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cici11601 · 18 days ago

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Call My Name (Crowley SPN)

Summary: You meant to keep your little secret. You meant to just pretend. But Crowley has a way of showing up exactly when you need him the most...

WC: 3.7K

Warnings: smut, roughness, no plot whatsoever

A/N: I'm thirsty AF for Crowley recently... So have this smut <3

Read on ao3!

The motel room was dark except for the soft flicker of the bathroom light you hadn't bothered to turn off. The hunt had been brutal — blood, mud, aching muscles — and you'd stumbled back alone while Sam and Dean handled the bodies. You should have been asleep.

But instead, you lay stretched across the bed, your t-shirt hitched up above your ribs, your legs parted and bare. One hand fisted in the sheets. The other — slick, desperate — moved between your thighs, every slow stroke sending heat spiraling through your stomach.

And your mind? Your mind was full of him. Of that bastard. That demon. That goddamn smirk, the whiskey voice curling around your name, the way he always looked at you like he was imagining tearing you apart with careful hands.

"Crowley," you breathed out, so soft you almost didn't hear it yourself. Your fingers moved faster, chasing the sharp coil tightening in your gut. You imagined him standing over you, still in that tailored suit, tie loosened, that wicked grin playing on his lips as he watched you fall apart just for him.

You arched your hips, so close, whispering his name again, broken this time. "Crowley—"

"Well, well," came a voice from the corner, dripping smug satisfaction. "Isn't this a pretty sight."

Your blood went cold, then hot, a rush of terror and shame flooding you, heart hammering so loud you almost didn’t hear the soft clink of glass as he materialised fully into the room.

Crowley.

The real Crowley.

Leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, dark eyes burning into you with something dangerous and possessive.

You scrambled to tug the blanket up, your cheeks flaming, but he only chuckled low and dark and crossed the room in two strides.

"No need to stop on my account, darling," he said, voice silky and slow. "You called for me, after all."

Your mouth opened, but no sound came out. Your heart pounded against your ribs like a trapped bird.

"C'mon, sweetheart," Crowley murmured, hand reaching to brush your hair back from your flushed face, fingertips grazing your skin like a brand. "Show me how much you want me."

The mattress dipped as he kneeled over you, crowding into your space, making the air between you electric and heavy. His hand closed around your wrist of the hand you’d been using and guided it back between your legs with cruel, unbearable patience.

"Don’t be shy now," he whispered against your ear, the rasp of his breath making your thighs tremble. "Let me hear you." And when you whimpered, helpless under him, he smiled like a man who had just won everything.

You whimpered, hips rocking up into your own hand, overwhelmed by the feeling of Crowley so close, the heat of his body bleeding into yours. His hand stayed wrapped around your wrist, guiding your pace, slow, deep strokes that left you shuddering.

"That's it," he purred, pressing a kiss just below your ear, making you whine. "Such a good girl… needing me so badly you had to touch yourself just to fall asleep, hmm?"

His other hand—rough, warm—slid up your stomach, tugging your shirt higher. You gasped when he leaned down and kissed your breasts, slow, almost reverent, right over your pounding heart.

"You don't even realise, do you?" he murmured against your skin. "Mine. Always were."

You let out a pitiful whimper, the confession hitting you harder than his touch, and he smiled against you, wolfish and sweet all at once.

"You don't have to beg, darling," he said, voice thick with affection and possession. "You want me to take care of you? You only had to ask."

He moved with slow, deliberate intent, shifting your hand away and replacing it with his own. You cried out, breath catching, as two of his fingers slid easily over your soaked folds, finding the places you needed him most, like he knew you better than you knew yourself.

"Look at you," he breathed, eyes dark, voice soft but commanding. "Dripping for me already." He stroked you slowly, deliberately, each movement coaxing more desperate little sounds from your throat. "You think I haven't thought about this?" he whispered, mouth brushing your jaw, your cheek, your temple like a prayer to the Heavens above. "About you… open and aching for me? My God, you’re divine."

You whimpered again, back arching, and his hand on your stomach pressed you down, firm, possessive, keeping you pinned like you might float away without him anchoring you to the bed.

"That's it, love," he murmured. "Let me have you. Let me make you feel what you've been needing."

You barely realized he had shifted lower until his breath ghosted hot over your core. You gasped, but he only chuckled deep and rich, his chest vibrating with the sounds, and pressed a kiss just above your trembling thigh.

Then another, closer to where you needed him.

Another.

You gasped — sharp, helpless — as Crowley’s mouth finally found your soaked heat, tongue dragging a slow, heavy stripe through your folds.

The sound he made — low, guttural, possessive — vibrated against you, and your hips bucked off the bed in desperate response. But his hands — large, firm — pinned your thighs open, holding you in place like you were something fragile he could wreck at any moment if he wasn’t careful.

"Easy, darling," Crowley rasped against your center, his breath hot, wet against your skin. "I'll take care of you. Let me."

You gasped — sharp, helpless — as Crowley’s mouth finally found your soaked heat, tongue dragging a slow, heavy stripe through your folds.

The sound he made low, guttural, possessive, vibrated against you, and your hips bucked off the bed in desperate response. But his hands, large, firm, pinned your thighs open, holding you in place like you were something fragile he could wreck at any moment if he wasn’t careful.

"Easy, darling," Crowley rasped against your centre, his breath hot, wet against your skin. "I'll take care of you. Let me."

You cried out, a raw, desperate sound, as he licked a slow stripe up your centre, groaning like you were the best thing he'd ever tasted.

He devoured you slowly at first, like he had all the time in the world, savouring every soft whimper, every twitch of your hips. His tongue circled your clit slowly at first — feather-light — just enough to make you whine, squirming under his firm grip. You could feel the smug satisfaction in the way his fingers tightened on your thighs every time a broken, desperate sound slipped out of you.

"Sweet little thing," he muttered, lips slick against you. "So perfect for me."

Your hands fisted in his hair, tugging helplessly, and that only made him groan louder, sending a shudder through your entire body.

He was teasing you, drawing it out, savoring the taste of you like you were the finest thing he'd ever been given.

"Fuck," you gasped, hands flying to his hair, tangling in the dark strands and pulling, needing more, needing everything.

"C'mon, darling," Crowley said, voice rough, almost pleading. "Fall apart for me. Be a good girl and give it to me." Crowley growled — deep and vibrating through your whole body — and he answered your silent plea, sucking your clit between his lips and flicking it mercilessly with his tongue.

Your back arched off the bed, stars bursting behind your eyes.

"That's it," he muttered against you between licks. "Sing for me, sweetheart. No one else gets to hear you like this."

He slid one hand from your thigh, and without warning, he slid two fingers into your dripping heat — slow at first, coaxing your body open for him, curling just right to drag a sharp, needy cry from your throat.

"So tight," he murmured, voice almost reverent. "So fucking perfect."

The coil in your stomach tightened, higher and higher, until you were barely breathing, barely anything but sensation.

You sobbed his name as you shattered, pleasure crashing over you in waves. And Crowley held you through it, murmuring filthy, sweet things against your skin, stroking your thighs as you trembled and whimpered under him. When you finally opened your eyes, still dazed and shaking, he was already crawling up over you again — mouth shiny, eyes black with something dangerous and adoring. He kissed you slowly and deeply and you whimpered again, weak and pliant beneath him.

"Mine," he growled softly against your mouth. "Always mine." And you knew, in that moment, you were. You always had been.

His fingers pumped in and out of you in a steady, maddening rhythm, crooking at just the right angle to make you sob with need — while his mouth never left your clit, relentless and soft all at once.

You were falling apart, unraveling under his touch, the coil in your gut pulled tighter, tighter, until it was almost unbearable.

"Crowley," you whimpered, and he groaned at the sound of his name from your lips, filthy and pleading.

"I know, darling," he said, voice rough and wrecked. "I know. C'mon — fall apart for me. Want to feel you break on my tongue."

You didn't even have time to warn him. Your whole body seized — back arching, mouth open in a silent scream as your orgasm tore through you, violent and shattering. Crowley didn’t let up fucking you through it with his fingers, mouth still working you over until you were trembling, whimpering, completely ruined.

He pulled back only when you were too sensitive to take it, his lips and chin shiny with you, his eyes black and wild with hunger. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looking down at you like you were the most beautiful, wrecked thing he'd ever seen. "Mine," he said again, softly but fiercely. "Every fucking inch of you."

And then he was crawling up over you, slow and deliberate, caging you beneath him with his body. He kissed you — deep, claiming, still tasting of your own slick — and you whimpered into it, boneless and pliant, your body already aching for him again.

"Need you," you managed to whisper against his lips, voice broken and sweet.

Crowley smiled — not cruel this time, but soft, almost unbearably tender.

"You have me, love," he murmured. "You've always had me."

He rocked his hips against yours — and you gasped when you felt the thick, heavy length of him, still trapped behind his trousers, grinding against your soaked core.

And suddenly the world was spinning again — hotter, heavier — as Crowley growled low in his throat and started to undress, never taking his eyes off you once.

Crowley’s belt hit the floor with a heavy clink, followed by his trousers. You caught a glimpse of him, thick, flushed, aching for you, and your mouth watered. But before you could even reach for him, Crowley was climbing back over you, pressing you down into the mattress with his body — all hard, hot muscle — caging you in, claiming you.

"You've been in charge long enough, darling," he rasped against your mouth, voice thick with need. "Touching yourself, thinking about me…" He kissed you — rough, devouring — then pulled back just enough to look into your eyes.

"Now you're going to do it properly," he said, low and dangerous. "You're going to ride me like you belong to me."

Your whole body shuddered at the command.

Crowley smirked, wicked and fond, as he sat back against the headboard, spreading his thighs wide — cock heavy and twitching against his stomach, leaking for you.

"Come here, sweet girl," he murmured, voice like velvet and fire. He held out a hand — a king beckoning his queen — and you scrambled up, dazed and desperate, climbing into his lap.

As soon as you straddled him, Crowley’s hands gripped your hips, possessive and tender, like you might slip away if he didn’t hold you there. You hovered over him, heart pounding, the tip of his cock dragging through your soaked folds — teasing, torturous — making both of you shudder.

"Look at you," Crowley growled, voice breaking. "Perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect."

He slid one hand up your body — slow, worshipful — cupping your breast through your shirt, thumb stroking your peaked nipple lazily.

"Take your time, love," he said, voice ragged. "This is yours. I'm yours."

Tears stung your eyes at how wrecked he sounded — desperate for you, devoted to you. You reached down, guiding the thick head of him to your entrance, and gasped as you sank down — slow, so fucking slow — feeling every inch stretch you open, fill you.

Crowley’s head dropped back against the headboard with a guttural moan, hands clenching bruises into your hips. "Fuck, that's it," he hissed, trembling under you. "Take me, sweet girl. Take all of me."

You bottomed out with a cry, walls fluttering around him, so full you could barely breathe. Crowley’s hands slid up your back, one fisting in your hair, the other splaying wide between your shoulder blades, holding you to him.

"Mine," he breathed against your temple, voice broken. "Every goddamn inch of you. Made for me."

You started to move slow, rocking circles of your hips and Crowley shuddered, groaning deep in his chest, clutching you like you were the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

"Good girl," he whispered, mouth brushing your ear, your throat, your shoulder. "That's it. Ride me, love. Ride your king."

You whimpered, thighs burning, body tightening around him with every roll of your hips.

Crowley dragged his mouth over your jaw, biting softly at your neck, marking you, loving you.

He slid a hand between your bodies, fingers finding your clit again rubbing slow, perfect circles and you cried out, clenching around him so hard he cursed in ancient tongues under his breath. "You going to come for me again, sweet girl?" he whispered, voice pure sin. "On my cock this time?"

You nodded frantically, hands clutching his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

"C'mon then," Crowley rasped, lips brushing your cheek, your temple. "Show me who you belong to."

You rode him harder, hips slapping down against his, filthy and desperate, chasing the heat spiralling deep in your gut.

"Crowley," you sobbed, so close it hurt. "Please—please —"

"I've got you," he promised, rough and sweet. "Always."

He thrust up into you, once, twice, perfect, brutal, and the world shattered again, your orgasm ripping through you so hard you screamed his name. Crowley cursed, grabbing your hips hard enough to bruise, and followed you over the edge — thick, hot pulses spilling inside you, claiming you even more completely. You collapsed against him, shaking, breathing hard, and he held you there with one hand stroking your hair, the other trailing soft patterns up and down your spine.

"You did so well, my girl," he whispered against your hairline, voice thick with emotion. "So beautiful. So fucking mine."

You smiled against his chest, dazed and wrecked and happy, feeling his heartbeat pound against your ear. And you realised — somewhere in the haze of pleasure and love —You were his. And he was yours.

Forever.

You didn’t even have to ask.

As soon as Crowley felt your body go limp against him, he shifted gently, reverent cradling you close with one strong arm as he reached for a cloth with the other. He murmured soft little things under his breath — not even words, just sweet, worshipful sounds — as he cleaned you up carefully, tenderly, like you were something precious he couldn’t bear to hurt.

"There we go, darling," he whispered, voice low and syrup-thick. "Got you. No one's ever going to touch you like this but me. No one deserves to."

You whined softly, boneless and blissed out, pressing your cheek to his bare chest. His heart was still pounding for you, because of you.

Crowley tossed the cloth aside and gathered you fully into his lap, wrapping his arms around you like a fortress, one hand sliding up into your hair to keep you tucked safely against him.

You could feel him smiling against your temple as he nuzzled you.

"So good for me," he murmured, stroking your spine with slow, lazy circles of his palm. "My beautiful girl. Let me ruin you, hmm? Again and again. Fill you up so full you can't even think about anyone else."

You whimpered, clenching around nothing, heat sparking low in your belly all over again.

Crowley chuckled darkly, feeling it.

"Sweetheart," he purred, voice molten, "don't think for one bloody second we're done."

He leaned back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes gleaming with a devotion so fierce it was almost scary.

"Next time," he promised, thumb stroking your swollen lower lip, "I'm going to lay you out properly. Make you beg for it. Make you cry for me."

Your breath hitched, thighs clenching reflexively.

Crowley’s smile turned wicked, but his touch stayed so damn soft it made you ache.

"You want that, don't you?" he whispered, tilting your chin up with two fingers. "Want to be mine all over again?"

You nodded helplessly, utterly ruined for anyone else.

Crowley hummed, satisfied — like a king looking at the treasure he’d finally claimed.

He kissed your forehead, your nose, your mouth — lingering, sweet and filthy all at once — before pulling you down with him into the sheets. You curled up against his chest without thinking, safe and warm and wanted in a way that made your heart hurt.

Crowley tucked you under his chin, one hand stroking your back in endless, slow patterns, keeping you his. "You’re never leaving this bed, darling," he mumbled, already sounding drowsy but still possessive as hell. "Not tonight. Not ever."

You smiled, eyes fluttering closed, and whispered the only thing you knew for certain: "Yours."

Crowley’s arms tightened around you.

"Always, my girl," he said, voice low and rough with emotion. "Always."

And the two of you drifted off — tangled up, claimed, cherished—where you belonged.

You woke up feeling like you'd been wrecked in the best possible way.

Warmth was everywhere — heavy, perfect — Crowley’s body wrapped around you like he never wanted to let you go.

You stirred a little, whimpering when you shifted and felt how sore you were between your legs, how tender everything was from the night before.

Immediately, Crowley tightened his hold on you, dragging you back against him with a low, satisfied hum.

"Morning, pet," he rumbled, voice gravelly with sleep and smug as hell.

You blinked blearily up at him.

He was already awake, of course he was — looking at you like you were the sunrise itself. Like he could eat you alive and thank you for the privilege. "Did you sleep well, sweetheart?" he teased, thumb brushing lazy, possessive strokes across your hip.

You nodded, cheeks burning, too shy to meet his eyes—until you felt something hard pressing insistently against your thigh.

You gasped. "Crowley," you whined weakly.

He chuckled darkly, burying his face in your hair, inhaling you like he needed to breathe.

"Can't help it, darling," he murmured, grinding against you slowly and obscenely under the covers. "Dreamt of you crying on my cock all bloody night. Woke up hard enough to start a war."

You whimpered, hips rocking instinctively back against him. That earned you a guttural groan right in your ear — so deep, so possessive, it made your toes curl.

"Fuck, listen to you," Crowley hissed, sliding his hand up under your sleep shirt, palm cupping your bare breast lazily. "So sensitive already. You going to let me have you again, pretty girl? Let me fill you up before you've even had your morning coffee?"

You moaned brokenly, already soaking.

Crowley smiled against your skin, dark and greedy and absolutely in love with you. "That's my good girl," he purred, pulling you on top of him without even letting you leave the blankets. "You’re going to ride me this time, darling. Nice and slow. Want to watch your pretty face while you fall apart."

You gasped as he guided you into his lap, his thick cock rubbing against your slick folds.

"You’re dripping for it already, aren't you?" he whispered, almost reverent, kissing your jaw, your throat, your collarbone.

"Please, Crowley," you whimpered, desperate.

He groaned deep, ragged and grabbed your hips, lining you up. "Go on, sweetheart," he rasped, voice shaking with how badly he needed you. "Take what's yours."

You sank down onto him slowly, gasping at how good it felt — too good, too much — and Crowley swore viciously, hands clenching on your thighs like he was fighting for control.

"Fuck, that's it," he growled. "So bloody tight for me. Always so perfect." You rocked your hips experimentally, and Crowley nearly lost it.

"Look at you," he whispered hoarsely, sliding one hand up your body to tug your shirt higher so he could watch you bounce on his cock. "So bloody beautiful. My girl. Mine. All mine"

You whimpered his name, nails raking down his chest.

Crowley grabbed your hips, forcing you down harder, deeper, making you feel every single inch of him.

"Come on, darling," he coaxed, voice thick and low and dangerous with how badly he needed you. "Come for me again. Let me feel you explode all over my cock."

You did — shattering around him with a whimpering sob — and Crowley cursed, rolling you under him in one brutal move so he could thrust into you deep, desperate, chasing his own release.

He came with a low, broken moan against your neck, filling you up, keeping himself buried so deep inside you that you could barely breathe — but you never wanted to be anywhere else.

When the aftershocks faded, he didn't pull out.

Didn't even think about it.

He just held you, panting into your skin, arms wrapped around you like a man who would burn the world down if anyone ever tried to take you from him.

"Stay with me, darling," he whispered, voice so soft it broke something inside you. "Let me take care of you."

You nodded, too wrecked to speak, and Crowley kissed your forehead like a benediction. He pulled the covers higher over both of you, keeping you warm, keeping you his. And you drifted back to sleep in his arms, sore, full, and loved.

Exactly where you belonged.

//please REBLOG! if you enjoyed!!\\

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