hear me out, but crowley with a reader who’s an angel. oblivious, much like castiel, but kind-even to demons, (unless they give her a reason not to be.) much to the other angels dismay.
⋆˚꩜｡ kindness is suspicious,
summary. the king of hell is used to fear, deals, and the occasional attempted stabbing. what he is not used to is an angel who insists on being kind to him
pairing. crowley x angel!reader ( f )
wordcount. 492 genre. fluff
warnings. mild demon snark, angelic naïveté, bickering that’s secretly flirting, light supernatural violence mention, crowley being emotionally confused by kindness
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Crowley knows something is wrong the moment you appear.
Not wrong wrong—he’d feel the smiting energy if it were that kind of problem.
But still.
Suspicious.
You’re standing in the middle of his throne room in Hell like you took a wrong turn on a Sunday stroll.
White light fades around you, wings rustling faintly behind your back as you glance around with quiet curiosity.
“Hello,” you say politely.
Crowley blinks.
“…Hello?”
The room is silent.
Several demons are staring like you just walked into a biker bar wearing a halo and a name tag that says please mug me.
Which, frankly, isn’t far off.
“You’re Crowley,” you continue, stepping forward. “King of Hell.”
“Still am,” he says slowly. “Though I’m beginning to think you’ve popped in the wrong postcode, darling.”
You tilt your head. Very much like a certain trench-coated angel he unfortunately knows.
“No. I meant to come here.”
That makes the demons laugh.
One of them mutters, “Oh this’ll be good.”
Crowley leans back in his throne, steepling his fingers.
“And why, exactly, would an angel intend to visit Hell?”
You smile.
Not smug. Not threatening.
Just… warm.
“I wanted to meet you.”
The silence that follows is so heavy you could drop it down a well and never hear it hit bottom.
Crowley stares.
“…You wanted to meet me.”
“Yes.”
“King of Hell. Professional villain. Torturer of souls. Ring any bells?”
“Yes,” you say brightly. “That’s you.”
He squints at you.
“You do realize angels typically show up to smite me, yes?”
You frown slightly, considering that.
“That seems unnecessarily aggressive.”
A demon in the corner chokes.
Crowley pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Right. Of course it does.”
You step closer to the throne, peering at him like he’s a mildly interesting museum exhibit.
“I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Oh, I’m sure you have.”
“Most of it was very negative.”
“Ah. There we are.”
“But,” you continue thoughtfully, “I believe everyone deserves a chance to be understood.”
Crowley stares at you like you’ve just declared the sky is made of marmalade.
“Angel,” he says slowly, “I run Hell.”
“Yes.”
“I sell souls.”
“Yes.”
“I’ve personally orchestrated several thousand catastrophes.”
“Yes.”
You nod.
“And yet you came here to… what, exactly?”
You offer your hand.
“To introduce myself.”
Behind you, one demon whispers, “She’s gonna die.”
Crowley looks at your hand.
Then at your face.
Then back at your hand.
“…You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
“You’re not secretly planning to smite me.”
“No.”
“Or trap me in holy fire.”
“No.”
“…Or lecture me.”
You pause.
“…I might do that later.”
Crowley lets out a short, disbelieving laugh.
“Bloody hell.”
He takes your hand.
His grip is cool, careful.
“Crowley,” he says.
You beam like this is the most normal introduction in the world.
“It’s nice to meet you.”
Across Heaven, several angels are probably screaming.
Crowley, however, finds himself oddly entertained.
And deeply concerned that he might like you.
ꔛ. all works ; writing guidelines ; writing schedule
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For day 14 of @suptober I had to draw Crowley from this fic because I know we talk about a Cas Empty rescue a lot, but sometimes I think about Crowley sitting in the empty being certain that the people he sacrificed himself for probably don't even give him a thought, much less would come for him...and then Dean does.
~~~
At least this wasn’t Hell, but it was always so cold here.
And dark.
And smothering.
And empty.
At least there was nothing to do here. There was just...nothing, nothing to climb, nothing to fight, nothing to...be. There was nothing to be.
Crowley was used to being nothing.
Then, suddenly, there was light. A beautiful, warm light, and it was coming closer. He told himself that it wasn’t what he knew it to be, but...he could never forget the feeling of that, of him.
"Crowley! Hey, can you hear me?"
Suddenly, hands were gripping him by the lapels and pulling him from the black.
He grasped at them, clung to the arms and body attached to them.
“That’s it. Time to wake up, you bastard. Come here.”
Then, Crowley was being pulled to his feet and wrapped in arms, in light. Crowley was being saved.
Crowley opened his eyes and looked up. “Hello, Squirrel.”
Dean’s mouth quirked in a barely there smile, but his eyes shone. “Come on, man. Let’s get you home.”
Crowley nodded.
Finally.
It was so warm here.
~~~
Version from before I wrote all over it below the cut
Elysian - relating to or characteristic of heaven or paradise.
Pairing: Crowley x afab!Reader
Warnings: Smut, MDNI, 18+ ONLY ⇆ P in V sex, unprotected sex, oral (female receiving), choking / breath play, impact play, hair pulling, degradation, mention of blood kink
The original objective of this entire situation had been manipulation. But, at this point, it was impossible to tell who was manipulating whom – or if that was at all part of the dynamic anymore.
Post-human blood debacle, Crowley felt more vulnerable than he had in a few hundred years. Being around demons too often felt risky, lest they sniff out his vulnerability & use it to their advantage. But he craved touch, affection, and closeness – which made him feel like a whiny child, but he couldn't get rid of the craving without satiating it. The best option, in this “between a rock and a hard place” scenario, was none other than one of the people who had a hand in attempting to make him human.
You.
You clearly knew of his involvement in the third trial, and you were a human. Even though you were a hunter – a damn good one, at that – you were still just a human, so he viewed you as less of a threat than any demons he could use for sex.
Or, at least, that's how he justified it. The truth was that Crowley had wanted to fuck you since the day he met you – first just to piss off Moose and Squirrel, then simply because something about you made his trousers tighter.
On your end, the rationale wasn't too different from Crowley's. Given the endless flirtatious comments the King of Hell threw your way, you often contemplated whether you could use sex as a bargaining chip with him. Sure, he was undeniably hot, and something about that gravely accented voice made you flush. But it didn't seem to be a card you truly wanted to play – until you basically got a late night “booty call” text from an unmistakable 666 phone number.
You got some juicy intel out of it, and a couple of ancient relics, both of which helped on the next couple of hunts. The next time, you got a very old, very powerful protection amulet. The third time… well, you came so hard you passed out, so you just called that transaction square. The fourth time was just a lavish dinner, a horse-drawn carriage ride around Paris at night, and a stay in a hotel that was so over-the-top fancy you could scarcely believe your eyes.
You lost track after that, but eventually… there were no transactions, no trades. Just mind-blowing, spine-melting, moral-disintegrating sex.
Crowley still bought you dresses with four-figure price tags to wear to swanky restaurants, followed by stays in five star hotels or rented million-dollar homes, fucking the brains out of one another on every surface. But somewhere along the way, any attempts at personal gain via manipulation were lost, and the two of you just enjoyed each other's company.
Which is what brought you to your current position – naked on silk sheets, barely clinging to consciousness as the King of Hell made you cum on his tongue for the umpteenth time that evening.
Crowley spoke, but you could barely hear him over the ringing in your ears. It sounded like he was far away as you gasped for air, eyes closed as you came down from your high.
“You look so pretty like this, pet,” he purred, absentmindedly kissing your inner thighs – each peck of his lips making you twitch. “Fucked within an inch of your life by none other than moi. Oh, I love to see it.”
Agonizingly slow, Crowley made his way up your body, leaving nips and kisses in his wake. Thighs, hips, stomach, breasts, throat, jaw – and, finally, your lips. As he situated himself between your legs, the familiar feeling of his rock hard cock grinding against your soaked pussy invaded your senses, causing you to sigh into the kiss. He continued to glide his shaft through your folds, teasing you until you began to whine.
“Something you want, darling?” Crowley asked lightheartedly, grinding harder against you. When you merely whined and hooked your legs around him, trying to pull him closer, he let out a condescending tsk tsk tsk. “You know what to say to get exactly what you want.”
However, his smirk faded when you rolled your eyes.
“I am not saying that.”
“You will if you want me to finish the job.”
That only made you smile, because god, it was always so fun to call his bluffs.
You shrugged, moving to leave the bed, “Meh, the job is finished enough, I'd say. We can go ahead and call it a day.”
Lightning fast, Crowley let out a quiet growl, grabbed you by the jaw, turned your head to face him, agitation written all over his face. You merely smiled – which only irked him more.
“Fine. You don't have to call me ‘my king.’ Just… just get back over here,” Crowley demanded, his voice becoming marginally more desperate at the end. You complied, falling into his arms on the bed, and he wasted no time in capturing you in a searing kiss.
One of his hands drifted lower to pump himself a few times, before snarling, “Cocky little bitch, aren’t you?” Before you could retort, he plunged into you in one swift thrust.
A loud, debauched moan escaped you, and you mindlessly raked your nails down Crowley’s back, earning a hiss from him – but you knew him well enough by now to know that he liked it.
The demon set a merciless pace, burying his face in the crook of your neck, beard scratching the sensitive flesh there.
“Hit me.”
The words fell from your lips before you’d even fully thought them through, but Crowley was never one to hesitate. Almost instantly, you felt his palm collide with your cheek – somehow with the perfect amount of pain to make it absurdly pleasurable.
You toppled over an edge you didn’t even realize you’d been approaching, coming undone beneath him with a scream. Vaguely, you heard Crowley hum in amusement. Before you’d fully regained your senses, he was flipping you onto your stomach and pulling your hips up to meet his, using his grip on you as leverage to resume harshly fucking you. He seemed to be aware that you were practically mindless at this point, as he manhandled you however he pleased.
As a cacophony of wet, lewd sounds and moans filled the room, you momentarily had enough mental clarity to recall why the nature of this arrangement was so hot: it’s wrong. It’s so goddamn wrong – for a skilled hunter to be knocking boots with the literal King of Hell. But fuck, does it feel so right when he’s inside of you – hitting your sweet spot with brutal, precise thrusts, pulling your hair harshly to force you upright and into a messy kiss.
When the kiss broke, you let your head fall back onto Crowley’s shoulder, and his heavy breathing hit your ear as he wrapped a strong hand around your throat, squeezing just the right amount. You clenched around him, and he groaned – low and deep.
“Such a filthy whore you are, darling,” Crowley stated, that damned gravelly, accented voice causing you to clench around him again. Keeping one hand around your throat, the other drifted from your hip to your clit, rubbing steady circles over it. “Mm, you love it when I talk to you, don't you? Whether it’s praise or degradation – as long as I’m talking, it gets you moaning and gripping my cock like a bitch in heat. You’re positively vile, pet. And I love it.”
There were tears streaming down your face from listening to him, and from him toying with your overstimulated clit, and the sight brought a dark chuckle from deep within Crowley’s chest.
“My little succubus,” he mused, then abruptly slapped you again before returning that hand to your throat to give it a firm squeeze.
It was all too much. You came again with a strangled cry of his name. Ever the egomaniac, hearing you finish with his name on your lips was almost always his ending point as well, and Crowley bit down harshly onto your shoulder as he finished inside of you.
The pair of you fell to your sides on the bed, spooning with his cock still inside of you. Crowley draped his arm around your waist, then kissed the bite mark he left on your shoulder. When you turned your head slightly to speak to him, your breath was stolen from your lungs when you noticed the crimson blood on his lips. He opened his mouth to apologize for having bitten you so hard, but then he noticed the way your jaw hung slack, your breathing grew heavier, and your pupils darkened to the point that your irises were fully eclipsed. And he smirked.
“A blood kink, love? Always full of surprises, aren’t we?”
“Go to sleep, Crowley.”
“Another time then,” he replied, not missing the way you smiled as you turned away from him.
Gomens Tag List: @coffee-and-red-lipstick @quickslvxrr (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)
___ ___ ___ ___ ___
You’re playing with fire. You know that. Or, well, would it be Hellfire? Either way, you’re playing with it and fire, no matter what kind- always burns. You should know better by now, and yet, you never seem to take the lessons on and retain them. No matter, maybe you’ll take it to heart next time.
Probably not.
Crowley is driving you home after having spent all day in the bookshop with him and Aziraphale. They’d said you should stay for the night, but you had a cat at home that needed feeding. You were worried she might just take you out as soon as you opened the door, actually. Maybe you’d send Crowley in first. Invite him in under the pretense of a coffee and then leave him to the mercy of your cat.
Currently, you have your hand splayed over Crowley’s denim-clad thigh. You’d laid it there innocently enough at first, but as your mind tended to do, it strayed. Innocent thigh touching had grown into absent-minded stroking, had turned into groping, had turned into your fingers delicately sliding up towards his crotch and squeezing.
“If I have to pull over, you won’t be able to walk for a week,” the Demon growls, eyes glinting dangerously at you from behind his shades. You smother a grin as best you can, and give him another firm squeeze, loving the way you can feel him thickening under your hand. “Then again, that’s what you want, isn’t it?”
Your half-smothered smile drips into a confused little frown.
“What do you mean, love?”
“I mean- you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Bet that was your plan. Get me all worked up just so I’d fill that pretty cunt with my cum?”
You can't help the way your thighs rub together at the thought. Crowley tuts knowingly, taking one hand off the wheel to reach down and unbutton his jeans. You move your hand out of the way, watching hungrily, but when he doesn’t pull the car over, your frown deepens.
“Mm- right- you’re so desperate for it, Pet? Go on, put my cock in that pretty mouth.”
You bite your lip, undoing your seatbelt and twisting in the seat so you could lean over properly. You take the base of him in one hand, and press a soft kiss to the tip. Crowley grunts, cock twitching in your fist.
“You little tease,” he grinds out, fingers tightening on the wheel of the Bentley. You chuckle airily and swirl your tongue over the tip. Crowley sighs with pleasure and fights the urge to press your head down on him.
Sensing his growing frustration, you open your mouth wide enough to fit him inside, swallowing him down one inch at a time.
“Oh, Pet- fuck,” Crowley says blissfully. Your lips twitch with the hint of a smirk as you get him down to the back of your throat. What’s left of him sits in your fist. He’s too long to fit the whole way inside, unfortunately.
Hollowing your cheeks, you begin to bob your head, wrapping your lips around him so tight you can feel the thick vein on the underside of his cock on your bottom lip. The Demon groans, hand coming to wrap in your hair forcefully.
“Maybe, if you’re- ngk- good- I’ll fuck you when we get back.”
You whimper around him, the vibrations travelling up his nerves and causing him to white-knuckle the wheel.
You flatten your tongue and slide it up the length of him before taking him back inside your mouth. He puts his foot on the gas pedal, revelling in the thrill of it.
“Fuck, Pet- just like that, mm?”
You pull out all the tricks in the book, all the things you know make him go crazy for you, and it doesn’t take long before he’s gripping fistfuls of your hair and bucking his hips up into your throat so he can spill his seed.
“Fuck, swallow it,” he grunts, not letting his grip go on you. You do as you’re told, swallowing as best you can. He lets go and you come up for air, tears streaming down your cheeks and a flushed glow radiating from you. “Filthy thing, aren’t you?”
A little of his cum that you couldn’t swallow drips off your lower lip and you press forward to kiss him on the cheek. He smirks despite himself.
“Naughty thing, too. Alright, tell you what, Pet- if you can make yourself finish on your pretty fingers by the time we get back, I’ll fuck you good and proper after.”
You gasp, biting your lip. “And if I can’t?”
“You’ll just have to go without then, won’t you.”
It’s not a question, but a statement. Your fingers trail down towards the apex of your thighs as he speeds up even further. You won’t have long.
AN: Hi all! I haven't posted an update in a spell, so here's a long one to make up for it. I can't wait to find out what you think!
TW: leery behaviour? Not quite assault but non-physical non-consent.
A Wolf in the Den
Lane had been pacing around the room, now in normal clothing, watching the pair sat in the conversation pit.
"Well, well," Gavin’s voice had the sharp, familiar edge of a man who’d lived with enough cunning to know exactly how to make an entrance. He looked at Lane, his smirk lingering. "I see I’ve caught you two at a most... interesting time."
Lane froze, meeting his gaze. Her initial frustration turned to cautious wariness. Gavin didn’t just waltz in without making a statement, but he’d done so with a deliberate chill that cut through her defences. The smug grin on his face was enough to send a prickling sensation up her spine, and she couldn't help but wonder if Crowley knew what kind of mischief his son was brewing.
Crowley’s expression was unreadable for a moment, his eyes narrowing just a fraction before the mask slipped back into place. "What is it, Gavin?"
Gavin’s smile grew wider. "Oh, nothing much, just wanted to make sure I wasn't interrupting... anything too intimate." He threw a sidelong glance at Lane, watching for her reaction.
The tension in the room seemed to thicken, but Lane didn’t break eye contact with Gavin. She had no intention of letting him think she was intimidated. "If you’re looking for something to amuse yourself with," she said coolly, "I’m sure you’ll find plenty to play with elsewhere."
Gavin chuckled, unbothered by her words. He let his gaze linger on her, making her skin crawl with the silent appraisal. There was a new edge to his behaviour—something darker, more teasing, than she remembered. "Oh, I’m sure there are things I could do that would be much more interesting." His voice dropped lower, a note of challenge in it.
Crowley, who had been watching Gavin closely, finally broke in, his tone smooth but sharp. "Enough, Gavin. Behave yourself."
Gavin rolled his eyes, but his smirk didn’t waver. "Don’t worry, Father. I know when to be on my best behaviour," he said, deliberately holding Lane’s gaze as he spoke. It wasn’t the typical, respectful way he’d always spoken to Crowley, and it made Lane wonder if this was the beginning of something much more dangerous.
For now, Lane chose to dismiss it. Maybe it was just a product of him being in a new environment, or maybe she was just overthinking it. She wasn’t about to let her guard down, though. Gavin had a way of slinking around corners, waiting to pounce on any weakness. And right now, he was just starting to test the boundaries.
*¤*¤*¤*
Gavin had definitely taken a more noticeable interest in Lane since his arrival, a shift that Lane couldn’t shake. He’d been dropping compliments left and right, his words smooth and honeyed as he hovered just a little too close for comfort.
"You look lovely today, Lane," Gavin had said while handing her a drink, his fingers brushing hers just a bit too long. It was casual, seemingly innocent. But there was something in the way his eyes lingered that made Lane uneasy. He was testing her, prodding for a reaction she wasn’t ready to give.
Crowley had returned soon after and immediately caught the undercurrent in the room, his eyes narrowing when he saw Gavin and Lane standing too close for his liking. Gavin, to his credit, toned it down in front of his father. His flirtations became more like polite conversation, the edges of his behaviour rounded off. But Lane knew—he was biding his time.
As the days wore on, Gavin’s behavior grew bolder, though never in a way that could be directly accused of crossing a line. He’d lean in a little too close when speaking to her, his compliments never feeling entirely sincere, and his lingering touches were just brief enough to be dismissed as accidental.
At first, Lane tried to brush it off, telling herself it was all harmless—just the way Gavin was. But the feeling gnawing at her gut told her something different. She wasn’t about to let herself become another one of his targets. Not after everything she’d already been through with Crowley.
*¤*¤*¤*
Lane was sitting near the window, watching the dense forest stretch out before her. The quiet of the surroundings was peaceful, but her mind was unsettled. Gavin’s increasingly bold behaviour had left her with a knot in her stomach, and she couldn’t help but feel that the tension was about to escalate.
The door creaked open, and Crowley walked in with his usual confident swagger. But today, there was something in his expression that was different—a flicker of something she couldn’t place.
"I’ve got a little surprise for you," he said, his voice smoother than usual, his tone playful but with an underlying sincerity.
Lane arched an eyebrow, intrigued but cautious. "A surprise?" she echoed. "What, no catch this time?"
Crowley’s lips curled into a knowing smile, a glint in his eyes. "Nothing sinister this time, I assure you." He set down a large box in front of her, the top slightly open. Lane leaned forward, puzzled, her curiosity piqued.
She couldn’t remember the last time Crowley had actually surprised her with something. He wasn’t the type to throw gifts at her for no reason—everything he did had a purpose, even if that purpose often had a sharp edge. So, what was he up to now?
With a flick of his wrist, he opened the box completely, revealing two Doberman puppies. Their soft fur and wide, innocent eyes were enough to take Lane aback. She hadn’t expected this, not in the slightest.
The puppies scrambled out of the box, their little tails wagging furiously. One of them, the smaller of the two, immediately bounded over to her, snuggling into her lap. Lane froze, her breath catching in her throat. A sudden warmth filled her chest—this wasn’t what she had anticipated.
"You’re spoiling me now?" she muttered, her voice soft with surprise. "I didn’t even remember about the dog."
Crowley leaned against the doorframe, watching her reaction with a faint but genuine smile. "I thought you could use a little something to break the monotony," he said, a surprising tenderness in his words. "Besides, you’re stuck here with only silence for company. They’re your companions now."
Lane could only stare at him for a moment, the puppies gently licking her hands as she absentmindedly petted them. She felt an unfamiliar warmth spread through her. This wasn’t like Crowley at all. It was an uncharacteristic gesture of kindness—one she didn’t know how to respond to.
Before she could find her words, Crowley pulled out a credit card from his coat pocket and placed it next to her. "Take this, spoil them," he added with a shrug, though the glint in his eyes suggested there was more to it than just a simple gift.
Lane blinked, still processing. "You’re serious? You want me to—"
"Yes," Crowley cut in, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly. "They need proper care, don’t they? You might as well enjoy yourself."
There was something in the way he looked at her, his gaze lingering a little too long, like he was gauging her reaction. And in that moment, Lane realized: this wasn’t just a gift. This was Crowley showing something softer, more personal—a side of him she didn’t often see.
Just as Lane was about to respond, the door opened again, and Gavin strolled in with his usual confident air. His eyes immediately landed on the puppies, and his grin widened. "Well, well," he said, his tone light. "Look at these little troublemakers."
He moved forward, almost too quickly, dropping to his knees to pet one of the puppies. But it wasn’t just the puppies that caught his attention. His gaze lingered on Lane—just a bit too long, a little too knowing. It made her uncomfortable, the way he stayed so close, his body language casual but calculated.
Crowley, who had been silently watching the exchange, stiffened. His eyes narrowed, and the warmth in his voice from moments ago disappeared. He stepped forward, crossing the room with purpose, his presence suddenly much more imposing.
"I’ve got to get to work," Crowley said, his tone clipped, though he gave Lane a look—one that was both possessive and gentle in its own strange way. "But listen, if you need anything—anything at all—don’t hesitate to call me."
Lane blinked, taken aback by the insistence in his words. There was always an implied offer when it came to Crowley, but this time, it felt... different. More urgent. The way his gaze held hers, like he needed her to understand.
He gently placed his hand on her shoulder, his touch almost too brief but enough to leave a lingering warmth. "I mean it," he added softly, his voice carrying more weight than usual. "Call me. If there’s anything you need."
For a moment, Lane just nodded, feeling the unexpected reassurance behind his words. It was as if he was reminding her that even in his absence, he was watching—always.
Without another word, Crowley turned, his posture shifting back to the confident king of Hell that he was. But before he left, he shot one last, cold glance at Gavin, a warning that was clear in its subtlety.
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Lane with the puppies and a growing sense of unease. Gavin, ever the opportunist, smiled at her. "So, shopping trip?" he asked, stepping closer.
But Lane didn’t respond right away. She was still caught on Crowley’s words. Call me if you need anything. It wasn’t just a throwaway line this time. It had weight, and it made her feel... something. Something more than she was ready to admit.
****
Lane carried the two wriggling puppies out to the car, their warm little bodies squirming against her as they whined in excitement. She set them down carefully in the backseat before straightening, only to find Gavin already leaning against the passenger side door, arms crossed, wearing that ever-present, cocky smirk.
"I’ll come along," he said smoothly, opening the door and sliding in without waiting for an invitation.
Lane hesitated, eyeing him. "Didn’t ask."
Gavin chuckled, completely unfazed. "A lady shouldn’t have to do heavy lifting alone, aye?" He reached over, patting the dashboard. "Besides, Crowley did say to spoil them. I’d say that warrants a bit of backup."
Lane rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. The sooner she got this shopping trip over with, the better. She climbed into the driver’s seat, glancing at the credit card still sitting in her pocket, a reminder of Crowley’s unexpected generosity.
The road leading into town was long, winding through thick forest with glimpses of the lake flickering between the trees. It was peaceful—until Gavin spoke again.
"Y’know, you surprise me," he said, shifting slightly in his seat to face her.
Lane kept her eyes on the road. "Do I?"
"Aye," he said. "Figured you’d be the type to take a gift like this and throw it back in his face, call it some grand manipulation tactic."
Lane gripped the wheel a little tighter. He wasn’t wrong—she had considered it. Crowley didn’t do things without a reason. But this... this had felt different.
"Maybe I just like dogs," she muttered.
Gavin let out a quiet chuckle, but he didn’t push further.
The bell chimed as Lane stepped into the pet store, the scent of kibble and rawhide filling the air. The puppies were safely nestled in a cart, their little heads popping up over the edge as they took in their surroundings with curious sniffs.
Gavin, of course, stayed glued to her side, playing the ever-helpful companion.
"I’ll get this," he said smoothly, plucking a large bag of puppy food from the shelf before she could reach for it.
"I got it," Lane replied flatly, attempting to take it from him.
But Gavin just grinned and tossed it into the cart with ease. "What kind of gentleman would I be if I let you do all the work?"
She shot him a look but didn’t argue. If he wanted to carry things, fine—less hassle for her.
As they moved through the aisles, Lane grabbed the essentials—leashes, bowls, chew toys—trying to ignore how Gavin’s presence lingered just a little too close. He brushed past her to reach for things, fingers grazing her arm in ways that felt just barely accidental.
The worst was when they stopped at the collars.
Lane crouched down to inspect them, sorting through the sizes. Gavin knelt beside her, close enough that she could feel his breath near her shoulder.
"Red suits them," he mused, plucking a leather collar from the rack and holding it up.
Lane reached for a different one, something simpler. "I don't remember asking for your opinion, Braveheart."
Gavin smirked, but instead of commenting, he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "Crowley watches you a lot, you know."
Lane froze, fingers tightening on the collar in her hand. She glanced at Gavin, her expression unreadable.
"And?"
"And," Gavin said, tilting his head as if studying her, "I think he likes to pretend he’s above it all. But between you and me?" His voice dropped to a near-whisper, "I think he enjoys keeping you close."
Lane met his gaze, unblinking. "You were at the wedding. He is my husband. If you’re trying to get under my skin, you’ll have to do better."
Gavin only grinned. "Just making an observation."
Lane stood, tossing the collar into the cart. "Then keep them to yourself."
*¤*¤*¤*
By the time Lane pulled back into the driveway, the sun had started its descent, casting long shadows over the forest. The puppies had fallen asleep in the backseat, curled against each other, utterly oblivious to the tension that had lingered throughout the trip.
As Lane climbed out of the car, Gavin once again took it upon himself to grab the bags, loading his arms up as if to make a show of it.
The front door swung open before they could reach it.
Crowley stood in the entryway, hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable—but his gaze flickered briefly to Gavin before settling on Lane.
"You took your time," he remarked, his voice light but laced with something sharper.
Lane lifted an eyebrow. "Didn’t realize I was on a deadline."
Gavin smirked and strolled past her, stepping inside first as if he owned the place. Crowley’s eyes followed him, but he said nothing—yet.
Lane bent to scoop up the puppies from the backseat, cradling them as she walked inside. As she passed Crowley, he reached out, his fingers briefly grazing her arm in a way that was neither possessive nor forceful—just deliberate.
She looked up at him, surprised by the touch, but he only murmured, "Did you get what you needed?"
Lane hesitated, the weight of his gaze settling over her. The question felt layered, heavier than it should’ve been.
"Yeah," she answered, voice quieter than she intended.
Crowley held her gaze for a moment longer, then nodded. But as Gavin set the bags down with a dramatic sigh, Crowley’s expression darkened ever so slightly.
"Good," he said, his tone carrying the subtlest edge of a warning. "Because I won’t have my Queen being doted on by just anyone."
Gavin, still sorting through the bags, paused for half a second before flashing a grin. "Of course not. Who would dare?"
Lane exhaled, tension creeping up her spine. She wasn’t sure what game Gavin was playing, but she knew one thing—Crowley wasn’t amused.
And neither was she.
*¤*¤*¤*
A few days had passed since Crowley had surprised Lane with the puppies. They were settling in well—eager, playful, and full of boundless energy. The only thing they lacked was names.
It wasn’t that Lane hadn’t thought about it, but something about naming them felt... weighty. Permanent. She had never imagined herself owning pets, much less ones gifted by him.
So when she invited Hecate and Persephone over for a visit, she figured they might have some insight.
The afternoon sun filtered through the trees, casting dappled light over the garden as the three women lounged outside. Lane sat cross-legged on a cushioned bench, a glass of wine in hand, while Persephone and Hecate occupied the nearby chairs, their presence commanding yet relaxed.
The puppies tumbled through the grass, their sleek black coats glistening as they chased each other in bursts of playful aggression. Every now and then, one would pause, ears perked as if listening to something unseen before darting forward again.
"They're strong," Hecate observed, watching them with interest. "Quick. They'll be excellent hunters if trained well."
Lane huffed. "They’re excellent at chewing through furniture and waking me up at ungodly hours."
Persephone smirked, swirling the wine in her glass. "A fitting match, then."
Lane shot her a look, but before she could reply, a faint shift in the air made her pause. It was subtle, barely noticeable, but Hecate and Persephone both glanced toward the house at the same time.
Gavin had been keeping his distance since their arrival, lingering in the upper floors or conveniently finding things to do away from them. But his presence—whether near or not—seemed to press against the edges of the room like an unnoticed draft.
Persephone set her glass down, her expression neutral but pointed. "Have you been feeling anything strange lately, Lane?"
Lane hesitated.
She knew what the goddess was asking, but she wasn’t about to launch into a discussion about Gavin’s proximity, his lingering looks, or the fact that Crowley had been acting a little more... territorial since then.
Instead, she shrugged. "Nothing out of the ordinary."
A beat of silence stretched between them. Lane wasn’t sure which of the two deities saw through her first, but they exchanged a glance so fleeting yet knowing that it set her teeth on edge.
Hecate finally spoke, her voice carrying that usual air of detached amusement. "Wolves who forget they’re only pups often find themselves in the jaws of something greater."
Persephone hummed in agreement, running a fingertip along the rim of her glass. "And sometimes, the greater beast is already watching."
Lane exhaled through her nose, shifting her attention back to the puppies. They had tired themselves out, sprawled in the grass with heaving chests, oblivious to the undercurrent in the conversation.
"Speaking of wolves," she said, redirecting, "these two still need names."
Hecate smirked but let the subject drop. She turned her gaze toward the male pup, studying him with an almost unnatural focus. After a moment, she spoke.
"This one... Fenrir."
Lane glanced at her, eyebrow raised. "You’re naming him after the wolf destined to kill Odin?"
Hecate took a sip of wine. "I have a fondness for the classics."
Lane considered it, then looked to Persephone. "And the other one?"
The Queen of the Underworld leaned forward, reaching out a delicate hand. The female pup—who had been dozing—lifted her head, sniffing at the offered fingers before placing a single paw over Persephone’s hand. A slow, knowing smile spread across the goddess’s lips.
"Nyx," Persephone decided. "For the night that hides all things."
Lane blinked. "You’re naming her after the primordial goddess of the night?"
Persephone simply lifted a shoulder in a graceful shrug. "It fits."
Before Lane could argue, a familiar voice cut through the air.
"Good, you left one for me."
She turned to see Crowley stepping onto the patio, hands in his pockets, his gaze flicking between the lounging goddesses and the puppies in the grass. He nodded toward the male. "Fenrir, is it? Suits him."
Then, his eyes landed on the female pup. "But I think Belladonna has a nice ring to it."
Lane tilted her head. "Nyx or Belladonna, then?"
Crowley smirked. "She’s deadly either way."
The female pup, as if sensing the weight of the decision, simply yawned and rolled onto her back.
Lane sighed. "Alright. Fenrir and Belladonna it is."
Hecate clinked her glass against Persephone’s in amusement. "A fitting pair."
Crowley’s gaze lingered on Lane for a moment, something unreadable flickering beneath his usual smirk. Then, with a knowing glance toward the house, he added, "Speaking of fitting pairs..."
Lane knew exactly who he was referring to.
She scowled, tossing the nearest throw pillow at him.
*¤*¤*¤*
The flickering candlelight from the TV cast a warm glow over the living room, the soft hum of Reign filling the space. Lane lounged on the couch with Fenrir and Belladonna sprawled across her lap, their small bodies radiating warmth. She absently stroked Belladonna’s fur, her focus mostly on the screen, where Mary Stuart was once again making a politically reckless decision for love.
Gavin sat at the other end of the couch, a respectable enough distance—for now.
“I still don’t see the appeal,” he mused, taking a sip of his drink.
Lane didn’t look away from the screen. “Then why are you watching?”
Gavin chuckled. “Maybe I just enjoy the company.”
That made her glance at him, but his expression remained carefully neutral, like he hadn’t meant anything by it.
She exhaled through her nose and turned back to the show. “It’s a good series. And historically inaccurate as hell.”
“Well, that’s what makes it entertaining, isn’t it?”
For a while, they watched in silence. The puppies shifted in their sleep, Belladonna’s tiny paw twitching as if she were chasing something in her dreams.
Then, Gavin moved.
It was subtle at first. A stretch of his arm, a casual shift in posture that brought him a fraction closer. He leaned in slightly, just enough to make his presence more noticeable. When Belladonna stirred, Gavin reached out—too casually—to pet her.
Lane’s spine stiffened.
She turned her head just in time to see his fingers brush over the pup’s fur... and linger just a little too long.
Her lips pressed into a thin line.
“That’s enough,” she said, her tone even but firm.
Gavin withdrew his hand immediately, smiling in an easy-going way that irritated her more than it should have. “Relax, I was just petting her.”
Lane didn’t answer. Instead, she gently shifted both puppies off her lap and stood, stretching as if nothing had happened.
“I’m heading to bed.” She didn’t wait for a response before scooping up the puppies and walking toward the stairs.
Behind her, she felt Gavin watching her go.
*¤*¤*¤*
Lane never mentioned the moment to Crowley.
Not because she didn’t want to—but because she knew how he’d react. The last thing she needed was for Crowley to rip his own son apart over a misplaced touch and a lingering glance.
And yet...
Over the next few days, she caught herself feeling more guarded than usual. It wasn’t intentional, not exactly, but Crowley noticed. He always did.
At first, he didn’t say anything. But his attention sharpened, his presence around the house shifting ever so slightly. When he left for work, he was more deliberate in his affection, tilting her chin up to press a kiss to her forehead, murmuring, “Call me if you need anything.” It was a simple phrase, one he had always implied, but now... it felt heavier.
And then there was Gavin.
Lane wasn’t sure when Crowley noticed, but at some point, his gaze started following his son a little longer. A little sharper. Gavin’s movements in the house became something of a pattern—lingering when Crowley was gone, disappearing when he was home.
Crowley didn’t confront him. Not yet.
But the tension in the house had shifted.
And Lane wasn’t sure how much longer she could ignore it.
*¤*¤*¤*
Crowley was at his desk, casually flipping through some paperwork when Lane entered the room. She paused in the doorway, giving him a small, absent smile before heading to the kitchen. As usual, she moved fluidly, the familiarity of her presence settling in the room—but something about her seemed different today.
Crowley raised an eyebrow as he watched her from the corner of his eye. She was wearing pajama pants, soft cotton ones that fit comfortably but didn’t quite suit her usual laid-back style. Lane had always preferred oversized t-shirts with nothing more than underwear underneath, her confidence and ease with her body apparent in the way she dressed—or rather, the way she didn’t dress. But now, the pants… They made her look more guarded, more closed off than usual.
Not like her, Crowley thought as he leaned back in his chair, the pen in his hand still as he observed her movements. She didn’t speak of it, but her shift in clothing caught his attention. There was something about it that spoke volumes.
“Did you want something to drink?” Lane asked, her voice light, but there was a hint of something unspoken behind her words, something that suggested she was trying to act as if nothing had changed. Crowley knew better.
“Don’t mind me,” he replied with a casual wave. “I’m just curious about how Gavin’s adjusting to this century. Can’t imagine the learning curve is easy for someone born in the 17th century.”
Lane froze for just a moment as she reached for the kettle, and Crowley caught the briefest flicker of hesitation in her eyes.
“I think he’s... getting along fine,” she said, her voice distant, almost distracted. She didn’t meet his gaze as she spoke, keeping her focus on the kettle. Her fingers were slightly stiff as they wrapped around the handle.
Crowley let the silence settle in before continuing, his tone nonchalant, but there was an undercurrent of something more. “You don’t sound convinced.”
Lane gave a small shrug, her expression neutral. “I don’t know,” she said, still avoiding his eyes. “I don’t really like thinking about him much.”
A faint smile tugged at Crowley’s lips, though there was a sharpness behind it. “Not a fan of the boy, then?”
She shook her head, her shoulders tense as she filled the kettle. “No. I just... don’t really care to get too involved with him. He’s here, and that’s it.”
Crowley studied her closely, noting the way her jaw tightened and how her movements, while still smooth, were more deliberate than usual.
It was subtle, but it was there.
“That so?” Crowley mused, his voice light but his gaze never leaving her. “Because you’ve been keeping your distance from him lately. More than usual.”
Lane’s hand paused on the kettle, and Crowley could practically see the wheels turning in her head. “I’m just... not used to having him around, that’s all.”
Crowley’s lips curled into a faint smirk. “And I suppose that’s why you’re wearing pyjama pants to bed these days?”
Lane’s head snapped up, her gaze meeting his for the first time since the conversation began. The surprise was evident on her face, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“What?” she asked, her voice quiet, but the tension in her shoulders was undeniable.
Crowley leaned back, steepling his fingers as he studied her. “You’ve never worn trousers to bed before. I can’t help but wonder what’s changed.”
Lane bit her lip, then shrugged again, her eyes darting away from his. “It’s nothing. They're just... comfy.”
He didn’t press further, but the faint unease that had settled into his chest grew stronger. It wasn’t like her to alter her habits—especially over something as trivial as pyjamas. Something wasn’t right.
He tilted his head slightly, watching her carefully as she tried to mask her discomfort. “Well, if you ever need anything, you know where to find me.”
It was a simple offer, but the weight behind it wasn’t lost on Lane. She nodded without looking at him, her focus back on the kettle as she busied herself with it. Crowley remained silent for a moment longer, allowing the tension in the air to settle. His gaze lingered on her—on the change in her, on the things unsaid.
Lane had always been open with him. Or at least, she used to be.
He couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever had shifted, it wasn’t just Gavin. There was more to it than that.
*¤*¤*¤*
Lane turned the shower handle, letting the warm water wash over her skin. The hot steam curled around her, providing a brief, much-needed escape from the tension she had been carrying. Every muscle in her body felt wound tight, her nerves fraying more and more with each passing hour that Gavin remained in the house. She hadn’t been able to shake the unease since Crowley casually asked about him.
It wasn’t just discomfort anymore. It was something heavier, something that pressed against her lungs and coiled at the base of her spine like an instinct she couldn’t ignore.
She had started locking her bedroom door at night. Keeping her back to walls when she walked through the house. Taking the puppies with her wherever she could.
If only they were full-grown dogs already—trained, strong, protective. She imagined their deep growls vibrating through the walls, their presence a tangible shield between her and the creeping wrongness she couldn’t explain. But they were still just babies, sleeping curled up in their bed in the corner of her room, oblivious to the way she had started dreading every shadow and footstep.
She sighed, tilting her head under the stream of water. Just finish up and get to bed. She wasn’t going to let Gavin make her feel unsafe in her own home.
Then the door creaked open.
Lane froze.
And Crowley wasn’t home.
A sickening chill crawled up her spine, dread gripping her ribs like a vice.
Through the steam and water, she caught a blurred figure in the mirror’s reflection. The moment she recognized the broad frame standing there, her stomach turned to ice.
Gavin.
Her blood ran cold, shock and revulsion slamming into her all at once.
“What the hell?!” she yelled, scrambling to grab the towel hanging over the shower rod. She yanked it around herself, her voice rising in raw fury. “Get out!”
He didn’t move. He stood there, watching, his expression unreadable.
A rush of something primal and electric surged through her veins. Lane barely registered it—only the overwhelming need to make him leave.
And then, without warning, the bathroom door slammed shut with a thunderous BANG.
Gavin yelped, stumbling backward as the force of the door nearly took his face off. He barely had time to react, his hands darting up in startled defense.
Lane stood there, gripping her towel with both hands, her breath heaving.
The silence that followed was deafening.
She blinked, her heart hammering in her chest. The door… had moved on its own.
No, not on its own. She had done that.
The realization sent a shiver down her spine, cutting through the heat of the shower.
Gavin, now on the other side of the closed door, let out a nervous laugh, muffled through the wood. “Blimey, no need to be so dramatic—”
“Get. Out.” Lane’s voice was low, lethal.
There was a long pause, then retreating footsteps.
Only when she heard them fade completely did she exhale, her grip on the towel so tight her knuckles turned white.
She stared at the door, at the space where he had been standing, her skin crawling.
The unease that had been steadily growing for days finally snapped into something sharper.
She wasn’t just uncomfortable anymore. She was not safe.
And the worst part?
Crowley wasn’t home.
Lane barely dried off, barely even thought beyond the urgent, all-consuming need to not be alone in this house with Gavin for another second. Her hands trembled as she grabbed a bathrobe, hastily pulling it on before snatching her phone off the counter.
She scrolled down to Hecate’s contact with frantic fingers and hit call, pressing the phone tightly to her ear.
It barely rang once.
"Lane?" Hecate’s voice was clear, steady, grounding.
Lane swallowed, trying to push past the tightness in her throat. "Can you come here?" Her voice wavered, breathless. "Now."
There was a pause, and then, sharp and certain, "I’ll be there in a second."
Before Lane could even lower the phone, a gust of cold air swept through the bathroom. Shadows rippled unnaturally across the walls, the scent of herbs and smoke filling the space.
Then, in a blink, Hecate stood in front of her.
Lane exhaled, tension cracking just enough for her shoulders to sag. Hecate took one look at her—soaking hair, bathrobe clutched tightly around her, the raw edge of panic still clinging to her expression—and her face darkened.
"What happened?"
Lane’s grip tightened on the edge of the counter. She didn’t even know where to begin.
"It’s Gavin," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "Something’s… off. I’ve been feeling it for days, but I didn’t want to say anything because he’s Crowley’s son, and I—" She exhaled sharply. "I didn’t want to accuse him unfairly."
Hecate crossed her arms, her presence unwavering. "But?"
"But it’s getting worse," Lane admitted. "The lingering. The touches that seem too friendly on the surface but don’t feel right. He sits next to me even when there are other seats. And tonight—" She sucked in a breath, forcing herself to say it out loud. "He came into the bathroom while I was showering."
Hecate’s entire expression went still.
Lane let out a shaky breath. "I yelled at him to get out, and the door just… slammed shut on its own. I think—" She glanced at the door, still rattled. "I think I did that."
The silence was thick, charged.
Hecate tilted her head slightly, eyes sharp and knowing. "And Crowley wasn’t home," she murmured, more statement than question.
Lane nodded once.
Hecate’s lips pressed into a thin line, the air around her thrumming with something unseen.
Lane sat on the edge of her bed, her hands still gripping the robe around her like it was the only thing keeping her together. Hecate stood across from her, arms crossed, her golden eyes sharp and expectant.
“You have to tell him.”
Lane shook her head, staring at the floor. “I can’t.”
Hecate’s silence was heavy, waiting for an explanation. Lane exhaled sharply and ran a hand through her damp hair, still shaken.
“When I first met Gavin,” she began, voice quieter than usual, “he was just a ghost. It was back when Bobby was negotiating for his soul. Crowley’s bones for Bobby’s freedom. Gavin showed up during the deal and—” She hesitated. “—he said something.”
She looked up at Hecate then, seeing the goddess’s sharp gaze, but pushed forward anyway.
“He said that when Crowley was human, back when he was still Fergus MacLeod, he used to get drunk and beat him senseless.”
The words lingered in the air between them.
Hecate’s expression didn’t change, but her eyes darkened slightly. “And you think Crowley wouldn’t tolerate the irony of his son becoming just like the man he despised?”
Lane’s stomach twisted. “He’d kill him, Hecate. Or worse. You know he would.”
Hecate let out a low hum, stepping closer. “And you don’t think Gavin deserves it?”
Lane gritted her teeth. “I didn’t say that.”
“Then why are you protecting him?”
“I’m not—” Lane bit the inside of her cheek and looked away. “It’s not about him. It’s about Crowley. If I tell him, if he does what I know he’ll do, then that’s on me.”
Hecate studied her for a long moment before sighing. “Lane.”
Lane looked back at her, throat tightening.
“You are not responsible for what Crowley does,” Hecate said, voice firm. “But you are responsible for what you allow to keep happening to you.”
Lane swallowed.
The truth of it settled into her bones like lead.
Hecate stepped closer, kneeling slightly so they were eye level. Her voice softened, but it lost none of its gravity.
“You don’t feel safe in your own home. You don’t even feel safe in your own bed. And that’s with Crowley’s protection over you.” Her eyes searched Lane’s face. “What do you think happens if you let this go on?”
Lane inhaled sharply, but the answer sat heavy in her chest.
She knew.
And Hecate knew she knew.
Still, the idea of telling Crowley, of watching him turn that razor-sharp fury toward Gavin, made something in her chest squeeze.
“I just—” She exhaled shakily. “I need time to think.”
Hecate’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she nodded. “Don’t take too long.”
Because if Lane didn’t act, Crowley was going to figure it out on his own.
And then Gavin would have no chance at mercy.
*¤*¤*¤*
The next morning, just after breakfast, Hecate arrived with two of her own full-grown dogs at her heels—massive, imposing creatures with sleek black fur and intelligent, piercing eyes. Their presence was immediate, commanding, their sheer size enough to make Lane feel safer in a way she hadn’t realized she needed until now.
“I figured it was time to start training your puppies properly,” Hecate said casually, crouching to let one of the young Dobermans sniff her hand. “They won’t be much use as protection if you don’t teach them well.”
Lane knew it was an excuse, but she didn’t call her out on it.
Instead, she just nodded and gestured toward the yard. “I’d like that.”
From that day on, Hecate came by nearly every day, her visits framed as obedience training sessions. The puppies—Fenrir and Belladonna—were eager learners, quickly mimicking the behavior of Hecate’s seasoned hounds, Nyx and Acheron.
For the first time in weeks, Lane felt good.
Safe. Grounded.
There was something about working with the dogs, watching them grow more confident and capable, that made her forget, even for a little while, how on edge she had been. She found herself actually excited to show Crowley the new tricks Fenrir and Belladonna learned each day, feeling something close to pride whenever they got something right.
Gavin, however, was less than pleased.
At first, his irritation was subtle—barely-there tension in his jaw, brief glances that lingered too long when Hecate spoke. But as the days passed and her presence remained constant, the cracks in his polite demeanor started to show.
Worse, Nyx and Acheron noticed.
The first time Gavin had tried to approach the training session, the two massive hounds had stepped in front of Lane, hackles raised, low, warning growls rumbling from their chests.
“Relax,” Hecate had murmured, running a hand over Nyx’s head, though her gaze on Gavin was anything but casual.
Gavin had forced a tight-lipped smile. “Not much for making guests feel welcome, are they?”
“They’re excellent judges of character,” Hecate had replied smoothly.
Lane had pretended not to notice the way Gavin’s hands curled into fists.
Crowley, of course, noticed everything.
At first, he made no comment about Hecate’s sudden, near-constant presence, nor about the fact that she never arrived alone. But Lane could tell he was watching—taking note of how she seemed to relax only when surrounded by the hounds, how her shoulders tensed whenever Gavin entered the same room.
He didn’t press her, not yet.
But Lane knew Crowley.
And she knew he was only waiting for her to slip—waiting for her to confirm whatever suspicions were already forming in his mind.
*¤*¤*¤*
Lane took a deep breath, her heart still racing from the overwhelming surge of emotions she’d been holding in. She hadn’t wanted to speak to Crowley like this—shaking, scared, and vulnerable. But he deserved to know, and she couldn’t keep hiding it any longer.
The moment she opened her mouth, Crowley’s eyes darkened, and she saw the faintest flicker of smoke curling up from his fingers. His aura shifted; the air around them felt denser, heavier, like a storm was brewing just beneath the surface. The first thing she noticed was how his gaze never left her, his face hardening into an unreadable mask.
“You’ve been keeping something from me,” Crowley said, his voice deceptively calm, though Lane could feel the simmering heat of his fury beneath it. “Tell me.”
Her hands clenched around the edge of the couch. She had no idea how to say this. She couldn’t lie to him—she could barely keep it together.
“Gavin...,” she began, her voice shaking. She swallowed, then spoke louder. “He came into the bathroom while I was showering. I didn’t hear him come in. I was so... startled. I tried to get him to leave, but he wouldn’t. And then... I—”
“Then what?” Crowley snapped, his eyes narrowing. The sulphurous scent in the room grew sharper, the dark smoke curling from his hands more pronounced, as if his very presence was warping the air itself. Lane froze, her eyes wide, watching as the shadows seemed to pulse from him, drawing closer like they were waiting for something.
“I... I don’t know what happened,” Lane whispered, feeling the panic returning. “I tried to push him out, but I—” Her voice trembled. “The door slammed on its own. It wasn’t me... I didn’t do it on purpose. It was like... something else took over. And the door almost hit him in the face.”
Her voice trailed off as Crowley’s eyes flickered with something darker—something more terrifying. His jaw clenched, and he stepped closer to her, the smoky tendrils of sulphur thickening around him. The air felt suffocating, charged with raw anger that seemed to reach out like a whip.
“And then you called Hecate,” Crowley said, his words dripping with quiet fury. It wasn’t a question, but more like a statement, a realization.
Lane nodded, unable to look away from him. “Yes. I called her right after. I... I didn’t know what else to do. I was so afraid. I called her because I couldn’t be alone in the house with him anymore.”
Crowley’s gaze shifted, calculating. “And Hecate came immediately?” he asked, his voice sharper than before, as if the pieces were falling into place.
“She did,” Lane said, her eyes darting around the room, feeling the weight of his gaze. “She came right away, and she told me... she told me to tell you. To tell you right away about what happened. But I didn’t want to burden you with it. I didn’t want you to think I was weak. Or... scared.”
Crowley was silent for a long moment, the air around him heavy with his thoughts. The dark smoke swirling from his hands seemed to reach out like it had a life of its own, pressing closer to Lane. The sulphur smell thickened as his fury reached a breaking point, but he kept it contained. Barely.
“You think I’d think you were weak?” Crowley asked, his voice low and cold. There was something deadly in the way he said it, as if the question itself was a challenge. He took a slow, deliberate step forward, his eyes never leaving hers. “Lane, you’re not weak. You’re not fragile. You should’ve come to me the moment that bastard put you in danger.” His voice softened, but the anger remained. “Why didn’t you?”
Lane blinked, feeling the sharpness of his words. “I didn’t want you to feel like you had to fix everything for me,” she said, her voice small but steady. “I didn’t want to add to your problems. And I didn’t want you to... think I couldn’t handle it.”
Crowley’s gaze softened, though the anger still burned deep within him. He reached out, his hand hovering over hers, the smoke swirling in slow, ominous circles. “You’ll never handle something like this alone, Lane,” he said, his voice low and rough. “I’m your king. I made a vow to protect you, and I won’t let anyone touch you again.”
He let the words linger in the air for a moment before adding, “And Gavin...” His voice darkened again, colder this time. “I’ll deal with him. He won’t be getting away with this.”
Lane nodded, feeling a strange comfort in his words despite the storm raging inside of him. She had no doubt that Crowley would deal with Gavin in a way no one else could.
As the smoke from Crowley’s hands dissipated, Lane’s heartbeat slowed, but she could still feel the remnants of his fury in the air, the tension in his gaze. She wasn’t sure if it was the demon in him or the protectiveness that surged through him now, but there was no mistaking how far he was willing to go for her. She hadn’t expected his anger to be this... visceral.
“Just... just don’t hurt him too much,” she said softly, though she wasn’t sure if it was a plea for Gavin or a warning for Crowley. Either way, it didn’t matter. She wasn’t sure anyone was going to be able to stop Crowley once he decided to act.
Crowley’s lips curled into a cold, dangerous smile. “Don’t worry, love. I’ve got a plan for him.”
His gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, and for the first time since this had all begun, Lane felt the tension in her chest begin to ease. Crowley would take care of it. He would always take care of it.
*¤*¤*¤*
Crowley vanished without a word, leaving Lane standing in the middle of the room, the weight of everything that had just transpired hanging in the air like a storm cloud. Her thoughts were a tangled mess—Crowley’s fury, her own fear, and the cold knot in her stomach. She tried to breathe, tried to steady herself, but it wasn’t easy. Not with Gavin still in the house, not after everything that had happened. She didn’t know what Crowley was going to do, but the sheer power in his words—his fury—had left her with a sense of finality. She didn’t know if that was good or bad.
The door clicked shut behind her with a hollow thud, and she closed her eyes, trying to imagine the worst Crowley could do. She couldn’t. Not really. And that was what scared her.
Meanwhile, in the quiet upstairs room, Gavin leaned back against the bedframe, his arms crossed over his chest, a smug smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. The past few days had been irritating—Lane's paranoia, Hecate’s interference, and Crowley’s increasing awareness of everything that had been happening—but Gavin didn’t care. He could handle it. He always did. He was used to danger, used to the games people like Crowley played.
But tonight... Tonight felt different.
The temperature in the room dropped suddenly, sharply, as if the air itself had turned hostile. Gavin’s smirk faltered, his brow furrowing as the chill settled into his bones. He stood, cautiously, every instinct telling him something was wrong, something was coming. But what?
He turned, his eyes narrowing as the shadows in the corners of the room seemed to stretch and twist, moving of their own accord. The faint scent of sulphur lingered, thick and acrid, stinging the air. Gavin’s breath caught in his throat as the shadows began to creep across the walls like dark tendrils, closing in on him.
Before he could react, a soft whisper filled the space, barely audible yet impossible to ignore. "You’ve made a grave mistake, Gavin."
And then—silence.
The room seemed to pulse, the air thick with something palpable, something wrong. The shadows seemed to grow darker, more defined. It was as if the room itself had become alive with some ancient, invisible force.
Gavin’s eyes flickered to the door, his heart hammering in his chest. He knew that presence. He could feel it before the door even opened, before he saw the figure step into the room. And then, just as quickly as the shadows had descended, the dark figure stood in the doorway, a towering presence. Crowley.
But there was something else—something more.
“Crowley,” Gavin sneered, his bravado coming back, though his voice was edged with an uncertainty he hadn’t planned on. “You couldn’t possibly—”
The words were simple, but the power behind them was undeniable. Gavin froze, his words caught in his throat, the smirk dying on his lips.
Crowley stepped closer, his movements fluid, controlled. “You think you’re in control? That you can come into my house, mess with my people and walk away unscathed?” He spoke with a quiet, chilling authority, the temperature around them plummeting even further.
Then, with an almost predatory grin, Crowley leaned forward, lowering his voice to a dangerous whisper. “Let me introduce you to someone.”
The air around them shimmered, a subtle change that made the hairs on Gavin’s neck stand on end. And then, without warning, the unmistakable sound of gigantic paw prints pressing against the hardwood floor echoed in the room, the floorboards creaking beneath the weight of something unseen.
Gavin’s heart skipped a beat as he looked down, his breath hitching in his chest. The creaking grew louder, the sound unmistakably close, but the floor was empty. Nothing was there. Yet the sensation of a heavy presence, something monstrous, lingered, suffocating the space between them.
Then, in the silence, Gavin felt it—a hot, fetid breath on the back of his neck, followed by a low, guttural growl that seemed to rattle the very bones in his body.
He stumbled back, his eyes darting around the room, but he couldn’t see anything. Couldn’t see the creature, only feel its looming presence. The growl echoed in the stillness, a warning, an unspoken threat.
A massive paw print pressed deeply into the hardwood, and the floor creaked again under an invisible weight. Gavin’s skin prickled, his heart racing. He couldn’t see it, but he felt it—something huge, something terrifying right behind him.
Crowley’s voice, cold and filled with dark amusement, broke through the growing tension. “This... is Juliet.”
A growl rumbled in the air, and for a fleeting moment, the temperature dropped so low Gavin could see his own breath.
Gavin’s smirk faltered, panic rising in his chest. He scrambled for the door, but he knew—deep down—he wouldn’t be able to escape.
As the darkness in the room seemed to close in, the hellhound’s growl deepened, resonating through the walls, vibrating the very air. Gavin’s mouth went dry as the presence of the creature seemed to press against him from all sides. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, as the growl reverberated in his ears.
For viewing & reading pleasure..... this story unfolds
Who knew this would take place? It's incredible and a must-read!!
Please forgive crowley..... he's blending very well (in every sense of the word; my ohuhu markers were 💯 on point with this but decided to blend him overly well 👀)
Hannah & Juliet, however, are stunning as they should be
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Author's note: Hey everyone! I'm back! Kinda... I know it's been an awful long time since I've been here and I apologize for that, but a lot of things happened in my life that I didn't see coming and I needed time to get myself together. Turns out writing is a really big part of me and I can't keep myself away from it. Anyway, I don't want to ramble on for too long so here is my "I'm back" fic which is a Crowley fanfic. I hope you all like it and please give me feedback as I haven't written anything for about a year. Love you all! ❤
Word count: 1470
Warnings: very minor alcohol consumption, very light language
Summary: While having a few drinks at a bar, you meet a very intriguing stranger.
He must not be from around here. This was your first thought after seeing him interact with the other patrons at the bar. You were sitting in the dimly lit corner of the place, just observing the people mingling about.
"You see, you cannot fix this yourself" his voice floated across the room, filling the air and along with it, your ear. He wasn't close to you at all, but he didn't know how to keep his voice down so everyone around him heard his conversation with another man. "You need me, whether you like it or not" you rolled your eyes, simultaneously with his partner, at his confidence.
He strolled in about half an hour ago, his partner following him a few minutes later. He had a presence that immediately gravitated eyes toward him, including your own. His all-black outfit and sunglasses kept your attention on him as he sat down at the bar and ordered a drink.
The other man answered him, but he seemed more socially aware as he talked at a lower volume. He wore all white, which was somewhat a comical contrast to the other. Did they do this on purpose? You snorted at the thought of them coordinating their outfits in the morning.
Grabbing your drink to take a sip from it, you looked over the edge of the glass keeping your eyes on the man. They kept on talking more quietly so you didn't hear the conversation.
Sighing to yourself you put down the glass, now empty. Well, I better get another one. You stood up, the chair sliding on the ground. A few heads turned toward you, but you paid no mind to them, your eyes fixed on only one man. You didn't understand why you were so fascinated with him. Surely, he wasn't anything special.
Slowly you walk over to the bar where they're sitting and try not to look like you're eavesdropping. You ask for another drink.
"Another one, please" your voice catches his attention and he very slightly turns his body toward you. It would be unnoticeable to most people, but you're watching him especially closely. Swallowing hard, you feel his attention on you, but you try to not give any sign of it. You shift under his fierce eyes.
"Crowley!" his friend calls out to him, making him avert his eyes from you. You let out a small sigh and your shoulders relax. You didn't even notice you were tense. The bartender places your drink in front of you and you lift it to your lips.
"What, angel?" he answers, sounding annoyed. You choke on the liquid. Angel? Oh. So they are a couple. You try to cover your mistake by turning away and quickly exiting the situation, but you're stopped by a voice.
"Excuse me, you-?" white outfit started, but the other cut in.
"Now listen here, you little shit!" your eyes widen as you turn back to them.
"I beg your pardon?" your voice comes out an octave higher than it would normally.
"You can beg all you want" your hold loosened on the glass, mind suddenly empty. He stands up and towers over you "Were you eavesdropping?" he quickly gets to the point, clearly not wanting to waste time.
"No?!" it came out as more of a question than a statement. Curse you for not being able to lie well.
"You know that lying is a sin, right?" his face comes even closer, forcing you to lean back a little.
"Yeah, I don't really care what they think of me up there" shaking your head you briefly look up at the ceiling to signal who you're talking about. This earned a smirk from him as if you said something funny. His partner, whom you had actually forgotten about, appears over his shoulder.
"It is really impolite to listen in to other people's conversations" he explained as if you were a child.
"I know, but I have ears and I was standing right next to you" shedding light on the situation, you gesture with your hands.
"That's no excuse" he shakes his head.
you wanted to look into his eyes but the sunglasses were hiding them.
"I understand it was a private conversation, but you weren't exactly talking quietly"
"I know that in your situation you have to be private, but I think you should get better at that"
"Our situation? Wha-?" angel furrowed his eyebrows.
"Okay, that's it" Crowley grabs your arm and drags you out of the dimly lit bar. His partner takes the drink out of your hand when you pass him by. You walk through a door on the side which leads to an empty corridor. Red lights illuminate the space, but you don't have time to look around before you're pushed against the wall, two hands holding the collar of your shirt. The face of the owner of those hands comes super close to yours, your noses almost touching.
"So do you wanna talk or do I have to make you?"
"Talk? About what?" you want to look into his eyes, but the sunglasses are covering them.
"Don't act dumb with me" he frowns.
"I'm not-" you start to disagree with him, but he cuts you off.
"Listen here, I'm not a good man" his hands move to rest on either side of your head, completely caging you in.
"Does the outfit supposed to convey that?" your eyes travel from head to toe, clearly finding amusement in the situation somehow.
"What?" he is taken aback by this. No one has ever made a comment about his clothes to his face before.
"The black clothes and sunglasses really give off a mysterious vibe" you slightly chuckle, but it is only a distraction from your small blush.
"So you think I'm mysterious?" tilting his head, he leans even closer.
"I'm glad you got the point" your sarcasm is clear as day, spiced with a hint of a smile on your lips. Crowley gets lost in the tense air between you two and the silence stretches long before you break it as you slowly come to your senses.
"Shouldn't you get back?" you clear your throat, suddenly remembering his angel back at the bar.
"Why should I?" he looks puzzled like he really doesn't understand your question.
"Don't you have someone waiting for you?" you narrow your eyes at him.
"Oh, Aziraphale? He'll be fine" you finally learn his name, but you don't get the nonchalance he displays.
"Your boyfriend will be fine with you being this close to me?" doubt makes you raise your eyebrows.
"Boyfriend?" his voice is a few octaves higher than you've heard so far. It makes you think that you've made a mistake. He narrowly backs off, but still doesn't move his hands.
"Yeah" you nod, trying to look into his eyes through the glasses. How does he see with those things on?
"He is not my boyfriend! He is not even a friend!"
"Sorry, but I don't believe that"
"You don't belie-" he gasps in disbelief, his hands sliding off the wall as he fully stands "What do you mean you don't believe it?"
"Well, you called him angel" he just stares at you, dumbfounded at the accusation of him loving Aziraphale like that.
"Because he is one!" his voice is still high-pitched.
"Yeah, to you!" you raise your voice as well, filling the dim red air around you. He opens his mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. Suddenly he grabs ahold of your waist and pulls your body flush against his. A yelp escapes you as you crash into him, the hasty movement catching you off guard. His face is all you can see because of his closeness.
"Stupid human" he mumbles into your lips before pressing his on yours. It comes as a wave of fresh air, his arms anchoring you down among the whirlwind that is his kiss. His lips are searing as they move against yours. After a while you have to break away from him, his intensity starting to overwhelm you.
You need a few seconds to get yourself together so you keep your eyes closed. They only open when you feel his hands leave your hips, but when they do you are left absolutely stunned. He is gone. You look around frantically trying to find him, but he is nowhere to be seen.
"Crowley?" you call out to him, but there is no answer.
Going back to the bar is your last option, but upon walking in you find it void of his powerful presence.
It is only after your mind clears as you stumble out of the bar, that you realize that you didn't talk about the reason he dragged you out to that corridor in the first place.
