abislonelyinchicago

[abislonelyinchicago]

💕 Introduction 💕

Hi! My name is Abi, and I'm 23 years old. I have recently got into writing fanfiction this year (mainly Crowley from SPN, but I do dip into other fandoms as well - check out my AO3: @abislonelyinchicago) as a way to help me improve my writing skills. I've always loved writing (and reading) from a very young age, and I have always dreamed of becoming an author. Writing fanfiction has been an exercise for me as I work on my own novel, that has been in the works for over two years now.

Crowley as a character has captivated me for many reasons. He's complicated and multifaceted. Smug and evil, whilst showing subtle signs of contempt and longing to be loved. I want to wrap him in cotton wool and keep him forever.. but simultaneously, I'm enamoured by his authority and power. I'm drawn to his ambiguity, and the fact that he's so often misunderstood. Maybe, in a way, I relate to him in that sort of sense.

I love writing about romance. Deep, all-consuming and complicated romance. I have a PhD in yearning, so I do feel as though I am qualified enough to write it. And throwing Crowley into the mix? It has my creative juices FLOWING as someone who enjoys intensity and angst.

For a lot of my life, I struggled with OCD surrounding morality and sexual themes. For a long time, I believed I was a bad person for thinking sexual thoughts and desiring sex as a woman. Writing smut scenes into my romance stories has been a way to show me that sex is just a part of life, and it's nothing to be ashamed of.

I made this account to connect with others within the Supernatural fandom and make friends! Absolutely drop me a message if you'd like to chat!

[abislonelyinchicago]

You're His Favourite Human (Crowley X Plus Size Reader) - Chapter 4: Let Him Take Care Of You (mild smut)

A/N before reading:

💕 this is a x fem!reader

💕 thank you so much for all the love on this story! i think i love building this Crowley fic the most in particular since it's an inclusive self insert. being plus size myself, i know how hard it is to find x reader fics that don't immediately assume that you want to be characterised as 'tiny' as a way to hyper feminise, especially alongside a character such as Crowley that's typically written as strong and dominating.. i'm sick of plus size women being depicted in a masculine light, we can be cute and sexy too!

💕 just a disclaimer in case you're not into it, but this chapter does include some mild smut towards the end, more specifically vaginal fingering. as a writer, i'm more interested in building tension and focusing on fluff/angst BUT i'm not opposed to including spicy scenes here and there!

After dealing with the demon that hurt you, Crowley leads you down the dingy halls of Hell to his chamber. A glorified bedroom in which he appreciates the decoration and the luxury it exudes, but his demonisation means he doesn't sleep or rest. However, he uses it for.. other activities. Activities that include you. 

His possessive and protective side that had so clearly shown its head during that long period of questioning.. it has you feral with the need to touch and to taste him. As soon as the door closes behind you both, your fingers lace through the hair on the back of his neck and you pull him closer to your lips until they reach your own. You devour him. The stubble of his beard rubs your skin teasingly as he returns your fervour with unadulterated hunger, rough hands grazing your soft jawline. 

"Someone's eager," he mumbles. You feel the corners of his mouth upturn smugly against your own. "Something got you worked up, darling?"

"I want to tell you that I hated that," you say, pulling back a millimetre or two.  "But I'd be lying."

"Oh you naughty thing," Crowley purrs playfully. "Torture excites you?"

"You torturing others on my behalf excites me."

"Mmm, even better."

Crowley's lips meet yours again, achingly slow and gentle this time, savouring and prolonging.. like he's trying to tell you that he cares for you without having to say it. 

"You need to properly clean these cuts, my love," he murmurs, and he lightly touches the lacerations on your face with calloused fingers, wishing he had the power to heal. "I'll run some water in the tub."

Crowley peels himself away from you and strides toward the ensuite bathroom, an addition he had cast up just for you to partake in practises that only a mortal would.

You hear the delicate thudding sound of running water hitting ceramic. Crowley had left the door ajar so you could follow after him, and you do so limply, clearly still suffering from your injuries. But you're strong, you have fought this far. 

Crowley runs a hand through the water to check the temperature. Seeing him carry out such a domestic task is so out of character for him. It warms your heart and the stirring pit of desire in your lower stomach. It ignites the part of you that secretly hopes that this life could work for you both, despite your very obvious differences. 

You watch as he tips a small glass bottle and a few drops of liquid fall into the softly rippling water. The scent of lavender fills the air, sensual and serene. 

You begin to undress, and you grimace when the bristly fabric of your clothing grazes the wounds on your stomach. Crowley takes heed from then forth to aid in baring you. Your curvaceous body, he has seen it countless times through lustful eyes, but now they sting with tenderness and care. Feelings that are unfamiliar and uncomfortable, but he doesn't fight them, not when he's with you.

You lower yourself into the stoneware tub with his help, the palm of his hand cupping your elbow cordially, whilst the other wraps itself delicately around your fingers .The wet warmth nips at your open cuts and wounds but in turn, cleans them. You lay back, your taught muscles instantly loosening beneath the effects of the lavender oil. The water laps gently around your shapely build and your soft skin peaks through glistening ripples as you soak.

Crowley pulls up a wooden chair so he can sit at your side, a glass of whiskey in his hand as he watches you with a softened gaze.

"You don't half get yourself into some scrapes sometimes," he huffs lightly as he brings the glass to his lips. "You and those lumbering piles of flannel. It's a miracle the lot of you are still walking the earth."

"Yet, I don't see you running a bath for Sam or Dean." you tease.

"Well, that's because the view wouldn't be as enamouring." Crowley smirks at you playfully, before taking a long sip of his whiskey.

He wears his accustomed black suit and floral print tie that shimmers faintly with a sheen finish, and he appears as authoritative and as sexy as ever. There is something deliciously domineering about him observing your nakedness whilst fully clothed. Laying before him now, you're exposed and vulnerable, but you've never felt so safe.

You're sheltered beneath his tender stare, a deep contrast to the fiery red mist that typically overtakes them. You bring out the softness in his eyes... the weakness. Crowley allows himself to succumb to it.

A faint clinking sound echoes out as Crowley sets his whiskey down against the tiled flooring. He leans forward until he's sitting at the edge of his chair, before reaching out toward you with a palm of his hand. He softly squeezes the squishy thickness of your thigh that is encased by a warm sheet of bath water. It soaks his skin, and the hems of the sleeves on his black suit jacket, but he doesn't seem to mind. No, his stares at you with benevolence. Oh, he stares at you with love, but he wouldn't dare to say it, in fear of losing himself. 

"Look at me, The King of Hell, with all his responsibilities and duties," he hums, his fingers pressing into your skin. "Yet, here I am, playing bath time with you."

"You love it, really," you coquet, letting your own fingers wrap around his own, urging them towards your throbbing need that swells increasingly with each lap of water between your legs, initially spurred on by his massaging motions against your skin.

"You know what, darling?" Crowley purrs. "I think you're right."

His fingers glide torturously up the slipperiness of your thigh, until he is able to trace a thumb over your entrance, barely dipping amidst your folds. Your back arches, water sloshing noisily around you with the sudden movement, silently begging him for more.

Crowley yields to your aroused state, and awards you with what you are so clearly craving. Swirling the pad of his finger around your sensitized nub, he stimulates you until you're writhing with erotic need, water splashing over the sides and flooding his leather black shoes.

You grip the edges of the tub, thighs wide open as your explosive release becomes impending, the wavelets a tempting accompaniment to Crowley's irresistible teasing against your core.

It's not long until you reach your peak, and it leaves you in a panting and trembling mess beneath a lustful but delicate gaze. He removes his fingers from inside of you, and slides them across your skin in a comforting caress.

"Are you feeling any better, my love?" Crowley thrums, a slight simper pulling at the corners of his lips.

"Oh, so much," you say breathlessly. "So very much."

[abislonelyinchicago]

The King's Guilty Pleasure (Crowley X Reader) - Chapter 1: Who Are You To Crowley (very mild smut, mostly angst)

"Holy water," you hear someone say. A man. The tone is calm, but the urgency within his words are palpable. You can just about make it out in distant waves throughout your semi-unconscious state.

Your face stings, and you can't move your hands when you limply try to tug at them from behind your back. You can feel the thick rope that restricts them itching against your skin and the sharp edging of the plastic chair digging into the back of your knees.

The man's command is followed, and you feel cold water droplets hit your complexion. They run down your neck, soaking the neckline of your shirt.

"She's not a demon," a stoic voice declares. "I feel bad for punching her, now."

That explains the pulsating beneath your skin, and the blood you can taste in your mouth.

"Doesn't mean she's not evil,"  another replies gruffly. "We have no idea who or what she is."

You count the different intonations in your head. Three men. 

"I think she's waking up." the first man points out, as you try with all your might to lift your heavy lids, so you're able to take a look at your kidnappers.

It was only a matter of time until you got caught up with some hunters, considering your 'personal involvement' with The King Of Hell, or at least that's how Crowley puts it. He'd warned you about these three in particular, Dean and Sam Winchester, and their angel-gone-rogue friend, Castiel. The two brothers are 'iron clad in flannel', which is the way that Crowley would always describe them, in an exasperated yet unusually fond manner. Maybe Crowley is going soft, after everything; he certainly has his favourite humans who he won't dare touch with a violent hand. You know, because you are one of them.

One of the hunters leans downward to get on eye level with you, his face inches away from yours.

"Who are you to Crowley?" he spits in your face bluntly, and you turn your head to avoid his harsh gaze.

"Dean!" the taller brother pulls at his arm. You deduce that this must be Sam, which must mean the impassive looking man beside him, who is drowning beneath a beige trench coat, is Castiel.

"What?" Dean says defensively, shrugging his brother off. 

"She looks terrified," Sam says, and he attempts to tug him back again. "Let me."

Reluctantly, Dean backs away from you, allowing Sam to step forward this time. He towers above you for a moment, before he crouches on his hindlegs, his stare less menacing than his sibling. His eyes are filled with anticipated empathy and understanding.

"What's your name?" Sam asks you.

You croak out your name, and your vision is beginning to return completely, so you decide to take in more of your surroundings. You're in a dimly lit room, it appears to be a dungeon. Beneath you, a large warding is etched into the hard flooring. You're surrounded by the hunters and the angel, and they all stare at you expectantly, all intrigued yet guarded.

You look over Sam's shoulder, your inspection falling to the slither of space between Dean and Castiel that reveals a table. It is lined with what looks like metal torture devices and various weapons. You wriggle frantically in the chair, pulling hard at the rope that encases your wrists until it burns, your breath quickening in panic.

"Hey, hey, hey," Sam grabs your arms with the large palms of his hands, trying to calm you down. "It's OK, it's OK, we're not going to hurt you."

"I'm human!" you blurt out hurriedly, and they all gape at you incredulously. "..I'm human, alright? You don't have to use any of that stuff on me... please."

"Human?" Dean repeats back with a scoff. "What could Crowley possibly want with a human?"

Sam turns to you, equally wanting answers as much as his brother does. "What is your connection to Crowley?"

"Crowley and I.." you sigh, not knowing how to put your connection into words. "..we have a complicated partnership."

"You are lovers," the angel states stoically, and you do not respond. It is how you see yours and Crowley's relationship, but not how the King of Hell would describe it himself. His pride won't allow him to.

"What?" the brothers say, looking at each other in disbelief.

"It is not uncommon for a demon to develop feelings for a human," Castiel explains directly. "Especially considering how vulnerable Crowley is after his addiction to human blood. He was never fully cured, but he was never fully himself again, either."

"Good luck getting Crowley to discuss his feelings." you mutter beneath your breath. You have tried many times before to get the King of Hell to open up, but as soon as it would get vulnerable, he'd leave the conversation. Emotionally, and physically, with a snap of his thumb and forefinger.

"I thought I felt my ears burning," a voice hums from the shadows of the dungeon. Your eyes squint and adjust to the darkness where Crowley begins to emerge. "Talking about me, boys?"

The hunters and the angel whip around to follow the low, drawling voice.

"Crowley." Castiel acknowledges him with a grunt.

Crowley's eyes soften when they meet your own, but he doesn't allow himself to react emotionally, at least not yet.

"Now, now.. is this really necessary, fellas?" Crowley tosses a hand in your direction calmly. "She's harmless."

"You bet your ass it's necessary," Dean spits back at him. "Who knows what bullshit you've tainted her with."

Crowley's gaze hardens, but continues to hold his nonchalant demeanour. "I do not taint, I merely direct towards potential. You boys should know that better than anyone. Remember Amara?"

"Yeah, and look where that got us." Sam snorts.

"She's not trying to end the world anymore, is she?" Crowley snaps defensively. "Amara is.. good, now."

"Yeah, thanks to us!" Dean's voice raises in exclamation, pounding his chest with the palm of his hand to emphasise the part they played in saving the world. 

"You didn't exactly steer her in the right direction to begin with, Crowley." Sam adds.

"Well, this is different, this isn't God's sister, or a demon, or anyone dangerous. So, there's no need for this." Crowley says, stepping closer toward you, before snapping his fingers and releasing you from the rope that binds your wrists. "Sorry, darling, I could have done that earlier, but I quite liked seeing you tied up like that. Reminded me of when-"

Oh, you remember, vividly. You're into his possessive fantasies, and the reminder of the many times he has tied your hands behind the pinnacle of his throne, whilst he worked between your legs as you writhed beneath the tantalising strokes of his tongue.. well, it sends pleasurable sensations throughout almost the entirety of your body.

"Enough," Dean cuts him off before he could continue, grimacing in disgust. His harsh response pauses your replay of the graphic memory.  Crowley can't help but smirk smugly. "We do not need the intimate details of your.. relationship, or whatever the hell this is."

"Is this what this is, Crowley?" Castiel asks with blunt curiosity. "A relationship?"

"Labels," Irritation is laced within the sigh that Crowley breaths out. "Why does everything have to have a god damn label?"

You scoff loudly, and in turn, Crowley turns his head to meet your frustrated state. Of course, the main reasoning for your bitterness is your unsolicited kidnapping by the Winchesters and their feathered friend, but now alongside that, you are completely and utterly vexed by Crowley. He may have saved you and released you from your predicament, but he still refuses to acknowledge any meaning that holds him to you. You have accepted your feelings for Crowley, but he is yet to do so in return. He's in a deep denial, and you know it.

"Come on, my love. We have spoken about this." Crowley has a flicker of conflict in his eyes. He wants to tell you how he really feels, but he doesn't want to be seen as weak. 

"Barely," you respond with exasperation. "Whenever I try, you emotionally and physically check yourself out."

"What do you expect me to say?" Crowley throws his hands in the air. The calm and collected demeanour he was gripping onto before is slowly ebbing away.  "To get all emotional and express my undying love for you? That's what humans do. Not what demons do. Demons don't love, darling. I've told you this."

Beneath the surface, Crowley's mind is going into overdrive. What could be the repercussions of this? Would he lose his right to the throne if it is found out that he holds space in his demon heart.. for a human?

"Then what is this, Crowley?" you pass a questioning finger in the space between you both. "Who am I to you?"

______________________________________________________________

requested tag: @rulesareshadesofgrey

[abislonelyinchicago]

Your Secret Desire (Crowley X Reader) - Chapter 2: Uncontrollable Urges (disclaimer: mildly graphic smut, specifically male and female self pleasure)

It's been a couple of weeks since your drunken intimate encounter with the King of Hell in the bunkers' dungeon, which didn't come to anything more, because you were so worried that you would get caught with him. You scurried off back to your room, legs trembling, the memory of his breath hot against your own. You took care of your own release that night, wishing it was his touch instead of yours.

The Winchesters' are oblivious to the energy shift between you and Crowley. It is almost unbelievable that they haven't picked up on it, because the tension that the two of you create when you're in the same room? It could be cut clean with the sharp tip of an angel blade. 

Over the last few days though, there has been no need for Crowley - for cases or for anything concerning the search for Abaddon - at least, not yet. The Winchesters' are more than happy to have no reason to interact with him.. you, on the other hand? You crave him. 

And you find yourself unable to stop thinking of that rather steamy kiss you shared. All the sensitive parts of your body thump mercilessly with need as you lay in your bed, and you try your hardest to push the tantalising feelings away.

It's not long until you can't take it anymore. This time when you make your way to the dungeon, you're stone cold sober. You want, no, you need to feel every feeling, every sensation, to its fullest, whilst you look him square in the eye. 

It's like he's been waiting for you when you pull the doors open to reveal him sitting there, still bound, and you can't help but allow the look of him to excite you. Crowley's wrists are encased with silver chains this time, that are heavily warded with etched engravings. Sam had applied them when the Winchesters' wanted him to decipher an old ancient scripture for a case, and Crowley had eventually obliged begrudgingly. His wrists and his neck are still confined by thick shackles under lock and key.

"I was wondering when you'd be back, darling." Crowley drawls out as you close the doors tight behind you. "Since we were rudely interrupted the last time you were here."

Your last meeting with Crowley, the one where you were rolling your hips friskily against his sensitized shaft, was cut short when you heard Dean calling out your name worriedly, wondering where you had got to after finding your bed empty. Little did he know, you were ferociously teasing the King of Hell in the dungeon that is supposedly his prison. To Crowley? It's his oxymoronic heaven, especially when you pay him a private visit.

"Miss me?" you have worn a lowcut outfit just to taunt him, and he's already staring.

"Always, darling." Crowley hums in response.

You don't make your way over to him, no - you continue your delectable torture by pulling up a chair and sitting across from him. You enjoy the build of the tenderized sensations shuddering throughout your body that manifest themselves just from the simple act of his eyes roving over you..

Crowley had been particularly pedantic throughout the process of interpreting the scripture, which had caused Dean to react in an explosive outburst. He flipped the table that used to separate the chair parallel to the King of Hell, and the table still lays discarded messily on its side on the other side of the dungeon. Crowley can see all of you, and you relish in the fact that he's already showing visible signs of arousal just by your mere presence.

"Your hands are free," you point out.

"Indeed they are," he says, waving the palms of his hands so they jingle noisily. "Makes relieving uncontrollable urges that little bit easier, I must say."

"Uncontrollable urges?" you muse, like it isn't completely obvious what he's referring to.. as if you haven't had to take care of similar urges yourself.

"You know exactly what I mean, darling," Crowley smirks. "It is quite.. hard, shall we say, to control oneself, knowing they're beneath the same roof as such a temptress."

"I don't think Dean is interested in you in that way." you joke, the corner of your mouth lifting into a playful smile. This causes an amused rumble to fall from Crowley's lips, clearly tickled by your deflection. It is deep and throaty, laced with untameable desire.

"I have come to terms with my growing want for you," Crowley tilts his head, roaming every inch of your face, your body. "My growing need for you."

"You're finally admitting defeat?" you grin, enjoying seeing this vulnerable side to him. Crowley senses it on you, your smugness, and it irritates him to no end.

"Defeat?" Crowley repeats with a thick scoff. "Never. I'm the King of Hell, darling. I may be enamoured by you, a cruel result of this pesky addiction of mine, but you still have to do as I say."

"Power play?" you question with an incredulous laugh. "Come on, Crowley. You're the one who's chained and warded, whilst I walk free. If anyone has the upper hand here, it's me."

"Oh, is that so?" Crowley says with a gravelly edge to his tone. "What else have you been doing with that hand of yours, dare I ask?"

Oh, he knows. How could he know? Do demons have some sort of heightened hearing, did he perhaps hear his name fall from your mouth as you arrived at your peak the night you had to leave him? A smirk plays on Crowley's lips as he relishes in watching your smugness crumble away at his insinuation. He can practically smell your impending submission. 

Even though he's without powers, it feels like he's in your head, channelling every dirty thought you've ever had about him. Every breath against your neck, every possessive grip on your skin, every stroke of his tongue between your thighs..

Crowley takes in your flustered state with a deep chuckle. "Oh, darling, there's no need to be embarrassed. In fact, I'm quite flattered, really.."

All you can bring yourself to do is stare at him, your lips parted, your chest heaving softly..

"Tell me, how much have you thought about the kiss that we shared?" he continues, his tone dark and enticing. 

"Why, have you been thinking about it?" you throw back to him, scrabbling for a return to your control, but you're failing miserably.

"Always," the word escapes his lips with such tender intensity that it tightens the coil that has begun to form in your lower stomach. You press your legs together firmly, and of course Crowley notices. He doesn't even try to hide his prideful smile.

"Don't be shy, darling," he purrs, scanning your thighs with undeniable hunger, urging them to part with a vehement glare. "Show me exactly how you like to please yourself."

Crowley's telekinesis is inoperative whilst he is bound to the heavily demon warded chains, but he doesn't need it, not when it comes to you. His lustful look is enough to have you slumped back in your chair, your thighs separating and your fingers teasing the waistband of your clothes. It's a different experience touching yourself whilst he watches. His darkened gaze dares you to dip further beneath the fabric, to the space where you wish his tongue would be, which now glides over his own lips with wanton desire.

"That's it," Crowley's intonation thrums, allowing himself to follow the trail of your hand as it disappears beneath the material of your wear. "Keep your eyes on me whilst you do it, love. I want to be able to see you whilst you fall apart from just the sound of my voice."

You lift your eyes to meet his, your head hanging limply to the side as you're increasingly losing control beneath your own touch. 

"Take it slow, darling." he commands delicately, and the authoritative inclination yearns for your fingers to work overtime, to get where they need to be as soon as possible, but you stop yourself. You have the sudden desire to please him and follow his every order. 

His eyes are tinged with red and they're relentless, yet they're completely impotent under lock and key. Powerlessly, he is able to drive the tips of your fingers to trace the line of your entrance tauntingly, and even though it's your own touch, you imagine it to be his, and his only.

You await for his nod of permission before sinking your index finger between your slick folds, and finding the sensitized nub to titillate with achingly slow circular motions.

"Good girl," Crowley drawls smoothly, and you let out a soft sound of pleasure at the praise, the pressure building in your abdomen from both the tantalising sound of his utterances and your  movements against your core. "You're being so good for me, aren't you?"

Your back arches as the tension builds, the pleasurable sensations consuming your very being. Crowley's delicious accent caresses your ear as you caress yourself needfully, the pairing rich with sweet gratification.

The sight of you squirming and whimpering causes an the already obvious tent in Crowley's trousers to tighten further. Although everything in him urges him not to give into the frivolous desire, he's already unfastening the zipper on his black suit trousers, the silver chains jangling as he proceeds with unignorable craving. 

You watch as he moves the palm of his hand erratically over his girth and grunts gruffly as he does so, and it drives you further toward your impending release. Crowley is incredibly well endowed, and you don't know how much of it was the result of his demon deal from many centuries ago, or how much of it is his natural length, but you don't ponder on the details. You're too busy getting lost in the act, until it has you over the edge, quivering violently,  just short of when Crowley reaches his own explosive peak and he makes sure to never break eye contact with you once.

"You are gorgeous, love," Crowley purrs whilst soft pants escape your lips and you grow limp against your chair that is vertical to him. "Especially when you're following my orders."

You're speechless, and your legs gently wobble marginally in result of the performance you provided Crowley. Your head slants weakly like a puppet on a string. 

Crowley refastens the enclosure of his trousers with haste, slightly embarrassed by his weak yielding at the sight of you succumbing to his every command.

You're promptly startled at the sound of a voice calling out, and you recognise it to be Deans, forever the overprotective, unbearably at times, brother figure. You scrabble to your feet, still trembling from your climax.

Crowley rolls his eyes. "That lumbering pile of flannel will not let you out of his sight for more than five minutes."

"I have to go, if he sees me coming-"

"I saw you coming and it was nothing short of delightful," he interrupts with a smirk.

"Crowley-" You scold him lightly, but you're hiding a smile. You snap back to reality once again when you hear Dean's yell, and this time, it gets louder. "I really have to go."

"Go," Crowley's lustful eyes watch you. He craves so, so much more. "I'm not going anywhere, darling. At least, not for now."

______________________________________________________________

requested tag: @rulesareshadesofgrey

[abislonelyinchicago]

Your Secret Desire (Crowley X Reader) - Chapter 1: Breaking The King of Hell (disclaimer: mild smut but mostly just tension)

You down the last few drops of the bottle of wine that you had been drinking alone in your room at the Men of Letters bunker, your mind plagued with sin. If Sam and Dean knew all the unholy thoughts you have had about their prisoner in the dungeon, the King of Hell, they'd be horrified. A part of you is too, but it doesn't stop your mind from wandering, imagining his hands wandering you...

Before you know it, you're dragging yourself out of your bed and messily making your way down the long empty halls that lead to the dungeon. It's late, and you know that the Winchesters' are probably fast asleep by now. You, however.. you have different plans.

With two hands, you pull open the doors to the dungeon, revealing Crowley sitting there, tethered to his seat with warded demon chains locked tightly around his wrists, ankles and neck.

"Hello darling," Crowley greets you, tilting his head with mild curiosity, the chains clanking slightly as he does so. His eyes roam your curvaceous figure. "You're up late."

"How would you know?" your fire back, the faint slur in your voice is evident.

"The endless nattering between those two flannel clad hunters and yourself died down quite a while back now." Crowley drawls in response, watching as you pull the doors to the dungeon closed behind you. "Planning on staying a while, are you?"

You look over your shoulder at him, your stare sultry and filled with desire. "I shouldn't be down here."

"Yet, here you are." Crowley muses.

You make your way to the table that separates him from you, and you rest your palms face down onto the cold surface. You purposefully lean forward so the front of your camisole top droops, giving him an eyeful of your cleavage. His gaze dips downward, unable to resist, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

"You've been drinking." he reluctantly peels his eyes away from your chest. "I can smell it on your breath."

"So what if I have?" you answer him, glancing at his restraints smugly. "What are you going to do about it?"

"You know damn well I can't do a thing whilst I'm under restraint like this, love." Crowley's gaze moves down toward them as well. "But I could, if you had the key to these pesky chains."

"Not a chance." you respond.

"You're such a tease." he draws the words out in a way that drives you crazy, and the way he bites his lip after is enough to cause the heat to simmer in-between your legs. His smirk turns into a devilish grin, as if he knows exactly what he's doing to you.

You rove around the edge of the table that still acts as a barrier between the both of you, your finger moving lazily across the surface. "I may be drunk, but I'm not stupid, Crowley."

"Touché, darling." he continues to smirk, his gaze as intense as yours. "But I can't help but wonder what Moose and Squirrel would think of you being down here without their knowledge, all alone."

You freeze your promenade around the table, now hesitant to get any closer. Sam and Dean would definitely not be happy to know that you are down here in the dungeon, flirting shamelessly with the King of Hell. In fact, they'd be more than not happy - they'd be furious.

"You're so obedient for those Winchesters," he goads you, knowing that his words will get under your skin. "doing as you're told, like a good girl."

"Shut up, Crowley." you warn him, but there's something about hearing him call you a 'good girl' that sends ripples of pleasure through to your core. "Sam and Dean, they don't control me. I do things of my own accord."

"Oh, do you now?" Crowley hums.

Your annoyance fuels your continuation around the table, all signs of hesitancy have slipped away, until you're inching yourself in-between him and it. You push the worktop back slightly with your ass and the sound of its metal legs screech against the floor beneath them. Your thighs brush up against the insides of his legs.

"I know what you want," he keeps up his nonchalant act, which irritates you immensely. "you have a deep dark desire, don't you love? A desire that neither of those flannel wearing imbeciles would ever be able to fulfil."

Oh, how much you want to want to slap that smug smile from his face, how much you want to take back your control.. he's in chains, for gods sakes. It's time to remind him who has the upper hand here.

You begin to run the palms of your hands lightly over his forearms.

"And what do you desire?" you ask him.

Crowley looks taken aback at your question and the delicate touch, but he keeps his cool, for now. He tilts his head, and aims to tempt you with his escape again. "Isn't it obvious? I want out of these bloody chains."

"Not going to happen." you say, and you let your hands wander upward, over the bulges that are his well-formed biceps beneath the softness of the fabric of his black suit jacket. His lips part ever so slightly, a fiery tension building between the two of you. "With all that human blood, Crowley, you must be craving intimacy.. closeness."

You tilt further forward, the exposed indent of your breasts close to his lips, and before he knows it, the warmth of them are wandering over the curve of your bosom. His stubble scratches at your skin gloriously, and his tongue grazes over your softness; tasting you, more than ready to devour you..

Reluctantly, Crowley withdraws his mouth from your chest, and you hear him inhale deeply, trying desperately to control himself from going any further. Your mention of his addiction to human blood, an addiction that he didn't think you were aware of, is a reminder of how weak he is getting. Suddenly, toying with you back and forth doesn't feel so enjoyable anymore. It feels fragile and reckless.

"I don't care for such frivolous acts." Crowley snarls, the warmth of his breath against your skin, and the defensiveness in his tone suggest otherwise. He hauls his gaze away from your chest to look up at you instead, hoping his stare comes across as defiance rather than longing. The darker side of you desires him, and the softer side of him desires you.

"Is that so?" you tease, and you allow your fingers to ghost the stubble of his beard. His eyes flutter closed at the softness of the touch, and despite everything in him telling him not to, he leans into it.

You veer downwards, your lips dangerously close to his, before Crowley is the one that closes the distance, capturing you in a hungry open-mouthed kiss. It feels heavenly for the both of you, which is oxymoronic, considering he is the king of rotten. The both of you have itched a scratch you previously couldn't reach, and the outcome is as satisfying as hell.

You laugh into the kiss when you feel his hardness poke your stomach, smug that you were able to evoke such an intense reaction from him. You playfully roll your hips against it, which elicits a frustrated growl against your lips. Crowley pulls on the shackles that bind his wrists in exasperation, longing to roam your body with his calloused hands.

"You bloody tease." he says through gritted teeth, and you can't help but bask in the satisfying glory of his desperate response.

You've managed to break the King of Hell.

______________________________________________________________

requested tag: @rulesareshadesofgrey

[abislonelyinchicago]

You're His Favourite Human (Crowley X Plus Size Reader) - Chapter 3: It's All For You

The day has been long and tiresome. You must have surveyed hundreds of demons by now, none of which you recognise. Crowley's fingers rest against his cheek, a thumb supporting his chin, not in a boredom, but with impatience. His fury bubbles beneath the skin of his vessel, and he wants vengeance on your behalf. He wants whoever hurt you to suffer.

You're still cold and unsure by his side, unsettled by Crowley's outburst, worrisome for what's to come.. but is that just the humanity that lies within you? Or is there a part of you, deep down.. that wishes for a protector, and that yearns to be saved?

When the smugness of a brunette spiky-haired male finally emerges front and centre, it catches you off guard at first. You freeze, and suddenly, you're back in that dark alley, being pummelled to the ground again and again by the bloody fists of a black-eyed demon. The way your ears rung noisily, your eyes drooped heavily, the surroundings around you shrinking into darkness.. you'll never forget how near death you were.

"It's him," you say with barely a whisper, and those words alone has Crowley raising from his throne, ready to take action. 

The demon tugs at the edging of his leather jacket, his chin jutted in the air, a sense of pride radiating from him. His eyes pool with black, and they rake over you. "Ah, we meet again. How unfortunate that I couldn't finish you off when I had the chance."

"Don't look at her," Crowley inches closer menacingly, hiding you from the demon that had tried to catch your eyes with his blackened ones. "You address me, your King."

"King," the demon spits incredulously. He seems to hold similar views as the demon that had challenged Crowley before, but he isn't frightened by the consequences in comparison to the rest of the demons that had lined up before the throne for questioning. "You're not my King, Crowley, and you never were. You're a weak-willed replacement for who should be our ruler. Our original ruler. Luci-"

"Lucifer," Crowley interrupts with a low growl. The name alone makes his blood boil. "Is in the cage, where he belongs."

"He should never have been put back in," the demon fires back. "You're no ruler, Crowley. How are we supposed to trust a ruler who gads about with humans?"

"You don't get a say in the matter." Crowley's hums strangely. He has adopted a cruel calmness and it laces itself throughout his tone, which only riles the demon up even more.

"I looked for her!" the demon yells, pointing over Crowley's shoulder, right at you. You stand there helplessly beneath the point of his finger, wincing as your aggressors voice raises, suggesting that what had happened wasn't just a happy accident to him - right place, right time. It was premeditated.. it was planned. "I knew what she means to you. I beat her and oh, I wanted her dead. I wanted to see the life drain from her eyes... and when I was done with her, I was going to go after the Winchesters. All your precious humans, gone in the blink of an eye. Either forcing you to step down, or urging you to step up."

"You better keep that loose mouth of yours shut before you make matters worse for yourself." Crowley is eerily undisturbed, and you know whatever he has planned.. it's going to be brutal.

"What are you going to do?" the demon laughs bitterly. "Kill me? Well, go right ahead, Crowley, because being a demon under your rule.. it's an empty promise. There is nothing to live for."

"I told you.." Crowley sighs with apathy, before flicking his wrist fluidly. In result, the demon doubles over in pain, before dropping to his knees. "To shut your damn mouth."

Something stirs within you, unignorable this time. You thought you felt it before, but you had ignored it, and let your inner ethics take hold of you. The protectiveness.. do you like that? That twist in your stomach, the heat that rises within you.. is that desire?

Crowley watches the demon cry out, eyes hungry with retribution. It's scary, but it's enticing. It's damn near sexy. His eyes flood with the colour of deep red, threatening and treacherous, the same eyes that have looked at you with tenderized domination and sometimes, you have dared to think, love.

 "I don't want to kill you." Crowley continues, fingers twitching ever so slightly to increase the torment that has your attacker hollering out in agony. His palm falls to the ground in attempt to steady himself. "I want to see you suffer. I'm going to lock you up, and curse you with the darkest of magick that I can conjure up. You will feel every last punch, every last kick that you enacted -ten fold for the rest of time."

Crowley motions for his henchman to come forward, and they do, without question. They are armed with demon warded chains that they hastily encase around the wrists of the demon's meatsuit, as he continues to writhe beneath the torture of Crowley. The power he wields, the authority that he holds.. it never seizes to amaze you.

"You will beg for death, but it will never come." Crowley adds with a dangerous and addictive purr. "You will live your pathetic demon life, with nothing to live for. Forever."

Oh, and how delicious it is, seeing Crowley like this. You finally submit to it, and you stop fighting your morality. You like it. You like that you're under his divine protection, that he punishes, and even kills, for you.

It's all for you.

[abislonelyinchicago]

You're His Favourite Human (Crowley X Plus Size Reader) - Chapter 2: He's The King Of Fucking Hell

"Form an orderly line!" Crowley yells over the murmurs of his demons, and they follow his order at different rates of urgency, some scurry fervently whilst others drag themselves reluctantly. It is clear that there is a divide amongst the demons when it comes to Crowley's reign.

Crowley lifts his head to glance up at you, and you stare down at him. There's a proprietorial look in his eye, intense yet tenderized.

You, Sam and Dean have had your fair share of showdowns with demons that turn up bloody; you just shake it off and move on. Crowley knows this. Crowley never used to care. Demons make deals with gluttonous humans and hunters hunt demons whenever a case popped up; it's the natural order. You open your mouth to say something to him, to emphasise again that what he's doing is needless. As if sensing your pending words, he peels his gaze away from you, turning his attention back to his subjects.

"Step forward," Crowley commands to the first demon in line.

Cautiously, an elderly woman stands before him, and Crowley sighs loudly. "Guthrie." he bellows, pressing his lips together in annoyance.

Guthrie, the henchman that had followed his order to gather the demons in the first place, hurries to the attention of his master.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"Does this look like the type of demon that would cause us any trouble?" Crowley gestures to the elderly woman, remembering your description of the demon that attacked you, who is the complete opposite to who stands before him. "A measly crossroads demon?"

Guthrie glances to the demon that possesses the meat suit of an elderly woman, before scrambling for his words. "Well, sir, I must remind you that you did command the gathering of all of your demons. Blanche does fit within that bracket."

Crowley realises the mistake that he had made, one that he had made due to the fresh fury that he had entered Hell with, upon finding out exactly what caused your injuries. It had obviously caused him to act hastily rather than perceptively. However, in true Crowley fashion, he refuses to admit the omission.

"I only need male demons," Crowley calls out candidly, causing the demons who did not fit within that category to depart swiftly, some breathing out sighs of relief. Crowley glances back at Guthrie. "Really, must I do everything myself?"

Guthrie bristles with silent frustration at Crowley's action, and you know how much trouble he must have gone through to convene each and every one of them to Crowley's lair for this meeting, thinking it was for an important reason. This time, you decide to say something.

You lean down and hiss into Crowley's ear. "You're acting carelessly. You're not thinking."

"Quiet." he commands you roughly. Unhappy with his attitude, you take your hand away from his arm, and cross it with your other over your chest instead, wincing as the brash action twinges at the bruises that still surround your ribs. He's so clearly fuelled by rage.

When the next demon steps up toward his throne, both you and the King survey him. You know right away that he's not the demon that attacked you - he's young with slicked back hair, wearing a tight-fitted white shirt and black jeans. Your attacker was middle-aged with spiked brown hair, and wore an old battered leather jacket. You'd know if you saw him again, despite not having that much time to pick up on any other descriptive details of his appearance.

When you shake your head to let Crowley know that he's not your assailant, he dismisses him with a flick of his wrist. This continues for quite some time, impatience radiating the room as you seem to turn away demon after demon, not getting any closer to finding the one that hurt you. Yet, Crowley looks like he could do this all day, his stare hot-blooded as he looks past the long line of male demon suspects, hoping to spy the collar of a leather jacket or a singular lock of brown hair sticking up on its end.

When one of the demons step forward, he has an amused expression, a smirk tugging at his lips. He has long black hair that sweeps past his shoulders, porcelain skin and Celtic tattoos that encase both of his arms. It's obvious that he's not your aggressor, but his bitterness toward Crowley is palpable. Crowley has still not explained to anyone, not even his henchman, why this silent questioning is taking place, and it looks like this demon will be the first to challenge it.

"Galivanting with humans again, huh, Crowley?" the demon muses, his eyes blackening as they drift your form, as if to intimidate you, but you don't flinch.

Crowley glowers at his defiance. "Is it him?" he asks you.

"No," you say, and there's a flicker of disappointment across Crowley's face; you can tell that he wanted it to be him, so he had an excuse to punish him for his confrontation.

"You can go," Crowley says gruffly, but the demon doesn't budge.

"Looks like you've got yourself your very own human girlfriend," the demon coos sarcastically. "How very.. quaint."

"Is that any way to talk to your King?" Crowley drawls, keeping his cool; for now. There's a sense of foreboding in his tone though, and you begin to tense. This isn't going to be pretty.

"Some King you are," the demon scoffs angrily. "You're barely here, Crowley. And when you are sitting in that throne of yours, all authoritative and self righteous, you're barking out orders for what, a human?"

Crowley stands, squaring up to the demon that dares to provoke him. "After everything I have done, you should be thanking me. You have a home, don't you? I have restored order in Hell, so what if I'm not here to babysit you whining bastards all of the time?"

The demon laughs bitterly. "You've gone soft, nobody takes you seriously anymore. Befriending the Winchesters, sexing it up with this.. girl."

The demon turns his head quickly to face you, and he gives you a menacing look, before continuing, a hint of smugness plaguing his expression. "It has made you weak, Crowley."

Without warning, Crowley grabs the demons neck with a singular hand, squeezing it dangerously tight. Crowley's strength is enough to have the demon hovering above the ground, his legs dangling loosely in the mid-air.

"I'm anything but weak." Crowley spits in his face, his eyes turning bloodshot red with temper.

The demon grapples hopelessly at Crowley's hands, struggling to breathe as he gasps out hurried and desperate apologies, begging for his King to let him go. Crowley has no intention to.

"Enough!" you cry as you rush to Crowley's side and grab hold of his arm once again, this time with fervour discouragement. His red eyes disappear as he turns to face you. Immediately softening, he loosens his grip ever so slightly. You're not sure why you intervened. It's not that you care for the demon he is torturing, but the way Crowley is acting on your behalf is ridiculous and possessive. You can't tell if you love it or hate it.

"Don't worry, darling," he murmurs to you. "I'll make it quick."

He brings his forefinger up to his thumb and snaps effortlessly. The rest of the demons that are yet to be questioned stare onward incredulously as their quarrelsome brother disappears before their very eyes in a puff of black smoke.

You're indifferent. It's not the first time you've seen a demon being ganked, hell, you've ganked some before yourself. But there was something evil in Crowley's eyes that you haven't seen in a long time, and it brings you crashing back down to earth, reminding you of exactly who you're involving yourself with. He's the King of fucking Hell.

The demons cower when Crowley turns to address them.

"Let that be a lesson to you all," Crowley speaks, a calmer demeanour washing over him, an eery contrast to what had just occurred. "-of what I am and have always been capable of."

Crowley makes his way back to his throne, gesturing for you to return to his side. You do as he says. He rests his arm on the armrest of the pinnacle, has hand lingering where yours stay laxly at your side. His fingers lightly trace yours with subtle affection, before glancing up at you with a small smirk, satisfied that he has managed to restore his powerful image that his demons had so obviously c.

"Now... where were we?"

[abislonelyinchicago]

You're His Favourite Human (Crowley X Plus Size Reader) - Chapter 1: Who Did This To You?

In hell, Crowley sits on his throne with his chin resting in the palm of his hand, wondering why he hadn't heard from you. Around this time of night, you would usually summon him for some discreet fun in your room back at the Men Of Letters bunker, where you live with the Winchesters'. If Sam and Dean knew about your encounters with Crowley, they would fly off the handle for sure. They have a sibling-like protectiveness over you ever since you started hunting with them all those years ago. Which is why you and Crowley had come up with a system, where you would use a summoning spell to conjure him once the coast is clear.

Crowley pulls back the sleeve of his black suit jacket to check his watch that clasps his wrist. If it weren't for you, he would have no desire to know what time it is topside, after all, time is just a concept in Hell. The watch acts as an estimate of your whereabouts. Crowley has a soft spot for you, although he'd never admit it.

When the wristwatch strikes past the hour of your summoning, he raises from his throne and sighs in slight frustration. Thoughts of you had been plaguing his mind all day; the soft sounds of your pleasure ringing through his ears, the roughness of his lips smothering yours and the softness of your curves beneath the callousness of his fingertips. The anticipation of waiting for you was getting too much. Crowley places his middle finger to his thumb and snaps effortlessly, and within a blink, he's in the dark shadows of your room.

He is careful at first, listening out for any sign of the Winchesters', but the rest of the bunker is quiet. He steps out of the darkness, his brows furrowing slightly as he notices you laying in your bed, your back facing toward him. You lay on top of your duvet covers, your body lax as it dips into the mattress. It's not like you to be in bed this early.

Crowley steps forward, and places a hand on the curve of your hip, speaking your name with the soft gravel of his voice. Your eyes flutter open and when you turn to face him, his eyes immediately harden at the sight of you.

The skin of your face is scattered with a purple storm of bruises. Your cuts had been tend to, but the redness of the blood seeps through the white plasters that cover the worst of them. You blink heavily at him, barely being able to keep your eyes open due to the wounding that surrounds them.

"Crowley?" you croak.

"It's me, darling." he murmurs, running his fingertips over your bruised skin. When you whimper in pain at the gentle touch, he bristles. "You've got yourself in quite a state here, haven't you?"

"I'm fine..." you mumble, and you try to sit up, but you groan and messily slump back against the pillows that rest at the headboard of your bed.

"Who did this to you?" Crowley says stiffly. The hem of your oversized sleep shirt has lifted to reveal a purple-ish haze across your stomach, and his palm hovers above it carefully, barely cradling the soft mound of skin. His neck turns a light shade of red with the heat of his anger. You had witnessed his fury many times before, it is not unheard of for the King of Hell to kick up a fuss, but this was different. His eyes flash with a newfound possessiveness, yet the look he gives you is tender.

"Demon hunt," you wince as you dab at the plastered injuries on your face. "I got caught in the middle of it."

"Demons?" the tone of Crowley's voice turns venomous. "My demons?"

"Please, Crowley," you try to calm him down. "I'm OK-"

"You don't look OK to me," he snaps in response, running his fingers over the stubble of his beard in frustration. "Look at you! You could have been killed."

"And you care, because..?"

Your retort is followed by a loud scoff from Crowley, who has to look away from you to mumble his next words. "I care for you, in my own devilish kind of way."

A dumbfounded expression flickers across your face. The King of Hell cares for you?

"You do?" you question him, your voice quiet. You cannot tell if the pulsating in your chest is an effect of the failed demon hunt or your heart going into overdrive at his admission.

"Don't act so surprised, darling. I'm not a complete monster, you know. Demons suffer human emotions, from time to time. " Crowley's voice lowers to a murmur. "Even if it feels sickening."

Crowley's fingertips still ghost your skin as he stares down at you, and you're gazing up at the King of Hell with raw affection glinting in your eyes. You had always thought that yours and Crowley's relationship was strictly casual, but now, you're not so sure. Maybe it was always a little more than just sex, but when that developed, you don't know. Neither of you do.

"I need to know who this demon is," Crowley's tone is soft but stern. "Do you have a name?"

You shake your head. "I don't have a name, but he had short brown hair and he wore a leather jacket."

Crowley tuts at her. "Well, that narrows it down, doesn't it, love? That description alone could cover half of the demon population."

"Well, I'm sorry I wasn't able to get a good look at him whilst he was beating on me." You say sarcastically in defence. "It's kind of hard to take in every miniscule detail when you have been tossed face down onto the pavement, your ribs being stomped on repeatedly."

Crowley's forbidding expression softens at your words, the image of you getting beaten suddenly whirring around his brain uncontrollably. Typically, Crowley lives and breathes violence, and sickly gets off on it sometimes. However, the thought of you lying their helpless on the ground, that demon pummelling you into the pavement until you were limp with pain, it wasn't an image that bought him his usual joy. Instead, it made the anger in him rise even more. It made his protectiveness over you feel almost unbearable.

"You're coming with me," he growls under his breath, driven by his increasing rage. "Can you stand?"

"Just about," you flinch as he helps you to your feet, his hand tucked in the crook of your elbow.

Crowley keeps a hold of you as he brings his middle finger to his thumb once again, teleporting you both back to his home, Hell.

Crowley marches you both down the dark alleys of Hell, as you try to quickly recover from your motion sickness that commonly comes hand in hand with the teleportation process. At the door that contains it, one of his henchman stands immediately to attention at the sight of Crowley.

"My liege," the henchman bows to him.

"Stand, you fool." Crowley snaps. "I need you to alert all of the demons for an important meeting."

The henchman looks taken aback by the direct order. "All of the demons, sir?"

"Isn't that what I just said?" Crowley barks at him. "Yes, all of the demons, as many of them as you can."

"But sir, that would be hundreds, maybe even thousands of-"

"I am your King!" Crowley cuts him off with a yell. "When I ask you to do something, you do it, or I'll simply snap your neck with the click of my-"

Crowley's threat is enough to send the henchman scurrying off to complete the King of Hell's command right away.

"What are you doing?" you ask from Crowley's side, as he ushers you through the doors archway, toward his throne.

"We are going to go through every single demon in hell." he responds sharply, before taking a seat on his dark extravagant throne authoritatively. "And you're going to tell me exactly who did this to you."

You stand beside him, one hand resting on his forearm with blunt affection, the other resting on the head of his pinnacle. "Crowley, I don't think this is necessary-"

"I really don't care what you think, darling." he doesn't look at her, his eyes trained ahead as his demons begin to file into the room, confused expressions on their faces, murmuring to each other incredulously. "These are my demons, and if they step out of line or do something that I don't like.."

He sucks in a breath carefully, keeping that husky drawl of his steady...

"Then they're going to have to be punished accordingly for it."