#iv. they called you angel and kissed prayers up your spine「 ･ﾟ」

[acatpersonapparently]

Jemtoria Angel AU: Part 2

i.

Jemima’s earliest memory is of the sun. The way it creeps though the kitchen windows of their small ramshackle home and sprawls across the floor like a lazy cat. The sun plays peek-a-boo with the clouds as Jemima bites back another scream. Her mother is tearing fistfuls of feathers from her back again. Fighting against their incessant growing in, like weeds eating at the good garden plants.

When the ground is littered an inch thick in holy white then (and only then) does her mother turn her around to face her. Cupping her cheeks and pressing kisses to her eyelid, her mother fills the room with wet whispers of love.

Darling child of mine

My sweet girl

My precious gift from God

ii.

Jemima received two names when she was born. One was lovingly placed on her skin with her mother's gentle touch. The other was the one given the first time the world bore witness to her. Monster they whisper, like the sin she was born from is contagious. A Thing That is Less Than Things. (The worst part is Jemima knows they're not wrong. She knows every time her feathers come in like stubble and her mother keeps her inside because today she is literally glowing.)

My darling girl, my sweet thing, Her mother whispers, rubbing ash into her fiery red hair and brushing powder on her skin. Anything to stop the poison gas leak of light.

Monster, sin, wicked thing, sin, Everyone else whispers. Jemima is too young to understand the Psalms that come stabbing out their mouths when she passes. She doesn't recognize the objects they hold at her. The wooden sticks, the glass bottles. All she can do is hold onto her mother as they're turned away from another door.

iii.

Jemima doesn’t think about her father most days. Demeter shelters her from that pain too. It’s not like she doesn’t know. After all, she’s nine years old and her baby teeth are almost all gone. Now, when the townspeople whisper when they pass, she bares her sharp incisors. Sometimes, on particularly bad days, her tongue twists into a language she swears to her mom she never learned until she is shouting through air thick with locusts.

She climbs trees to yell at the sky. Asking her father where he has gone, when will he return. they’re waiting, after all, they haven’t moved an inch. She wonders if he despises her too, thinks her to be a twisted creature all the way down. Does he hate her bloody knees? The soft skin of her neck? Is it the bits of humanity that has spoiled her rotten?

(She hates him so much some days for abandoning them that she thinks she’s a volcano, heading towards natural disaster, heat pooling in clenched fists. But, her mother is crying again, so she unfolds her fingers and places her warm hands on her. She won’t leave her mother, not like him. She may be a wretched thing but she's a good person)

iv.

Her mother hits her once, when she’s fifteen and all her limbs feel awkward and new. The tips of her wings graze the ground now and feather still comes in like stubble down her arms.

The melody had started itself inside of her. She didn’t mean to sing really, she swears. The singing felt like a relief from the loneliness, like there was an entire choir waiting for her to harmonize them. So she indulged herself a little. The hymn had burbled out of the gulley of her throat but it hadn't felt wrong. (not the way shoes feel wrong or the way her wings feel wrong)

Never again. Her mother hisses as Jemima holds the side of her face. Promise me, never again. Your singing will lure men in and seize their hearts, drive women to out of their minds, even nature will be pulled in. Never again will you sing. Swear it.

Jemima swears, upon her favourite book, on her father, on God and his heavenly hosts she half belongs to. If it weren't for the fear in her mother's pleading eyes, she would've hated her for it.

v.

When she turns eighteen, she runs away. Her mother is too old to be cleaning the smashed eggs and spray paint from their doorway. Her hands ache to massage the weight out of her mother’s bowed shoulders. (even though she is perfectly aware that she’s the burden that’s slowly crushing her to death)

So, she leaves.

It’s not just the wings she shares with her father, she supposes.

Jemima gets on the greyhound bus to nowhere without looking back. Her trench coat brushes the floor and she doesn’t make eye contact with anyone armed with even the sweetest creeping idle talk. Jemima is perfectly aware of the poison of strangers. She folds her soft-palmed hands and bows her head for the ride, hoping the facsimile of prayer will keep them from encroaching on her sacred space.

The desert is as good of a place as any to call home. It’s not like anyone here knows that she’s a walking monument to sin. She wanders through town, pouring over a book. She takes stock of the men that pass her, a woman on their arm. She watches the boys run up and down the small town’s main street. They look at her and then past her, practically right through. She is so wonderfully a non-entity.

vi.

She passes a garden, flush with spiraling vines and the scent of spring vegetables. Something beckons her inside with a sickly tweet tweet. Naturally, she jumps the fence without a moment's hesitation. There’s a trembling beam of white crying under the roses. She scoops up the bird in her world weary palms and extracts it from under a rosebush. Cooing, she notes the birds limp and unmoving wings.

Me too, little buddy. She whispers consolation, petting him with a single hesitant finger. She understands being a thing that could fly. The blue front door of this garden's house seems inviting enough and she doesn’t know what else to do with her little friend.

She knocks. The door opens.

Your bird, I think it’s hurt. Jemima begins but her words dry up under the heat of the stranger’s gaze. It’s almost open repulsion on the woman’s beautiful face. Her hands feel frozen around the little heartbeat. The disgust slips away from the stranger’s expression as she holds her hand out to Jemima. Jemima opens her cupped hands to her.

That’s not my bird. The stranger’s voice crackles dryly. That’s a dove.

Oh

The stranger looks her over with such scrutiny Jemima might as well be naked on the stoop. She decides to leave before the humming in her spine makes her do something strange.

Wait, I didn’t say I wouldn’t take her in. The stranger calls out, flinging the sky-blue door open wider, stepping aside. Jemima looks around, checking to make sure there isn’t somebody else this is for because the gentleness in the invitation is enough to make her weep. The stranger looks between the bird in her hands and her face, sweet enough as to take pity for the monster on her doorstep

You poor little thing, someone needs to be kind to you.

[swiftlymoniquesblog]

Perfectly Confused Angel- Part 9

Warnings: A a little bit of angst, lots of fluff, mentions of sex but no details on it. Reminder: I don’t write smut.

A/N: I wanted to do something a little more to celebrate my 100 followers! I still can’t believe I’m already over 100. And that so many of y’all are into my stories! This week I worked 5 days (full time) and today let me beat! However, I had to leave a little surprise in the Castiel x Reader love story

As always, the previous chapter can be found here

Masterlist is here

Feedback is appreciated and requests are open! Let me know if you want to be added to my forever tag list or the perfectly confused angel tag list!

-Monique

 It’s been a week since Castiel’s accident and unfortunately, he still wasn’t allowed to leave the hospital. Every day over the last week, you would come and see him as soon as visiting hours started and would stay after it was over. Eventually, the nursing staff had set up a bed in his room so you could stay with him as long as he was going to be in the hospital, which was going to be awhile still. His stats weren’t where the doctors wanted them to be and he needed surgery for his chest. That was all the first day and since then, his body was rejecting the medication they had proscribed for him. He was in constant pain, not being able to relax and heal, his body wasn’t strong like it once was. It only made your heartbreak seeing your boyfriend so broken and you, so helpless, not being able to do anything for him. You start your day like you normally would; coffee, light breakfast and chit chat with Sam and Dean before heading to the hospital. They would join you too occasionally but there were cases that still needed to be solved and the Winchesters felt they had a duty to the world to fight back.

“Hey, babe!” You say to Cas, who is sitting up in his bed, the first time since he was admitted.

“There’s my baby girl!” Cas says, beaming when he sees you.

“Oh there you are, Y/N. This one has been asking for you nonstop but, you knew that already.” The female nurse on Castiel’s case winked at you.

“Well now that you’re here, we can get started.” The doctor said, coming in the room upon being called by the nurse.

“What’s going on?” You ask.

“Johnson.” The doctor says to a younger-looking doctor next to him and she begins explaining.

“Castiel, age 40, post-op day 8. His vitals are good, bp 128 over 45. Chest wound is still infected but his body is working overtime to get him back to normal.”

“And when will he be able to go home?” The other doctor, Dr. Peters, asks.

“As soon as the wound heals and his body gets stronger, he should be able to go home. Should be within the next week.” Johnson explains.

“Another whole week?” You whine, just wanting to go home, with Cas.

“Unfortunately, he is not where we want him to be quite yet. He has come a long way since we admitted him, but he has a bit more healing to do.” Dr. Peters says.

“Thanks doctors.” You say, and bid them farewell, leaving you and Cas alone.

“Well, what now?” You ask, looking over to Cas to see a mischievous looking grin plastered on his lips.

“I thought they’d never leave.” He says, leaning over the bed to pull you to him. You squeal at his sudden action but snuggle in close to him, careful not to knock any of the wires out of him.

“I want you to come home Cas. I need you better. We need you at the Bunker. The boys, they’ve been driving me up a wall and I cannot handle them on my own.” You admit, sighing heavily as you think of the two hunters back at home.

He chuckles slightly, knowing exactly what you were talking about, so he promised you he would talk to them in prayer and tell them to leave you alone. That was the cool part about having an angel boyfriend. He can step in and change the minds of anyone with enough persuasion and that is what he did. Told Sam and Dean to leave you alone for a while so that you could be at ease as you made sure Cas stayed alive.

“It’s okay Honeybee, I want to come home too. This hospital is getting kind of crammed and all I wanna do is go home and cuddle with you properly.” Cas admits shyly and you chuckle at how cute he is. “Not that I can’t give you a good cuddle now but, it’s a small bed and we need a bit more space if you know what I mean.” He adds, wiggling his eyebrows. You laugh at his dorkiness, your heart swelling at the sight before you.

“Babe, if this is your attempt at being sexy, you have quite a bit of work to do.” You joke but suddenly, his demeanor changed. He slowly reached up to pull you down closer to him as he went to whisper in your ear.

“If you wanna see sexy, just you wait.” And with that, he nipped at your earlobe, sending shivers down your spine. You pull back to look at him, and there was a darkness to the blue of his iris. Your own eyes widened as you took him in, surprising yourself when you leaned over to kiss him. It immediately felt needy, like it was the first kiss you two had had in a very long time. His grip on you was strong, afraid to let any space be the reason you separated. He adored you and you knew that, letting all your pent-up emotions finally be released. Before things got too heated, you pulled back, struggling to catch your breath, and said,

“Is it okay for us to be kissing with all these wires attached to you?”

“Yeah, about those.” He said, starting to peel off the wires that kept him reliant on a machine. He winched as each one left his soft skin, and the IVs hurt worse than anything he had experienced in his human time, well since he’s been in the hospital anyway.

“Cas, what-what are you doing? You can’t take those out!” You say, shocked by what he was doing.

“Y/N, baby. It doesn’t matter what happens. I want to be with you, I want this relationship to mean something.” He says, holding your cheek.

“Cas, my sweet love. Our relationship means everything to me. What are you talking about?” You say, not believing what he was saying.

“I mean, I want to take this relationship to the next level. Physically. I want to make love to you, Y/N.” Your eyes had widened even more, afraid they were going to fall out of your head. But you knew you wanted it just as much as he did. What better way to make your relationship completely known then this? You were scared that it would be bad for him since he just had surgery, but the need for him, to be one with him, was far more pulling on your heart than anything else.

Without thinking twice about, you lifted your shirt up over your head and let your bra fall off your body. His eyes had widened themselves, taking in the sight of your exposed chest in front of him and he smiled.

“You’re so beautiful.” He said, kissing you before lips fleeing yours so he could remove his shirt. For some reason, his chest was well defined, pecs and abs easy to see. You wondered if he worked out or if he was able to get a good body because his vessel had one. Still, you felt your heart race as he brought you in for another kiss. Your head spinning as he flipped you over so you were under him.

“I love you so much, my beautiful Honeybee.” He spoke, looking down on you and he smiled. “Please tell me if I’m hurting you okay?” He asks.

You nod and say, “you can never hurt me, Cas. I love you so much too.”

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