#mark sheppard x reader

[castielscaplan]

Death is Quiet When You Hold Me (Crowley SPN)

Summary: Crowley comforts you in your last moments

Warnings: angst, heartbreaking angst

WC: 505

A/N: title used as a prompt from this Challenge of mine

thanks to my beta reader @mermaidxatxheart ilysm <3

Read on ao3!

--

It always rained where you met him.

Maybe it was just coincidence. Or maybe the sky knew that something about Crowley—the King of Hell, the dealmaker, the devil in a sharp suit—softened when he was near you. And rain… rain was soft, in its own way. Rain felt like home.

You sat at the edge of an old motel bed, legs swinging off the side, eyes fixed on the streaked window. The storm outside matched the one in your chest.

You were dying. Not in the poetic way people say when they’re heartbroken. No—your body was failing. Slowly. Quietly. And no spell, no sigil, no deal had worked.

Not even his.

“I could rip apart Heaven and Hell for you,” he had said, voice barely above a growl. “But apparently… some things are still off the bloody table.”

And now he stood at the door, watching you like he always did when he thought you were asleep. Like looking too long might curse him. Or save him.

You turned, reaching out a hand.

“Don’t just stand there like a ghost,” you whispered. “Come here.”

He crossed the room in three strides. Always dramatic. Always fast when it was you. Everything mattered when it came to you.

Crowley knelt before you, hands cradling your knees like you were something breakable—like maybe you already had. He was always gentle with you.

“I thought I had time,” he murmured, voice tight, rough around the edges. “Should’ve known better. Time is a vicious thing. It's so cruel that humans are so vulnerable.”

“So are you,” you said, brushing your fingers through his hair. “But not with me.”

He smiled. It was crooked. Sad. “No. Never with you.”

You slid off the bed, curling into his lap. The floor was cold. His arms were colder. But somehow, it was the warmest place in the world.

You buried your face in his neck, breath shallow now, barely there. “Do you think… when it happens… I’ll see you again?”

Crowley exhaled like the words carved into him. “If there’s any justice in this world, you won’t.”

You looked up, eyes shining with something softer than fear.

“I want to.”

That broke him.

He held you tighter, like he could barter your life back just by keeping you close. Like death wouldn’t dare take you from his arms.

“Then I’ll find you,” he whispered. “Wherever you go, whatever form you take—I’ll find you, love. I swear by it.”

Silence fell between you, thick and tender. Outside, thunder rolled in the distance. But inside?

There was only the sound of rain.

And the soft, steady breath of a demon holding onto a heartbeat that was almost gone.

Death is quiet when you hold me, you wanted to say.

But by then, your eyes had already closed.

And Crowley, for the first time in centuries, prayed.

--

Tag List

[h8aaz]

HIIII i was wondering if you could do a Crowley x Winchester!reader where reader lays on her bed, touching herself, imagining its Crowley (she’s using a toy / her hand, idm) and then, she hears the familiar voice. Things go from one to the other and boom.

HIIII SWEET ANGEL!! omg i would LOVE TO!!!! bc mark a. sheppard is actually so fine and he doesn't get enough credit/recognition for literally anything smh. but i hope this is good for you anon!! and any other crowley lovers :3 🩷

❝ ���𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 .ᐟ ❞

summary .ᐟ — you pleasure yourself to the thought of crowley, even going so far that you imagine it's him— until that becomes a reality.

warnings .ᐟ — winchester!reader . fem masturbation + oral receiving . fingering . piv protected (yippee!!) . slight mention of marking . crowley calls reader 'darling' as a permanent nickname . he also puts his deal to use bc duh . dean, sam, + cas mentioned.

wordcount .ᐟ — 1.4k words.

gabs yaps .ᐟ — omg i actually love crowley so much + IM SO SORRY THAT THIS IS RUSHED + LITERAL EONS LATE ANON PLS FORGIVE ME ILYSM <3333 likes, comments, + reblogs are very appreciated!!

a sweet, sultry moan broke through your plush lips as your fingers pumped in and out of your core at a slow rhythm, the vibrator in your other hand working overtime on your clit. “god, crowley, right there," you whined. you threw your head back in pleasure, moaning out soft profanities with the demon's name slipping in-between.

your hips bucked against the vibrator, a broken cry slipping from your mouth. your bedroom was filled with the echoes of your noises, both the ones spewing from your mouth and the wet slick that coated your fingers—allowing them to slide in and out of your cunt easily.

your nipples were hardened into peaks, your bare skin covered in goosebumps from the cold. the sheets of your bed were rumpled up under and around your body, while your hair sat unruly against the pillow under your head.

the bunker was empty. your older brothers were out on a hunt with a familiar angel. the lack of annoying debates on random lore allowed you to let yourself be as loud as you wanted.

your movements became more frantic as the knot in your stomach slowly got tighter, signaling that your orgasm was near. “fuck! oh, fuck, crowley. yes, yes- please!” you screamed, your thighs shaking and your eyes squeezing shut.

you were so close, you were right there. until a voice—an accent—you recognized all too well broke through the heated atmosphere. “go ahead, darling. cum for me.”

your movements stilled as if the world froze completely, eyes shooting wide open as your head jerked up, meeting the gaze of him. crowley.

“what the fuck, crowley?!” you panicked. you pulled your fingers out quickly, shutting off your vibrator and scrambling to cover yourself with a blanket.

“oh, please, don't stop on my account.” he grinned. “plus,” he pointed at you, “you were just moaning and screaming my name.” he eyed your blanket-covered form as you huffed in frustration. “you provide quite the view, winchester.”

“oh shut up!” you shouted, tits heaving with frustration under the blanket you held tight to your body. "we've been over this, you can't just fucking pop into my room whenever you like! privacy is a thing, y'know?!" you yelled at him, all while his stupid smile grew.

he tilted his head, "feisty as ever." he said, making you roll your eyes. "what good is your privacy if it prohibits me from seeing and hearing you like this?" he snapped his fingers, your blanket completely disappearing.

"hey!" you gasped, covering yourself with your hands.

"especially," crowley shrugged off his blazer, settling it on the back of the chair by your desk. "if it's all for me?" he whispered, making his way over to you on the bed. you whimpered. you fucking whimpered. and the noise went straight to his hardening cock.

your hands slowly fell from their covering positions, the arm across your breasts making them jiggle slightly at the removal. crowley growled at the sight, now hovering over you.

his gaze shifted to meet your eyes. you nodded at the silent ask of permission, moaning at the feel of his lips on yours. your hands flew to hold his face while one of his roamed your body and the other held your hair.

this felt like a dream. you couldn't believe he was actually kissing you, feeling you. and willingly after catching you in the act? you were about to pull away to make sure the moment was real but you refrained as a loud moan escaped you, his fingers having found place on your swollen clit.

your back arched, whines spewing freely as his hand that was previously in your hair moved to grope your breast. "so responsive, huh, darling?" he cooed before shoving two fingers into your slick hole, easily being sucked in.

"oh, fuck!" you melted into his touch so quickly. your walls wrapped around his pumping fingers like they were meant to be there—like they had always been there.

the view of you being so broken for him turned him on. and he just had to taste you.

he moved down to flick his tongue against your clit, gaining more noises from you. he added a third finger as he began to devour you, eyes up at your face to catch your reactions.

his name flew from your mouth nearly like a mantra, like it was the only word you knew how to form. your hands gripped at his hair. tugging. pulling. yanking. all as you grinded against his working mouth. his scruff rubbed on your inner thighs and folds, fueling your high.

before you knew it, you were cumming. and you were cumming hard. your vision clouded in white, your body shaking and heated, you'd never orgasmed like this before—not even when you'd touch yourself.

your breathing was ragged and shaky, your chest rising in heavy pants. you looked down at him right as he began to move back up. his face was covered in your arousal. his lips glistened with your cum, colliding with yours so you could taste yourself.

your hands shot down to his belt, fiddling with it, trying to get it unbuckled as fast as you could.

"eager, are we?" crowley teased before assisting you on your mission. you pushed his pants down with your hands at first, then switching to your feet. "please," you begged. "please fuck me, crowley." his name coming out as a whine.

the demon swiftly pulled the rest of his pants and boxers down. he snapped his fingers, a condom appearing in one hand and the rest of his clothing gone. you rolled your eyes at his stupid magic trick, watching him roll the rubber on before sinking his throbbing cock into you, stretching you as he bottomed out.

"oh- god, yes!" you screamed, silently thanking his past self for making that deal.

"wrong guy, darling." he smirked before painfully pounding into you. his head dipped into the crook of your neck, kissing and sucking hickeys into the soft and pure flesh.

your insides clamped around him, slick gushing from the rough manner of which his hips slammed against yours. sweat coated skin, sweet moans, and his dick drilling into you—this was definitely real.

your neck, collarbones, and chest were covered in marks, which will be a pain to try and explain to your brothers as you were sure you'd never be able to cover them. what lie would you make up? crowley would surely out you any chance he got, and he most definitely won't be subtle about it.

but that was a problem for future you. as for now, all you could think about was how good he was fucking you.

your eyes continuously rolled to the back of your head as your back arched into him. he was swirling his tongue around your hardened nipples, giving you more pleasure. his hands gripped the flesh of your hips, fingers digging into the soft, squishy skin.

your mouths became connected once more, muffling and swallowing every noise you made for each other. pulling away only when the two of you came at the same time, your nails raking down his back with red streaks in their wake. the sensation made him growl while your tongues tangled through the dual orgasms.

"we should do this more often, yeah?" crowley panted while you whined a small "please."

you heard the loud and echoed bang of the bunker's front door being closed, signaling that your brothers and castiel were home.

"shit!" you gasped as the demon pulled out and got off of you. "well, this was nice, winchester. but i'm afraid i don't want to be brutally tortured and screeched at so this is where i, unfortunately, depart. till next time, darling." he said breathlessly before smashing his lips against yours in a bruising yet tender kiss then disappearing as if he wasn't even there to begin with.

"hey!" dean called your name, "we brought dinner! get out here!" he then banged his fist against your, thankfully, locked door.

"dean, stop. stop! go...help cas or something." sam shooed the oldest away before gently knocking on your door, "we got dinner, your favorite too. you coming?" he questioned your name.

"uh, y-yeah! m'coming!" you replied as normal as you could, calming down when you heard him give an 'okay' followed by his booming footsteps walking away.

you pushed yourself up and went to get off your bed, your legs wobbling and shaking until they fully gave out, leaving you on the floor. "god fucking dammit, crowley." you cursed quietly.

tags: @sunsbaby @ultravi0lence14 @starzify @soldiersgirl @bejeweledinterludes @littlesoulshine @j2archives @legalmente-loca @deansbeer @titsout4jackles @daylighted

[radioactivatedspider]

The Devils Heart

Main Masterlist Supernatural Masterlist

Pairings; Crowley x Winchester!Reader

Genre; Supernatural, Drama, Romance, Angst

Warnings; Language

Summary: Yn reveals she's in love with Crowley, plunging the Winchesters into a dangerous rift.

941 words

The sun had just dipped beneath the horizon, casting the world in the purple hue of twilight. Inside the bunker, Sam and Dean were sitting at the table, working through their latest case files. The air was thick with tension, as it often was when the Winchester brothers were involved in a mystery too dangerous to ignore. But it wasn't the case that had their attention tonight. It was the mysterious absence of their baby sister, Yn.

She had been gone longer than usual. While her older brothers had grown used to the odd missions and solo hunts she often embarked on, this was different. She hadn't sent a message. No call. Nothing.

Sam's concern was growing by the minute. “Something’s off, Dean. Yn’s been gone too long. She’s not the type to just vanish.”

Dean rubbed a hand over his face, worry knitting his brow. "I know. But we both know that girl can handle herself. She’s a Winchester."

Just as Dean finished speaking, the door to the bunker creaked open. They both looked up, expecting to see her walk in, dirty from a hunt or maybe a bit too cheerful from a successful solo mission. What they didn’t expect was the sight that greeted them.

Yn stood in the doorway, her arms around Crowley, the King of Hell, as if they were a couple in a moment of stolen intimacy. Crowley’s eyes locked with Dean and Sam, an almost smug smirk dancing across his lips. Yn’s face flushed as she pulled away from him, awkwardly brushing the front of her leather jacket.

“Yn…” Sam’s voice was a mixture of shock and confusion, his mind racing with a thousand questions. Dean didn’t say anything right away, his jaw tight, his fists clenched at his sides.

“I know this is a bit of a shock, but... I need you to listen,” Yn said softly, walking toward the brothers but keeping a wary eye on Crowley. “I’m not the same girl you used to know. Things have changed.”

Dean’s eyes flicked to Crowley, a murderous glare forming in his gaze. “You. The Hell King. What the hell is going on here?”

Crowley, never one for subtlety, grinned, leaning casually against the wall. “Oh, please, Dean. Don’t act like you haven’t been expecting it. She's mine now.”

“Y/n, what the hell is happening?” Sam stepped forward, concern overtaking the anger in his voice. “He’s the King of Hell, Yn! He’s dangerous!”

“I know who he is, Sam,” Yn replied, her voice a touch exasperated. “But that doesn’t change how I feel. We... I’ve been with him. And I love him.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed, trying to process what she was saying. “You love him?” His voice barely above a whisper.

Yn nodded slowly, stepping away from Crowley and toward her brothers. “I do. I... I didn’t expect it either. But after everything, after all the pain and the mess we’ve been through, Crowley and I found something. Real. It’s... hard to explain.”

Sam’s brow furrowed in confusion. “But Crowley’s a demon. A king of Hell! He can’t—he shouldn’t—”

“Sam, I’m not asking you to understand, just to trust me. I’m still me. I’m still your sister,” she said, her voice pleading. “I’m not going to let him change me. He’s not like what you think. Not anymore.”

Dean was silent for a long moment, his anger flickering beneath the surface. He didn't know what to say. His baby sister had fallen for the enemy—the devil himself. It felt like betrayal, a violation of everything they fought for.

Crowley stepped in, cutting through the tension with a calm voice. “You’d do well to stop thinking of her as your ‘little sister,’ Dean. She’s not a child anymore. And frankly, I’m tired of all this paternalism. She can make her own choices.”

The tension in the room was palpable. The world seemed to stop, and in that moment, it was as if everyone was holding their breath, waiting for someone to make a move.

Finally, Sam broke the silence. “We’re not okay with this, Yn. But if you’re sure this is what you want…” His voice trailed off, filled with uncertainty.

Yn swallowed hard, her heart aching at the rift she knew this would create. “I know you don’t like it, Sam. I never wanted to hurt either of you. But I’m still your sister. Nothing will change that. I’ll always fight by your side when you need me.”

Dean’s fists tightened even more, but his voice softened with the weight of everything he wanted to say. “I’ll never trust him, Yn. Not in a million years.”

“And I’m not asking you to,” Yn replied, her eyes tearing up slightly. “Just don’t shut me out. I need you to accept me for who I am now.”

Crowley stood tall, watching the emotional exchange with a quiet intensity. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, I believe I’ve overstayed my welcome. But remember, Winchesters… the Devil has a heart. And this one? She’s mine.” He threw a glance at Yn, a subtle smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Don’t make me regret this, Crowley,” Dean warned, his voice low, full of venom.

Crowley chuckled. “Oh, trust me. You’ll be regretting a lot more than that, Dean.”

As Crowley began to step away, Yn looked back at her brothers one last time, her eyes filled with sorrow. She turned to follow him, her steps slow, her heart heavy with the knowledge that the road ahead would be long, difficult, and painful.

But in that moment, she knew she had made her choice.

And there was no turning back.

[meiplays]

“Hell Hath No Furry” 𓃠🐱🐾

Crowley Drabble~

Inspired by @crowley-exploder ’s *Crowley cat* post

“Meow.”

The noise was guttural. Furious. Undignified.

Dean wheezed from the floor, doubled over in laughter as the small black cat launched itself at his boot for the third time. “Crowley, buddy, you’ve really hit a new low.”

The feline demon hissed, fur bristling, tiny fangs bared in rage. He attempted a pounce—landed with all the menace of a throw pillow.

Sam leaned against the doorframe, phone in hand, filming. “Rowena really did it, huh? Turned her own son into a cat.”

“She said he needed to be ‘neutered emotionally.’” Dean cackled.

Crowley glared up at them, tail lashing, plotting at least seventeen kinds of retribution once his opposable thumbs returned.

Just then, Rowena sauntered in, humming. “Aww, is my wee Fergus upset?” She bent down, scratched behind his ear with a smirk.

Crowley growled.

And purred.

Against his will.

Hell had never felt so humiliating.

“Aw, look at you,” you cooed, kneeling beside the crimson cushion where a very miffed feline version of Crowley lay sprawled like he still ruled a throne. “Little demon prince.”

He flicked his tail with menace, ears pinned flat in warning—but when your fingers gently scratched beneath his chin, the low, gravelly purr that escaped him betrayed everything.

Crowley tried to stop it. Really, he did.

But your touch was warm, your voice honeyed, and his tiny traitor body leaned into you.

“Oh my God,” you giggled. “You cooed. You actually cooed.”

“I did not,” Crowley tried to say, but all that came out was a soft mrrrrp.

You scooped him up, cradling him against your chest, and he went stiff—then melted with a reluctant sigh, pressing his tiny, regal face into your neck. His purr vibrated through your skin like a spell of its own.

Dean peeked into the room and immediately gagged. “Okay, nope. Too weird. I’m out.”

You ignored him, nuzzling your demon-cat boyfriend. “You know, I think I like you like this. Portable. Fluffy. Still mouthy.”

Crowley grumbled into your shirt, already plotting vengeance. But then your lips brushed the top of his head, and he—ugh—purred louder.

The King of Hell had fallen.

To chin scritches and cuddles.

~

[cuntiel]

[raz-writes-the-thing]

"Maybe making out for a few minutes would help us figure things out." Surprise me!

"Is that so?" You teased back, leaning just to the edge of the Devil's Trap that Crowley was currently stuck inside. "See- I just think you're trying to cut a deal with me. Lure me in with your smirks and your fancy business suit."

Crowley arched a brow, watching you calculatingly and making sure to not betray a single thought going through that mind of his.

"And besides," you playfully picked at your nails before flashing the King of Hell a very suggestive flash of teeth and tongue. "You wish I'd let you kiss me. Sorry, darling, but I'm not sure you'd survive this ride."

"See, this is why you're my favourite, darling," Crowley replied, stepping as close as the trap would allow. "You know how to play."

You whipped around, pulling the chair further away from the trap so you could settle into it and put your feet up on the table alongside it, continuing your very important job of babysitting. Crowley was a slippery little fucker. If you weren't here, it definitely wouldn't be long before he found a way out.

"Tease," Crowley shot with no venom.

"Mm, you know it, handsome," you winked back, settling in for a long night.

[otissbluebearshirt]

Crowley and reader waking up next to each other for the first time, please? ♡

Good Morning - [ Crowley ]

Summary: You and Crowley wake up together for the first time

Word Count: 916

Warnings: female!reader, fluff

Masterlist | Crowley Masterlist

You never thought you’d find yourself waking up in the arms of a demon, let alone the King of Hell himself.

Firstly, because demons didn’t sleep. Which is why you were more surprised over the fact that Crowley was currently still asleep than you were over yourself waking up next to him.

Secondly, you were a hunter. You were trained to hunt demons. To kill them. Not to trust them, let alone allow yourself to be so vulnerable around them. And if there was ever a moment where you were at your most vulnerable it was when you were asleep.

Yet here you were, not only asleep around a demon but asleep next to one. Asleep in the arms of one. Your legs tangled together with one in ways you didn’t even know was possible and yet it was comfortable. He was comfortable. His body. His touch. His mere presence was comfortable which is exactly why you had fallen asleep beside him.

Had you not grown so comfortable around Crowley over the past few months you’d have never dreamed of allowing yourself to sleep around him, let alone next to him. But you had, therefore you did. And when you woke that morning, his face being the first thing you saw when your eyes fluttered open, you didn’t feel anything but happiness and a sense of peace.

The minute Crowley began to stir next to you, you shut your eyes, pretending to still be asleep as you did not need him acting all smug when he realised you’d been gazing at him whilst he slept. You could feel his breath against your forehead, no doubt glancing down at you to see if you were awake yet.

After a few seconds you allowed your eyes to open again, acting as though it was the first time they had. You lifted you hand, rubbing lightly at them and forcing a yawn to escape your mouth, gently nuzzling your cheek over his chest where his heartbeat quickened beneath.

“Good morning.” You mumbled, kissing his chest before you lifted your head to meet his gaze, which softened the second it locked onto yours.

“Good morning, darling.” Crowley said as softly as he could given the raspiness to his voice brought on by hours of not talking.

Which must have been a challenge as he did love the sound of his own voice. Not that you were complaining though as you did too. His earlier morning one especially.

He leaned down, capturing your lips in his and kissing you in a way that had you melt beneath him. You could feel that immense warmth burst across your chest, your stomach feeling as though someone had forced a swarm of butterflies down into it as his lips continued to work against yours, clearly not bothered by the morning breath you could have sworn you had.

“Good morning indeed.” Crowley whispered as he pulled briefly back, bringing one hand up to land aside your face, fingers threading through your hair as he brought you towards him again.

Your own hand rose, coming to rest atop his as you allowed him to keep kissing you, which had soon become your new favourite hobby as you just couldn’t get enough of it. Especially when his stubble would scratch over your skin in all the best ways. Just reminding you it was real and not a rather vivid dream as you still couldn’t quite believe it.

“Since when do demons sleep?” You asked curiously the second your lips parted, Crowley’s thumb brushing lightly over yours as his hand came to cradle the side of your neck.

“Since a breathtakingly beautiful woman tired him out last night to the point where he couldn’t help but feel like he needed it.” Crowley replied, causing you to blush profusely as all the memories of said night swarmed your sleep-hazy mind.

If you hadn’t been damned just for kissing him then you’d definitely have been after the things you let him do to you.

“My apologies.” You said playfully, a somewhat smug seeming smile flashing across your face as you leaned up, placing a gentle kiss on his lips.

“No need to apologise, love.” He whispered, his thumb tracing light circles against the warmth of your neck. “Not when it allowed me the pleasure of waking up next to you.”

“Quite the sweet talker, aren’t you?” You teased, lifting your hand to slide it around the back of his neck, feeling the softness of his hair as your fingers delved into it.

“Only for truly special people.” Crowley replied, making you blush even more as who knew he had such a soft side to him.

“If I’m so special…” You began, pecking his lips briefly before pulling back just a little. “And you enjoy waking up next to me so much…” Another quick peck against his lips. “Does that mean we’ll get to do this more often?”

Using his hold on your neck to stop you from backing away, Crowley kissed you again. In a way so passionate yet so gentle. So loving. That you almost couldn’t think straight and your eyes needed a second longer than normal to open afterwards, just in time to catch the movement of his lips as he said the words you secretly longed to hear.

“Darling, you best believe we’ll be doing this again, because there isn’t anything on this earth, or in Hell, that I’d rather do than wake up next to you.”

Like this? Apply to my Crowley tag list here!

tagging: @1ehatter @damonsalavatore-best @foxyjwls007 @alexxavicry @evanbuckbuckley @calisto-thoughts

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[supernaturalfreewill]

Crowley x fem!reader reader pronouns: she/her "This is unexpected," Crowley said, looking you up and down before glancing back at Sam and Dean. "You've added another member to your little band of misfits." He started toward you where you were seated on the far end of the couch, simply staring at the fire.

"Crowley, don't—" But the King of Hell raised a hand to quiet Dean, giving him a look that clearly said he was going to do whatever the hell he wanted.

"And what, praytell, is your contribution to this operation, little one?" Crowley asked.

"Crowley, don't—She's..." Sam hesitated. "...new."

You looked over at the demon as if you'd been suddenly snapped out of a daze. "I'm burdened with a glorious purpose. When I discover what it is, I'll be sure to let you know." At that, you went right back to staring at the flickering flames.

Crowley looked back at the Winchester brothers. Dean was rubbing a hand over his forehead and Sam had that strained frown on his face. "New?" Crowley inquired, with a lift of his eyebrows. "New as in just spawned out of the ether?"

"We're—we're trying to figure that out," Sam said.

Crowley smiled deviously. "Oh, I like this one. A blank slate. It's perfect... And she is quite a lovely little creature, isn't she?" he said, glancing back at you and licking his bottom lip thoughtfully.

"Alright," Dean growled, pacing over to plant himself between you and Crowley. "Moving on!"

Prompt: "And what is your contribution to this operation, little one?" / "I'm burdened with a glorious purpose. When I discover what it is, I'll be sure to let you know." HAPPY SUPPORTING CHARACTER SATURDAY! This one is in special honor of Mark Sheppard as he recovers from surviving a massive heart attack recently... Heal up, King. We love you. <3

[dowagerqueenofhell]

16. Book Club

The next few days passed in a blur of salt, iron, and adrenaline. The hunt had been exactly what Lane needed—something to focus on, something real. The rush of combat, the research deep dives, the late-night planning sessions with Sam and Dean—it was familiar, grounding. For a little while, she felt like she belonged, like things made sense.

They didn’t talk about Crowley much. Dean made his usual sarcastic remarks, Sam watched her with quiet curiosity, and Castiel’s questions were blunt but never judgmental. Are you alright? he had asked at one point, his blue eyes searching hers. Lane had forced a smile, given a noncommittal answer, and left it at that.

By the end of the hunt, she was exhausted in the best way—bruised, stitched up, and worn thin but steadier than she’d felt in weeks.

Still, as she drove away from the bunker, the weight in her chest returned.

She’d put off the inevitable long enough.

The highway stretched for miles under the deep indigo sky, her headlights cutting through the dark. She kept the radio low, fingers tapping absently against the steering wheel as she followed the route burned into her memory. A long stretch of empty road, then the narrow turnoff, barely visible unless you knew to look. The forest grew denser, the air quieter, the world shrinking down to just her and the gravel road winding toward the secluded lake house.

Their home.

The word still sat strangely in her mind.

The house stood at the water’s edge, dark and still, its silhouette outlined against the moonlit lake. No welcoming glow from the windows, no sign of movement—but Crowley was there. He always was.

Lane parked and killed the engine, taking a moment to sit in the silence before grabbing her bag and heading inside. The door creaked softly as she stepped over the threshold, familiar warmth wrapping around her. The scent of old wood, expensive liquor, and something distinctly Crowley filled the space.

She let out a slow breath.

She was home.

If she could call it that.

Crowley stood on the balcony of their bedroom, a tumbler of Scotch dangling from his fingers. The moonlight glowed against the lake’s surface, casting silver ripples across the water. He wasn’t really looking at it, though. His eyes were unfocused, lost in the glass in his hand.  

Lane was in Kansas, with the Wonder Boys—or so he thought.

She wasn’t. She’dcome home, finding the study empty, and she knew exactly where he was. It wasn’t the first time she’d caught him like this. Standing there, brooding, drinking in silence like a ghost haunting his own home.  

She pushed the curtains aside and got out. The night air bit at her bare neck, but she ignored it. With quiet steps, she walked out onto the balcony, stopping beside him.  

"If you drink any more of that, you might actually start feeling something," she murmured, leaning against the railing.  

Crowley smirked, but it was a weak thing, half-hearted.

"Now, now, love. Let’s not go making wild accusations."

His voice had its usual bite, but it lacked conviction. Lane wasn’t stupid—he was distracted. Thinking. Over what, she couldn’t say, but it was making him hesitate.  

They stood there in silence for a moment, the night stretching between them. Finally, Lane turned to him.  

"Are you ever actually going to do something about this, or are we just going to dance around it forever?"

That got his attention. Crowley turned his head, gaze sharpening.

"And what, exactly, do you think 'this' is, darling?"

Lane exhaled, shaking her head.  

"I know you want me."

He chuckled at that, taking a lazy sip of Scotch.  

"Of course I do, sweetheart. I’ve wanted you since the day you had the audacity to tell me to go to hell��while making a deal with me, no less."

Lane took the glass from his hand and set it down on the railing. Then she stepped closer. Close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him, despite the cool night air.  

"So what’s stopping you?"

Crowley’s jaw tensed. For the first time, he wasn’t in control of the conversation. He didn’t have a snarky retort ready.  

"It’s different with you, Lane."

The way he said it—quiet, raw—made something flicker in her chest.  

She reached out, fingers trailing over his chest, feeling the silk of his shirt beneath her touch.  

"So let it be different."

He swallowed. She was so damn close. His hands twitched at his sides, aching to touch her, to pull her in and never let go.

Lane wasn’t waiting anymore. She leaned up, pressing her lips to his in a kiss that was slow, deliberate. A challenge.  

And for a moment, he gave in.  

His hands gripped her waist, pulling her flush against him as he deepened the kiss. It was hungry, consuming, like he’d been starving and just now realized it.  

But then—he stopped.  

He pulled back, breathing unevenly.

"You sure you want this, love?"

Lane met his gaze, unwavering.  

"I want you."

That was it. That was all he needed.  

Crowley kissed her again, harder this time. His hands roamed her body, mapping every inch like he’d been waiting an eternity to do so. When they finally stumbled inside, into the bedroom, he laid her down with a gentleness that contrasted the fire between them.

He took his time. Unrushed. Worshipful. Like she was something precious.  

And she let him.

Because for the first time in his life, Crowley wasn’t just taking something—  

He was giving himself away.

The Morning After

The bedroom was still dim, dawn barely bleeding through the curtains when Crowley woke. He hadn’t meant to sleep at all—old habits, really—but the warmth beside him had lulled him into something dangerously close to peace.

Lane was still asleep, her breaths slow and even, her bare shoulder peeking out from under the sheets. Crowley lay on his side, propped on one elbow, watching her with an unreadable expression.

She looked… untouched. Not in the literal sense—he had taken care of that last night—but in the way that mattered. No regret. No hesitation. No fear.

For a fleeting, selfish moment, he let himself bask in that.

Then, just as quietly, he slipped out of bed.

By the time Lane stirred, Crowley was already back in his usual silk pajamas, sitting on the edge of the bed with a cup of coffee in hand. He handed her one without a word.

“Didn’t take you for a breakfast-in-bed kind of guy,” she muttered, voice rough with sleep.

“I’m full of surprises, love.”

He kept things light. Normal. She didn’t need to know how long he’d been awake, how many times he’d almost left—how he hadn’t. He teased, she rolled her eyes, and they fell into the same rhythm they always had.

If Lane touched him—a brush of fingers against his arm, a hand resting on his thigh—he didn’t pull away. But he didn’t lean into it, either.

Everything was fine.

¤¤¤¤¤

At first, nothing seemed different.

Crowley still slept in their bed, still touched her as if last night hadn’t altered the foundation of their relationship. But something was off.

Lane noticed it in the small things.

He started disappearing more often—longer stretches of time spent dealing with “business.” His usual sarcasm was still there, but it felt like a shield. The teasing was a little too sharp, the smirks a little too forced.

One night, as they sat in the living room, Crowley nursing a Scotch while she absentmindedly flipped through a Greek mythology book, she finally said it.

“You’re acting weird.”

Crowley barely looked up. “I’m always weird.”

“You know what I mean.”

She closed the book, fixing him with a look that made it clear she wasn’t going to drop it.

A muscle in his jaw ticked. For a second, it looked like he might brush her off again—but then he set his glass down, fingers curling loosely around the rim.

“What do you want me to say, Lane?” he said, voice quieter than usual. “That I feel guilty?”

Her brows knit together. “Guilty?”

Crowley exhaled sharply, as if he regretted the admission the second it left his mouth. His tone turned sharp, defensive.

“I took something from you. Something you can’t get back.”

Lane blinked, stunned for a beat—before understanding dawned.

“Is that what this is about?” she asked, softer now.

Crowley didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “You didn’t take anything, Crowley. I gave it to you.”

His eyes flickered, something unreadable behind them, but his defenses were already up. He scoffed, reaching for his Scotch again.

“I don’t do guilt, love,” he muttered, taking a slow sip.

Lane watched him for a long moment before shaking her head. Liar.

She didn’t push—not yet. But she wasn’t going to let him drown in it forever.

And neither of them realized it yet—but this? This was only the beginning.

¤¤¤¤¤

Sitting cross-legged on the bed, Lane stared blankly at the journal in her lap, but the words blurred together. She wasn’t reading. She wasn’t even thinking about hunting.

Her mind was stuck in an endless loop—Crowley, last night, this morning, the way he looked at her, the way he wouldn’t.

She wanted—needed—to talk to someone about this.

But who?

The Winchesters? God, no. She already knew what they’d say. Dean would explode, tell her she was insane for even entertaining the idea that Crowley could be anything other than a manipulative bastard. Sam would be quieter, but the disappointment in his eyes would cut even deeper. He’d try to understand, but only in that way that really meant he was looking for an angle to pull her away.

Charlie? Lane clenched her jaw. No Charlie. No Jo.

The people she could have talked to—the women who would have listened without judgment, without trying to fix her or save her from herself—were gone.

Jody? Lane scoffed. Jody didn’t even know who she was.

The realization settled over her like a weight, pressing into her ribs.

She had no one. No girl friends to text, no one to sit on a couch with, drink too much wine, and pick apart every little thing about what had happened.

All she had was herself.

And him.

She groaned, flopping back against the pillows, rubbing her hands over her face. Of course it had to be him.

The bastard who had seduced his way through history, who never let anyone close, who could lie with a straight face even when she knew he was breaking inside. The bastard who was currently drowning in his own guilt over a decision they had both made.

And she was left alone in her own head, with nowhere to put the tangled mess of thoughts clawing at her.

She closed her eyes, exhaling sharply.

Fine. If she had no one to talk to, she’d just have to figure this out on her own.

And she had a feeling it wasn’t going to be easy.

¤¤¤¤¤

Lane sat on the couch, scrolling through her phone, when she casually said, “I’m thinking of joining a book club.”

Crowley, standing by the liquor cabinet, pouring himself a Scotch, barely looked up. “A book club?” he repeated, arching a brow. “Why in Lucifer’s name would you want that?”

She shrugged. “I just want someone else to talk to.”

His glass paused halfway to his lips. Someone else.

His jaw tightened, but he forced his expression into something unreadable. “Right,” he muttered, taking a slow sip of Scotch. “Of course.”

She’s already sick of being near me.

The thought struck before he could shove it away. After everything, after all we’ve been through, she wants someone else to talk to.

Not him.

Not the bloody King of Hell who had given her everything, who had—Hell, who had let her in more than he had let anyone in.

And yet, it wasn’t enough.

She wanted more.

He turned away, staring into the amber depths of his glass, his grip tightening around it.

What does she want that I can’t give her?

Then another thought—a darker one, an uglier one—crept in.

I own her soul.

His shoulders stiffened at the reminder. No matter how much she might pull away, no matter how many book clubs or distractions she sought out—she was his.

Her soul was bound to him, woven into the very fabric of his power.

He could feel her, even when she wasn’t near. Could snuff out every thought of escape with a snap of his fingers.

Not that she was trying to escape, of course. Not yet.

But the very fact that his mind had gone there irritated him.

I’ve never been this bloody pathetic before.

He tossed back the rest of the Scotch, the burn barely registering.

What did he care if she wanted to chat about books with some strangers?

What did he care if she was already looking for something beyond him?

Nothing, he told himself.

Absolutely nothing.

¤¤¤¤¤

Lane stood in front of the mirror, fixing her hair as she finished applying a final touch of mascara. She wasn’t dressing up—it was just a book club, after all—but she still put in more effort than usual. A fitted sweater, dark jeans, and boots. Casual but put-together. Presentable.

Behind her, she could feel Crowley’s presence even though he hadn’t said a word. He sat in his usual chair by the fireplace, a book open in his hands, but she knew he wasn’t reading.

His silence was too pointed.

“You sure you don’t mind that I took the car?” she asked, pretending not to notice the way he had been subtly brooding since she mentioned the book club.

Crowley didn’t look up. “Cars are too slow anyway.”

The response was casual, almost bored, but she caught the sharp edge to his voice beneath it.

He wasn’t angry. Not exactly.

But he sure as hell wasn’t indifferent either.

Lane smirked, adjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “Right. Because teleportation is just so convenient for blending in.”

Crowley flipped a page in his book, still pretending to be uninterested. “One of its many charms, darling.”

Lane rolled her eyes but let it slide. She wasn’t about to poke the bear when he was already acting like he had swallowed a lemon.

“Alright,” she sighed. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

Crowley didn’t reply immediately, just turned another page. Then, just as she was about to walk out, he said—still without looking up—“Be careful.”

It wasn’t a warning. It wasn’t a command.

It almost sounded like… concern.

Almost.

Lane paused at the door, watching him for a second. The firelight flickered against his face, but his eyes remained locked on the book in front of him.

She smiled to herself. “Always.”

And with that, she left.

The second the door closed behind her, Crowley snapped his book shut and scowled.

¤¤¤¤¤

Lane parked the car outside the restaurant, gripping the steering wheel as she exhaled slowly.

You can do this.

It wasn’t a hunt. There were no ghosts, no demons, no apocalyptic stakes. Just a book club. A normal, harmless book club.

So why did it feel like she was about to walk into a lion’s den?

She glanced at her phone, reading over the group message one last time. Private room. Back entrance leads straight to it. Just ask for us at the front.

Lane sighed, running a hand through her hair. “This was a stupid idea,” she muttered, but before she could turn the key and drive away, she caught her reflection in the rearview mirror.

She looked... anxious. Not in a fight-or-flight way—just off.

For months, her world had been demons, blood, Crowley, and the occasional Winchester intervention. This was something new. Something hers.

And she wasn’t going to chicken out now.

With one last deep breath, she grabbed her bag, stepped out of the car, and headed inside.

¤¤¤¤¤

The restaurant was sleek, modern, and too expensive. The kind of place where the servers barely acknowledged you unless you looked like you belonged.

Lane approached the host stand, smoothing her sweater down like that would somehow make her fit in better. “Uh, I’m here for a book club? Private room?”

The hostess barely blinked before nodding. “Of course, right this way.”

As Lane followed, she could already hear polished, cheerful laughter drifting from behind a set of carved wooden doors. The hostess pushed them open, and Lane stepped inside.

The VIP room was stunning. A long table with plush chairs, warm lighting, and a row of expensive wine bottles lining the far wall.

But Lane barely noticed any of it because all eyes were suddenly on her.

“Oh! You must be Lane!”

A woman—probably mid-forties, blonde, immaculate—rose from her seat and smiled. “We were wondering when we’d finally meet you. You live in the big house over the way, don’t you?”

Lane hesitated. The big house over the way.

So… they knew. They didn’t know who she lived with, apparently, but they knew about the house. Crowley’s house.

Lane forced a polite smile. “Uh, yeah. That’s me.”

The woman clapped her hands. “Wonderful! Come, sit! We just ordered another bottle.”

Lane moved to take a seat, feeling the scrutinizing glances of every woman at the table.

Oh, God. What have I done?

She wasn’t in a book club.

She had just walked into a suburban socialite sect.

¤¤¤¤¤

Lane stepped into the house, closing the door behind her with a little more force than necessary. She dropped her bag by the entryway, exhaling through her nose.

She’d survived. Barely.

Crowley was lounging in the living room, a glass of Scotch in hand, his feet propped up on the coffee table like he owned the place—which, technically, he did. He didn’t even look up as he spoke.

“Enjoy your little bookish soirée, darling?”

Lane straightened, rolling her shoulders back. No way in hell was she going to admit how absolutely insufferable those women were.

“Oh, it was great,” she said, a little too enthusiastically. “Really fun. They’re all very… welcoming.”

Crowley hummed, taking a sip of his drink, finally glancing at her. “Is that so?”

“Yep,” Lane nodded, slipping off her jacket. “Super nice. Talkative. Invited me to some… brunch thing next weekend.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow, clearly seeing right through her. “How positively thrilling.”

Lane huffed, avoiding his gaze as she grabbed her bag again. “I’m gonna shower.”

“Of course you are.”

She didn’t stick around to hear the amusement in his voice.

¤¤¤¤¤

Lane twisted the shower knob, letting the water warm up as she tugged off her sweater. She was already over this whole stupid book club thing, but she’d committed. And now there was the matter of the brunch.

Crowley was still in the living room, probably nursing his Scotch and smirking at the ceiling, thinking about how easily he’d seen through her lies.

Well, two could play at that game.

“Crowley!” she called over the sound of running water.

There was a pause. Then, lazily, “Yes, love?”

She smirked to herself. Perfect.

“The girls at book club are bringing their husbands to brunch next weekend.” She let the statement hang in the air for a second, then added, “Thought I’d extend the invitation.”

Another pause. This one longer.

She could feel his hesitation through the damn walls.

“…Is that so?” His voice was slow, measured.

“Yep,” she said, stepping into the shower, keeping her tone light. “I figured, if you didn’t want to go, I could just ask Dean.”

Dead silence.

Lane grinned.

She didn’t hear footsteps. Didn’t hear the door creak. But suddenly, Crowley’s voice was much closer, right outside the bathroom.

“Try that, darling,” he said, voice deceptively smooth, dangerously low, “and I’ll turn your beloved brunch into a bloodbath.”

Lane bit her lip to keep from laughing. “So that’s a yes?”

A long exhale. Then, begrudgingly—

“…Fine.”

Satisfied, she tipped her head back into the hot water, victorious.

¤¤¤¤¤

The restaurant was too bright, the air thick with the scent of fresh flowers and too many perfumes fighting for dominance. Lane wasn’t sure if the headache creeping in was from that or from the shrill, saccharine laughter that echoed across the long brunch table.

It was a lifestyle brunch. That’s what they called it.

The suburban socialites oozed energy, all pastel-colored dresses and delicate jewelry, their smiles too wide, their enthusiasm almost cult-like.

Lane sat beside Alicia, the ringleader of this Stepford brigade, who had perfected the art of asking invasive questions under the guise of friendliness.

“So, Lane, how long have you and your husband lived in the big house over the way?”

Lane had taken one sip of her mimosa before nearly choking on it.

“Uh—”

“Oh, don’t be shy, dear,” another woman, Meredith, chimed in, leaning in conspiratorially. “We never see him. We were starting to think he was imaginary.”

Imaginary. Right. The King of Hell, a figment of her imagination.

Lane forced a polite smile. “He’s, uh… very busy.”

“You must tell us what he does!” Alicia pressed, eyes bright with intrigue.

Murder, mayhem, soul bartering.

“He’s in—” Lane hesitated, searching for a lie that wouldn’t sound ridiculous. “—business.”

That seemed to satisfy them. “Oh, I knew it,” Meredith nodded. “The powerful, mysterious type.”

Alicia sighed dramatically. “I just love a man who can take charge.”

Lane wasn’t touching that.

At that moment, a chirpy voice from across the table derailed the conversation.

“Let’s take a picture, ladies!”

Lane blinked, suddenly caught in a flurry of lipstick reapplications, hair fluffing, and poses. She barely had time to adjust before Alicia grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the center of the group.

“Oh, wait—where’s your husband?” Meredith frowned, looking around.

Lane glanced toward Crowley, who was standing near the bar, phone pressed to his ear, eyes sharp, tone clipped.

“On a call,” she said.

“Pity!” Alicia pouted. “Well, smile, dear!”

Click.

The moment the camera flashed, Lane knew she was never escaping the group chat that was about to be formed.

She barely had time to process that before she heard Crowley’s voice cut across the restaurant.

“I swear on Hell’s throne, if one more person calls me ‘pal,’ I will blast them into next Tuesday.”

Silence.

The brunch table froze.

Lane pressed her lips together to keep from laughing as every pastel-draped woman turned toward where Crowley stood, his phone now very much away, his patience clearly gone.

One of the husbands, Chad—because of course his name was Chad— cleared his throat and chuckled awkwardly.

“Uh, all in good fun, pal.”

Lane didn’t need to see Crowley’s face to know that man had just sealed his fate.

¤¤¤¤¤

Lane smoothly excused herself from the group, weaving through the brunch-goers until she reached Crowley, who was already nursing a glass of whiskey at the bar. He looked wholly unimpressed with his surroundings, swirling the amber liquid like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to this ghastly event.

She leaned in, lowering her voice. “Tell me you don’t actually plan to blast Chad.”

Crowley didn’t even glance at her, instead taking a slow sip of his drink. “Not unless he calls me ‘pal’ again.”

Lane narrowed her eyes. “Crowley.”

He finally met her gaze, exhaling dramatically. “Fine. Your precious Chad shall live to wear boat shoes another day.”

Lane smirked. “What a saint you are.”

Crowley clicked his tongue, leaning closer, voice dropping to something just for her.

“What I wouldn’t do for you.”

Lane barely had time to react before he lifted his drink again, effectively hiding behind it, as if he hadn’t just said that.

Her stomach fluttered against her will.

Damn him.

¤¤¤¤¤

The drive home was quiet, the kind of silence that wasn't awkward but rather filled with thoughts neither of them voiced. Lane tapped her fingers against the car door, still digesting the sheer absurdity of the suburban cult she'd apparently joined.

Crowley, for his part, looked thoroughly exhausted, like he'd been forced to sit through a three-hour seminar on personal finance—which, in his mind, was probably the equivalent of eternal damnation.

“So,” she finally said, breaking the silence. “Thoughts?”

Crowley let out a derisive scoff, adjusting his cuffs like even speaking of the experience dirtied him. “Hell has more dignity than that soiree.”

Lane snorted. “Oh, come on, it wasn’t that bad.”

Crowley turned to her, brow arching. “You, my dear, are a filthy liar.”

She smirked, shrugging. “Fine, it was weird.”

“Understatement of the bloody century.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “There was a Chad, Lane. A Chad.”

Lane bit her lip to keep from laughing.

By the time they got home, she was already kicking off her shoes, stretching out her arms with a sigh. “I don’t know how these women do this every weekend. That was exhausting.”

Crowley loosened his tie, already pouring himself a drink. “We could always fake your death. I have demons for that.”

Lane smirked, shaking her head as she headed for the bedroom. “Tempting.”

She changed into one of her oversized shirts, the one that barely brushed mid-thigh, while Crowley lingered in the doorway. It had become second nature for him to follow her to bed, slipping under the covers without a thought, even if he never slept much.

But tonight—tonight he hesitated.

Lane, already settled on her side, caught the brief falter in his movement.

She didn’t call it out. Didn’t press him. She only watched as he forced himself to move naturally, sliding into bed beside her like he always did, though his body was just a little more stiff than usual.

Neither of them spoke about it.

But when she turned, curling slightly toward him, Crowley let out a breath and gave in—his arm moved, resting naturally around her waist as she pressed against his side.

¤¤¤¤¤

When Lane stirred, she immediately felt it—warmth, solid weight, steady breathing.

Crowley’s arm was still around her.

For a moment, she simply lay there, heart fluttering in a way she wasn’t ready to unpack. She could feel the slow, deep rise and fall of his chest, his hand resting lightly on her hip.

Then, as if sensing her awareness, he stirred.

She felt him tense—just for a second—before relaxing again, as if deciding against pulling away.

Lane smirked to herself.

Progress.

[tumbleweedstillhaspanic]

All as it Should Be: Crowley/Reader Chapter One

An unexpected run in with a djinn sends Crowley into the life of his dreams married to one Y/N Winchester. Will the King of Hell wake up in time to save himself? Will he want to wake up even if remaining in his ideal dream life kills him? Waking up and facing reality just might mean confronting the complicated status of whatever has been happening between him and Moose and Squirrell's lovely sister. Crowley has never done well with feelings given his demonic nature and Y/N's brothers aren't quite accepting of his fondness for their beloved sister. Perhaps a dream where he gets to have the woman his heart desires is worth it even if it's not real? Is facing reality a risk the King of Hell is willing to take? Not all in this fantasy world is as it should be, but is Crowley willing to risk facing the truth

==========

The sleek black SUV turned onto a road leading into a simple looking suburban neighborhood. The driver of the vehicle felt the stress of the day slide further and further from his frame the closer he got to home. 

The driver sang along softly to the sound of the Rolling Stones playing over the radio knowing most would be shocked to find that he had quite the pleasant singing voice though it was as low pitched as the usual deep gravel of his speaking voice. He sang along to the lyrics to Sympathy for the Devil as he neared the end of the block where his home sat.

The home was probably not the most impressive if you were to ask for the opinion of some of the friends he’d left behind in New York. The simple two story home was the epitome of an apple pie all american suburban home, complete with the white picket fence. Rose bushes adorned the lush front yard, Y/N’s work, she turning down his suggestion of hiring a landscaper to care for the  yard.

The home at least sat on a large lot though in Crowley’s opinion it made the little home seem all the more petite. 

The white siding of the home was a bit faded, the house being a bit of a fixer upper when it had been purchased. At least the roof was fresh and new, the previous owner having replaced it after a bad storm the spring before the house had gone up for sale. The kitchen had needed a major upgrade though and the wallpaper had to come down in a few rooms, looking far too yellowed with time for comfort. 

Crowley had of course tried to talk his love into something much more deserving of her, but she’d fallen in love with the little two story home talking a mile a minute about the veggie garden she wanted to plant in the massive backyard and the cute little floral wallpaper in the downstairs bathroom. 

He’d been unable to deny her of her desire for the simple little home even though in his opinion she deserved a grand estate filled with the latest luxuries.

When he’d expressed this opinion she’d only rolled her eyes, remarking that she’d settle for the luxury of a pricey kitchenaid mixer instead. He’d only huffed mumbling something about how two out of three of the Winchester offspring had an obsession with baked goods which had of course earned him a playful smack to the side.

Crowley Macleod knew that no other woman could have possibly talked him into living so happily in someplace far less grand than the luxury condo and fine family estates he’d left behind when he’d made the leap moving to Lawrence, Kansas of all places.

The things he’d done for love.

When he’d taken a business trip to the midwest he had never expected it to change the trajectory of his life.

He’d been long running the family business of producing and distributing luxury scotch whiskey and his business was looking to expand outside of the United Kingdom. It was easy enough to import the luxury scotch to the states, but he’d thought it might be a wise investment to set up a much larger secondary location stateside. He had done well for himself building up the small but successful distillery that had been part of his massive inheritance. The little business had long been in his family, and he had built it into a grand empire of sorts. It was now time to expand the business. He’d already set up shop in New York, but the Big Apple was not the best spot for a distillery.

He had looked at some land out in New Jersey but had sought out something where the skies were a little bluer and the land was a little less factory filled.  

He’d found some beautiful land right outside of Lawrence, Kansas that he had decided would be perfect to set up a distillery stateside. 

He’d only been in town for a few weeks when he’d met the love of his life.

Y/N Winchester was not what he’d been expecting. He’d been attracted to the much younger woman the moment his eyes had met hers at a little bar near the hotel he’d been staying in.

She’d been on a girl's night but that had not stopped her from noticing the man at the bar nor had it stopped her from accepting his offer to buy her a drink.

She’d always been a sucker for an accent and Crowley MacLeod had the loveliest British accent that had done the strangest things to her heart. His voice could easily be described as a rich velvet so much more refined that the local male population who usually gave her their attention despite the attempts at intimidation from her two brothers and an overprotective Godfather.

Crowley had his fair share of female attention, but he’d not quite been willing to tie himself down. He played the field and sought out companionship for one night but nothing more when the need arose. He was a lifelong bachelor too tied up in his business ambitions to settle down despite his mother’s nagging that he was her only shot at grandchildren. 

Falling hard for Y/N had been so unexpected. He’d found he was infatuated with the young woman; she was so seemingly independent and quite frustratingly stubborn when it came to falling so easily for the usual charms he might pull on women.

She had entertained his offers for shared drinks that night at the bar, but he’d had to put in some work to gain her phone number. It had taken quite a few phone calls and it had maybe taken more than one bouquet of flowers for him to talk her into an actual date. 

The first date had done it though. The attraction between Crowley and Y/N could only be described as magnetic. He was unlike any other man she’d ever met; sophisticated, intelligent, witty, confident, and secretly quite prone to lavish her with attention and gifts.

Although she had proven to be quite headstrong when it came to accepting his attempts to woo her with gifts. It had taken a bit of work on his end to convince her that he had zero ulterior motives when he’d presented her with bouquets of roses and boxes of Belgian chocolates.

He’d spent about two months balancing setting up the newest MacCleod Glencraig Whiskey distillery right outside of Lawrence and romancing the vibrant young woman who had so easily enraptured him.

When the business trip had come to an end, he’d been shocked by her willingness to try a long-distance relationship. It seemed that she had sensed that perhaps Crowley MacLeod was worth the complications of doing long-distance.

A year of long-distance had led to the realization that Crowley MacLeod wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his days with Y/N.

He’d talked her into visiting him at his old family estate in the Scottish countryside and a marriage proposal had been made which had led to quite the shocking compromise from Crowley.

He knew he had a reputation for being quite selfish and unwilling to compromise when it came to his desires outside of working the usual business dealings, but when it came to Y/N he would fold so easily.

He’d agreed that they would settle down in her hometown in Kansas, Y/N unwilling to leave behind her troublesome brothers nor the life she’d built in Lawrence.

Moving the day-to-day workings of his business had not been difficult. He was the owner of the business after all. He had simply moved his home office to the Lawrence location and made it work traveling up to the northeast or the UK when he needed. 

Crowley had relented to his beloved’s longing to remain in her hometown, settling down into a sleepy domestic routine and he would not trade it for the world.

He parked the SUV, pulling the keys from the ignition, and retrieving his briefcase from the passenger's seat.

He made his way up the walkway giving a polite wave to his neighbors as he made his way to the front door.

He did not bother with the house key knowing his Y/N was home, he had spotted her little green Volkswagen beetle in the driveway.

He felt every last ounce of the tension of the workday melt away as he entered the walkway shutting the door behind him.

His eyes met a delightful sight; Y/N bent over in front of a massive black German Sheppard her voice a sweet sugary tone as she handed a treat over to the dog. “That’s a good girl Juliet, such a good pup for Momma. Yes, you’re Momma’s good girl.”

Crowley spoke an amused tone clear in his voice as he deposited his briefcase and his black wool coat in the coat closet at the front entryway. “I thought she was Papa’s Good girl.”

Y/N stood up a slow sultry smile crossing her features as she made her way over to him, a playful tone entering her voice. “She might be Papas' good girl as much as she's Mama's, but I have found that I am Daddy’s good girl.”

The low growl that left his lips caused her to smirk as she leaned up her lips sliding along his stubbled cheek, the facial hair a new development. He’d been clean shaven for a long while, but he’d decided it was time for a change. 

Marriage had quite the impact on him it seemed. He’d lost a little weight and seemed just a little less serious. It was clear he was taking better care of himself. He drank less and smiled far more. He found time to relax. He had something to live for outside his work ambitions. It seemed that a domestic routine agreed with him.

He placed his hands at her sides sliding them under the gray flannel she wore the soft cotton of the camisole top she wore underneath the flannel sliding against her skin. His hands ran down her sides resting against her denim clad backside the cut off shorts her usual go to during the summer months at least when he was not at work.

When she was at work, she tended to gravitate for sweet little sundresses that she found she could move freely in at the little bakery she’d been running for a long while now. She had a love for floral dresses despite her loungewear usually consisting of flannels, band shirts, denim shorts, or leggings. 

She had embraced the more traditionally feminine articles of clothing when she was out and about. She admitted that she had slowly had to learn how to be a proper girl in her own words, given that she’d been raised in a household raging with testosterone.

She had been raised by her father after the death of her mother when she was barely two years old. She had two brothers Dean who was two years older and Sam who was two years younger.

Both brothers were quite protective of their sister, it seemed they considered her to be more of a baby sister despite her being the middle child. Her father had passed on years ago rather suddenly which had only made her already overprotective siblings all the more irrational.

She had to learn how to be tough growing up. Her brothers may have babied her, but her father had been more of the tough love type. She’d been taught to fire a shotgun, throw a punch, and fix up a car. It seemed he’d raised her more like a son than a daughter.

As she’d entered her teen years, she’d leaned more into wanting to be less like the son her father had raised. She had chosen to rebel against her father’s parenting choices by taking an interest in baking, make-up, sewing, and activities that her brothers showed so little interest in.

She insisted that her father had loved her, but he’d had little idea of how to connect with her. She’d reminded him of her mother she’d insisted. She had been a stark reminder of Mary Winchester.

Perhaps that was why Dean and Sam took such great care in nurturing her in their own neanderthal-like ways. She was their delicate little angel of a sister, and no one touched her or they dealt with the Winchester brothers. Y/N was always quick to remind them that while she might bake a lovely cherry pie, she could throw a mean right hook despite Dean and Sam’s belief that she needed their protection.

In Crowley’s opinion Y/N’s childhood had not been ideal and her brothers did not treat her with nearly the respect she deserved. Although he’d never met her father, he held less than favorable opinions about the man. He had met her brothers and disliked them immensely though he knew the feeling was mutual.

His own childhood had been less than ideal. He had not even known his father and his mother had been neglectful when it came to showing affection at best. Though his marriage and the love of his wife had pushed him to attempt to form some sort of connection with his mother, he could admit that his feelings for Rowena MacLeod were less than fuzzy even if the woman did seem to adore her daughter-in-law.

Needless to say, Y/N’s daddy issues matched his mommy issues. Perhaps that was why they’d connected so deeply as their relationship progressed.

He did not have much time to focus on thoughts of their less-than-ideal childhoods Y/N’s lips sliding so sinfully along his jawline. He spoke unable to stop himself from teasing her. “You know I might just think you missed me today.”

“No idea where you’d get an idea like that.” She teased back her hands sliding up his torso settling at his silk tie she easily loosening it. 

She spoke a familiar seductive tone entering her voice. “You are far too formal.”

“Oh, whatever shall we do about that.” He replied a low chuckle leaving him as she pulled his tie from his collar tossing it on the sofa behind her.

“I have a few ideas.” She replied, her lips sliding along his he eagerly returning her affections.

He groaned as a familiar ringtone interrupted the delightful direction this was clearly headed. She pulled her lips from his, her eyes cutting over to the coffee table where her cell phone sat. He sighed the blasted Van Halen song playing on the phone connected to the number of one of his least favorite individuals. 

He spoke his voice a rare pleading tone. “Just ignore it, Love. He can leave a message.”

“You know he usually doesn’t reach out, Crowels. I have to take it…he’s trying.” She replied he reluctantly allowed her to pull away from him.

Crowley felt a scowl develop along his features, his shoulders tightening as he watched her pick up her cell phone, sending him an apologetic look. “Hey, Dean.”

Crowley sighed, dropping down on the sofa resisting the urge to pout too much as he listened to her talk on the phone trying to gauge the direction of the conversation.

There had been too many phone calls he’d witnessed Y/N have with her older brother where Crowley was left wanting to rip Dean Winchester limb to limb. 

Dean’s overprotective tendencies tended to trend to asshole behavior. Crowley had little tolerance for tears the behavior brought out in his love.

She sighed pacing the room, her shoulders tensing as they usually did when she was feeling anxious. “Of course, Dean, we're still on for tomorrow night. I’m glad we agreed to a family dinner night. I’m sure I’m fine with hosting. Crowley and I have already done all the shopping for a good pot roast. I know you love my pot roast. I can’t say Sammy feels the same, but he can be tempted by the garlic mashed potatoes even if he’s on another one of his kale filled health kicks.”

She paused a nervous laugh leaving her. “I promise there will be pie.”

Crowley couldn’t stop himself from grumbling even if he knew she could damn well hear him. “He doesn’t deserve your baking.”

She sent him a small glare as she continued to speak. “Yes, Seven Sharp. We’re looking forward to it. Goodbye, love you too.”

She sent Crowley another glare, the man unable to hold back his sharp tongue. “Who are we you’re speaking of who is looking forward to this dinner?”

She dropped her cell on the coffee table sitting down beside him on the sofa with a huff. “Be nice, he’s trying. At least they’re agreeing to family dinners. That’s progress. It’s just going to take time.”

“He’s had time, Darling. You give those bloody brothers of yours far too many chances.” Crowley grumbled, unable to stop himself from voicing his true thoughts out loud.

The subject of the dynamics between her and her brothers was the source of quite a few arguments between Crowley and Y/N. He disapproved of her brother’s treatment of her, and she tended to attempt to play off the hurt feelings that often came with her brother’s attempts to protect her.

In Crowley's opinion Dean and Sam did not want to admit that their sister was a grown woman who was perfectly capable of handling herself. She was strong willed, intelligent, kind, and resilient. They saw her as some little girl who needed her brothers to make all her choices for her. They overstepped their place in her life and squashed over her opinions. They might love her, but they did not respect her.

She reached out placing a hand against Crowley’s cheek forcing him to look at her. “Please don’t start this, Crowels. We’ve had this talk time and time again and my stance is not changing. I hate this talk.”

Crowley shook his head a huff leaving him. “And I hate that Moose and Squirrel squash every boundary you place. You’re a grown woman, Darling. You have your own business which you run just fine without them. You don’t need their approval for every little choice you make.”

She sighed, the look in her eyes making a sense of guilt hit Crowley like a punch to the head. Now, he’d done it. His attempts to defend her had only upset her. Wasn’t that how this fight always went?

He spoke again trying to smooth it over. “You can’t fault me for not liking it, Love. I tend to get a little grouchy when it comes to someone hurting the woman I adore.”

She pressed a soft kiss to his cheek fast to speak. “I know, I know you only say it because you care. Trust me though, my brothers and I are complicated. Unpacking all that shit takes work. We might love each other but we’re both pretty good at hurting each other’s feelings. It’s just how we are. It’s a delightful little side effect of how we were raised. You can’t fight those demons overnight.”

Crowley sighed, biting his tongue, tempted to point out that the siblings' complicated dynamics had been fostered by their father. The demons the siblings carried were a result of a broken man who had let his own demons lead to the siblings practically raising one another. Of course, the family dynamics weren’t the most stable.

Crowley frowned at the thought…demons…

He felt an odd sensation begin to develop in the base of his gut at the choice in words. Something seemed so strange. Something wasn’t right.   

His eyes searched his surroundings as the thought clawed at the back of his brain. Something was wrong about all of this. 

His attentions were pulled by a soft caress to his cheek, her voice a siren's song. “Baby, you look a little lost. Are you okay?”

He turned to face her his eyes meeting hers, all thoughts of things seeming so peculiar leaving his mind. “Just tired, Love.”

She giggled, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “If you think you’re tired now, just you wait. This time next year we’ll be downright drained.”

He chuckled, his hand pressing against her stomach. The raise to her belly was barely evident. To the naked unknowing eye it looked as though she’d simply gained a little weight.

She spoke needing to say the words. “I need to get things right with my brothers Crowels. We owe that much to him or her. I don’t want to have to worry about this kid seeing their father and their uncles constantly at one another’s throats.”

He sighed, guilt sweeping over him. He wanted to argue that the tension between her brothers and he was all the Winchesters doing. He was totally innocent.

Though he knew he wasn’t entirely innocent. He’d met snarky comments from Dean with more than a few barbed words of his own. Sam usually attempted to keep the peace, but he was obviously not on Crowley’s side in any of this. 

He knew the Winchester brothers did not think he was worthy of their sister. They had made that fact known.

They thought he was far too old for her, far too snobbish, far too arrogant. He would be lying if he tried to claim he was not a bit of an arrogant prat at times, but he refused to allow her brothers to tell him that he did not deserve her love. 

Dean and Sam Winchester had no right telling Y/N who to love.

“I know, Love. I’m sure our little love will soften the tension between me and the boys. Though I will miss our frenemy energy.” He remarked she giving his shoulder a playful smack.

He chuckled at the action. “Rude.”

He pressed his lips to hers as she spoke. “I think I’ve made my stance with my brothers quite clear. Pretty sure I laid down the law on our wedding day.”

He chuckled remembering she bluntly telling her brothers that if they dared to object to her union with Crowley, she would castrate them both. 

It seemed that both boys realized it was in their best interest to not ruin their sister’s big day. Y/N was not above becoming a bridezilla if she had to. 

Dean had drank a little too much at the wedding and glowered through most of the festivities, but he’d at least kept his lips shut. Sam had maybe more than once asked her though if she was sure about marrying Crowley.

Despite her brother’s sour moods their wedding day had been the happiest day of Crowley's life or at least it had been one of the happiest days along with the day they’d found out they were expecting.

He ran a hand up and down her stomach, the action soothing his worries over her brothers. She was nearing the end of the danger zone, and it was finally time to share their big news with everyone. 

It had not been an easy road for them. She’d already endured a previous miscarriage. It had been heartbreaking, and Crowley hoped and prayed to anyone who cared to listen that she did not have to endure that pain again.

It seemed that someone was listening to his prayers because the pregnancy had taken and the little life within her was growing strong and healthy.

He sank into her kisses, overjoyed at the thought of his child growing within her. He made a silent promise that he would be an amazing father.

He would do it right this time around. He would not make the same mistakes he’d made with Gavin.

He frowned at the thought…Gavin? Who in the hell was Gavin?

Y/N noticed the stillness of his lips she pulled back concern washing over her features. “My Love, are you okay? You’re getting lost in thought again. You seem uneasy.”

She stroked his cheek as she spoke again. “If you’re worried about the baby, I want you to wipe all those fears from your mind. We are both just fine.”

Something did not seem right about all of this. Who was Gavin? Why did the phrase fighting demons seem to spark a sense of unease in him? She spoke again, looking all the more concerned. “Crowley, talk to me, Baby. Have I done something wrong? You seem upset.”

The distress in her voice pulled him from his thoughts. He hated how frightened and guilt-ridden she sounded.

She was so sweet and so loving. She was more than he could ever be certain he deserved. 

She should never sound so distressed especially if it was due to him. He loved her. He more than loved her. He worshiped her. He would give her the universe, no questions asked.

He spoke shushing thoughts that something seemed off. She was right. He was just tired and worried about the baby and her brothers being flannel clad nightmares. 

“I apologize darling. I think it’s the heat.” He reassured her a smile crossing her features.

She pressed a kiss to his cheek, a playful tone entering her voice. “I know you love those tailored suits, Crowels. But I think it’s time I get you out of that suit.”

He chuckled as she stood from the sofa pulling him along behind her with a surprising amount of strength. “I think you said something similar to that the night I knocked you up.”

“Very funny, although I wouldn’t mind repeating that night…even if I’m already knocked up.” She joked, causing a low growl to leave his lips.

He grasped on to her backside, his lips meeting hers in a deep searing kiss, all thoughts of anything seeming off fading far from his mind.

There was not a thing wrong. Everything was as it should be.

[castielscaplan]

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!!\\

[lokischickadee]

Yes!!!

This is all I want. Crowley and Lucifer running Hell together.

Picture not mine.

[crazyk-imagine]

Ruined Relationships, but the Love is There

Pairing: Mark Sloane x Ex-Girlfriend!reader

Characters: Mark Sloane, Ex-Girlfriend!reader, Kara Sloane, Jackson Avery, April Kepner, Meredith Grey, Christina Yang, Derek Sheppard, George O'Malley, Owen Hunt, Addison Montgomery (briefly mentioned)

Warnings: Angst, fluff, cheating, adultery, ooc peeps, minor cursing, drama (what else would you expect), like a lot of drama, near death experience, classic grey's things going on here, cheating, bad relationships, mentions of pregnancy, keeping children hidden from father, car accidents, reader is a doctor, everyone is in kahoots, Christina is into beating, Meredith and Derek are cute, Bailey is great as always, George is here and lives, no mentions of Izzie or Alex, friendships between Mark and Meredith, plus Mark and Christina, Christina is a secret romantic at heart

Word Count: 4,593

A/N: I feel like everyone is ooc but idc bc I love this fic

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You ignore him, praying to whatever god is listening to keep him away from you.

Meredith and Christina notice the tension in your shoulders, sharing a look.

“You know I don’t care about a lot of people but, are you okay?” the curly haired female asks.

You shrug, acting as if nothing has changed. “I’m fine, why?”

Meredith chimes in. “You’re looking a little-“

“Squirrely?”

“I was gonna go with tense but squirrely works.”

You huff through your nose, “would you two shut up.” You hand the clipboard back to your favorite nurse, Marjorie. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” You spin around and walk out, not looking back.

Derek shakes his head, watching you basically run out of the hospital.

Mark glances behind him, not finding who he wanted and sighs. He looks up to see his friend and offers a small wave.

The ferry boat lover nods to acknowledge him.

The plastic surgeon bids the others goodbye and stands in front of the doors, thinking about everything that led him here.

You drive past him without realizing it as he thinks of your face when you caught him in bed with Addison.

His eyes trail on the car, wishing he could see you again and not just glimpses.

-

You roll your eyes and walk away across the bridge, not caring how unprofessional you look. “I’m not talking to you.”

He picks up his pace, following after you. “Please just-“

You scoff, spinning around to face him, “no, I tried before. I did and then,” you lean forward poking him in his chest, “you decided to stick your dick in someone else. Someone who was married and oh, yeah, not your girlfriend.” You cross your arms, “so, excuse me for not being particularly excited at the sight of you.”

“Fiancé.”

You blink once, furrowing your brows. “What?”

“I was,” he gulps. "I was going to propose to you that night.” He pulls the little black box out of his pocket, handing it to you.

”Before or after you screwed Addison,” you bitterly add, staring at the box. If you open it, that's giving him hope.

"I- she came to me and-“

You scoff hard enough for the vibrations to scratch your throat for a few seconds. “I cannot believe this- you- you think it’s okay to just- I’m done.”

“Please don’t,” he begs, eyes getting glossier the more you talk. “Don’t say it.”

Your bottom lip wobbles, removing your gaze from him. “I’m done with this, with us, and you. Now, you get to deal with the guilt. If you have any at all.” You slam the box in his hand and walk away.

Nothing could have prepared anyone at the hospital for this.

You know they’re all looking at you and it pisses you off. “What are you looking at?!”

Christina does damage control, stopping everyone from getting your wrath.

-

Meredith finds him in the on-call room, she was hoping to nap before joining in on a surgery but seems like the universe had other plans. ”You uh- okay?”

He fiddles with the box, staring at the diamond that taunts him. “Does it look I’m okay?”

She shrugs, “not really but it’s better than admitting you were stupid for messing things up with her.”

“My mistake brought Derek to you, didn’t it?”

“Why are you here?”

“If I go to Joe’s I’m going to sleep around, proving her point.”

“And staying here?”

“I don’t know where else to go. Derek is still upset with me, and I don’t blame him, but I know he loves you and I don’t need to hear a speech from him. I’m not ready for him to tell me I messed up more than any of us want to admit.”

“Why did you do it?”

“Do what?” He asks, finally looking up from the ring. “I was scared.”

“To,” she gestures to the ring.

“That and be a husband.”

“You weren’t scared of asking, it was the commitment that got you, I can understand it.”

“No, no," he shakes his head. "I didn’t think- I knew I wouldn’t be a good husband. I- everyone only saw the bad, my parents, Derek at times but she didn’t. She never did and that’s why I,” he lets out a tearful chuckle, “that’s why I fell for her. She saw the good no one else did and I screwed it up.”

Meredith hands him a tissue.

“You tell anyone about this, and I’ll let you observe one of my surgeries beside me.”

“I wasn’t but if you’re offering.”

The two chuckled.

-

Christina owlishly blinks, watching as you work on your last patient for the day as if nothing’s happened.

“How can she just put it all behind her?” George questions, sitting beside her.

“Having a nervous breakdown earlier in the day helps.”

“I feel like there should be someone sitting between us.”

The future cardiologist shrugs, “suit yourself.”

“You’re going to check on her after she’s done, right?”

“I’ll talk to her, if she opens up, good for her.”

A smile dances across his lips, happy that someone’s going to check on you; he likes you and admires your work, knowing you could be someone as well-known as Ellis Grey.

-

“Can you teach me your sutures?”

You ignore her and finish checking over your charts. “Yours are fine. Tell me the real reason you're bugging me.”

She purses her lips, not wanting to admit it out loud. “Are you okay?”

“You really want to know?”

She hesitates to nod. “I… do.”

“It sucks. Everything just… sucks. I don’t want to be here, but this is the only place that makes me feel calm.” You hand Marjorie the chart, smiling at her before returning to Christina. “I’m going to get through this. He’s going to find a nice girl and have the family he always wanted while I’ll still be here.”

“He’s going to go through girls like I go through tequila.”

“I know,” you grab your bag. “Which is why I know he’ll finally find his girl.”

She follows you until you reach the door. "What if it's you?"

A sad smile stretches across your lips. "He lost her."

”Forever?”

You shrug.

The resident stands there, unsure of what to do now.

-

You glance in his direction, wondering how many women he’s going to write down on the sheet. You hand yours back to Bailey, “I keep my life outside of work, unlike some people.”

Mark inwardly groans.

Bailey avoids making eye contact with him, she can’t continue to feel bad for him when he’s the one who messed things up (from what you told her).

You walk past the new residents, not in the mood to deal with them, especially with the girls fawning over Mark.

-

You sit down and watch his surgery, listening to the way he talks down to them.

You always told him he needs to slow down and be kind to them or else they won’t respect him but with everything that’s happened, you assume he’s a little bitter.

He always knows when you're watching and composes himself, but he can’t help and snap at the newbie (you don’t need to be talked about as if you’re a piece of meat). He glances up, catching your gaze.

You gulp, finding his soft expression he only used for you.

Everyone turns to you.

Two of the girls in orange start gossiping beside you.

“I have charts to look over. Come with me?” George asks.

You nod, finding it hard to keep your gaze off him but do so, only to inform the girls of some key information. “Keep talking like that and you two won’t find yourself off bedpan duty for a few months. Don’t talk about your superiors like that again."

The young faced one eyes widen and her face pales at your threat.

Mark can’t help but smirk behind his mask, always loving it when you straightened people out, if it was necessary.

-

"I see you two still aren’t talking.”

“Shut up, George.”

“Right, yeah. Got it.”

-

You try and ignore him again, which is when Derek steps in. “You should talk to him.”

“I know you two are all buddy buddy now, but I can’t do that. I can’t pretend like he didn’t break my heart in two. So, excuse me for ignoring your best friend."

He stops in front of you. “I need you to stop, think about this. What if you two don’t make amends and something happens? How would you feel? Think about how he would feel?”

“We’d be depressed, but eventually get over it, maybe be slutty for a few months and that’s the end of it.”

“That’s not a healthy way of dealing with your feelings and you know it.”

“I don’t care if it’s healthy or not. I have issues and I deal with them my way.”

“If you’d talk to him, maybe you’ll feel better.”

You roll your eyes and head into the prep station before you two head into surgery.

-

Bailey rolls her eyes, reaching for your phone. “Your phone keeps buzzing, doctor.”

You sigh, “does it look important?”

She leans closer, whispering, “it’s about your daughter.”

“Daycare or babysitter?”

“Babysitter. Fever, wants her mom.”

You take a deep breath and lean over to talk to your friend, “doctor Bailey’s going to take over. I need to go.”

“You’re leaving in the middle of a surgery?”

“I have to take care of something.”

“What?”

“My daughter.”

The staff in the OR got quiet, no one observing said anything.

You didn’t see the lights until it was too late.

-

“We got one adult in critical condition. One child with a minor bruising.”

Bailey and Owen are the first to arrive.

The woman’s eyes narrow to the familiar baby in Matt’s arms.

Owen steps forward. “What happened?”

“Car accident. Drunk ran a red light. Drivers side took more of the impact.”

“We need to get her checked out now.” The redhead pushes himself through, taking over one of the rooms. He tells the interns and fresh residents to prep a surgical room and put Christina on babysitting duty, leaving Jackson to follow him and Callie into the OR.

“I heard there was an accident,” Mark says, standing in the doorway. “I wanted to see if you needed any assistance?”

Callie glances at her ally in the room. “No, you should go check on Derek. I think I heard him calling for you.”

“When did he-"

“She’s coding,” Jackson interrupts.

“Crap! Avery, push one of epi.”

Everyone in the room prays for it to work and you to come back.

“Let me help,” he takes a step forward before being called away by one of the nurses.

-

He takes a sip of coffee, goes over the notes and overhears a few residents gossiping. His head whips in their direction. "Where'd you hear that?” He asks them, not accepting their answers.

They freeze. "Where did you hear that? Is she here?"

The group of residents’ glances at one another, unsure of what to say. "Who told you she's here?"

April had never worked with Mark before and seeing how freaked out he was over someone who wanted almost nothing to do with him, she felt bad; if someone she was in love with was hurt or worse, she'd want to know. "We- we saw her come in. They-"

He doesn't listen to anything else and takes off, running past Christina, who coddles the tear eyed, red faced toddler in her arms.

-

He runs straight towards Meredith, who's talking to Owen. "Where is she?"

The red head takes a step foward. "She's in surgery-"

"What room?"

"Sloan, you know I can't-"

He grabs Owen's scrubs by the collar and pulls him close. "I need to see her. I can't be here, waiting to see if she's dead or not. Tell me where she is."

The ex-vet slowly reaches for the man's hands. "Mark, I need you to calm down."

"How can I calm down when I just found out my fiancé is in surgery?"

-

Meredith takes a seat beside him, slumping against the wall, offering him a snack.

He shakes his head, closes his eyes and resting his head against the wall. "Have you heard anything?"

"No," she shakes her head. "I don't even know where she is."

"I just- what am I going to do if she's really-"

"Don't talk like that. She's not one to give up. She's-"

"A fighter?"

"Yeah."

Christina turns the corner, eyes wide. "Meredith?" She spots the two of them and runs towards them, inadvertently introducing your daughter to her father. "Mer. Mer. I need your help."

"Where did you get a baby?" She pushes herself off the floor. "Why do you have a baby?"

"Bailey put me on Kara duty and she won't stop crying."

"Whose baby, is it?"

That's when things got awkward.

Meredith's eyes widen, "no."

She nods.

Mark opens his eyes, glancing up. His eyes stop on the little girl, who glances his way.

She reaches for him. "Dada."

No one knew what to do.

"Oh my god," the two women muttered.

He pushes himself off the floor, staring at her. There's no mistaking it, she has your features, but she's got his eyes.

The little girl fusses in the woman's arms.

Mark easily slides her into his, his daughter settles into his arms, staring at him with those wide, curious eyes. "Mama?"

He gulps, "we have to wait a little bit before we see mama, okay?"

She nods and lays her head down on his chest.

He closes his eyes to keep his tears at bay, kissing the top of her head.

-

"She still loves you," Christina tells him.

He keeps his gaze on his girls and hums. "When you showed her the ring, she didn't say it was officially over for you two but she's still heartbroken over you and Addison getting together."

"I was getting ready to leave."

"What?"

"I grabbed my jacket and made sure I had the ring. I was- I wanted that night to go perfectly but then I opened the door, and she was there." He sighs.

"She let herself in and I tried to get her to leave but she wouldn't and then she kissed me. I told her I couldn't because I was about to become a proud married man," he bitterly chuckles.

"I told her no and she got upset because she knew she could always run to me but when she knew she couldn't anymore, she decided she wanted to love me. The way I wanted her to when we were younger. I accepted it, you know."

The woman nods.

"I accepted the fact that she chose Derek. He was a good choice."

"He was a safe choice, and she knew that."

Mark nods, "yeah and that's why I... tried to warn him before he proposed."

"You tried to warn him?"

"He's my best friend, I couldn't let him go into a marriage that was going to hurt him."

She chuckles, "that's ironic."

"Shut up, Yang."

"Go on."

"I gave into her because a part of me was scared- scared I was going to hear the rejection. No, I can't marry you because..."

"You're a manwhore?"

"Baby present and, yes. I didn't want my past to define my future but then, it did, and she left with Derek."

"Do you think Derek knew about," Christina gestures to the baby in his arms.

"Probably. I'm not happy I missed it but at least I know she had someone who could take care of her."

"Are you ever going to tell her?"

"If she'll listen."

Her pager beeps.

"Go, Yang. I'm not leaving."

Derek nods and steps into the room.

"You hear all that?"

His friend shrugs, "only the good parts."

"Funny."

"She was going to tell you before... everything happened but then she needed to get away and I did too-"

"So, she left without saying anything."

"If it means anything, she wrote a journal throughout the entire pregnancy, in case she passed, and Kara wanted to know about her mom."

He can tell by Mark's expression; he needs to explain.

"She was stressed throughout the entire pregnancy, and it was cause for concern. She had a few fainting spells and needed to stay home for a while. The doctor was making it seem like if she even went to the bathroom, she was going to lose Kara which scared her more than leaving you."

"Why?"

"If she lost Kara, it meant losing a piece of you which would have made her feel like it was officially over for the two of you."

Your heart monitor beeps. "Derek?"

His friend calms you down, checking you over before whispering that Mark and Kara are in the room.

You slowly turn your head, spotting them.

The father of your child smiles, relieved to see you awake. "Hey."

You spot your little girl tucked into his neck and tear up. You bring your hand up to your mouth to hide the sobs that want to escape.

Mark gestures for your guys' friend to exit so he can talk to you. He slowly pushes himself out of the chair, adjusting to the little girl. "Hey, hey," he brushes the few strands of hair out of your face, his thumb rubbing agaist your hairline. "What's going on in that pretty little head of yours?"

"I'm sorry."

He shakes his head. "Don't be. I'm just- I'm happy you're okay."

"I wanted to call you so many times."

"I know."

"I wanted you to be there."

"Where?"

"In the room," you whisper, staring into his eyes. "I didn't want her to be away from you but-"

He nods. "I know, I messed up. If I didn't- if it didn't happen, we could have been a family, and I will forever be sorry because you went through it alone."

Hearing your voice alerts the little girls’ ears and she squirms in his grasp.

He sets her feet on the open area near your arm, letting her turn around and launch herself into your arms. "Mama!"

"Oh, my sweet baby." You kiss the side of her head. "Mama missed you."

His heart swells at the sight of you two.

-

A few days later and you feel okay enough to be sent home.

You bid your goodbyes to everyone, even the newbies because they were nice enough to check in on you and make sure everything was okay. You step outside and take a deep breath.

"What do you think you're doing?"

A quiet moment ruined by your ex.

"I'm breathing, Mark. Can I do that, or do you need to make sure the weather's just right?"

He chuckles before getting out of the car. "You know your doctor gave you strict orders, I think you should be following them but that's just me."

You stare at him with a deadpan expression. "I got it, Mark. I know what I need to do, don't try and patronize me."

"I would never."

-

The residents huddle together, watching the two of you.

"How much do you want to bet that they're going to get back together?" Christina asks.

Jackson nods, "I'll take that bet."

Meredith stares at the two of them.

"You two are awful," April adds.

"Yes, but we'll be bad people with money," the future cardiologist tells her with a sarcastic smile.

Derek stops at the desk, taking a sip of his coffee before making his way to the group. "Okay, if we're all done gawking at two grown adults trying to move past their differences, can we get back to work?"

"You're no fun. I remember when you were having fun."

"You want to scrub in on my surgery, Dr. Yang?"

"Let's go have fun. See yah, Mer."

-

You make it through the door of your place and wait for it. "Say it."

"What?" He closes the door, setting the stroller by the door as he unbuckles Kara.

"I know you're judging, so, out with it. I'm not going to pretend as if you don't want to say something because you do."

"I don't," he notices the look you're giving him. "I... like it."

"You hesitated even finishing that sentence."

"I did not."

"Did too."

"Mama!"

You two glance down at the little girl, wanting attention and out of her father's grasp. You gently take her from him and wander into the kitchen, scouring through the cabinets to figure out what kind of things you could have as a snack.

This is what he wants, he wants this life: the one where you're not mad at him, and he can watch his daughter grow while you look amazing at being a mom.

He gulps down what little saliva he has in his mouth and takes a hesitant step closer to you. "What are we feeling?"

You hum, "I don't know, little miss here can't decide on what she wants."

"I can make something," he meekly offers, unsure if this is too much or not.

"What can you make? Last time I checked all you knew was protein smoothies and even then, that wasn't the best."

He scoffs, "I know how to cook, and you know it. You forget who made you dinner for our second date."

You open your mouth to respond but don't have it in you when you think about the good times you two had. Your gaze drops.

He feels bad but he can't pretend as if your romantic past doesn't exist. "I was so worried I messed up with that dinner."

"Really?"

"Of course, I was cooking for the most beautiful girl within a five-mile radius of my house. I was more than nervous."

"Good."

-

You step out of the room and start cleaning up, only for Mark to stop you and grab everything you pick up.

"I told you not to do anything. I got this."

You lean over the couch and watch him wander around your place. "Do you..."

"What?" He glances up, staring at you with kind eyes, wanting to hear what you have to say.

"Do you ever wonder what it would have been like if it didn't happen?"

"I know we'd be married with at least one other kid now."

"I'm serious."

"I don't want to focus on the past."

You scoff, rolling your eyes.  "Says the man who always wanted to ask about my exes."

-

You don't even know how it happened but here you are. You pull away, needing to breathe before continuing.

"Are you sure about this?"

You stare into his eyes, for what feels like an eternity. "I'm sure. I want this. Please," you beg.

His lips curve upwards, "who am I to deny you a fun time?"

You keep him at arm’s length, "that comment makes me want to rethink this whole thing."

"No, it doesn't."

You grumble and pull him back in for a kiss.

Meredith immediately closes the door, regretting not checking before opening. "Seriously you guys?"

You reach for your shirt and cover your mouth to hide your giggles, Mark turns to you with a smirk. "How do you know we weren't trying to invite you?"

"Because you know better."

Your eyes widen.

"Hey, Bailey," he says with a cool tone.

"You two better be out of there in the next five minutes or-"

You open the door and run past the two. "See yah, Bails. See yah, Mer."

Mark stays there flabbergasted at how quickly you ran out the door, leaving him to deal with her.

-

He closes the door just as you finish making dinner. "You are evil."

You stick your bottom lip out, "I don't think so, I made dinner. I'm going to be feeding you, I'd consider that to be something nice."

"You left me to deal with that- that woman alone."

"I left you with Bails, you were fine."

"I was not fine. I was far from fine."

You click your tongue, "stop exaggerating."

"I'm not and you know it."

"Okay," you groan. "I'm sorry. I left you with Bailey and that wasn't nice."

"It wasn't." He wraps his arms around your waist, resting his head on your chest.

"I said sorry, don't be like this."

"I think I'm going to need a little more in order to forgive you."

You lean into him as you settle into his arms.

The monitor goes off and you're brought back to the reality of you being in the arms of your ex.

You push yourself out of his grasp and walk towards her room. "Hey, pumpkin."

She holds her arms out for you.

You pick her up, "how's my little baby?"

She babbles a response. "Dada?"

"He's still here, checking on dinner. Your favorite."

"Maccheese!"

You chuckle, "yeah."

"There's my favorite girl," he smiles at the happy little girl.

You observe the way they interact with a heavy heart, knowing you can't continue doing this with him.

-

"What happened?" Christina asks, practicing new sutures on a banana.

"Nothing happened-"

"You're not sleeping with McSteamy, something happened."

"I just- I realized we need to not fall back into old habits."

"Do you still love him?"

You hesitate to answer.

"I'll take that as a yes."

"Of course, of course I still love him, but I can't be in love with him-"

"Because he was an adulterous whore?"

"Yeah."

"Have you seen him with anyone else?"

"I didn't need to see anything if all the girls talked about him?"

"Did you ever think maybe they lied? Maybe they're jealous of the fact that you have a hot guy fawning over you and only you. What else would they do other than gossip?"

"How am I supposed to believe that?"

"Have you ever talked to him?"

"I'm scared."

"So is he."

"I don't want to get hurt again."

"He wouldn’t want to lose you again."

"Christina?"

"Yeah?"

"You're wise beyond your years."

-

You run to him, pulling him into the break room.

He attempts to get up. "Shut up and let me talk."

You take a deep breath, "I want to be with you, like we were before but we're not those people anymore. And- and I want you to be in Kara's life so you can watch her grow up but this," you gesture between the two of you.

"This can only work if we're honest and you don't leave me for a quick lay or else, I will put you in an OR and change things about you. I will not put myself or Kara on the line if you're not going to give us your all."

He nods, taking in everything you've said. He pushes himself off the couch and walks towards you and pulls you in for a hug. "I'm never letting you go," he mumbles into your hair. "Living without you was the worst time of my life."

Mark pulls away, cupping your cheek, staring into your eyes. "If you let me into your lives, I promise not to mess it up because you two are too important to me and I don't know if I'd be able to live without you."

You sniffle, chuckling at his dorky smile. "Then don't be an idiot and kiss me."

-

"Finally," Christina turns around, pointing to everyone. "You all owe me money."

"Us."

"You owe Mer and I money."

Derek makes his way towards them. "What are we looking at?" He smiles, "good, it's about time he got his act together."

[meiplays]

Title: My Little Crow

Pairing: Crowley x Reader

Warnings: Pure fluff, soft!Crowley, pet names, mild possessiveness, emotional intimacy, Hell imagery, throne cuddles

Word Count: ~850

Summary: In the heart of Hell, Crowley lets down his guard for the only soul who ever made him feel human. His little crow.

A/N: Because we all deserve to be pampered on the King of Hell’s lap. He might rule with fire, but for you? He melts.

꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚

(The ai generated image of Crowley & Reader - Chefs Kiss)

The throne beneath you is stone and shadow, carved from pride and centuries of sin. But none of that matters—not when you’re curled up in Crowley’s lap, your body draped across his like you were made to rest there.

His hand strokes slow patterns on your back, the other tangled in your hair, knuckles brushing lightly behind your ear. His touch is gentle in a way that almost feels dangerous. As if softness, in this place, is the most forbidden thing of all.

“Settle in, my little crow,” he murmurs, voice all gravel and velvet. “The kingdom can wait.”

You sigh against him, your nose tucked beneath the edge of his collar, breathing in the scent of smoke, scotch, and something only you get to know. Something warm.

He presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

And then another.

And another.

“My precious little crow,” he whispers between kisses, each one like a litany. “My secret. My softness. My damnation.”

You smile, eyes half-lidded. “That’s dramatic, even for you.”

Crowley chuckles, low and fond. “Don’t mock me when I’m being sentimental, love.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

You shift, nuzzling closer, your legs draped over his thigh and your fingers lazily tracing the buttons of his shirt. His gaze drops to your hands—delicate, familiar, his—and for a moment, the weight of Hell, the politics, the games… it all vanishes.

“You make me forget what I am,” he murmurs. “What this place made me.”

“You don’t have to forget,” you say quietly. “Just… let me see the rest of you.”

He kisses you like an answer—slow, deep, and reverent. Not hungry. Not impatient. Just his little crow in his arms, his throne no longer cold, no longer empty.

“You’re the only creature who’s ever perched here without trembling,” he says against your mouth, and you laugh into the kiss.

“Maybe because I know you’d never drop me.”

His brows lift. “Never. I’d tear this place down first.”

There’s a flicker in his eyes then—something fierce, something feral—but it softens the moment you press your forehead to his. You can feel his breath against your lips, his hand cradling the back of your head like you’re the most delicate, most dangerous thing he’s ever touched.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs, not like a command—but like a prayer.

You nod, whispering, “Yours.”

Crowley tilts his head, lips ghosting over your cheek, your jaw, your throat. “My little crow,” he says again, like the name alone is sacred. “I should be punishing a traitor right now. Or at least brokering some ridiculous deal. Instead…”

“Instead, you’re pampering me,” you tease.

He smiles against your skin. “As if you don’t deserve every drop of it.”

You melt into him, the firelight flickering in the corners of the throne room. His hand roams from your waist to your shoulder, slow and languid, his thumb sweeping gentle strokes over your arm. Each movement says mine in a language older than words.

You wonder if any demon watching would even recognize him like this—crowned in shadows, but holding you like a star fallen into his lap. You wonder if they’d dare speak of it, the way the King of Hell becomes something else when his little crow is near.

He presses a kiss just below your ear. “I’d burn this whole bloody pit to keep you safe.”

“I know.”

“And if anyone touches a feather on my little crow’s head…”

“They won’t,” you interrupt, smiling softly. “No one gets close enough.”

Crowley leans back, watching you with something dangerously close to awe. His fingers find your hand, threading through your fingers with unexpected tenderness.

“Stay,” he whispers. “Just like this. A little longer.”

You settle against him again, the beat of his heart beneath your ear, his hand wrapped securely around yours.

“I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me.”

Crowley’s voice is quiet. “Forever, then.”

In the heart of Hell, its king sits on his throne—not alone, not cold—but with his little crow curled in his lap, kissed soft and worshipped quiet.

And for once, the fires do not roar.

They glow.

[lol-jackles]

Did you ever been to a SPN convention? And how was it?

Yes, twice. IMO, boring except for Jared, Jensen, Mark Sheppard, and Timothy Omundson. It’s an one-show convention so there’s less variety in the crowd and costumes, and the vendor room is small.

Fan-videos don't get across on how well Jared and Jensen work with each other during their panel; they're totally in sync and can basically read each other’s mind, it’s something you have to see live.

Me and my girlfriend went to our first SPN con in 2016. We’re the type of people that only need to experience something once, then we’re done.   Or so I thought. I end up going to a SPN con a second time in 2017 for the Sunday panel.  Readers, if you saw five biker-looking old farts at your convention, I was the good looking one.  They enjoyed the J2 panel very much and even shouted “Supernatural forever!” when a fan asked when they thought SPN would end.

Now that I write this, in retrospect this was around the timeline that I've speculated was when CBS approached Jared with an offer of a holding deal (X) and why Jensen pitched his Dean-led Supernatural at Comic Con (X). Remember kids, the official story that Jared and Jensen put out was they decided in 2017/18 during season 13 to give SPN "two more seasons". 

R.E.M song: that’s me in the corner yelling bullshit

Anyways, it was always crazy to me that SPN has its own convention over 3-day weekend.  Even crazier that they attempted a “spin off” SPN convention featuring just their supporting and one-off guest actors.  But that goes to show what a merchandise goldmine SPN was.

In all conventions I go to, I like to hang out in vendor rooms to chat up the vendors and get good stories out of them.  Occasionally actors will pop in and out unexpectedly and it was the same at SPN cons; Jensen looked like an athletic jock and Jared looked like a bean pole hipster.  IMO Jared looks better IRL than on screen because he’s less photogenic than Jensen whose face is more light friendly. 

[cuntiel]

Bobby would have this in his kitchen