was sitting criss-cross on the bed as Gaz measured his temperature. “38.2,” he muttered. “You’re feverish.”

He shoved a few pills into his hand and a glass of water. “Take these and sleep it off. I can take your morning rookie duty tomorrow.” He patted Angel on the shoulder, turning away to leave.

“Thanks…” Angel murmured from his curled-up spot on the bed.

Gaz turns around with a small smile. “No problem. Us birds look out for each other. Especially when one of us looks positively green. Good night, Angie.”

⸻

Simon “Ghost” Riley of course managed to find him in the most compromising position. Hunched over the toilet, throwing up his guts.

“What? Saw something that made your feathery tummy twist?” The words come out as a mix of a scoff and a badly landed joke.

Angel tries to retaliate by trying to kick at Ghost’s ankle, but it was closer to a kitten pawing at his pant leg than an actual kick.

Angel whispers — more like rasps out — something along the lines of “leave me alone” before another wave of nausea hits.

Ghost stands there and considers his options for a minute before letting out a long sigh and hooking his arms under Angel’s, picks him up like a cat. “Up you go, you holy inconvenience.”

Angel tried to wiggle out maybe once before giving up and going limp in his arms. He was too nauseous and cold to try and fight for his rights.

“Did no one tell you that if you’re feeling under the weather you should go to the med bay, not puke your guts out in public bathrooms?” Ghost’s voice was gruff as always as he hauled the angel through the door of the med bay, probably knocking one of Angel’s wings on the door frame. The avian just lets out a small, defeated “Ow,” tears welling up in his eyes.

Ghost looks down, hearing the small hiss of pain. Great, now he’s crying. Prissy angel. He places Angel onto one of the chairs in the waiting room, taking half a step back and addressing the situation. Then, with a defeated sigh, he digs around in his pocket and pulls out a very crumpled tissue, shoving it in Angel’s hand. “Wipe your nose. You’re like a toddler. Plus, tears don’t look good on you.” The last part was said much quieter.

Then Ghost walks away to fetch a medic… unlike the usual wait of at least thirty or so minutes, a cot was cleaned up for Angel in less than ten minutes. Even if Ghost did have to threaten a few nurses with me or his creepy shadow tricks and remind them that if they made the Angel cry, they’d have to deal with him…

⸻

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish was not the one to usually notice one of his teammates was sick. When he did, it was usually late enough for him to make the quick decision to just drag them to the med bay and hand them off to some professional who was much better equipped at dealing with fevers and wet coughing.

With Angel, he noticed quicker. The man had an “off” scent to him all morning. Soap chalked it up to the man maybe switching his cologne or taking a shower with one of the communal body washes that morning. However, by midday he couldn’t just blame his off feeling on a switch in scent.

During training Angel was slower than usual, more sluggish. Breathing heavily, getting tired faster, slower in his movements. So while Angel stood up to walk off the mats to get some water and his whole frame swayed like he was about to pass out, Soap was already by his side, sliding under his arm, hand on the avian’s waist to hold him upright.

“Woah, ’ere mate. You alright?” He guides him to sit down at the side of the main training area.

“Just feeling under the weather.”

“This seems more than an under-the-weather kinda thing, lad. You almost collapsed.” Soap almost sounded concerned.

Angel immediately tried to wave him off, shaking his head, which really did not help with the dizziness that much. “No, no, I’m sure it’s fine.

“Fine or not, I think that’s enough trainin’ for today. Let’s get ya a drink of water.” Soap helps the angel back up again, even if he did try to gently push off and do it himself.

After that, Soap followed after him like a guard dog up to the late hours of the afternoon. Out of concern mostly, but also because now Angel didn’t have a choice to flee. What if he passes out again, or worse?

“’Ere.” Soap dropped onto the bed beside Angel. “Asked Vince what to give you to make you feel better, and he said to take two of these in the mornin’ and afternoon.” He shoved a small box with pills inside into Angel’s hand.

“And he also said to watch yer temperature, so I guess I’m sleepin’ here tonight.” He leans back, hands crossed behind his head with a content sigh. “I always forget how comfy yer bed is, Angel boy.”

Angel, of course, grumbled about how he didn’t want mutts sleeping in his bed or that he was feeling fine, but in the middle of the night when the chills hit and Angel wouldn’t stop shivering, Soap’s wolf form was a perfect radiator to keep the birdie warm all through the night.

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