#he must remember what he was like before crowley temped him

[wearecrowley]

[codicesandflora]

Ineffable Inktober-Day Twenty Three-Shakespeare

Sadly, I have fallen behind again, but I still hope to finish by the end of the month. We’ll see what happens....

This takes place a few months after the Nearpocalypse. I’m going to rate it Teen just to be on the safe side.

Such Heavenly Touches (AO3 Link)

“Angel, you need to relax.”

Aziraphale blinked, peering over his glasses. “I thought I was relaxed. The shop is closed, I’m sitting here on the couch with you, and I’m currently reading the second volume of A la Recherche du Temps Perdu. I don’t see how I could be any more relaxed.”

“Yeah, but you’ve been reading the same page for fifteen minutes. And it took you ten to get through the last one.” Crowley sat up and scooted closer to Aziraphale.

“Something’s been bothering you for almost a week now,” he continued. “Ever since you got back from your last visit to Heaven. Is that what this is? Something happen while you were there?”

Ever since the Nearpocalypse, Heaven and Hell hadn’t communicated all that much with either of them. That came to an end when a messenger angel dropped by the bookshop with a request straight from the Metatron that Aziraphale come to receive new instructions: to continue to stay on Earth and work on Her behalf however he saw best.

They hadn’t discussed it much once Aziraphale got back, but Crowley doubted that that would be the end of it. Aziraphale’s withdrawn behavior for the rest of the week proved him right.

Aziraphale let out a long sigh and closed the book in his lap, sitting it to the side. “I didn’t expect to be welcomed back with open arms. I am aware that the only reason I wasn’t destroyed the moment I entered Heaven was because of that decree from Her that we be left alone. But I…I had hoped that Her declaration of forgiveness would lessen the severity of their contempt.”

‘Instead that increased it,’ Crowley finished for him. That wasn’t surprising to him. For all the talk about Divine Forgiveness, it was usually in very short supply among the majority of the Host.

Aziraphale shook his head and took his glasses off, putting them into his pocket. “No, it’s not even really that. I’ve known for a long time what they think of me. It’s more like the feeling I had just after I left. I suppose the only way I can describe it is a sort of disconnection. Or isolation.”

The angel looked over at him with a wan smile on his face. He placed a hand onto Crowley’s knee. “Dear, I am sorry. Your company is far preferable to the entire Host, but….”

“But it’s not the same,” Crowley nodded. He knew that he could say that being Fallen was the ultimate form of isolation from Heaven, but he also knew that that wasn’t the same either. Not when Aziraphale was still an angel and yet was cut off from most of Heaven.

He watched as Aziraphale drew his hand back into his lap and began twisting his fingers together, his posture even tenser than it was before. Seeing him hunched slightly forward, his arms pressed tight to his sides, Crowley finally got an idea of what to do.

“How about a massage?” Aziraphale blinked hard again, but this time it was accompanied by a rush of red to his cheeks.

“A, a what?! Er….”

“You heard me, a massage.” Crowley leaned toward him, tilting his head to the side. “Have you ever had one?”

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Er, no. I’m not…angels are supposed to be the ones giving comforting touches, not….”

“Yes, I know,” Crowley sighed waving his hand. “But this isn’t Heaven, and you don’t have to live by their rules anymore.” He picked up one of Aziraphale’s hands and caressed it. “It’ll feel good, angel. I promise, you’ll love it.”

The red on Aziraphale’s face increased, but what truly warmed Crowley’s heart was the trust that filled the angel’s eyes as he nodded his head.

“All right. So, er, what do we do?”

--------

A couple minutes later, the two of them were in Aziraphale’s bedroom. A few quick miracles pushed the bed to the side of the room, conjured up a massage table, and made a second table of oils and towels appear.

Aziraphale watched Crowley prepare the room with wide eyes. “Have you…have you done this before?”

“Once or twice,” Crowley said with a shrug. “I got to know a few masseuses during a temptation scheme I had going on in Manchester.”

“Oh, um,” Aziraphale tugged at his bowtie. “Did you use it a lot for your…for work?”

Crowley smiled at him. “You mean did I use massage for tempting people? Nah, it wasn’t that kind of massage, angel.” He came up behind Aziraphale and gently placed his hands onto the angel’s shoulders.

“Most of the people weren’t looking for that sort of thing,” he added. “Oh sure, one or two were, but most of them…they just needed someone to touch them.” He clasped Aziraphale’s shoulders, noting the soft gasp he got in response.

“I think you do too, angel. Even if you don’t know how to ask for it.”

Aziraphale pulled in a shuddering breath. “Crowley, I…I….” Crowley shushed him and lifted one hand to stroke his cheek.

“It’s all right,” he murmured. “I’ll take care of you, Aziraphale. I promise.”

The sound in Aziraphale’s throat could have been a sob or simply shock. There was no way to know. All Crowley did know was that the angel spun around to embrace him tightly and press his face against Crowley’s shoulder.

They stayed that way for a full minute until Aziraphale finally pulled away and slipped his arm out of one of the sleeves of his jacket.

“I suppose I should….”

“Yeah,” Crowley said, turning his face away. “I’ll go warm up some of this oil. Just lie face down on the table when you’re ready.”

It was odd, this need to turn away while Aziraphale undressed. Both of them had seen the other one naked more than once. Then again, Crowley was aware that Aziraphale had a strong aversion to being watched or stared at in any situation.

The angel would probably make an exception for him, but Crowley didn’t want to make him do that. Not when this was supposed to be about soothing Aziraphale’s nerves.  

“I’m ready,” a small voice said behind him.

Crowley nodded and picked up one of the bottles of oil. It was scented with lavender, a good choice for Aziraphale he figured. He held it in his hands and let the heat that was always just under his skin warm it.

Then he turned and smiled at the sight in front of him. Of Aziraphale lying on his stomach, his arms folded up near his head and his head craned to watch Crowley.

As he drew closer, he noted shivers coursing through the angel’s body. He stepped back just long enough to grab some towels from the stand.

“Relax, angel,” he murmured as he heated each towel up and draped them around Aziraphale’s body. Aziraphale had left on his boxers, but had removed everything else, and Crowley imagined that some of that shivering was just a slight chill due to having far skin exposed than he was used to.

Once he had covered the lower part of the angel’s body and offered him a warm towel to rest his head onto, Crowley could see some of Aziraphale’s tension ease. The angel lowered his face onto the towel while Crowley poured some of the oil onto his hands.

‘Who will believe my verse in time to come/ If it were fill’d with your most high deserts?’

Crowley hummed and smiled. He remembered the day Shakespeare wrote that. Or rather, the day the two of them pieced it together. Crowley was still hanging around the Globe Theater, helping Hamlet become a success and was tossing out a spare line here and there to move his latest sonnet along.

What he didn’t share was that he’d been thinking about Aziraphale the whole time. About the way the angel’s face lit up when they saw each other again and how Aziraphale’s smile could warm him in a way Hellfire never could.

Throughout their impromptu writing session, Shakespeare had prodded at him to reveal the inspiration for his words, but Crowley refused. Eventually, the bard gave up, but not before getting the true final word in.

“Whoever they are, they must be a beauty beyond compare. Just as your poetic words say.”

‘You have no idea,’ he had thought at the time. How could any human understand the beauty of an angel? Shakespeare’s words would be far more accurate than he could ever know.

Crowley walked up to the table and placed his hands onto Aziraphale’s shoulders, clasping and then kneading at the muscles that were clenched tight. Aziraphale gulped, but then leaned into the touch.

“C-Crowley….”

“Shh,” Crowley said, leaning in to lightly kiss the shell of Aziraphale’s ear. “Just let yourself enjoy this.”

Aziraphale let out a long, contented sigh as his body sagged against the table. Crowley continued to ease out each tightly wound knot in Aziraphale’s shoulders and neck. The lavender scent spread outward, cresting with each touch.

Crowley’s smile grew. The sunlight coming in through one of the windows made Aziraphale’s hair glow, making the faint halo that Crowley always saw around the angel’s head shimmer slightly in response. Soft sighs filled Crowley’s ears, making his heart swell with affection.

‘If I could write the beauty of your eyes/ And in fresh numbers number all of your graces/ The age would come to say, “his poet lies”’

‘Such heavenly touches ne’er touch’d earthly faces.’

As Crowley’s hands traveled down Aziraphale’s back, his eyes took in every curve and fold of the angel’s body. His hands massaged, but also caressed every inch of skin that they touched.

I love you. Every stroke was an echo of this one thought that continued in an endless chain in Crowley’s mind. I love you, angel. I love every part of you. Let me touch you, hold you, comfort you.

Crowley began to knead Aziraphale’s calves. Legs that had stood strong in the face of darkness and suffering. Feet that had remained firmly grounded when others would have fled from the pain and misery confronting them.

As he worked downward, Crowley continued to hear Aziraphale sigh and then moan in pleasure. When was the last time anyone had touched him tenderly? Did anyone in Heaven do it? Unlikely. All the angels aside from Aziraphale that Crowley had met were not the types who believed in touch founded on gentleness and care. Humans? Possibly, but even then Aziraphale kept himself remote from most everyone around him.

The cold truth was that Aziraphale was probably touched starved for centuries and was still adjusting to getting even the smallest scraps of physical affection within their relationship.

Crowley carefully guided Aziraphale to roll over onto his back. The angel’s eyes were closed, but his expression was slack ecstasy. He bent down to give Aziraphale a light kiss to the forehead before rubbing his fingertips along the angel’s temples and then down the sides of his head.

Once he was done, he ran his hands down Aziraphale’s cheeks. “How do you feel?” he whispered.

Aziraphale’s eyes opened, and Crowley stopped breathing for a few seconds as the blue of the ocean nearly drowned him. Then a smile brighter than sunlight brought him back.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed. “Dearest….”

Crowley moved from behind Aziraphale to stand over him, placing his hand back onto Aziraphale’s cheek.  Seeing him like this, bliss suffusing his features, Crowley remembered why he chose to visualize Aziraphale’s face when he wanted to think of Heaven.

--------

Author’s Note: the lines Crowley was thinking of were from Shakespeare’s 17th sonnet. When I read it, it really felt like something he would think in relation to Aziraphale. 

[waywardmoeyy]

My Guardian (Part 10)

Castiel x Reader

Word Count: 1487

Warnings: swearing, angst, violence, mention of blood/mild torture.

**Sorry for the delay on this one. Life has been crazy. Oh, and this was written over the course of several days, so I really hope it makes sense. Anywhos, enjoy.

My Guardian Master List

(Not my GIF)

Castiel gripped your hand as he stood over your lifeless form. He had been standing there for over an hour, unable to move or take his eyes off you. He couldn’t accept the fact that you were gone.

The doctor stood off to the side talking with Sam and Dean. They discussed care of remains and talked with social workers, but Cas remained silent at your side. He didn’t want to think about what was going to happen to your lifeless body. He didn’t want to have to leave you at a morgue or funeral parlor while the boys found a way to get your soul back.

If they could get your soul back.

It was at that moment that Cas knew what he had to do. Cas turned to the boys, who looked back at him in return. Then, with teary, rage-filled eyes, he disappeared.

Crowley gathered his multitude of jars, leaving his most prized in the front and center. Watching the purple glow filled him with sinister glee as the glimmer swirled in its glass prison.

Crowley grinned at his prisoner. “Oh, my darling, you are so much more useful than just for energy. You—“

Crowley suddenly flew backwards into the concrete wall. The basement of his new hideout flashed with blue light as the king fell to the floor. Crowley peered up to the center of the room as he scrambled to his feet, adjusting his suit coat as he stood.

“Castiel, I believe I have something of yours,” Crowley taunted the intruder. “Touch me again and I can make sure it’s destroyed for good,” he threatened.

Cas turned to the rows of glass jars, his eyes fixed on the center canister. “Y/N.” The angel’s eyes began to water as he stared at what was left of your essence. “Let her go, Crowley.”

The King of Hell snickered as he dusted himself off. “Or what? You’ll smite me into tomorrow? I’m sorry, but that doesn’t scare the bloody King of Hell, Castiel. Now, flutter back to your boyfriends. There’s nothing else you can do here. She’s mine.”

Cas growled at the demon as he slowly circled closer to the jars. His eyes flicked back between Crowley to your jar.

“Oh, and knocking the jar over may let her soul out, but it can’t go back home.” Crowley chuckled as he eyed his trophy.

Cas closed his eyes as his stomach churned. He was so close, but Crowley was right. There was nothing he could do to send your soul back to your body… not yet.

Then, Cas remembered what Sam had said earlier. If the caster is injured, the spell is weakened. That’s what he needed to do, hurt the demon so badly it would break the spell.

Cas’s angel blade lowered from his sleeve as he approached the angel. Cas’s eyes darkened with anger and pure hatred for the pompous demon. As he approached, Crowley grinned back at the angel. “Really, Cas? Are you deaf or stupid? Both? I can make her soul disappear without a trace, and you’re still challenging me? Do you really think you can win?”

“Silence,” Cas commanded as he marched closer.

The basement door busted open with a loud bang. Three demons shuffled down the stairs into the basement room and charged at Cas. The angel turned to them, quickly disposing of the first one in a matter of seconds. Lights flashed from the demon as the angel blade penetrated his chest. The second one approached Castiel, lunging at him from the side. Cas turned and met the demon’s forehead with his hand, quickly killing him. The third of Crowley’s goon’s stopped in his tracks, then left his vessel in a large cloud of gray smoke as the body fell to the floor.

Cas turned back to Crowley. The king’s face twisted as an unseen force slammed him back against the wall. Castiel approach Crowley, his angel blade at the ready.

The king howled into the empty basement as Cas carved the blade across his chest. Cas lifted the blade and glared at his victim. “You will let her go, Crowley.” Cas carved another deep gash into the demon’s chest. “I can keep this up all night, all year. Let. Her. Go.” Cas boomed.

Crowley shrieked as Cas pummeled the blade into Crowley’s side.

Sam and Dean stared at your lifeless body as they signed the final papers for the funeral arrangements. Dean traced the back of his hand across your alabaster face as he whispered his goodbyes. Your skin was slightly cooler than last time he had touched you, causing the reality of the situation to finally sink in. “Shit, Sammy. Crowley finally outsmarted us.”

Sam peered down at you over his brother’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out, Dean. I’m sure Cas is kicking Crowley’s ass right now. We’ll get her back somehow.”

Dean turned to his brother. “That son of a bitch. What kind of sick amusement does he get from all this? I mean, who is she to him?”

Sam’s eyes widened as he glanced back over his brother’s shoulder. “Dean—“

Dean turned back towards your body as your fingers began to twitch. The rest of your body quickly began to stir as your Y/E/C eyes opened, staring straight up at the morgue’s ceiling. You slowly sat up as your hands dripped the sides of the metal platform.

“Holy shit—Y/N?” Dean stared wide-eyed as color started to fill your cheeks.

You turned to the Winchesters and raised an eyebrow. “What?” you asked nonchalantly. “What the hell are you two looking at?”

Sam slowly approached you. “Y/N, you… you were dead. Confirmed over six hours ago. Your body temp dropped several degrees. The doctor declared it.” Sam furrowed his brow, his eyes still widened. “And you’re asking us what we’re looking at?”

“A God damn body coming back to life right in front of us, that’s what we’re fucking looking at.” Dean took a step back, not knowing what to else to do. “I’ll contact Cas. He’s going to want to see you. He’s been worried sick. He’s probably out on a psychotic rampage right now.”

You blinked. “Um, okay.”

Dean continued to stare at you. Something was off about you, something he had seen before but couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Cas fell backwards as several demons ambushed him from behind. He fought against the goons as his grip on Crowley loosened, allowing the posh demon to scurry over to the collection of jars. Cas furiously struggled for freedom as he watched the badly wounded King of Hell grasp your jar before disappearing without a trace.

“No!” Cas screeched into the cold room as he broke free from Crowley’s minions.

Sam and Dean stared down at you, not sure whether they should hug you or cuff you. There was definitely something off about you, other than the slightly blue tint on your lips. They studied you as you swung your legs over the side of the metal table.

“Seriously, what the hell are you two gawking at?” you snapped. They just continued to stare at you. You rolled your eyes as you tried your hardest to avoid eye contact.

Both of the boys jumped as Cas appeared behind them. They spun around to face the bruised and bloodied angel. Cas’s eyes widened as his gaze fixed on yours. “Y/N.” The angel shoved the brothers aside and rushed over to you. He wrapped his arms tightly around you and pulled you against his partially exposed chest. “It worked,” he whispered into your ear.

“Well, that’s pretty obvious.” Your voice was low and cold.

Cas pulled away as he stared down at you, his eyes glassy with concern and pain. He nodded then turned to the Winchesters.

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Does someone want to explain what the hell is going on?” Dean’s voice echoed in the chilly room. “Okay, lover boy. You broke the spell, which must mean that Crowley is either seriously injured or dead.” He glanced over Cas’s shoulder. “So, this means it’s all over? So, what’s wrong with her?”

Sam tilted his head. “Something doesn’t seem right.”

You hopped off the tabled and marched towards the door. “Well, while you geniuses figure it out, I’m going to grab some coffee.”

Dean huffed a laugh. “Right, you were dead just minutes ago and your next move it to grab a latte? This is what I mean, Cas.” Dean turned to Castiel. “How do you not see something is wrong?”

“I see it Dean, I’m well aware.” Cas turned to you, then back at the boys. “I was able to break the spell, but then I tried to release her soul, I was ambushed. Crowley was able to escape with it before I could get free,” Cas explained.

Sam slowly narrowed his gaze. “So, you’re saying…”

Cas nodded. “She’s soulless.”

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