Prompt 18, Crowley and reader romantic relationship
Thank you for the request! So sorry it is months later. It is actually my longest “drabble” I think lol
Hope you like it!
Title: Devil’s Darling
Prompt: “No need to call security! That one is mine!”
Word Count: 1,266
It was the first floor length dress you’d ever worn. The satin cool against your skin, framing your figure attractively without clinging in any of the usual awkward places.
He had insisted on doing your hair. The weirdo.
You had protested, but found yourself wordless when he snapped some pretty logical argument about not being immediately shown to the door upon arrival.
Then there was the jewelry.
Sparkling silver pendant on a thin chain and diamond earrings that cost more than your pick-up truck. The sight made you breathless.
His devilish eyes knocked you off balance.
Going undercover to procure a cursed item from within the safe of a political mogul; something you were sure the supposed King of Hell could do on his own; had not been your idea.
Sam found the event, Dean pieced together the plan; you and he would infiltrate the party; and then Crowley insisted he be there to prove authenticity.
“Fine. Me and Crowley.” Dean had summed after the three of you shared uncertain expressions.
“If it’s all the same to you, the lady should accompany me. A black tie event, the last thing we’ll be needing are any distractions.” His eyes shooting over to Dean. “No offense.”
You had immediately turned to Sam, eyes wide and expression screaming for help.
But Dean, rising to Crowley’s challenge; something you still didn’t understand; agreed for you.
Which led to the strangest afternoon of your life.
Crowley, the King of Hell, dressing you up like his own life-sized doll.
You were relieved the Winchesters hadn’t waited around for the end result. You wouldn’t want to admit to anyone that Crowley actually had taste and you looked like a bona fide knock-out.
Standing by the stairs, Crowley held forth a black velvet box with the expensive jewelry glinting up at you.
“Can’t have you wearing some cheap knock-off. They’ll notice.” He said by way of explanation.
You eyed the jewelry, then him. There was a mixture of the smarmy character that you were used to, and an earnest, almost honest character you did not expect.
Resigning to his command again, you took the delicate earrings into your hands and slipped them into the pad of your ears.
He tsked at you, pulling the box away when you reached for the necklace next. He said nothing to your furrowed brow. His eyes dropping to the box, his fingers lifted the accessory.
Your jaw clenched when you realized his intention.
“May I?” He asked breathily.
And just like that, you regretted the boys not being there. Because if you didn’t know any better, you would have sworn he was putting the moves on you. The smooth bastard.
The mansion was alight in gold. Expensive cars lined the circle drive and suited security guards stood at the door.
String vibratos floated across the air accompanied by the occasional burst of chortles.
You ascended the steps, your hand tucked into the crook of Crowley’s elbow.
You had gone over the plan repeatedly on the drive over. Business was the safest bet for conversation. It certainly kept you distracted from the cologne wafting off the dark suit beside you.
Getting through the front door was easy. And it was agreed that Crowley would schmooze up the politicians for a quick blending in. What was not planned was the dance.
You were feeling out a hallway leading up to the politician’s office when Crowley was suddenly at your elbow.
“Darling, how about a dance?”
You whipped around to see an alert guard not ten feet behind him.
Plastering a smile on your face, you allowed him to lead you towards the throng of dancing couples.
“Thought you had my back, Crowley.” You hissed.
His hand wrapped around yours and pulled you expertly to face him. A hand on your waist steadied you, his eyebrows lifted readying you to take the first step.
“Why do you think we’re dancing, Poppet, and not getting thrown out of the party?” His voice was low and vibrated in your ears as he twirled you through the rich and powerful.
The only way to keep from getting dizzy was to keep your eyes on his face. The world turned into a blur over his shoulder.
“You seem oddly invested in this mission.” You voiced breathlessly.
“What can I say; I love a challenge.”
“We both know you could have done this in two minutes. Is the King,” his eyes flashed to yours. “Losing his touch?”
His dark eyes were ablaze, his cheeks puffed and you felt smug.
The steps began to slow, the dance already coming to an end.
“Let’s just say, I keep a close eye on my investments.” It was taking all his control to let that be the only thing to slip out; you could see it all over his face and feel it in the rigidity of his form. He leaned forward, his chest brushing yours, to whisper in your ear. “Passed the kitchen, a servant stair to the left. Third door on the right.”
Slowly, he pulled away, as if he had whispered a rendezvous to a lover.
You willed your face to cool down.
Unable to utter a word, you slipped away from him, feigning a search for the restroom.
Oh if Dean could see you now. The pessimist voice scolded. You promptly told her to shut the hell up.
Following Crowley’s directions, you had a clear path to the politician’s office. Cracking the safe was easy enough. The poor sap had no idea what he had in his possession.
With gloves, you pulled the ancient tablet out and bagged it in plastic; shoving it deep within your purse.
Footsteps sounded outside the door.
Adrenaline spiked.
The knob turned and the door swung open.
You were revealed, laying provocatively across the politician’s desk.
The man jumped back, a yell escaping him.
“Who the hell are you?!”
You scrambled to sit up, making a play at being extra clumsy and knocking knick-knacks from the desk.
“Oh my god, I am so sorry!” You apologized, though he couldn’t hear you as he began to call for security.
“No, no, no! No need to call security!” Suddenly Crowley was in the doorway. His eyes wide, his chest heaving from a run. He was playing his part well too. “That one is mine! So sorry for the confusion, Sir. We were…you know…meeting. She must have gotten the wrong room.”
Purse gathered and clutched tightly to your chest, you scampered across the room to stand behind Crowley.
“So sorry, I thought he said third door, he must have meant-”
But the man was already shaking his head and holding his hand up to stop you. “Please don’t.”
“So sorry. We should,” Crowley turned to you, an arm wrapping protectively around your waist. “We should go, darling.”
The politician did not even try to stop you.
Like two teenagers, you hurried down the hall, hand in hand.
Rounding the corner, he pulled you in again as he did on the dancefloor. Instead of keeping you at a distance, he let you fall into his chest. His lips captured yours and for a moment you lost yourself.
His lips were warm. His scruff scratching pleasurably against your skin.
Before you could remember yourself, he pulled away, leaving you blinking in confusion.
He didn’t say anything. Just smirked, as if proud.
It wasn’t until later, back at the bunker with Sam and Dean that you realized Crowley hadn’t “authenticated” a damn thing.
He wasn’t there to help you explain that small slip either.
The world had changed, though much remained the same.
Majestic cathedrals that had once towered above all other structures were now overwhelmed by high-rises and modern artwork, though their mighty foundations had yet to crumble, magnificent columns and lead glass and iron chains still holding strong throughout the ages.
Colossal castles that had once served as impervious fortresses had fallen to corrosion, behemoths hinting at celestial ordainment succumbing to the unstoppable conquests of time, though some fragments remained, symbols of past tribulation, of the bloody journeys undertaken to secure perceived autonomy.
Roman roads and ancient arches and devious dwellers still dotted the landscape, some scarcely more than phantasmic remnants of a far more glorious age.
Most unchanging, though never truly the same, were the waterways, carrying filth and forgotten trinkets to the sea, artefacts that would one day be studied by more superior races.
It was near one such waterway that he finally found you, forlorn features focused on the Medway, your back turned against the corpse of the stronghold, eyes drawn to corroded debris scattered among the shallow waters.
He approached you quietly, silently studying the slope of your shoulders, noting the changes made to your hair and choices in attire. It was with bitter resentment that he accepted yet more changes made in the past few years, yet more factors he had no say in suggesting they be altered once more.
It seemed despite your differences, despite his departure, despite damning the Devil and dooming his dominion, you still possessed the ability to sense his presence, disheartened gaze brightening significantly as you turned from the object of your consternation, very aura lightened by his arrival.
He was helpless in the face of your affection, drowning in the kindness behind your smile and the soft embrace you offered.
A rarity, in his line of work, finding someone so unruffled by knowledge of his identity, fully tranquil with his companionship.
You trusted him wholeheartedly, a humbling token of your regard that oft left him wondering if he truly deserved your confidence.
Though it had been nearing the second year since your last conversation, you exhibited no shyness, old patterns and routine playing out in a familiar dance that immediately soothed him.
There was a heaviness to your heart however, a flutter of pain to your eyes that summoned his curiosity.
He confided in you, seeking any advice you may have to offer for his conflicting interests, offering his support in your pursuit of your dreams.
At long last, when the conversation had cycled through, he pressed for information about those others you so passionately cared for- family and friends and, tragically, a former lover?
You spoke with sharpness, the caustic coating to your tone reflecting in your features. The fool- for could they be anything else?- had caused you harm, seeking unions outside the oaths you had pledged to one another.
He pondered briefly on the torments he could provide them on your behalf, cruel fantasies cut short as your intonations darkened with each passing syllable.
Your wrath took him by surprise, your vengeance already affecting the traitor's career.
Such simple misdirects had forced their entire lifestyle into mere shambles of former security.
The most frightening part of your revelation was revealed with the carefree dismissal of your own callousness, a bark of laughter carrying on the easterly wind.
"Hey man, R.I.P." You paused, expression darkening and words lowering to a rumble reflecting your remaining rage. "They should have known better than to fuck with me."
An uncomfortable wariness was soon breeding distrust in his conscious. For if you could rip asunder all certainties from one person's life, the life of someone you had once vowed to cherish until your dying breath, what damage would you wreak upon those without such protections?
Many things remained the same, but it was with a begrudging acceptance that Crowley acknowledged that even the most steady and stringent of consistencies will often change too.
For now however, he vowed to savour whatever tenderness still remained within your possession.
Summary: Based on: “Imagine getting back to hunter’s life and meeting Crowley.” by @thefandomimagine
Finishing the whiskey, you’ve pushed the glass from you. The jukebox at the far end of the bar was spitting some old song you barely knew. All the bars played it, but you’ve never quite grasped the words.
You were always far too busy for that, never having enough time to just rest and have a day completely off. Hunter’s ears were always listening and yours used to be really good at their job, finding you one case after another.
“Hello, love.”
After a second thought, you waved on the barman to fill the glass once more. It was just that type of a night.
“You know, all those years I had your voice come up in my nightmares, waking me up in the middle of the night with a gun ready to fire - and now I really want to say that I’ve missed it?” you raised your head, facing the King of Hell sitting to your right.
“I’m touched.”
Downing the drink you already regreted ordering it. You used to drink a lot, but those few years far from hunter’s life weakened you. Your liver was probably hating you now.
“You don’t look well, love,” Crowley pointed out carefully, not meeting your eyes.
“Do you know one hunter who does?”
“You left this life, as far as I remember.”
“Guess that wasn’t such a bright idea,” shrugging, you tried to sound normal, but your words were colored with exhaust. “No one really leaves for good, huh.”
“At the time, you were pretty excited about it.”
“At the time, I was also excited over next Gummybears movie, you know. It doesn’t mean anything.”
Crowley surprised you with laugh. It was such an abstract sound, so different from those years you were exchanging remarks, making deals you’ve always regretted afterwards, or tracking him down and kidnapping him that one time with the Winchesters.
“So, this is what we are now, huh?” you asked into the air, nostalgia coloring your voice.
“We can be whatever you wish to be,” Crowley pointed out. “We don’t have any deals or old wounds to bring to light after all those years. Carte blanche.”
“Then why do I feel like nothing has changed at all?” you frowned, pressing a hand to your face. “Like the time I’ve managed to spend free of this mess, blind to any supernatural signs, was just a short dream that’s already fading away and could never be the truth?”
Much to your surprise, Crowley awkwardly patted your shoulder, “It will pass. Feelings can be messy, but they do fade away.”
“I wish there was a quicker way to get them out my head.”
Crowley pointed to your empty glass.
“One that wouldn’t resolve in a hangover, Crowley.”
“There are many ways of getting rid of that ridiculous problem, darling.”
“And how many would you hand over to me?”
“Only one, but it would work immediately,” he replied with a smug smile.
“The last thing I need is a deal with you,” you growled with annoyance.
“I never said a thing about a deal,” he pointed out, his voice colored thick with offence, although he might as well be acting. You never knew with demons.
“Crowley, I've known you for what, over 10 years? You never make an offer without anything in it for you. What do you want?”
The demon seemed to think about your words for a moment, a shadow of a smile ghosting on his lips, but that may have been caused by the poor lightning. There was something nostalgic hiding in his eyes. Maybe he felt the oddity of your meeting too?
You almost missed the years spent tracking him or arguing over people’s souls and contracts. At the time, it didn’t seem all that much fun, and people’s lives were at stake each and every time. Sometimes you won, other you didn’t, feeling guilty and weak, wishing for your life to change and free you of guilt. And you finally got the chance.
Only, you never thought the cost of coming back would require a tragedy. The Winchesters had warned you, but you used to be certain the change would last forever, that you would never come back here, to this side of the coin.
You ordered another shot.
“To coming back on the old trash,” you raised it.
“To the dreams,” Crowley tapped it with his Scotch.
Name: It’s past midnight, dove
Pairing: Crowley x reader
Summary: the reader falls asleep with her head on Crowley’s lap and suddenly wakes up in the middle of the night.
Author’s Note: me? absent? no way! I am sorry though.
You love your quiet evenings with Crowley - with your head on his lap, his hand always on your waist, holding you close. You keep dozing off, and, when you open your eyes this time, Crowley chuckles, raising his hand to gently pat your shoulder.
“It’s past midnight, dove,” you smile at him and get a gentle smile back.
“Why are you not asleep then?”
“Couldn’t dare wake you up, now could I?” you chuckle, as Cowley crosses your fingers.
“Seriously?” he nods and takes another sip of his whiskey.
“Yes, love. I have a beautiful girl in my hands, a nice drink to enjoy, and endless time to think. Why would I stop that?”
“You are hopelessly romantic, aren’t you?”
“Do not blame me for the way you make me,” Crowley frowns jokingly, as you turn your head to see his face - tired and stressed, but also slowly relaxing.
“Are we going to be alright?” you ask him softly, knowing of the angels and Winchesters hunting you. And being more worried about the Winchesters, those boys are the living definition of trouble.
“Yes, love. We are going to be great,” he promises you and snaps his fingers to get your blanket. Warm and fluffy, unlike anything in Hell, this piece of cloth is the one thing keeping you from descending into the demon nature of Hell. That was his goal - to have you next to him at all time, but never have to see you change and give up your light. “Do not worry.”
“You are too sweet for your own good, Crowley.”
“I know, darling. Now go back to sleep,” you want to ask him what he will do, and he answers before you open your mouth. “I will do a little more thinking, then just get us to bed, alright?” you nod and sit up to kiss him - you can’t forbid yourself those lazy, cozy kisses in the late evening, when nothing is going on, and the only things that exist are your little living room, the warm blanket, and light scent of whiskey in the air.
“Your beard tickles.”
“You just have to ruin the moment, don’t you?” Crowley laughs and pushes you down, pulling the blanket over your head. “Little stupid idiot.”
“I love you too,” you chuckle, as he rests his hand on your hip, his fingers gently stroking your skin.
Summary: Crowley has an interesting encounter with a female hunter. The new female hunter, Samantha, adjusts to her new home with the Winchesters. She becomes accustomed to the hunting life and how it’s like living with Dean and Sam. She learns about the Winchester’s previous encounters, including one with a particular red eyed demon…
Samantha found her way into the kitchen, tying the robe at her waist a smidgen tighter. It fell to the floor, just how she liked. Most women’s robes were at the knee - even the winter ones, which she always hated. This one, however, just so happened to be floor length, and very comfortable. She smiled and searched the cabinets for a coffee mug. She was still getting used to the place and getting used to where things were. She found a black mug and poured herself some coffee and filled it with creamer. Giving it a stir with a spoon, she brought the warm cup to her lips and took a sip “Mmm…” She hummed. Samantha smiled at the taste and set it down, looking for a pan and some eggs to cook.
“Hey”
The young girl gasped and spun around, “Oh-- hey Dean, you scared me.” She faced him, putting the pan down on the stove.
“That’s my robe, princess” He looked at her with squinted eyes in the doorway, wearing his pajama pants and grey t-shirt.
“O-oh,” She subconsciously looked down and reached to touch the ties of the robe. “Really? I’m sorry, I just found it in the bathroom. It was folded up and it looked like it hadn’t been worn in a long while, so-”
“It was just washed” His facial expression was grumpy, but the corner of his mouth crept up in a smirk from seeing her falter so innocently. “It’s alright, no harm done. Just remember to put it back in my room, okay?”
“Okay,” She replied almost obediently and took another sip of her coffee. “Would you like an omelet or some scrambled eggs? I was just about to cook some for you two…if that’s what you like.”
Dean raised a brow, “Really…? You were? That’s awful nice of you. You don’t have to do that.”
“Well, I wanted to. I’m your guest, and I’m new…” she blushed, “I wanted to do a little something for you guys.” She smiled and pushed her hair back behind her ear.
“Hmph,” Dean strode over to the coffee maker with a smirk on his face, and grabbed himself a black coffee, “That’s adorable.” His voice rumbled as he let out a small chuckle, “But if you really want to, you can make me an omelet and Sam some scrambled eggs. He likes those.” Dean’s speckled green eyes flickered over to her warm brown eyes. She returned his gaze politely, then returned to making their breakfast.
“So you guys have been living here for a few years now,” she looked up at him with furrowed brows, “How old is this place?” She inquired.
Dean leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms, coffee in hand, “Yeah, we’ve been here for a little while now. We finally have a place to call home. It’s great. It’s a damn fortress too,” He took a sip of his coffee. “The bunker’s been here since the forties. It was one of the home bases for the Men of Letters. It’s pretty big, but you’ll get used to it.” He grinned and pointed a finger at her. “You still need a tour”
Samantha nodded, “Yeah I do. I should probably know the in & outs of my new home.” She opened the fridge to see if there was any orange juice, and saw something else that caught her eye. “Hmm…bacon?” She looked at him curiously and his eyes went wide like a small puppy, “Yes please. You’d be an angel if you made some bacon” She chuckled and took them out along with the OJ. “Well, if it’s what you want, I’ll make it for you.” Samantha put them on another pan and lit the gas on the stove. “You know…it’s really comforting knowing I live in such a sturdy home- completely warded off from all monsters” She sighed, very relieved, yet still in disbelief of her home invasion back in New York. “It’s nice to know I didn’t just hitchhike with a couple of rednecks and be taken God knows where…heh…” A red tint rose to her cheeks with embarrassment.
The sturdy hunter rolled his shoulders and pursed his lips before clearing his throat, “Yeah thank God for that”
“Ughhh….*yawns* mrrugh” Sam appeared from the corner, rubbing his eyes and yawning like a bear with his hair sticking up in random places.
“Mornin’ sleepy head,” Samantha chirped, peering at the giant in the kitchen, “You sure seem well rested”
Before Sam could open his mouth for a quick reply, he noticed she was wearing Dean’s robe. His brows cinched together questioningly, as he gave Dean a knowing look. Dean explained, mock-offended with outstretched arms, “She’s not even here a week and she stole my robe”
The comment made her giggle and she dished out their breakfast. “Here’s some food to make up for it” She handed them their plates and Sam looked surprised and flattered, “Aw, you made me scrambled eggs? That’s so nice. Thank you” He leaned over and ruffled her hair, making it messy.
She smiled and said sweetly, “Bon Appetit, Monsieur Winchester” She made a plate for herself and took it to the counter while the boys ate at the small table.
They both took their first bite and groaned happily. She peered at them, pleased with their resounding reactions to her cooking. “Mm, that’s delicious. Are those spices on my omelette? …I didn’t even know we had those…”
“I found’m just laying around. I’m glad you like it,” She smiled and drank her coffee.
“It tastes delicious,” Sam grinned sweetly, “We don’t always have the time to have home cooked food, so it’s great to be able to enjoy it when we can.”
Samantha tilted her head, confused, “What do you mean?”
“When we’re out on a hunt - we usually have to resort to greasy burgers and stuff like that,” Sam informed her.
“Oh...”
“Which you’re not going to do for a LONG time,” Dean interjected, “So you can just stay here and cook all the food you want and be out of harm’s way,” he smiled.
“Well, she’ll still have to learn how to hunt eventually, Dean.”
“Eventually, meaning a very long time from now- possibly never…” Dean grumbled while drinking his coffee.
Samantha huffed, “Why not? I wanna go on a hunt one day!”
Dean sighed, “Look, no offense to you at all, but it wasn’t even my first choice to bring you here and have you tied up in our supernatural chaos.”
Sam shot him a bitch face and peered at Samantha with soft eyes, “Dean is sort of right… -about hunting. But…There’s no rule that says you shouldn’t learn self defense” This reassured her, and peaked her interest.
“Hmm…that makes sense. I should start out small. And do the ‘looking up’ thing you guys do. I should practice that”
Dean turned to her and smirked. “You mean, research?”
“Oh- yeah, yeah. Of course,” She blushed and stuffed some more food in her mouth, “Well…I have a bachelor’s degree in psychology. Would that be helpful in any way?”
“Definitely,” Dean said, “Being a mind reader has its perks on the job. You gotta know who’s lying, how to read people, whether or not they’re bluffing, and you gotta know how to sweet talk your way into places”
“I figured so,” Samantha nodded and rested her jaw on her fist, “So you guys are always dressing like feds and getting into crime scenes that way?”
“Yep,” Sam said, “Or on special occasions we’ll be deputies or journalists”
“Well it must be nice to dress so dapper all the time,” she smiled.
“Eh, it’s a monkey suit…” Dean groaned, “You get tired of wearing the same suit all the time. But…” He mulled it over, “It doesn’t hurt when you want a lady’s attention.”
Samantha glanced away as he winked at her, too nervous to keep eye contact. She gathered from her time with the boys that Dean was the lady’s man, and was quite ‘experienced’. It intimidated her slightly and she couldn’t deny that.
“Speaking of hunting - I came across a possible case last night,” Samantha’s thoughts were pulled back into the conversation as Sam spoke. “I saw a big headline online about a few girls that went missing. Apparently they found their bodies drained of blood”
“A vampire case?” Samantha guessed.
Dean looked at her impressed, “Most likely. Where is this? It better not be over three hundred miles, I’m not in the mood for something far after going all the way to New York.”
“I’ll do you one better. It’s in Oak Hill, less than 200 miles away.
“Great, so when are we going?” Samantha perked up. The boys looked at her cute, proud smile and they both looked at each other with regret.
Dean grabbed his empty plate, about to put it in the sink. “Sam and I are going,”
“That’s nice that I’m going with you, Dean” She smirked right back at him and he faltered, realizing what she meant. “You-” He let out a sigh and put his dish in the sink, then came back over to the two of them. He looked between the two of them and ran a hand down his face. “You guys are gonna have to settle on your nicknames. I’m not gonna go crazy figuring out who’s who”
“Uh,” Sam let out a breath, amused, “I don’t think you’ll remember Dean. You call me Sam and Sammy all the time.”
Dean rolled his eyes and threw his head back. He looked at the young girl and pointed at her, “Girl-Sam,” then pointed at his brother, “Sam.”
Samantha chuckled and put her dish in the sink too. “So girl-Sam has to sit at home then?”
“Yes. I’ll get you settled and familiar with the rest of the bunker,” Dean grabbed her forearm and guided her out of the kitchen without another word like a child, “Come on, girl-Sam.” Sam laughed at his brother’s gruffness. He knew he was going to enjoy confusing him with another Sam in the bunker.
“This is the gun range, of course you won’t be using it anytime soon, but when you do - this is where it is” Dean leaned over and showed her where the targets were. “You stand here, the target is down there, and you try to hit a bulls-eye” He patted her back firmly and she jolted at the sudden strong contact, “O-oh. It’s kinda creepy down here, and dark.” She looked at the window and the goggles and headphones in the sling under it. “How do you guys get over there to get all the bullet casings and reset the targets?”
“There’s a door on the far side that opens to the other side, but, no need to show you that,” he grinned, folding his hands behind his back, “Next room”
She rolled her eyes and started walking. “You know I’m not a baby, Dean. I am an adult.”
“Oh just barely, princess. How old are you again?”
“I’m 22. Aren’t you like 30 or something?”
He scoffed, “Yeah I wish. Thanks for flattering me, I’m 37″
She blinked, “Oh, well you certainly don’t look it”
“Well maybe the secret to looking younger is dying a hundred times and coming back to life,” he smiled sarcastically and scoffed, “Sam and I have gone through so much crazy shit.”
“I know…you told me about some of it already…and I’m sorry by the way, for…all the hardships you two have gone through,” She looked up at him with remorse in her eyes, “I can’t begin to imagine all the torment you’ve suffered from what you told me.”
Dean’s brows furrowed slightly. He tried brushing it off like it was no big deal. “It’s alright, but this is why I don’t want you to get involved.”
Samantha’s eyes met the floor and she gulped. Juno’s barking was heard on the way out, followed by Sam’s heavy footsteps. They passed by the doorway and she saw Juno wag his tail and bark at Sam again, wanting to be chased. She giggled at that, especially when Sam’s laughter was heard echoing down the hall. Soon, they were both running past the gun range, and out of sight. “God damn,” Dean cracked a smile, “Your dog is gonna put my brother to work.”
“It looks like it,” she smiled and looked past the doorway and down the hall, “Huskies are very hyperactive. They love running around, but they mostly love pulling sleds in the snow”
“Ya know, I’m not a fan of dogs, but I gotta say, props to you for getting a real one. You’re smart to have him for protection.”
She pushed her hair back behind her ear, “Thanks. I’ve always grown up with huskies. They’re so beautiful - and like you said, protective, and strong. I love Juno a lot.” She crossed her arms and walked forward, heading into the map room in front of her. Dean sensed her uneasy behavior from a mile away, and chalked it up to her being a new roommate that’s not quite settled or familiar yet. He didn’t agree with the thought of her hunting, but he didn’t want her to be miserable here. He wanted her to be happy living in the bunker with them.
“The map room serves more as a coffee table. We also use the library, right down there, to do our research.” He pointed in the direction of the mahogany wood desk and the old book shelves.
“It looks really relaxing. I like it,” She smiled and walked over to the library. She went over to the desk, and ran her fingertips over the surface. The wood was polished and certainly wasn’t cheap. Her curiosity perked up as she went to pull out a random book from the shelf.
Dean touched the back of his neck with his hand, “I uh- I gotta go talk to Sammy about that case. Is there anything else you need me to point out?”
She thought for a moment and shook her head, “No, I don’t think so. At least not right now. I’ll stay here and read for a bit”
Dean nodded, “Okay. Just holler if you need me.” He left her in the library, where she sat and started to read. Juno soon found her and wagged his tail happily, and joined her at her side. “Hey boy, I think we’re gunna like it here.”
“But sir, I-”
“To the torture chambers with him”
“What?! No, no!” *poof* The guards teleported the sorry soul out of the thrown room, as the king had ordered.
That very king, looked over the list in his hand with a drawled sigh. Over 600 more sentences needed his approval today.
A woman, or demon in a woman’s meat suit, approached the king respectfully.
“Well I do hope you’ve got some interesting news for me,” King Crowley groaned with a hand over his face, clearly bored of his tedious duties.
“Yes, my Lord. I would like to inform you that we have almost everything we need for the spell you ordered”
“Really now…?” Crowley’s brows raised.
“Yes, we found all but these two items,” She handed him a small list with all of the crossed out ingredients, and the two that were missing. Upon seeing them, he immediately knew where he could find such items. “Thank you. You are dismissed.” He straightened up, fixed his collar, and rose from his seat. “I think I’ll be visiting a couple of lumberjacks...”
After some time, Samantha decided to go back to her room. The boys told her they’d go out on a supply run and would be back soon. With them gone, she took advantage of her time alone and got the rest of her things in order in her new living space.
She grabbed all her toiletries to put them in their proper place in the bathroom. Once she was completely satisfied, she got undressed to hop in the shower. Tossing her dirty clothes on the floor, she turned the nob to let the warm water pour over her skin. The bathroom filled with steam, and she got to work right away, feeling refreshed. As she scrubbed every inch of her body, the sweet smell of her shampoo and body wash consumed the entire room. The water fell over her hair and she fingered through it, getting all the knots out.
With a final rinse, she shut the water, and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around herself. Oh…damn. I should’ve brought some clean clothes in here. She sighed, and picked up her dirty clothes off the floor and exited the bathroom. She tossed them in a hamper and made her way down the hall, just as she heard her phone ringing.
Crowley stepped into the bunker and looked around him in the main room.
“Oh Deeean. Saaam,” he sang in singsong. He pursed his lips, looking back and forth. Strange. He felt their presence there earlier. Samantha followed the sound of her phone until it stopped ringing.
Samantha walked into the library, and she gasped. As she clutched her towel to her nude body, she stared at the stranger in the room with pure shock.
“My oh my…” Crowley’s deep voice drawled with a wicked grin, “Didn’t mean to catch you naked, darling.” Crowley’s eyes sauntered over her, taking in the doe eyed beauty, and the sheer look of panic on her delicate face. Her hair was still wet and matted to the sides of her face. “You must be a lady friend of the boys, am I right?” He grinned and smirked at her, “I guess one of them had to blow off some steam.” Samantha stood there frozen. She gulped, and felt her fist tighten around her towel, the only thing guarding her vulnerability. She could barely even register what he was saying to her. Her delicate voice stammered out, “W-who are you? What are you doing here?”
“Ah yes, where are my manners?” He snapped back to his senses and shook his head, “The name’s Crowley.” He strode over to her slowly, taking each step with caution. Her eyes locked on him incredulously, watching his every move. He stopped when he was a foot away from her, just close enough to analyze her up close. His hand reached for hers, “And to whom do I owe this pleasure?” He rose the back of her hand to his lips. Her body jolted from the unexpected polite gesture. His salt and pepper beard brushed against her skin. It was surprisingly soft. She swallowed and took her hand back “Samantha”
He smiled, “Samantha? Well, you share the same name as Moose. …Have you happened to see him, by chance?”
“Huh..?” Her brows furrowed as she tried to piece this together. She thinks that he knows Dean and Sam, but how could he have gotten in here? “Yeah…I have,” she said timidly, looking up through her lashes, “But- how did you get in here?”
“Demon” He shrugged his shoulders as if it were obvious, only making her feel uneasy inside. “They lowered their defense grid a while back so they could let me in,” He winked.
She took in a shaky breath and stammered, taking a step back, “B-but, how? They told me this place is completely warded off against those things…”
This made Crowley furrow his brows. So she wasn’t some girl either of them picked up at a bar. She clearly knew a little more about them. “How do you know about demons…?”
Before she could answer, Juno’s growl could be heard beside her. It was a threatening growl, and Juno advanced on the suited man and barked at him viciously. She was soon coming to terms of the situation, starting to believe he really was a demon.
“So you do know the boys.” He glanced down at the snarling husky and simply smoothed his hand on his head with ease, looking at him for a moment, and he calmed down instantly, going as far as to lick his hand as well. Samantha’s jaw dropped at the trick.
“What did you do to my dog?” She reached for her pup by his collar and hugged him to her protectively, but when she looked at him, he was perfectly fine and he licked her face. She looked up at Crowley confused.
“I assured him I meant no harm,” he spoke, “And the same goes for you too. The Winchesters and I are besties.”
“‘Besties,’ huh?” The girl ran her fingers through Juno’s fur for comfort.
Crowley squinted his eyes, and looked her up and down, “I think I can make the assumption that you’re more than just one of their pick ups for the night”
“I’m not either of their- ‘fuck buddies’,” she blushed, feeling embarrassed, “I’m just their friend…”
“So, I see. But a friend of the Winchesters is a friend of mine.”
She looked at him confused. “Oh yeah? And how can I trust you?” Crowley reached in his coat pocket. He fished out a picture of him and Dean and brought it to her attention. Samantha was pleasantly surprised he was telling the truth. Both of them were wearing cowboy hats with big smiles on their faces in a bar. “See, a friend of theirs is a friend of mine.” Samantha looked at the picture and her features softened, and looking at it a second time, she chuckled at the funny shot.
“I need something of theirs and clearly they’re not home,” Crowley explained, “Perhaps you’d be so kind as to help me? It’s important.” His eyes peered at her charmingly.
“Uh…umm…” She licked her lips, all of a sudden realizing how handsome this man really was - dressed in a well-tailored black suit and blue printed tie, his beard was full and the bit of gray in it made him look distinguished. The deviance in his honey colored eyes was something she couldn’t miss. “How about I put on some clothes,” she murmured.
“Don’t feel pressured that you need to, love,” His voice lowered a little, making her curse in her mind, “I’m quite comfortable with you like this”
“W-well I’m not. S-so just stay right there!” She pointed her finger at him like an angry cute little child would. “Hmph…”
He grinned, bearing his teeth. Even the King of Hell couldn’t deny the admirable tone of her voice coupled with the red in her cheeks. He put his hands up, showing compliance. When her back turned, he took his bottom lip between his teeth, and drank in her curves as she walked away.
She would’ve sent Juno to watch him, but knowing that he had powers over him, she decided not to. Without another word, she shuffled back to her room as quickly as she could and locked her door. Hurriedly, she dressed herself in a burgundy pullover sweatshirt, black leggings, and put on a pair of black slip-on shoes.
Juno groaned and laid on her bed, wagging his tail slowly and eyeing her. “Juno, I’ll take you out later.”
He talked back to her, softly, and stuffed his nose in the sheets with a final grunt.
She laughed and opened her door, with Juno shooting out of her room like a bullet. “HEY! JUNO!” He ran like crazy, stopping to pounce and look back at her while barking. She giggled and ran after him. Juno sniffed the floor and found Crowley again, and barked at him and sat by his side. Samantha stopped short, seeing Crowley pet Juno as he waited for her. “Fido likes to get things done. Coming?” He said so casually, as if him and the husky were waiting on her.
She nodded. Crowley led her to the lower level, the dungeon as Dean called it, where he figured these items would be.
“Wow…there’s a lot of files down here” Samantha looked around her and noticed a room across the hall filled with files just the same. “What did you need from the boys again?”
“Just some rare herbs, darling. And an old artifact of the Men of Letters. Daddy’s got a little business to take care of…” He murmured the last part to himself, thinking about the enemies he would soon be dealing with later that day. He continued to snoop around, throwing things haphazardly. Samantha walked into the other room, but didn’t think she could find any herbs in there or any old artifacts. She looked at the shelves and noticed something weird about the room. She could see a lot of floor space past the shelves, and it looked like they were hiding something. She tilted her head to the side and pushed them a little. The shelves slid and she pulled them, and they pulled out to the side. “Oh…what the hell?” She walked forward through the gap and saw a table in the middle of the room. There were a few handcuffs attached to the single chair at the table. The single spotlight in the room shining down hinted the true purpose of this hidden room… “Just imagine what it’d be like being locked up in this godforsaken hole for months on end…” His gravelly voice made her jump as she spun around to face him. He was inches from her face. “Can’t stretch your legs. No one to entertain you…It wouldn’t be fun. Trust me,” He sneered.
“How would you know? Have you ever been held up like that before?” She asked innocently.
He bit his lip and looked away, “You could say that…”
She brushed it off and went to look in the other storage room. Before she could walk away, he caught her arm. “How much do you really know about the Winchesters..?”
“Um..I mean they told me about monsters and hunting and stuff. They told me all about their past.”
His eyes narrowed and he cocked his head to the side ever so slightly. “Interesting…” He let go of her arm and followed her close behind. “So you’re the new ‘Winchester recruit’ for the ‘family business’,” he air-quoted, chuckling, “Funny, they aren’t ones to share their hunting lives with innocent people like yourself.” He pursed his lips, curious, “Killed anything yet?”
She fumbled through the contents of another storage room as he spoke, “No, I’m going to be on research duty for a while,” she shrugged sadly and crossed her arms, “But to be fair I’ve only been here two days.”
“It’s never too early to start,” he smirked, “Ah, there it is,” He picked up a small jar containing the familiar herbs, along with the small artifact on a shelf underneath it, “I knew the boys were hiding these somewhere…”
“Crowley?”
He turned and looked at her, standing before him with uneasiness in her eyes, “Since you’re a friend of their’s...and have probably known them much longer than I have,” she hesitated but met his eyes cautiously, “Have the boys done…bad things?”
He took a moment before answering, “Haven’t we all done bad things?”
“I mean like…evil bad things…killing innocent people and stuff like that”
He stepped towards her, “They haven’t when they were in their right mind, as far as I know. I’m more than sure you’re safe here” He winked, and took a step closer, “But, a word of advice- don’t feel selfish for doing things for your own survival, darling.” Her bangs hovered over her eyes as she peered at him, listening to him carefully.
Crowley’s ears perked up. His eyes glanced to the side, picking up on the sound of the front door of the bunker being opened. Samantha, being human, couldn’t hear, or sense it from this far below. “I’d love to stay and chat, but I’m needed somewhere else,” he said smoothly, distracting her and moving closer. “Thank you for your help, love.” Carefully, he trailed his finger along the side of her face, down to her jaw. “Till next time, darling”
And with that, he vanished in the blink of an eye. How did he...?
The way he disappeared, without even fading from view had her marveled. The boys had told her all about demons - their powers, their abilities - but meeting one herself felt indescribable. Nonetheless, it proved to be an entirely different experience…than what they had described it would be….
Hi everyone!
I realized I had to get a lot of technicalities correct, and review the overall story I have planned. I’ve decided the story will be set in about season 10.
I’ve had a sequence of events lined up in my head forever and I can’t wait to share it with you.
Prompt: Reader is abused by her boyfriend until Crowley steps in.
Warnings: Swearing, abuse, trigger warning
Author: Jen
You had been alone most of your life. Your parents had been hunters, though they were killed by a werewolf when you were fifteen.
You had ran from the police to avoid being stuck in some crappy foster home.
You didn’t hunt, though you knew you should have. Instead you continued to go through high school in hopes of having a normal life. More than anything you wanted to fall in love and settle down.
Then the harsh truth hit you.
People didn’t really like you, they considered you the ‘parentless freak’. Nobody talked to you or even tried to hit on you, even though you were rather pretty.
You lived a terrible and lonely life. Just as you always had when your parents were alive.
You spent a long time researching devil worship and summoning rituals until you came across the Winchesters.
You had a brief run-in with them only once, when they were helping the town you were staying in with a demon problem. That was when you had originally discovered the ritual.
You spent about a year preparing, begging whatever god was out there that it would work.
You were so lonely, so desperate that you couldn’t see how dumb you were being. How pathetic it was to even consider making a deal with some shady crossroad demon.
But you didn’t notice nor care.
You were going to sell your soul for a friend.
~ < ~ > ~
“Hello, love,” a voice called as a hand tapped your shoulder. “You called me?”
You turned around, raising your eyebrows as you saw a black-haired man staring down at you. “Are you the demon that can give me what I want?” You questioned, puffing out your chest a little.
“No, (y/n), I’m the King of demons who’s going to tell you not to sell your soul,” the man replied with a smirk. “I know what you want, and trust me, it’s not worth it. You’re much better off living your life, love.”
A tear involuntarily slid down your cheek as you thought of what you wanted. You just needed a friend, someone you could really count on. “I don’t agree. Just let me make the deal, okay? What do you even get out of helping me?”
The man only put a hand on your face before taking a step towards you. “How about you just...try being friends with me? You may like demons more than humans, you know.”
You thought for a moment, “you know what? I’ve got nothing better to do. Let’s go have some fun.”
~ < ~ > ~
You sat on your black leather couch, the T.V. playing some show on mute.
Your boyfriend, Ian, didn’t have that much money, and he blamed it on you. He considered you a drain on his wallet, and blamed you for most of his problems.
You had previously offered to find a job to help out, but he had told you that you weren’t allowed to leave the house.
If it weren’t for Crowley, you wouldn’t have left the house in two years.
You hadn’t told him about what Ian was doing to you, instead you just avoided his questions altogether. Crowley had been your best friend for a few years, as you had bonded over how much you hated Lucifer and wanted to hunt him down.
Your boyfriend slammed the door as he entered, making you wince. You clutched the blanket in your lap to your chest, further curling your knees into yourself.
“(Y/n)! Where are you!” A drunken voice slurred as loud footsteps stumbled through the house.
“Living room,” you replied shyly, closing your eyes and resting your head on your shoulder, preparing for any injury.
Ian stood in the doorway, glaring down at your fragile, scared body. “Why the fuck aren’t you standing at the door, welcoming me in you bitch?” He growled and stalked closer to you so that he was standing directly in front of you.
“I’m sorry, I was tired,” you whimpered in response, giving your usual excuse for when he complained about this.
“That’s just not good enough for me.” Ian slapped you and pulled you to your feet, the blanket on your lap falling to the ground in a large heap.
It never is, you thought to yourself as you were shoved against a wall.
This happened most nights, so like usual, you just kept quiet. You didn’t want to give the horrible man the pleasure of hearing your screams.
You knew you should have told someone and ran as far away from him as you could, but you were just too afraid too.
“Too afraid to talk, bitch? Where’s that annoying, excuse-making voice of yours now that you’re powerless?” Ian sneered, kneeing you in the ribs multiple times.
You knew you heard at least one crack and snap, but you didn’t even blink at the intense pain. You had gotten used to it.
“Whore,” Ian muttered as he mashed your face to a small pulp. That he did every few weeks, just so he could remind you of how terrible you looked all the time.
Now that was hard to hide from your best friend, but still, you managed.
“Excuse me, lad,” a british accent called out lightly. “I believe you’re hurting the love of my life.”
Ian turned around, his grip on your neck loosening. “Who the fuck are you?” He slurred as he released you. You fell to the ground and managed to struggle to your feet despite the pain.
“Name’s Crowley.” Ian fell to the ground with a snap of the neck as Crowley spoke and ran to you.
He touched your body and all of the pain went away. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you into his warm body. “You’re okay now, (y/n),” he said as he stroked your (h/c) hair.
You nodded, happy in the embrace of the man you had come to accidentally love. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” you whimpered.
Alright, here is my second Supernatural one shot, this time featuring the King of Hell and snark, Crowley. It was written for @kazosa and her 333 Followers Half-Evil Challenge. And without further ado....
Hexes and Scotch
CrowleyxReader
You bagged Mrs.Jepson’s purchase, making sure the vials of oils and lotions were individually wrapped to keep from breaking.
“Your total is $76.23, how will you be paying for this today?”
The older woman glanced at the window, seeing a flock of women across the street. She fumbled with her purse, hastily pulling out a handful bills, pressing them into your hand.
“Just keep the change. And uh, keep this visit between us,” she said with a fake smile, before sneaking out of the store, keeping an eye out for anyone who would see her.
As she left the store, your smile melted into an annoyed scowl. Rural towns were so hypocritical.
You had opened your shop, Hebe’s Emporium, last year. Being a witch, you had found that hiding from those who meant harm, meant staying in small towns and in plain sight. No self-respecting witch would run a kitschy magic shop selling love potions and beautification salves.
After an altercation with demons many years before, you made sure to stay off anyone’s radar, demon or otherwise. Covens were out, too much power in one spot drew other supernaturals like moths to a flame. Hunters tended to be a shoot first, ask questions later sort of bunch. No, it was best for you to be alone.
So here you were, peddling lotions and perfumes to customers who would gladly pay top dollar for one of your herbal concoctions, but would die before letting anyone knew they shopped in your store. A perfect disguise, albeit a mundane one.
It was mind-numbing to say the least. At least your green thumb didn’t go to waste. Small town or not, regular people loved her creations.
The morning air nipped at your cheeks as you took a sip of your favorite tea. Last night you had a long night over your stove, perfecting a new body oil. Nothing too crazy, but it was an advanced version of your pheromone oil. The tea and cold air helped you reinvigorate your tired mind.
The sound of chanting drew your attention. A crowd of people stood outside your shop, pamphlets in hand. Was it Sunday already? You resisted the urge to not only roll your eyes, but to throw a few hexes their way. Nothing major, but if one of the protestors were to get hit in the face with their own sign, you would be amused. Your fingers itched, and you tapped them against the warm cup in your hand.
Instead, you fixed a smile on your face as you weaved through the crowd to open the doors to your shop. While the crowd was boisterous when you weren’t around, as soon as you made an entrance, they quieted and got out of your way. Regardless if the rumors surrounding you and your shop were true, it seemed they didn't want to take any chances on angering you directly.
“Good morning ladies,” you said, pulling out your keys.
“Y/N L/N, this is a petition to have you removed from town. We can’t have you corrupting our young with your…. your voodoo,” the old blue haired woman said, thrusting a pile of papers into your face.
Voodoo… wrong discipline honey, you thought to yourself. The leader of the rabble was a God-fearing woman stuck in the past. If there was a book to be banned, a company to be boycotted, she was the one who started the trend. Most of the time, after the craze had died down, she would move onto another topic. However, she seemed quite fervent in your removal from 'her' sleepy town.
You glanced at the list for a second, your eyes quickly scanning the signatures even in your tired state.
“That is quite a list of names just for a shop that sells soaps and lotions, but fortunately for me, I own this building, and have no plans for leaving.”
You unlocked your front door, giving them quick smile.
“Besides, my customers, some of whom are on that list, love my products. So please vacate my front sidewalk. I have a virgin sacrifice to make.”
You winked and left the flabbergasted crowd on the street.
Once inside, you tossed your tea into wastebasket.
“Fucking morons,” you scowled.
“There was a time when all those hypocrites would find themselves in awe of your true power,” a smooth voice intoned.
You paused, mentally berating yourself for not noticing your visitor. Crowley, once the King of the Crossroads when you met him, now the King of Hell. And the main demon you had been trying to avoid. Well the Bible thumpers would be pleased. This location was no longer safe. If you got through this conversation without dying, you were going to haul ass out of this small town.
“I’m not sure if it was awe, maybe terror would be more appropriate?” you said offhand, starting the process of opening your shop, trying to hide the unease you felt. No point in giving the King of Hell the upper hand, especially when you had no idea what he wanted.
But his words resonated with you. All this white magic versus black magic that most witches ascribed to. Magic was magic, it could be used for the light and dark. It could help or hex. It was the line that you straddled, doling out punishment or aid with an incantation. Or at least you used to. You couldn't even remember the last time you did proper magic.
You started opening your register when he caged you in, his chest to your back, his hands on the counter on either side of you.
“Why not both? A heady combination,” he breathed into your ear.
You chewed your lip. That voice was your downfall once, but you bolstered your resolve. Whatever he was here for, you weren't going down without a fight. You slammed the register shut, and slid out from under his arms easily.
“A dangerous combination, and a foolish one as you may remember,” you retorted. He chuckled, and fiddled with a vial, grimacing when he smelled its contents.
You plucked the vial out of his hands.
“Protection against evil. You might want to not touch that,” you snarked, recapping it and putting it on the shelf.
“I don’t recall much foolishness, except for you leaving me for this dull life,” Crowley said, surveying your store. You had lotions, soaps, and oils, all infused with the barest minimum with your power.
You glared at him.
“Foolishness on my part for ever believing I was worth more than what my power could get you. And apparently it got you the throne, so congratu-fucking-lations.” You gave him a mocking bow, before pushing past him to the back room.
You were becoming more irritated by the moment, your emotions getting the better of you. You clenched your fist, trying to calm yourself. Crowley walked behind you, pulling your hair away from your neck.
“I want you to be my Queen,” Crowley said, his beard brushing against your ear. You stood still.
“Forgive me, if I don’t believe you,” you said evenly.
“I’ve been watching you (Y/N). You’ve never been out of my sight, out of the realm of my protection. Have you not wondered how you went so long without a demon or hunter gracing your steps.”
He ran his hands down your arms slowly, coming to a rest on your hips.
“I’ve seen the great and powerful witch I knew before, lower herself, denying the world her true talents.”
His hands dug into your hips, pulling you flush against his chest.
“And still, I could not deny what I wanted. You, by my side.”
He placed his mouth against the junction of your neck, dragging his teeth against your pulse point, making it jump erratically.
“And I came to realize, that it was not your power was what I missed. It was you.”
You turned in his arms, pushing him against the counter, pulling a blessed knife from under your register. Holding the knife point against his chest, you stared at your once paramour. He seemed amused, and challenged you with his gaze. You tightened your grip on the knife, the sharp edge slicing through his tailored shirt.
"That's an expensive shirt, you know," he said, reaching up to grasp onto your wrist.
“I’m no longer the naive girl you once knew,”
His eyes flashed red.
“I know.”
You grabbed his tie and pulled him down, kissing him hard. Crowley knocked the knife from your hand, before picking you up and depositing you on the smooth granite countertop.
Wedging himself between your legs, he gripped your hair, pulling you into a bruising kiss. You bit his lip teasingly, and he growled, pushing you down so that you were splayed out on the counter. His palm rested on your sternum, his fingers grasping your neck, holding you down.
His other hand was anchored on your hips, pulling you flush against him.
“Be my queen, my light and dark,” he demanded. You stared up at him, under heavy lids.
“Your equal,” you countered, hooking your leg around his waist, keeping him firmly in place.
“You can call yourself anything you bloody well want,” he huffed, leaning down to kiss you.
You turned your lips, staring at the King of Hell through teasing eyes.
“Is that a deal?” you asked, putting your hand on top of his, pushing it down towards the swell of your breasts. You quirked a brow, daring him to stop or say otherwise.
A few weeks later you were introduced to the Winchester brothers and their pet angel (as Crowley stated) Castiel. Of course you had heard of the Winchesters, who hadn't in your circles? And for Crowley to know them, and have a sort of partnership with them, was suprising to say the least.
Apparently Crowley was less the bad guy, and more the… half evil guy. The Winchester’s were suspicious of you at the least for being a witch. But for wanting to bond yourself to Crowley, you had to be insane. Castiel was uptight, after all, he was an angel, but he more than others understood free will, and would not stop you.
You were reluctant to even meet the Winchesters, having been wary of hunters your entire lifetime, but you needed their help during the bonding ritual. Normally you could have done it yourself, rituals and spellwork coming second hand to you, but since you were one of the recipients of the bond, you needed extra hands.
You had wanted wanted to do the ritual as soon as possible, even in Hell for all you cared, but Crowley reminded you that you yourself were human, and it was best for you to enter Hell at your paramour’s side already bonded, lest you draw the ire of any of the lower level demons.
“After all, demons are the tricky sort, especially for humans,” he had said against you lips, the morning after you had reunited.
You twisted your fingers into a complicated seal, causing Crowley’s hands to pin to his sides.
You rolled onto his hips, shaking your finger at him.
“Good thing I’m a tricky witch then,” you sassed. Crowley tested the bonds, raising an eyebrow, when he realized he had very little wiggle room. You had definitely gotten stronger since before.
“You are playing with fire darling,” he warned.
You pulled off your shirt, tossing it aside.
“Good thing I’m marrying the King of Hell then.”
The date of the ceremony was slated for the New Moon. It was an old ritual, not known to many. With it, Crowley and you would be bound forever. Emphasis on forever. And after a century of living alone for the most part, you ached for the companionship the bonding with Crowley would bring.
Your clever, snarky, scotch-drinking King of Hell.
You garbed yourself in a black grecian style dress, sheer fabric skimming over your body. A black lace veil completed the ensemble, and you looked every inch the dark bride. Even Dean, suspicious as he was, couldn’t help but stare at you.
“I’m not sure what you and Crowley have, but damn,” he complimented.
“That is my Queen you are ogling,” Crowley spoke from behind, making Dean jump.
The demon moved around the brothers, coming face to face with his soon to be bride. He quirked an eyebrow.
“What, no white?”
“You, more than anyone, would know that isn’t appropriate,” you retorted, with a wink.
Sam groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Having to deal with Crowley was one thing, but apparently you both shared a love of sarcasm and snark.
“There are some things I don’t need to know.”
The younger Winchester motioned for you two to follow him, where with the help of yours truly, he had set up everything needed for your binding to Crowley, and vice versa.
Crowley took your hand in front of the altar, red and black candles already dripping wax onto the silver platter.
With Dean and Sam chanting in Latin, Crowley raised your hand to his mouth, kissing your palm. He drew a gleaming knife, slicing your palm shallowly. He curled your fist, allowing several drops to fall onto the candles and altar. He raised your hand, kissing it again, your blood collecting on his lips. As he lapped up the remainder of your blood, you had to repress a shudder.
He gave you a devilish smile, no pun intended, and you bit your lip. Even shielded by the veil, Crowley could see how see how he affected you.
You took his hand in yours, to repeat the gesture. He raised your veil, pulling it away from your face.
You kissed his hand, nibbling a bit on his finger, causing him to raise an eyebrow.
"Later darling," he said, reminding you of the other two men in the room, who were trying to concentrate on their chanting.
Crowley handed you the knife, and you cut his hand as well. His blood welled up thickly, darker than regular blood.
“Last chance to back out darling,” he said, challenging you with a tilt of his head. You squeezed his blood onto the altar, the candles sizzling from the dark blood.
You angled his hand, so that the blood slid down his fingers. You caught a few drops on your tongue, before smirking at your king. Your lips and tongue traced along his fingers, causing him to shudder. You looked up at him, his gaze boring into you. You continued the path of blood to his palm, where you drank directly from the open cut.
Crowley’s blood burned in your throat, thick and intoxicating, like a strong liquor. It was like being drunk, everything blurred slightly, and you could feel a tingling sensation all over your body. You raised your head, licking your lips of any of the remainder of blood, though you were sure it was smeared around your mouth.
Crowley couldn’t help himself as you stared at him from under heavy lidded eyes. He growled and pulled you against him. Kissing him, you could taste your own blood on his lips. He grasped your hand with his, your bloody hands mixing the blood of the King of Hell, with the blood of a powerful natural Witch.
As you continued to kiss, the Winchester's chanting became louder, and the candles flared with unnatural strength. A strange sensation settled over the two of you, like a gossamer web, binding the new King and Queen of Hell together.
Crowley released your lips, groaning at the sensation. He had never wanted to bind himself to anyone, thinking it would be a heavy chain weighing him down. But this, this feeling of renewal, of power, was welcomed. The ritual a success, Crowley winked at the brothers, and teleported you away from the prying eyes of moose and squirrel, to his throne room.
Devoid of any demons at the present, Crowley rubbed his hands down your sides, hoping to alleviate any discomfort you were feeling.
You leaned your forehead against his chest, breathing deeply, as if you had been starved for air for your entire life. Every touch of his body on yours seemed electric, and you tried to keep yourself grounded.
Crowley placed his hand under your chin, lifting your eyes to meet his. Two different colors met his gaze. Your right eye, (Y/E/C), blinked back at him. Your left, a crimson red, matching his own.
Crowley & honey? 💕 I mean... It's in the name lmao
“You do know those are meant to go into tea, correct?” drawled Crowley as he watches you suck on some honey sticks.
You nod emphatically but continue to enjoy the golden liquid. He rolls his eyes.
“[Y/N], stop it.”
You shake your head.
“Use your words!”
Again, you shake your head, unwilling to relinquish your grip on the treat. He grabs hold of it, tugging lightly.
“Come now, [Y/N], give it to me.”
You jerk back away from him, eyes narrowed. He squints at you.
“I have something better than that.” You tilt your head, considering.
Eventually, you lower the treat from your lips.
Barely a second passes when Crowley has caught you in a mind whirling kiss.
When he finally pulls away, you’ve got a dazed look on your face as Crowley saunters away with a winning smirk, twirling the honey stick between his fingers.
