#fergus macleod x reader

[happy74827]

The Demon With A Heart

[Crowley x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: When Crowley saves your life, you can't help but think it was a little more than self-interest.

WC: 1858

Category: 99.9% Sexual Tension (lmfao), 0.01% Fluff + Angst? {TW: Mentions of Demons (obvi), Murder}

Crowley is too iconic not to have fics. I said what I said.

『••✎••』

You didn’t know how to react. It was as if your tongue was taken away, and you couldn’t talk, no matter how much you wanted to thank the man.

No, the demon.

You stood there with wide eyes, staring at the King of Hell, Crowley. He looked the same as before: a clean suit, a snarky comment, and a look of disgust on his face. But, instead of being on the opposite side, he was wiping the blood off of the angel blade he used to kill the angel that jumped you.

He just saved you—The King of Hell.

The very man who told Sam and Dean countless times that he doesn't do anything for free and doesn’t help people without getting something out of it. Yet, here he was, standing in front of you, not asking for a single thing.

The thought was a bit unsettling.

"Purely out of self-interest, darling," He says, breaking the silence and putting the stolen blade into his jacket. "Call it a favor that I plan to collect in the future."

He was about to leave, but you couldn’t let him go. Not without a thank you, at least. You didn't want him to think you didn’t appreciate what he did.

"Crowley."

The man turns back around, his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable.

"Thank you."

The corner of his mouth turned upward, forming a small smirk. He didn’t say anything but rather kept his eyes on you for a second longer. He then disappeared, leaving you in the dark.

And it did leave you in the dark. For days, weeks, months. He never came for that favor, and he never brought up what happened. In fact, he barely talked to you at all. It was always towards the Winchesters.

You began to believe it was nothing but a dream. That Crowley somehow didn't save you. The angel was a fake, and this was all some sick joke. It felt like gaslighting.

But you knew what happened was real. You remembered the blood splatter and the dead corpse. The way his face contorted when he pierced the angel's heart.

It was all too real.

So, why was he ignoring you? Why did he pretend that it never happened? Was he going to hold it over your head? Or was it just the fact that the King of Hell did something nice for a human?

Was it because he… cared?

One night, you got your answer. It was a quiet night filled with books, tea, and soft music. At least, it was before those idiotic brothers decided to tear down the bunker in search of some book.

You couldn’t remember the exact reason they needed it, but you were too tired to argue. So, you stayed in your room and tried to fall asleep.

That is until the lights went out and the emergency lights kicked on. Okay, now you were annoyed. You got up, slipped on your shoes and a coat, and walked out of your room.

"Alright, what did you two-"

You paused mid-sentence, eyes falling onto the figure in the library. The man was facing the opposite way, but you knew exactly who it was. The familiar black suit and hair gave it away.

"Crowley…"

"Hello, Darling,” he replied, turning around and smiling at you. It was almost unnerving. He didn’t have a malicious aura or even an evil one. Just... a smile.

You looked behind him and noticed… well, nothing. You were expecting the Winchesters to be with him, and yet, it was just him.

"Where are the boys?"

"Moose and Squirrel? Ah, they're off somewhere, doing... well, you know. Something heroic, I suppose. Figured I’d stick around… enjoy the scenery."

That’s when you looked up and understood what he meant. He was stuck, quite literally. Those devil traps they put everywhere finally did something good.

You half-expected him to bring up that 'favor' he was talking about or maybe even just demand to get out of there, but he did neither. Instead, he looked at the ground and sighed.

At the moment, the King of Hell looked just like a caged puppy, sad and alone. If he wasn’t such a… demon, you might have even felt bad for him.

But, you left him in there, strolling along to the kitchen to find some kind of light. You were not giving up your two hours of reading due to power loss.

As you shuffled through the cabinets, looking for any form of match or lighter, the lights flickered back on.

So that’s where the Winchesters were.

You shrugged and turned back to your room but stopped at the entrance to the library. Crowley was still there, but this time, his face was twisted. He was clearly pissed.

"Why did you do it?" The burning question you wanted answered for months finally came out. Crowley stopped his little fit and turned towards you, a confused expression on his face.

He looked like he had no idea what you were talking about.

"I do a lot of things, Chipmunk. You'll have to be more specific."

You walked towards him, resting down the candles and book on a nearby table. You didn’t know why, but the need to confront him was growing.

"Save me all those months ago."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

You were getting closer, now only a few feet from him. Crowley, however, didn’t back away. Instead, he watched as you moved, his expression unchanging.

"That angel could’ve killed me, yet you came out of nowhere and stabbed him. I know you don't do anything out of kindness, so why did you do it? What do I offer that no one else does?"

Crowley stayed silent for a while, not giving any indication of answering your questions.

You thought it was just a lost cause until his expression changed. It was subtle, but you caught it. The corner of his mouth turned down, and his eyes widened, then narrowed.

He almost looked ashamed.

"It's just like I said. Self-interest." He spat out, his voice sounding like venom. You almost took a step back. It still sounded like the same old Crowley, but his tone was different.

You decided to call his bluff.

"I don't believe you."

Crowley raised an eyebrow, a smirk coming across his face. He was amused by the sudden attitude, but it didn’t last long.

"And what makes you say that?"

"I saw the way you looked at me after you saved me. Hesitancy, almost. Like you were unsure. As if..."

The King of Hell stared at you, waiting for the last part of your statement. He was eager but not for the answer. No, he knew what you were going to say.

He was just waiting to hear it come out of your mouth.

"You care."

Those words hung in the air, both of you processing it. Crowley continued to stare at you, the smirk disappearing, leaving his face neutral. He had a blank expression.

A silence grew, the atmosphere turning awkward. It wasn't until the demon let out a loud sigh and looked to the side that it was broken.

"You’re really pulling on the heartstrings, Chipmunk,” he muttered, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "If I had one, I'd say it was aching."

"Do you?"

You knew what you were implying. Crowley was the King of Hell, the ruler of the damned. He was the furthest thing from human, yet he could walk among them and, sometimes, be mistaken for one.

Was it possible for him to be human or even have emotions?

Crowley looked at you and frowned, clearly not liking the topic. But he didn't deny it. It was a strange sight—the King of Hell, frowning and silent.

It was almost adorable.

"I'm not asking for anything. I just… want an honest answer."

"Well, I am a demon, love,” He stated, his tone changing to a more playful one. “Honesty isn’t quite in the job description."

"Crowley."

You were starting to get impatient, and it showed. Your voice was firm, and your posture was tense. You wanted an answer, and you were determined to get it.

The demon in question let out another sigh and looked at the ceiling as if praying for a quick escape.

"You're a pain, you know that? It's exhausting." He grumbled, rolling his eyes. "But, I suppose, since you asked nicely..."

The man looked at you, his lips pursed. He was still hesitating, which only made you more curious.

"Yes, I care. About you. Happy?"

You blinked a few times, processing the information. Did the King of Hell, the person known for not giving a shit, just admit he cares?

"I-" You started, not knowing what to say. It was a surprise but not an unwelcome one. Crowley wasn't exactly a bad guy, well, a demon.

"Do you actually mean that?"

"Now that…" Crowley started, his voice low and deep. He leaned towards you, making you back up, but the wall soon prevented you from going any further.

He was inches away, his breath hitting your face. You could see his eyes staring into yours—a pretty brown, like a mocha latte.

"…Is the kind of question that will get you in trouble, love."

You weren’t sure what he was planning, but you didn't care. The way his eyes were looking at you, the smirk on his face, the closeness...

He was probably expecting you to back away, but he was wrong. You were an avid reader, obsessive even. This scene wasn't new, nor was it shocking.

The only shocking part was the fact that you were the one in it. And, well, the fact that you didn’t mind it.

"Unlike you,” you whispered, a small smirk on your face. "I don’t care."

Your response made him pause for a moment, squinting his eyes and giving you a confused look. It only lasted a few seconds, though. Soon, he understood, and a chuckle escaped his lips.

"Touché"

You truly believed you were about to lose your chance with the man upstairs, but loud footsteps interrupted you.

"Crowley, you slimy son of a bitch! If you’re not here, we are going to-"

Dean stopped talking as he rounded the corner, seeing you and Crowley close. His expression was shocked, almost comical.

"The hell is going on here?"

You and Crowley both turned to look at Dean, a look of annoyance on the King of Hell's face. Sam came around the corner as well, sharing the same look of confusion.

Crowley gave you one last glance, a bit of disappointment in his eyes, before taking a step back. His attention moved on to the two hunters, his usual smile returning.

And despite the annoyance in the air and the confusion, the only thing that came across your mind was another question that you were sure would take control of your sleep schedule once again.

"Hello, boys," He purred, his arms moving to his side. He was back to his old self, not showing a single sign of what happened moments ago.

Had the beauty thawed the beast?

[whooambouttamakeanameformyself]

Imagine....

Imagine patting Crowley on the head and calling him "My good little demon" after he comes back to you after dealing with the Winchesters.

[nightxcreature]

The Empty

Warnings: death, torture, stabbing, angst

Pairings: CrowleyxFriend!Reader(female), LuciferxEnemy!Reader

I feel like I should apologize for this? Idk, it’s just angsty and sad, it made me feel all the things while writing it so maybe it will make you feel the things while reading. Love you love you love you all. 🫶🏼

“How did we find ourselves here?” He questions from across the cramped room. His voice is raspy, but I’m not sure if it’s from the shackles around his neck or how much he had been screaming earlier. Black hair caked to his forehead and his brown eyes have gone dull in the time since we had first been taken captive here.

“I’m fairly certain it’s because someone in this room deemed himself ‘King of Hell’ and imprisoned the archangel, Lucifer…but, what do I know. I just work here.” I snap, wiping at the sweat on my forehead. The stench of death had been wafting through the room, and I’m unsure at this point if that smell is actually me or the corpses surrounding us, either way…it reeks. I need a shower, some kind of sustenance, and to find my way out of this shithole.

Crowley scoffs and rolls his eyes, “Former archangel. I don’t think the term still applies once you defy Daddy and buck the system, Darling.”

The large door containing us to this prison slams open and in walks the man himself, all red eyed and confident.

“Good morning, Ladies.” He says with a cocky smile, “How’d you sleep?”

“Like a baby.” I retort, a small smirk playing at my lips, “How about you, Princess?”

Crowley sends a warning glance across from me and then glances back to Lucifer, “When are you going to give this up? Neither of us are going to tell you anything about the Winchesters or your little soul sucking spawn.”

“I’ll give up when you do.” Lucifer replies as he struts over in my direction, “And I think I know just how to make that happen.” He snaps his fingers and I’m pulled immediately to his side, the feel of cold metal against my spine, “Now, I don’t normally have to resort to using these flimsy tools, and I’d love nothing more than to just wiggle my nose and paint the walls with your blood, but I wanted to make this…impactful…” He slices into my lower back and I scream as my skin sizzles, “Crowley, I’m going to give you until the count of three to tell me exactly where my son is, or your friend here is going to become Swiss cheese.”

“You think I care about her?” Crowley spits, “She just works for me. She means nothing to me.”

“Well…then you won’t care if I do this…” I feel a hand wrap around my hair and yank hard enough to make me see stars. The knife suddenly moved from my back to my chest, a millimeter from plunging into my heart.

“Please…”I whisper weakly, my eyes wide and watery, “You don’t have to do this.”

Lucifer wraps a hand around my throat and yanks me closer, “I don’t have to, but I want to. One.” He drops the knife lower and quickly slices into my stomach, pain searing into me again, “I’d hurry up if I were you, Crowley.”

I cut my eyes toward Crowley and slightly shake my head, “Don’t.”

“Oh, no. I think you should.” Lucifer cuts in, pushing me by the shoulders to kneel in front of him, “Two.” He sinks the knife into me again, this time into my shoulder, and my vision begins to blur. Though I can’t see him I can hear the wicked smile on his face as he giggles, pointing the knife in Crowley’s direction.

“Are you really going to let her die over this?” He chokes out between laughs, “Seriously?”

“Better I die than you find the boy.” I whisper quietly, locking eyes with my favorite demon, “Fergus, thank you for being my friend. I’ve never quite had one like you.” Crowley and I maintain eye contact as Lucifer puts the knife to my throat.

“How sweet…you sure you don’t have anything to tell me, Fergus?” Lucifer teases though Crowley stays silent as a mouse, never moving his eyes from my own; A silent confirmation that he understands my sacrifice, “Okay, this is on you, Pal. Three.”

The knife slides smoothly across my neck and I’m immediately welcomed into the arms of inky blackness. The scene from before, my final moments, slowly disappearing from my mind. I am nothing but this void. This mass of blackness, ebbing and flowing and living and dying, all at once. Floating in this abyss is the first taste of peace I’ve had in what feels like a century. Finally, nothingness. Finally…Empty.

Tags:

@lmhf1

If you’d like to be on my tag list let me know! Also requests are ALWAYS open. 🤙🏼

[dollyfl1rt]

crowley

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[5sospenguinqueen]

Crowley: Look, I know I only bought your soul last month but-

Y/N: No returns.

Crowley: Please? It's making me sad.

[take-it-on-the-run]

Dean Winchester Playlist

"There ain't no me if there ain't no you."

Dean Winchester Masterlist | Supernatural Masterlist | Main Page Masterlist

A/N: Could also be interpreted as 'Being in Love With Dean Winchester'. This has been updated (3/23/24) because Hozier just had to come out with the most perfect song for Dean after I finished his playlist.

House of The Rising Sun // The Animals

My father was a gamblin' man; down in New Orleans

Trouble // Cage The Elephant

Will it come to pass, or will I pass the test?; You know what they say, yeah, the wicked get no rest

Supermassive Black Hole // Muse

You caught me under false pretenses; how long before you let me go?

Too Sweet // Hozier

I think I'll take my whiskey neat; my coffee black and my bed at three; you're too sweet for me

I Bet on Losing Dogs // Mitski

I bet on losing dogs; I know they're losing and I'll pay for my place; by the ring

I Love You So // The Walters

I just need someone in my life to give it structure

Mr. Loverman // Rick Montgomery

The alcohol served its tour; and it's headed straight for my skin; leaving me daft and dim

Cigarette Daydreams // Cage The Elephant

You can drive all night; looking for the answers in the pouring rain

Love Like Ghosts // Lord Huron

I don't feel 'til it hurts sometimes; oh, go on, baby, hurt me tonight

Lover, You Should've Come Over // Jeff Buckley

My body turns; and yearns for a sleep that won't ever come; it's never over

Imaginary Lover // Atlanta Rhythm Section

Imaginary lovers never turn you down; when all the others turn you away, they're around

Working for the Knife // Mitski

I start the day high and end so low; 'cause I'm working for the knife

No Surprises // Radiohead

A job that slowly kills you; bruises that won't heal

Simple Man // Lynyrd Skynyrd

Boy, don't you worry, you'll find yourself; follow your heart and nothing else

Hey Jude // The Beatles

For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool; by making his world a little colder

[girl-next-door-writes]

Bittersweet Memories

Characters: Crowley x reader

Summary: Crowley makes the ultimate sacrifice, but not before discovering just how much of a sacrifice it actually is.

Word Count: 1022 words

Prompt: Mutual pining, a gentle kiss, blurted out confession under stress.

A/N: This little bit of angst is for the lovely @roseblue373  It’s been a hot minute since I wrote my favourite demon, and I can say that I have missed him.  There will not be a part two unless you want to go write one, and if you do then please tag me in it because I would love to see it.

If there was one thing Crowley was absolutely certain of, it was that life was rarely fair. The odds were always stacked. The house always won. In the incredibly long time, he had been on this planet, he had observed that fact over and over again. Yet, standing here in this moment, he couldn’t help but wish that wasn’t the case, that a demon in love could prove to be the exception to the rule.

He had known he was in love for years now, he wasn’t completely oblivious. At first, he had tried to deny it. The thought of a demon feeling such an emotion was ludicrous, but there was no other explanation for his feelings towards you. His desire to protect you, to be near you, to be the reason for your smile, was so overwhelming that he sometimes sat on his throne down in hell with an ache in his chest. Of course, he could never tell you any of this. Aside from the intense humiliation the whole situation would cause when you inevitably rejected him, it would not be fair to ask you to join him; wouldn’t be fair to ask you to give up your life for him.

The irony of that thought made the corners of his lips curl upwards slightly. The two of you would never have worked out anyway. It would be like asking a tree to blossom in the depths of winter, or for the sun to shine at midnight. There were a million reasons for him to love you, but he could not find a single one why you should love him. Loving you from the shadows was all he could do, and that had been enough. Now he had to hope that you could do this without him.

You stood beside Dean, eyes focused on Lucifer. Surely your favourite demon had a plan, that was the only reason you could think of for him antagonizing the former archangel. His snarky comments usually made you laugh, but right now all you could hear was the pounding of your heart.  In the back of your mind, it felt like there was a ticking clock, a countdown to something that would change everything forever. Your gaze flitted to Crowley, trying to memorize every detail of him as if you knew this would be the last time.

Crowley turned his head slightly, feeling you watching him. If he stayed, if he wavered in this moment, then he would only be in your way and he refused to be yet another obstacle for you to navigate. Better to go out swinging, right? This was for you. Everything he did was for you. Memories of the time spent by your side floated through his mind. Every time he had made you smile, each time his sarcasm had made you laugh, made a warmth bloom in his chest. He had no idea where he would go after this, was uncertain about the void he was about to willingly fall into, but he hoped that he could hold onto these memories, no matter how bittersweet they may be.

His eyes met yours, and he saw the moment you realised what he was doing. Your eyes clouded with tears he felt guilty you would shed for him. Who cries for a demon? You could do so much better than him, he was never what you needed, if anything, his friendship probably held you back. You moved to take a step towards him, and he shook his head, just a fraction, causing you to pause. He didn’t want you any closer to the psychopath than you already were. This was it. His last great sacrifice. His last time saving you.

Lucifer was taunting him, but Crowley couldn’t hear a single thing he said. His heart was torn between getting this over with and having that one last moment with you. He was reminded of all those stupid films you had made him sit through, the ones that made you cry, and it dawned on him that you needed a real goodbye. If he didn’t give you that then you would never forgive him, and he selfishly couldn’t allow that.

Turning his back on Lucifer, a dangerous move but one he felt apathetic about, Crowley strode over to you and cupped your face as a single tear escaped your eye. Wiping it away with his thumb, he gave you a soft smile.

“It’s time, kitten.” He whispered, maintaining eye contact even though his heart was breaking.

“No.” You whimpered, clinging to his jacket.

“That’s the thing about the good old days, you don’t realise you’re in them until they are over. It’s time for you to go get your happy ever after.”

“Not without you I can’t.” The tears were freely flowing now as you tried to hold yourself together, practically begging him not to do what the both of you knew he was going to. “I love you, you infuriating demon.”

Your confession hit him like a truck. You loved him. He was worthy of your love. The realization that this changed nothing, was like an ice cube dropped down the back of his shirt. You loved him, and he was leaving you forever.

Crowley had no idea how long he had stood there just gaping at you. A thousand thoughts sprinted through his mind and yet words escaped him, like early morning mist. Instead, he let out a soft sigh and pulled you close, his thumb grazing over your bottom lip before he leaned in and placed a gentle kiss there. Everything in his being suddenly felt at peace, and a smile grew as he pulled back.

“You have been the great love of my life. I want you to go find yours. Goodbye, kitten.”

He was vaguely aware of you screaming, of Dean moving to grab you as Crowley quickly made his way over to Lucifer, raising the dagger. His final thought, before the void took him, was how soft your lips caressed his and how completely human he had felt in that moment. His final thought was love.

[hopefulfuturenovelauthor]

Panic Room

Crowley x reader (gn) part 1

about 5,000 words. I hope you all enjoy and please do not copy my work, thanks!

Warnings: read through at like 1:00 am once so probably many mistakes, canon violence, the supernatural, angst (I guess), and language. Also slight warning, I’m planning on making this a 3 part/ maybe short 4th part mini series, but I take forever to write anything, this has just been sitting in my drafts for a couple of months.

Panic Room

Hell Raising

Hair Raising

I’m ready for the worst

So frightening

Face whitening

Fear that you can’t reverse

Welcome to the Panic Room

Where all your darkest fears are going to come for you …

Seven and a half months. For you a total of 75 years of brutal, unrelenting torture. Hell did not treat you well and to call you bitter would not only be offensive but also the largest understatement of the millennium. 

You loved humanity, you loved your life, and you loved those in your life. Despite this, anger was all you could feel toward the people that used to bring you the most joy. The ones that made you laugh, that made you a better person, and left you behind. You didn’t even know if they knew. 

You died. You died and as your deal had stated; you were going to hell. Readying yourself for the worst did nothing to help in the end. The place was so frightening at first, but with time you became used to the fear. It was nothing anymore. Your only goal in life was to never be afraid again. You knew what you needed, but more importantly, you knew what you craved.

You wanted them to pay. You made the deal for them. You made the deal with his crossroad demons. You took the price when the one that fucked up refused to take responsibility for his actions. 

You sacrificed everything. You lost your will to live and more. You didn’t want to hurt just anyone you wanted to hurt them. You wanted them to feel every moment of your torture and then some. You didn’t want revenge, you wanted justice.

“Belial, the wicked one, it’s great to finally see you, however, I had been hoping I’d be able to put a name to a face. Is the mask really necessary?” Crowley stalled.

“No, it’s not necessary, I just prefer it. After all, I did go back to get my face, and I wouldn’t want my old identity to get out there, now would I?”

“I suppose not,” Crowley led on, making his way around one of his numerous castle rooms in Hell, preparing the both of you a drink. “How do you like your liquor?”

“Well, more recently I’ve come to like a nice earthy aged scotch or whiskey neat. Whichever you think would be better. Either is much nicer than the cheap beers I used to drink. However, you still stick to the room temperature yeast water if I’m correct Dean and Sam. As for you Castiel, your grace makes it unnecessary to even try drinking unless you want a whole nother liquor store,” you turn slowly to look at the shorter hunter sneaking up behind you. 

Dean had stopped his stride as you started to speak of him. Sam carefully made his way out from behind a bookshelf to your left. Castiel walked with his usual cadence from your right, out of the darkness.

Crowley gulped as you slowly moved back to look at the King of Hell.  The brothers collected together on your left moving closer to the demon you were staring at. Castiel armed himself with an angel blade shifting to Crowley’s side. 

“It’s nice to see I’ve sent you into such a panic, my King. But all four of you, here, in front of me, it truly seems all of my prayers have been answered.”

“What are your grievances toward us?” Castiel questioned, as he held his position as a warrior of the lord.

“What the hell did we do to you?” Dean asked.

You chuckled menacingly, “Hell is exactly right, Dean Winchester. As for my grievances, I simply can’t move past the fact that I was left here to rot.”

“We don’t even know who you are,” Sam said, trying to ease the tension of the situation.

“I assure you, you know exactly who I am.”

“What is it you wish to do to us for our mistreatment of you?” Crowley did not seem bothered by your accusations. He was in fact satisfied with his work, but only because he did not know whose face lay under the cover of your mask and hood.

“I’m simply going to take you to where all your darkest fears are going to come for you.”

Crowley scowled at this. Castiel raised his blade. “You can’t hurt me, angel, you promised.”

“I have only ever promised that to one-“ Castiel stopped speaking. The look of sudden and horrifying realization dawned on his face.

“Cas, Cas, what is it, who are they?” Dean asked as Sam tried to get Castiel to share the information he had just come to understand.

“Well, I don’t care who feathers promised to protect. This is my kingdom, no one threatens me,” Crowley pulled out his angel blade only making it a step forward.

“Really, Crowl,” your voice sounded as it used to, no longer holding the facade of an old and ancient demon, “when have you ever beat me one-to-one? We could make another bet, you’ll have to finally take me to that one restaurant you're always raving about and saying you’ll bring me to.”

His face fell immediately. “No,” it came out of his mouth with a hint of denial, but his eyes begged for what he was thinking to not be true.

It was your turn to smirk at the demon. You did so as you took off your mask and slowly removed your hood.

“Y/n,” Sam’s voice came out breathy. You were unexpected. Dean’s face whitened entirely, finally understanding Cas’s silence. 

“We burned your body,” Crowley’s voice was breaking and eyes watering.

“You should have gone to Heaven,” Castiel stated.

“And I would have. If I hadn’t made a deal to save you lot from Lucifer,” your nostrils flared and your glare was directed at the Winchesters. “You were like brothers to me. I saved you! And you!” your gaze turned to Crowley, “I was given two goddamn years, by your crossroad demons. And my life ended up shorter than determined because I sacrificed myself to save all of you. And-and you, you let me rot in Hell.” Your voice broke on the last sentence you let slip.

Each of the men before you crumbled at the weight of your words. Not a single one of them could look you in the eye. 

“Do it,” Dean said. No one spoke out against this. “Do what you need to do, make us pay. Just, please, let Sam out of this.” The begging was something your demon side liked, but the human part of you was sickened by it.

You walked forward, reaching out to cradle Dean's face in one of your hands. “No,” escaped firmly from your lips that were stuck in a hellish smile, fully displaying almost pointed teeth, like that of the many monsters you had all killed together.

The fear that followed your statement caught you off guard. Sam, Cas, and Crowley all flinched at your answer and Dean fell apart. 

“Please,” the pleading returned. Dean looked about ready to beg you from his knees.

“I do not want revenge. I want justice. Congratulations, I don’t want to kill you any more than I want to kill anyone else at the moment. I want you to look at me and see what I am. I want you to know what you did. I want you to understand I screamed, and cried, and begged for each of you to save me. I want you to know that I held onto hope for so long,” the tears began to escape from your blackened eyes, “I thought you would come for me. I thought you cared! But you left me, never thought about me. You didn’t give any part of it a second thought. So this is punishment fit for the crime. I am a demon,” you looked at Dean, “I am not your friend,” you looked at Castiel, “I am not Y/n,” you looked at Sam, “and one day I rip this Kingdom from your grasp,” you looked at Crowley, and stepped back to view them all, “most importantly, none of this is personal. You left me behind, now I’m leaving you. You will forever recognize that you messed up and I will always be a reminder of your guilt. You are nothing to me, even if I am something to you.”

You began to walk off, reaching for the handle of the doors you had walked through earlier. You spared only one glance back before walking out, making one final blow, “goodbye boys.” After that, you simply disappeared.

—

“Your majesty,” the demon croaked out in fear.

“What?!” you snapped at your underling as you looked up from the scattered plans of hell and general paperwork. The demon shook under your gaze. It concerned you at times that your demons feared you so much. You were more of a force to be reckoned with than Crowley and he had been a demon for far longer than you had. The cruelty wasn’t what you wanted. You had hoped the damage done to your soul hadn’t changed you as much as it obviously did, but you supposed that was just your luck. “I apologize for my brashness, Anthony. I’m simply busy and stressed. Now tell me, what is the matter?” you looked at the demon before you with as much care as a demon can have for their personal assistant in a strictly platonic way.  

“I’m afraid the Winchesters wish to see you. The short one is in the palace with his angel,” he told you still wary of your scrutiny.

“Here… in Hell?” you questioned. Anthony nodded, swallowing down his hesitance. 

“They threatened to start killing your people if you refuse,” he said.

“Ahh, send them in then,” you told the demon, “make sure they know that if any harm comes to you I will be far less willing to even give them the time of day once they arrive.”

With another small nod, he walked off to collect Dean and Castiel. It had been a year since you had last seen any one of your old ex-friends. Hopefully, they would leave you alone if you showed little interest in their affairs.

As quickly as he left, Anthony seemed to return. Dean and Castiel were in tow, following behind the demon. You raised your brows at your loyal subject asking him if he was alright. As always Anthony kept it short with a brief nod before gesturing toward the door. You responded curtly back. Neither of you needed words to truly understand the other when it came to such dealings. 

“You seem to be doing well down here,” Dean said, rocking on his feet, a telltale sign that he was uncertain and needed to calm his nerves somehow.

“Yes, I suppose us demons just have a knack when it comes to Hell,” Dean paled at the distance of your voice. It still destroyed him that this was you now. All he saw was your body, but it wasn’t you inside, not the you that had been like a younger sibling to him.

You asked Dean what he was doing here, but he did not respond.

“Dean,” Cas said.

“Yeah.”

“I asked what you wanted,” you said again, this time he was actually aware. 

“Oh,” Dean was certainly out of it. Even Cas seemed to be affected by your voice. He tried to show it less, but Dean looked struck. If you had any empathy for them you would have felt bad. But you had none.

“Look,” you turned to actually face them, abandoning your work, “I’m not unreasonable, and I doubt this is a social call. I know that most of what you do tends to keep newer, larger, and more concerning players off the board. So what can I do for you so I can get back to my job and you can get back to yours?”

“We need help,” Dean replied.

“We need to find the angel tablet,” Castiel said. He seemed off somehow, even just slightly. He felt off too. It could have just been your new keen magic skills. You had recently been looking into seer magic and empaths.

“Oh,” you let out, leaning back into your throne, “Sorry, little above my level at the moment. I can get you a referral though. May I ask why you need this specific artifact?”

“So you’ve heard of it?” Dean pressed, stepping closer. Your eyes flitted black and he took a cautionary step back.

“I’m afraid I don’t let demon hunters and their angel friends too close, out of self-preservation. As for hearing of it, yes, I have. Let’s just say some information trickled down from Crowley’s kingdom.”

“Is this not all his Kingdom?” Castiel’s head cocked to the side.

“For the moment. It’s always healthy to have some respectable competition.”

“Who would this ‘referral’ be?” Dean used air quotes awaiting his likely disappointment.

“Ah,” you sighed, “I had a feeling you would ask that. Sadly, Crowley would likely know more than I would.”

“Crowley isn’t going to let us anywhere near him,” Dean argued.

“Well, that isn’t my problem. I’m not the one mucking around in other people’s business, now am I?”

“Y/n-” Cas started.

“It’s Belial or your majesty, angel,” you barked.

“I apologize, Belial,” Cas looked devastated. Fuck, what was that pang in your heart? Why did it hurt so much?

“He won’t talk to us. Not while he has the demon tablet,” Dean tried to present his case.

“Yes, and that has to be the one thing he is actually doing well at the moment, keeping it away from you, good for him. Now if that is all then respectfully, get out of my palace.”

“Thank you, Belial.”

“Cas we can’t just-”

“We can and we will, Dean,” the angel as always responded firmly and apathetically. Castiel placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder ready to fly out of your throne room.

“Castiel,” you said, your voice louder than it had been before that it echoed around the room.

The angel did nothing more than look at you expectantly. “Be careful, I don’t believe any of this is going to end well for you.”

“I will be fine,” he said.

“No, angel, I mean it. I have this feeling, watch out, please,” this was the closest you had ever been to who you used to be.

“Okay.”

—

“You, you helped me, why? I- you said you wouldn’t,” Crowley fumbled as you freed him of his restraints.

“Trust me, it’s not personal. You’re just easier to overthrow than Lucifer. So, as many say, the enemy of my enemy is my friend.” The locks clicked, releasing the demon crouched beneath you. You dropped the chains to the floor and pointed back and forth between the two of you, “This little alliance will only last till Lucifer is back in his cage. After that, I will go back to ignoring your existence, other than me trying to take over Hell.”

“Well, I can’t say that isn’t logical. I suppose I’ll make do,” Crowley rubbed his wrists.

“There is no making due. Neither of us wants Lucifer in charge of anything. That would be bad for both of us.”

“Why is that so bad for you?” Crowley looked at you with curiosity in his eyes, “You want to ignore me forever. You wish the same for the Winchesters and Castiel. So why would joining Lucifer and letting him kill us to be so bad?” 

“I-” your loss for words was concerning to Crowley when it came to this form of you. The demon you was hard to throw off their game.

“Well?” He egged you on.

“How could you ever think that I want you dead?” your voice was low, as was your gaze. You avoided looking at him. Keeping your voice steady was harder than you expected.

It was Crowley’s turn to be at a loss for words. From the start, he had thought you wanted revenge as much as you claimed you didn’t. You were a demon after all, and you thought he and the others had wronged you. He fully expected you to fantasize about each of their ends.

Finally, your eyes found his face. He never thought he would see them as broken and hurt. The glossiness of your tears was begging to spill over. “You scare me. But never, ever believe that I want you dead. I can’t trust you. I can’t be around you, because I am afraid. Because I know if I have to I’d do it all again. Seventy-five years of torture to make me hate all of you, and only three to make me care for you enough to screw myself again. Fear is an incredible tool for motivation. So yes, I’m afraid of what Lucifer will do to me, but I am just as afraid of what Lucifer will do to you.”

——

“So you're the little demon ex-hunter Fergus is obsessed with?” the red-headed witch mewled.

“If you are asking rhetorically then you likely already know,” the answer was monotonous.

“I see why he likes you so much, this body of yours is most certainly a looker. You’re also far more mature and intelligent than the other demons.”

“Back off posh female Ron Weasley.”

“I’m afraid I don't know who that is.”

You rolled your eyes as she followed you like a dog seeking attention.

“Now, as I’m sure you’re aware, your son and I are not on speaking terms. Whatever he says to you about me does not pique my interest or concern,” you turned to walk away from the witch.

“What about the fact that there’s a human pregnant with Lucifer’s child,” her voice was smug, but her words made you stand straight. “I see that caught your attention, darling.”

“You have 10 minutes to tell me everything I need to know before I leave,” you growled at her, your black eyes attempting to bring fear into her soul.

“Well, that should be more than enough time. Once I finish with all the boring stuff, we can chat. My name's Rowena by the way. You should probably know that considering how much Fergus talks about you. With his enthusiasm I’ll one day be your mother-in-law.”

“I doubt it, considering,” you mocked her and gestured to your eyes. “Either way, as much as Crowley may talk about me, he most certainly talked about you.”

“All good things I hope,” she smiled at you. It was as if every gesture of hers and every action was manipulative by nature. You understood his hatred for her, she didn’t have a genuine bone in her body. You hoped for Crowley that would change, but at the same time, you wished she would finally let him go. He was far too caught up on the woman that never loved him the way she should have. But you would never tell him that, or anyone for the matter.

“Nope, even if there was any good to share, it would never have mattered, not based on everything else he told me about you.”

“Well,” she looked at you, for once appearing less devious, “I hope I can change that.”

“You can’t, and even if you technically could, it wouldn’t mean anything, because once more, I don’t care and I never will.”

———

Juliet nudged your leg. You were situated at the table in the bunker’s library. For the past year, you have riddled yourself with vigorous research and learning. You had been impressive before all of this, but with the extra reading and practice on spells, you were more powerful than you ever really imagined. You were more powerful than Sam, Dean, or Castiel ever expected you to become. It wasn’t necessarily healthy, but considering the track records of each of your respective companions, you were doing much better. 

The gorgeous black-coated supernatural dog whined a little to fully grasp your attention away from the article you were reading titled, He-Wolf/She-Wolf: a Study of Werewolf Transgenderism. You had honestly been curious about the intersectionalities of the two, but after a couple of pages in the read became more of one for pleasure than one for research. As much as you found it interesting it didn’t aid you in any of your studies. Still, you thoroughly enjoyed it, even bringing it up in conversation with the Winchesters and Cas when they talked to you. 

Placing down the paper you looked up at the adorable now one-year-old you had taken under your demonic metaphorical wing. Jack was the sweetest little antichrist you had ever seen.

“Hey kid, whatcha doing?”

He didn’t look happy, in fact, he looked unhappy and a little guilty. It made you sad to see him upset, after all, he was your one and only nephew, and you loved him dearly. He was the only reason you stayed around so much. The others you could care less about, but you’d damn yourself again for the boy before you. Juliet could sense his emotions as well, and ventured slowly over to the son of Lucifer. She gently brushed against the kid's leg. Without a thought, the boy petted the Hell Hound.

“Jack,” your voice was laced with concern, “is everything okay? Did something happen?” The boy looked away with sad eyes and the slightest pout, “come on kid it’s your birthday, you can’t wallow in your negative emotions with me around, not today.”

“Do you blame me?” he asked, looking back at you with tears in his eyes.

“Jack,” your voice broke as you stood up to embrace him, “of course, I don’t, whatever would I blame you for?”

Before you could reach him, he stepped back.

“Jack,” with every second you grew more worried.

“Because it’s my fault. Crowley would be alive if I had never been-“

“No,” you said firmly. But Jack only flinched. You didn’t waste time this go around, immediately engulfing him in a hug. “Don’t say that kid, don’t say that. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. I could never blame you, and either way, it wasn’t your fault. It was Lucifer’s and mine and Sam’s and Dean’s and Cas’ and Crowley’s. We all knew what we were up against, but you kiddo, you couldn’t possibly be at fault for anything that happened that day. I just got a little unlucky alright, the best thing that ever happened to me occurred on the same day that one of the worst things that have ever happened to me did. I love you, Jack, I love you, and I can tell you without a doubt none of it was your fault, but most importantly, none of it was your responsibility.”

“I’m sorry,” he cried into your shoulder as he gripped you right.

“Shhh, shhh, you have nothing to be sorry for,” you patted his head softly.

“I just-I just know how hard today must be for you. I know how hard it is for Sam and Dean to look at me- I” 

You pulled away, but only slightly. With precise movements you wiped the tears in his cheeks away, “It could never be hard for me to look at you, unless,” your voice cracked, “unless something happened to you, I- I love you, Jack. You're my nephew, you're the person I care about the most, okay? You could never make me truly mad or upset with you.”

Jack nodded the tears in his eyes finally slowing down, “I never wanted anyone to get hurt.”

“I know, Cas knows, Sam knows, Dean is getting there, and he should have already gotten there okay? Dean- Dean just- don’t let him get to you kid.”

“He has every right to-”

“He has no right,” you said clearly to Jack, “he has no right.”

“Thank you,” he sniffled.

“Always, kiddo.”

“I um- I found these,” he showed you the old photos of you and Crowley before you had become a demon. You carefully took them from his hands, avoiding looking at the photos of the two of you. It was a mystery as to how Jack found these, considering that you hid them away from prying eyes because you yourself refused to look at them. 

———

“Get off my throne,” you growled at the witch.

“Ah,” Rowena smiled brightly, “Y/n, I’ve been waiting for you to show up. How have you been?”

“I was doing fine until I heard you're quite non-demonic arse was sitting on the freaking throne of Hell! You are not a demon, Rowena, what in the name of my goddamn sanity are you doing?”

“Just filling in the position. No one else took a grab at it,” her nonchalance was really starting to piss you off.

“Fuck off, Rowena,” the witch gasped shocked at you and your words.

“That is no way to speak to your, Queen, or a friend for the matter,” she held a hand to her chest.

“Get off the throne,” you spoke through gritted teeth, eyes blackened, and voice course.

“Darling-” Rowena had yet to move.

“Get off his Throne!” your voice amplified at your outburst. Dark magic encircled you, inky black coils, spreading out from your body. Tears escaped your eyes with the same fervor and enthusiasm as Lucifer escaping the cage. 

Rowena wasted no time bounding from the throne and to you. You were so lost, so without focus. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay, Darling. I’ve got you. You’re going to be okay, everything is going to be okay. Shush child, let it out, let it out,” she tried to soothe you. To your surprise, it somewhat worked. She had calmed your angered state, but you were still a sobbing mess on the floor. With careful and caring intent she gracefully brushed your hair with her fingers, humming sweet melodies. 

It felt like hours, hours of Crowley’s mother combing your hair softly swaddling you and your grief. “It’s alright, Darling,” she cradled your face in her soft, deadly hands, brushing away stray tears that hadn’t been caught by the fabric of her skirt. “I suppose, well I suppose, Hell could always use another monarch, don’t you think? You would be a wonderful ally, you would make a wonderful leader.”

“Why couldn’t it be me? If I’d just- If I’d just told him that I, that I, that I lov-” your body broke down again, your throat aching for the sobbing to stop. Your eyes pleaded with you to stop mass-producing tears, but your heart couldn’t handle the hurt.

———

Your heart was doing better at handling it now. You sat beside, Rowena. Two thrones, two leaders of Hell, one King, and one Queen. All demons respected you, followed you, and were loyal to you.

You were the only demon that resented you for sitting on that damned throne. But that was only half the time. When you felt this way, it was often that those you still had around distracted you from those thoughts or blatantly told you how wrong they were. Sam often joined the both of you in Hell, enjoying his time with you and Rowena. Jack seemed to become like Rowena’s grandchild. She constantly taught him new things you had to reteach him about because of her adverse teaching style. Somehow out of the two of you, it was the demon that had the better grasp on morals. Castiel typically stopped by to grab Jack from your palace or frequented your palace with Dean. As always the two were as close as ever. 

Those two and Sam were practically Jack’s three dads. Dean had finally moved on from what had occurred between Jack and his mother. The idiot even apologized to Jack after all the shit he put the poor kid through. Like the bright little ball of sunshine he was, Jack forgave him instantly, despite you telling him that he didn’t have to accept the apology right away or at face value. Jack let your concerns roll off of him, telling you he knew Dean was being sincere.

It took you longer to forgive Dean. The hunter even tried apologizing to you. It left you a laughing mess because you couldn’t fathom what warranted his empty words. You had heard Dean say it himself, that he often apologized to Sam without even meaning it. With time and patience, you moved past his ignorance, realizing some of your own. It was often demons get bitter, your negative emotions heightened, and your positive ones lessened. One day when he and Castiel had come to pick up Jack you extended the olive branch necessary to replenish as much of your friendship as possible. Dean gladly accepted your offer, stating he would love to have your help on cases, whether it be research or the actual hunt. With a smile on your face, your gaze moved to the incredible Nephilim you had helped raise standing beside his chosen father. Your only last hope for all of them being that Dean finally confesses to Castiel as well.

The smile remained on your face for the rest of the day. Despite not needing sleep you were preparing to go to bed. The cell phone you had been gifted by the hunter brothers rang throughout your room just as you were moving aside your covers. Reaching over you received a nice greeting from Sam. It seemed Dean had told Sam what you had said earlier that day. Snapping your fingers, your cozy fleece pajamas were swapped for your preferred choice of royal attire. A quick swoosh and you appeared at the library in the Men of Letters base. 

———

You didn’t like this one bit. In fact, you dreaded this quite a lot. 

[echoe-back-from-the-void]

Crowley X Male Reader ~pt3

| 1 | 2 | three | 4 |

I pulled back from the hug to smile down at my brother, Gabriel. "Thank you." I said in a choked voice.

"Always." Gabriel says just as emotionally.

I pat his hair as I try to calm not only myself but him as well. I meet his eyes with certainty as I rebuild my resolve. I show the ring to him, "if anyone will lock our brother away, it will be me, not the Winchesters. I swear to you I will fix this. I was absent the last time, but this time, nothing will take my attention away from our brothers. If I have to drag them by the ear I will. If I have to chain him to me I will, however long it takes." I spill the words as fast as I think them. "Our fighting will end."

Gabriel snorts a laugh before hugging me again. "You'd really drag luci by the ear?" He says laughingly.

"I will." I say bluntly letting the necklace drop to my chest.

~~

It had barely been a day before I was being prayed to by the Winchesters. My feathers felt ruffled as I was reminded of the oldest Winchester, what I said may have been done out of anger but it was no less true. He has no right to judge my brothers while ignoring the sins of his own brother. I left the woods in a huff as I flew to them.

I landed in the somber motel room. Sam was giving his brother worried looks from the motel table. Dean was sitting on the edge of the bed, a bottle beside his feet.

"Winchesters." I said bitingly making both of them jump at my entrance.

Before Dean could open his mouth to start a fight, Sam but in. "Thank you for coming mars." Sam said cordially.

"Being polite will not earn you his ring." I said under my breath but audible for both to hear. The tv began turning static as my annoyance became apparent. "I want the other rings, if anyone will put my brother away it will be my choice."

Dean jumped up to argue. "Hell no!"

"Dean." Sam said trying to calm his brother.

"No Sammy, this dick bag Angel is just gonna take the rings and let Lucifer walk free." Dean argued as he stood up clutching the bottle.

I could feel my grace warning me of my impending anger. "Winchester, I have already leveled one battle field today and cleared every monster from this state, do not anger me further or you will be the reason I kill more." I said darkly as my eyes began to glow with grace. "I meant what I said. Lucifer will never walk free as long as I live. But Michael is no saint either. Both will be dealt with by my hand. They fear me more than that cage."

"Then why didn't you deal with them earlier?!" Dean asked in aggravation.

"There comes a time for every fight, I will fight on my time, on my terms. If I have to leash them to me I will." Then thoughtfully I added. "If I were to attack one then the other would go into hiding. It is best if I see them both. That time has not presented itself yet."

~~

"The time had in fact presented itself no more than a week later," a very sarcastic narrator announces.

~~

It was the great big showdown as they said. Lucifer had possessed some man while Michal had possessed the Winchester half brother Adam. They met in a graveyard and before any words could be thrown I walked between them both with precision and speed beyond their comprehension as I wrapped my hand around their throats. They hadn't even noticed me before that as I had watched them both arrive in full dramatics.

Lucifer's eyes widened in fear while Michael was a little slower on the uptake. When he did catch on he began to shake like Lucifer did.

Loud rock music began to play as Dean Winchester drove the impala up the stretch of road to the cemetery. I bit down a snarl but from the way both my brothers flinched they could probably feel my grace lighting up in anger. I didn't release my brothers nor did I let up my grip while I watched the oldest Winchester exit the car and proceed to lean against the hood.

"Why are you here?" I said my words bordering on enochian as the Winchester holds his head in pain.

Sam exits the car next and approaches with his hands raised in defense. "I tried to stop him from coming but he wouldn't listen. He wants to see you put Lucifer way. To see you end the apocalypse." Sam says placatingly.

"You filthy!" I hiss. "My brothers are my problem and they will be dealt with. Their punishments are not some spectacle for you to use against them. Leave with your lives or die, that is your only warning Winchester."

"Dean. He's not joking. You see him and Lucifer and Michael. Mars knows what he's doing."

"Final warning Winchester. I'm only letting you leave with your life because for a short time we did hold a friendship until you betrayed it."

Dean sighs and enters the impala. His eyes flash between annoyance and anger before Sam persuaded him to leave. When the impala is out of sight I turn back to my brothers. While they both are still fearful they have not said a word.

Gently I release my grip on their throats and set them both back on the ground, not realizing I had lifted them in the first place. "You will Not Move from this ground until the problems are dealt with. There will be no war and there will be no apocalypse, am I clear?" I demand.

"Yes." Michael says.

"Crystal." Lucifer parrots.

My hand that was on their throats moves to their shoulders as I grip them both tightly. "I am sorry for neglecting you both. I'm sorry I wasn't there to stop your first fight. Apologies will never take back what happened but I'm trying. I knew what was happening but I was forbidden to step in. And I'll never regret anything more than the fact that I let this happen." I breathe deeply as the crack in my chest begins to grow and with it the pain follows. "Michael as the second oldest you knew what you did was wrong. Your brother was in pain! He was wounded and biting at anything that moves and you didn't care. Amara is gods sister, she is darkness, but one cannot exist without the other so they sealed her away just like you did Lucifer. Did you even know Lucifer put her away. That he struggled and fought tooth and nail to survive but the mark of Cain took its toll and corrupted him. But instead of helping you turned your back on someone, your brother, who needed you." Michael flinches at the cutting blow. "It may be hard to understand the feelings and emotions we feel but we all have always loved you. Lucifer wasn't trying to disregard fathers creations." I sigh.

"Michael, I want you back in heaven. End this revolution! No more bloodshed among brothers. There will be no apocalypse, we can not simply fix earth by bombing it. Do either of you understand the troubles you would bring about if you decimated earth. The gods, Greek, pagan, Norse and Egyptian would riot with a fury that heaven could not withstand. Please return to heaven and if I see the revolutions are not dealt with peacefully I will return home to deal with them myself." I demand and Michael nods before leaving in a flap of wings.

Not a second passes before Lucifer throws himself at me in a tight hug. "M/n" Lucifer croaked on the edge of tears.

"My you've grown." The ache pains me again and I bite my tongue to not collapse. "You were so young and I could never fault you. Yes you have done bad things. Some outside your own control. I see your pain, I know your suffering and it does not make me love you any less, brother. You have been so strong. You have fought so hard and I have seen it. I know I was absent. I know."

"I'm here. I won't let you go this time." I pause and lightheartedly begin to joke. "Although I should apologize. I had to kill one of your princes." Lucifer pulls back with a questioning look. "Loki sold Gabriel out after your little showdown. Sold him to the highest bidder and that was...Asmodeus. I felt Gabriels discomfort and stormed the place. He was feeding off our brother like a junkie. I may have taken too much pleasure in the princes departure." I joke and Lucifer smiles.

"I never did like him." He jokes back. He pauses and becomes somber. "My punishment?"

"You will be by my side for the next decade at least. Chained or not is your choice. But I will get you the help you need and you will no longer feel that ache. You won't fight your darkness alone. Not anymore."

A strong smell of sulfur invades my nose and I turn expectantly to see Crowley. "Crow." I greet.

He grins and I feel that strange feeling again. Maybe I'm Ill.

"Mars." He greets. His accent as usual draws out the ar sound. He then gives a reluctant bow to Lucifer.

"Crowley. Lucifer, while free, will be absent from hell for a time. I ask that you begin your campaigning. If possible I'd like monthly updates on news downstairs and that you do your best as the king of hell for a time. If circumstances arise you may become a semi permanent ruler if my brother does not want to take his throne." I give him a small smile. "I wish you luck toward being the next king of hell."

Crowley becomes thoughtful before a devils smile develops. "And what if I wanted someone to rule by my side."

"Two rulers is not uncommon among the humans. I don't see why anyone should stop you." I answer.

In the background Lucifer rolls his eyes before hanging off mars and whining.

"Quiet, brother. Crowley was speaking." I admonish Lucifer making him pout. I don't think I've ever seen him do that and I feel the urge to do something I've seen Dean do to same on similar occasions. Unwillingly I raise my fingers and lightly pinch Lucifer's cheek. "Don't be bratty." I then turn back to Crowley and address him again, the slight redness of his face is lost entirely on me. "As I said, you're welcome to have someone rule beside you if you can also get opinions from your closest demons. Pick someone who wouldn't try to usurp your power, your running for king. Take Asmodeus for example, he attacked an archangel for more power, you can safely assume he was disposed of. Am I making sense?"

"Crystal." Crowley says with a resigned sigh.

"Is something else the matter? You're usually much more—chipper?" I ask in concern.

Crowley eyes Lucifer from behind me before coughing and stepping closer. "I was hoping that you might perchance spend an evening with me... to go over plans for my campaign." He finishes the last bit rushed.

"I don't see why not, Lucifer will have to remain in the vicinity while I watch him." I tilt my head slightly. "I hope these talks won't involve the older Winchester or any Winchester for that matter, I understand there is some...truce between your two parties but I want no place in it while I take on the responsibility of setting heaven straight."

"Obviously, I'll pick you up at 8, wear something snazzy." The demon says before leaving quickly.

I turn to Lucifer with confusion, "snazzy? Why, I haven't heard that term in at least a few decades. I think the last time I was considered snazzy was when I had my hair longer than a buzz cut." For emphasis I try to measure how long my hair actually is and it's only a few centimeters longer than the original cut. With focus the hair begins to grow until at least an inch or two long. Making it flop charmingly.

I check myself over in a procured mirror. Adjusting it to my desires. Lucifer pokes his head over my shoulder in the mirror. "Where will I be stationed?"

"Near me, you will be joining us at the restaurant but you shouldn't be at the table in case this is a business deal or he plans to introduce me to his secondary ruler. You've mucked enough up as is. Starting forward I'd like heaven and hell to have good relations." With another snap, me and Lucifer move to my human home to discuss things in more depth.

When Crowley appears again both me and Lucifer have fully changed for whatever the occasion may be. Crowley holds the crook of his arm out like he had done each time he has teleported. With practiced ease I slip my hand over his. In a blink we are in front of a nice restaurant. Crowley asks for his reservation and then we are seated. Lucifer somewhere within eyesight of our table.

Within seconds of sitting down a waitress approaches with menus and asks for our drink orders. Crowley takes the lead in ordering a dark wine with a pomegranate undertone. I tip my head at the choice while keeping an eye out for any other guests. I'm curious who he would choose for a second ruler. If he could subdue Abadon she would make a good secondary leader. Even Cain would be a good candidate if Crowley could convince him to come out of hiding. There's also Alastair, while I don't appreciate torture it can be the easiest way to get anything. Even the threat of torture can bend knees. I continue to think thoughtfully while perusing the menu.

"Do you have any preferences? I come here often so I may be of help." Crowley offers and I nod folding my menu back up to look at him.

"I am curious who you would recommend as your secondary ruler. I've considered multiple possibilities but..."

"But?"

"Well of all those I considered, no one has been introduced yet. So maybe it's someone you think I wouldn't approve of. But that's absurd. I trust your judgement whole heartedly."

Crowley coughs into his wine and uses his napkins to cover his mouth. The tips of his ears turning red making me tilt my head in confusions.

"Are you well?" I asks sympathetically. 

"I'm fine." He barks.

"I see." I respond. "You should know that Lucifer is glaring at you for some reason." At that moment the waitress arrives to take our order and refill the wine.

"It's so lovely to see a father and son having a wonderful meal. Most sons can't even give their fathers the time of day after they leave the house." The waitress admits. In the background Lucifer begins to cackle much to my confusion.

I could See Crowley revving up for a freak out. "We're not father and son! He's my bloody date for crying out loud! Damned seven hells!!" He shouts in aggravation as he still coughs.

"Oh, I, I'll be back with the second course." The waiter says sheepishly and backs up nearly tripping into another table.

I feel a warmth in my face that I don't understand, "this was a date? I hadn't even realized you were persuing me. Not that I don't mind, your charming, and polite, easy to talk to, with a particular handsome smile. But..."

Crowley opens his mouth but pauses before moving his hand forward to take my own. "I was hoping to express my affection more appropriately. I had been feeling this way for a while and at first I didn't understand if you knew or not. Gabriel had cleared up some misunderstandings."

I raise my eyebrow, "what misunderstandings? You're persuing me and I appreciate your companionship. What more is there to be?"

"Then you're denser than a ship anchor. I've been bloody following you since the beginning. And then you kept giving me gifts and... well I thought you knew." He simmers into a pout. I don't think I've seen that expression on him before. Maybe once or twice I've seen it on my soldiers as they try to puppy eye their way out of chores.

I let my forefinger hover over his lips. His face is getting red again and gently I thumb the corner of his lips. "Don't pout so hard or your face will get stuck that way." I give a wry grin, my lips barely lifting but my eyes showcase most of my smile. "I think, If I knew how, I would've been able to be more affectionate." I huff and my smile becomes softer, more real. "So, will we peruse this?"

"As long as you'll have me?"

I twist our hands and link our fingers. "I don't mind."

[uhzuku]

Game Over [Supernatural] [SAW!AU MINISERIES} CH3 - COIL

Series Summary: The Winchesters and their allies bite off more than they can chew when they try to track someone who isn’t exactly a monster…

Warnings: Blood, gore, torture, character death, drug addiction, alcohol addiction

Theme: Hello Zepp (Charles Clouser)

Contents: saw!au, serial killer!au, pawn!reader, victim!reader, former victim!reader, Senior Player!Reader, Senior Player!OFC, Senior Player!OMC, Senior Player!OMC, Player!Dean Winchester, Player!Sam Winchester, Player!Rowena MacLeod, Player!Crowley/Fergus MacLeod, Player!Castiel Novak, Player!OFC, Player!OMC

Note: Certain gifs used were made by the lovely @marril96, who inspired this AU. Go send her some love, she’s absolutely incredible!

The group walked through the building for a while, Rowena keeping an eye on the woman in front of her. After what she’d said, an eerie silence had settled over the group - an eerie silence that Rowena did not like.

Sasha’s voice echoes through the silence, making Rowena jump and tear her eyes away from Y/N’s back. “Hey! I found a door over here!”

“I need the flashlight,” Tom says; he grabs the flashlight out of Allen’s hands before going through the door. He walks down some stairs, holding the baseball bat and the light, then through a door to a wide open room. The others swiftly follow, and Dean notices something curious.

“Over there,” he calls, directing everyone’s attention to what he’d seen.

Something in a robe is lying in the corner.

Dean and Tom give each other a looo that conveyed silent understanding before walking towards it in tandem, Tom whispering, “What the fuck?”

They work like a team, Tom standing ready with the spiked bat while Dean puts the human like thing into view.

“Oh, shit,” Sasha mutters, backing away a little. A rather shoddy looking mannequin is inside the robe. An envelope with the word ‘Romi’ has been pinned to the doll’s chest with a knife. Allen jumps up when Sam turns the light on.

“Hey!” He exclaims, voicing his surprise. His eyes land on Sam, who’s still holding the string that turned the overhead light on between his fingers. “Damn, kid.”

“Sorry.” Sam replies quietly, looking down to his right when Rowena comes up next to him.

“Don’t be, we needed the light,” she replies simply, and Allen shrugs and nods.

“True,” he responds as the envelope on the mannequin is pulled loose by Dean, who looks it over.

“What the fuck is a Romi?” The hunter asks, eyeing the name on the front.

Weasel, who’s been more or less hiding in his hoodie, weakly speaks up.

“It’s - It’s me: Romi,” he says, “It’s my name.”

Castiel’s eyebrows furrow in confusion as he replies, “I thought your name was Wesley?”

“Romi’s my first name; it was my father’s.” Weasel mutters back; Rowena rolls her eyes.

“Only he could be so unfortunate as to have you as both a son and a namesake.” The ginger growls lowly, still strongly disliking him for all the ‘whore’s that he’d thrown around only hours earlier. Y/N snorts in response, but Weasel does nothing as Rowena is flanked by not only the elder player but by both Sam and Dean, who look down at him threateningly. Unwilling to oppose the two walls of muscle, he turns away as Tom grabs the recorder out of the mannequin’s lap. The tape is put into it and played while Weasel stands by a nearby electrical panel.

“‘Cross the empty room in front of you and stop at the door. Go one at a time, largest down to smallest in threes. You will receive further information afterwards.’”

Everyone crosses the room as ordered, starting with Tom, Y/N, and Rowena. Allen, Castiel, and Sasha follow, and are then in turn also followed by Sam, Dean, and Crowley. Weasel is left alone on the other side of the room with the recorder. He goes to follow, but suddenly terrifyingly familiar laughter sounds and the floor breaks under him. He screams, falling down into a pit of what seem to be roots, then sees(even though it’s dark) a tape and grabs it, pressing play.

“‘Hello, Romi - I want to play a game. For years you have burned those around you with your lies, cons, and deceits. Now you’ll have a chance to redeem yourself for the games you played with others… by playing one of mine.’” As Jigsaw’s voice echoes through both chambers, Y/N leans against a nearby cabinet as Weasel desperately slams his fists on the metal siding of the pit of roots. “‘In front of you are two keys to help you escape - they are not required for those above you, but for you to get out of this situation, you must retrieve them. One is my gift to you for helping me kidnap the others. The second is yours to donate. However, one of them will come with a price. Remember, Romi: once you are in your personal hell, only the devil can help you out - so watch your step and tread carefully.’”

During the tape’s runtime, everyone had looked down towards Weasel, confused or angered by what they’ve just heard.

“Wait a minute - What does that mean, ‘kidnap the others’?” Dean asks, already getting angry.

“How would I know?” Weasel responds nervously, but Sasha… Sasha remembers.

“Because you put us here,” she hisses, “see, I remember. My car... I stepped in halfway, but dropped my keys. I got them and got back in and started the car, but you popped up behind me and pressed a handkerchief against my nose and mouth; I saw you in the rear view.”

“Chloroform,” Crowley mutters darkly, interrupting her; if he wasn’t stripped of his abilities, his eyes would be blood red.

“You kissed me right before I passed out, you fucking freak,” she turns to everyone else above the pit with her. “I knew I knew him. You’re the last person I saw before I woke up here. You did this.”

“Are you sure it’s him?” Tom asks warily, “You better be sure.”

“I’m sure.”

Weasel began speaking to Dean, who was closer to the edge, as if the hunter would take his side, “You would have done the same. I did what I had to do!”

“Fucking disgusting,” is Dean’s only response, eyes filled with fury. Tom stalks over to the edge, eyes wild.

“I’ll give you a choice,” he says, pulling the knife out of the dummy’s chest and points it furiously at his fellow captive down below. “You got five seconds to get us out of here.”

“I don’t know the way out!” The scrawny man cries. Out of frustration, or to have a possible weapon, Sasha breaks a glass bottle she’d found and had been holding. Y/N just watches with mild interest, completely uninterested in the proceedings before her. Sasha, however, is overcome with her emotions over being kidnapped and drugged and anything in between.

“Bullshit! You put us in here, you can get us out of here!” She shouts.

“N-No, I can’t!” Weasel cries, shaking his head.

Sam speaks next, his voice cold and furious, “Then you’re a dead man.”

“S-So are you!” Weaseling retorts, and suddenly Dean appears from wherever he’d disappeared to behind the lip.

“Say it again and your body’ll hit the floor sooner than necessary,” he hisses darkly. Weasel jumps back and Tom steps towards him, but Rowena prevents a possible scuffle.

“It’s not gonna… Wait, wait, wait,” she was mainly ignored - at least, she was until she’d had enough. “WAIT! Listen to me!” Everyone focuses on her. “He’s got two keys in that room. We’re all wasting time here when he could just be running for them!”

“Wasting time - wasting time? Are you kidding me?! He kidnapped me in the middle of the night!” Sasha snarls, advancing on the shorter woman.

“We don’t even know what’s in that room,” Sam snaps, slightly wedding himself between the two women. “Are you yourself willing to stick yourself in his situation to find out?” He looks around the room, which is suddenly silent. “Are any of you?”

Y/N shrugs.

“Why the fuck not,” she states, breaking the tension. Almost everyone visibly relaxes at the sound of her voice, even though she wasn’t attempting in any way to comfort them. Crowley shakes his head.

“Okay, wait - So who gets them? I mean, there’s two, so which two people get the keys after he escapes?”

Dean himself speaks louder, trying to get the focus back. “We’ll work that out later! We have other things to worry about here.”

Tom ignores everyone and speaks directly to Weasel. “Right now, you’re going in there-“ He points into the darkness, “…or I’ll come down and kill you where you stand.”

Fine! I guess I’m going in there to get those stupid keys - But I get one!” Weasel squeaks. The accomplice crouches down and crawls into the room where the two keys dangling from the ceiling. “Ugh, it feels like a bunch of roots or something in here - and they’re moving.”

“Like Devil’s Snare from Harry Potter?” Sam asks curiously. There’s a pause then a response.

“Yeah, but is this really the time to be a ten foot nerd?”

“Shut up!” Dean barks, and Weasel jumps, squashing something beneath his foot. There was a hiss as air escaped it, but Weasel ignored it, looking up at the key above him instead. “Ah-hah!” He pulls the key at the halfway point loose and pockets it. “One for me….”

“Hurry up!” Crowley growls.

“Okay, okay! I’m going, damn,” Weasel tries to get the second key, but it slips out of his hands and swings around. “Come on, baby!” he grunts as he whirls around, climbing the mountain of roots in different ways so as to get to the treasure above. “You guys can fight over this one.”

“Thank you, Weasel - now come on!” Allen urges. Weasel finally grabs it, yanking the key from its chain, but the chain that the key was dangling from is connected to the door of the pit. It closes, locking Weasel inside.

“Oh, shit - The fucking door closed!” Tom exclaims. The trap activates, lights flashing on blindingly. No one can see anything, blinded by said lights as they stagger off to the viewing area by the door - but all they hear are Weasels screams.

“Open the door! Open the door! Let me out!”

“It’s locked! I can’t open it!” Tom shouts back, squinting his eyes shut. The captive crawls through the now roiling ‘roots’ to the door and tries to kick it open, slicing his already injured leg up severely

“Open the door! Open the fucking door! I’m getting bit!” He howls, “Ow, fuck!”

“Come on! Get him out of there!” Castiel urged, as blind as everyone else. The room rings with a cacophony of different words, but in the end they’re all mainly the same:

“The door! The keys! I can’t get it open!”

And of course, there was Weasel screaming in agony in the locked room.

Sam, still blinded like the rest, catches what the man was shouting, “What’s biting you?!”

“SNAKES!” Weasel roars. A few seconds after, everyone's vision slowly comes back and they’re all horrified; the pit is full of a roiling nest of snakes long as Sam was tall at the very least. Dean’s eyes widen and his heart begins to race; snakes were a fear of his that he never mentioned.

“Get him out of there!” He snaps. The weaselly man crawls to the other end of the pit and bangs on the glass window desperately, frightened and in deep pain. A snake rears its head back before striking, clamping its mouth down on his waist and dragging him away. Weasel screams and struggles to the other ends of the room, desperate to survive. On the other end, he sees his key to survival: a devil has been painted nearby a valve with the word "Twist" near it - no doubt it opens another door, but the sea of serpents only come across it, going higher and higher, overshadowing it. Tom tries to pull the door open, but the handle is glowing hot from mechanisms heating it from the inside so they can’t let him out, Sasha covers her ears from the torturous groans coming out of the pit as the skinny man is slowly wrapped in in the coils of a snake as long as the room itself.

“H-Help-“ he weakly whispers.

“Get him out!” Rowena shrieks, but the snake only tightens its grip around him, easing its cool body further up around Weasel’s, slowly but surely crushing him.

“Use your coat! Use your fucking coat!” Sam shouts desperately. Tom’s coat is wound around the burning hot handle, but despite their best pulling efforts, the door remains closed; all they could do was watch.

“Come on! He’s dying in there!” Dean cries.

“Stop it!” Rowena shouts.

“Come on!” Dean grunts, putting all his strength into opening the door, “Turn!”

“Stop it!” Sam bellows, adding his own cries to Rowena’s.

“Got to put your weight on it!” Tom says urgently, “we can work together!”

Both men throw everything they have into it, but it’s all for nothing.

“STOP IT!” Sasha screams as Weasel spasms and screams, eyes seeming to get larger and larger and his face redder and redder as the pressure against his body mounted against him.

Castiel points at the back of the room in a hidden corner, “There’s a glass window over there - we can break it!”

Everyone, besides Rowena (who’s still barefoot from her own trial), runs to the other side.

“He’s got the keys in his hand.” Y/N murmurs. Dean tries to talk to Weasel, knowing how terrified the other man was.

“Hang on, man. We’re gonna get you out!”

“We can’t break the glass,” Y/N says simply; no one listens. Weasel slams the hand closest to them against the glass window, stunning the others. Sasha is in tears.

“Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!” She hated Weasel, but not that much.

Rowena and Sasha start screaming, while Tom tries to make way, everyone still ignoring Y/N.

“Get out of the fucking way! Move, move, move!”

He attempts to kick the glass in, but it doesn’t work.

“Shit - Come on!” Dean urges, his hero complex absolutely raging. This man was a dick, but they couldn’t let him die!

Weasel reaches out, screaming anxiously and trying to crawl out of the snake’s grip, but is unsuccessful. The snake’s coils tighten even more, making Weasel’s eyes bulge out of his skull until -

Pop.

Sasha screamed as one of Weasel’s eyes pops from its socket and hangs loosely against his cheek, barely attached but still so. His jaw is slack in shock as he’s slowly crushed, his other eye is forced from its socket, and most everyone gags at the sight, even the hunters. The only ones that don’t are Y/N and Crowley - and evening Crowley looks slightly sick to his stomach. Y/N?

Y/N has no expression on her face.

The snake holding him rears up and finally swoops down, taking his head into its mouth right before the room goes black and silent.

Everyone is silent for a moment before Dean breaks it.

“Fuck!” He snarls, punching the wall. Sam leans against it, sliding down and letting his head hang, his hair covering his face in his misery. Everyone begins to mourn in their own way.

“He’s - He’s dead,” Rowena whispers. Y/N looks the room over with her eyes, then turns and begins to walk through the door, whispering three words under her breath where no one heard but Rowena:

“Game over, Romi.”

Original Post: Supernatural AU | Saw

Idea Credits To: @marril96

Game Over - @marril96 @rebelliouswinchester @moonie-flower101 @loonylunalovegood77 @thuutthuutbilly @fandom-imagines1 @ruthieconnellfan @afanofeverything1 @castiel-has-bees @tofeartheunknown @l4life

Supernatural - @fandom-princess-forevermore

Dean Winchester - @akshi8278 @squirrelnotsam @stoneyggirl @defenderrosetyler

Sam Winchester - @defenderrosetyler

Rowena MacLeod - @marril96

Castiel Novak - @winchesteratheart13

Crowley/Fergus Macleod - @bucky-babygirl

Forevers - @deanmonandnegansbitch @twdeadlysins

[dapperappleton]

SPN Crowley x Reader

Summary: Becky is about the only person you can talk to about liking Crowley the demon

Warnings: None

Word count: 712 (this is like the shortest thing I’ve ever written but I really like it sooo)

“Hi Y/N!” Becky squealed over the phone. “Are you in danger? Do you need my help?”

“No, Becky. I’m fine,” you laughed. “Well, physically fine. So, you remember Crowley right?”

“Crowley, the demon with the colt?”

“Yes, well... we got the colt from him two weeks ago. And oh my god was he attractive and very flirty. He is exactly my type-“

You were cut off by Becky’s squealing. You could practically see her happy dancing. She apparently shipped you and Crowley since when she told you and your brothers about him, she winked at you. That’s why you had called her, she was probably the only person that you could talk to about maybe —definitely— having a crush on the King of the Crossroads.

“Y/N!! You and Crowley would be so cute together!! What does he look like, we didn’t get a good description of him.”

“Well, he’s pretty short, he has brown eyes, apparently always wears really fancy, dark suits.” You stared at the ceiling of the motel room. “He’s got a bit of a temper, I can tell, but he’s also really flirty and actually kinda sweet to me. He definitely seems like the hopeless romantic type.”

“Oh. My. Goodness. Did you give him your number or anything?”

“Well that’s why I called. He showed up in the motel room a little bit ago, Sam and Dean are out interviewing people. He just sort of, appeared, and started to flirt with me. I just died on the spot and flirted back a little. Right before he left I wrote my number on his hand. He actually blushed. A big bad demon blushed!! At me giving him my number!!”

Becky was giggling like a gossiping schoolgirl. You definitely had a deep blush on your face as you lay spread out on the bed.

“If he asks you out, you have to tell me. I want to know how it goes!!” She sighed blissfully. “My new OTP actually getting together! How amazing!”

You could hear Baby pulling up to the motel and a car door shutting.

“Alright Becky. I have to go, the boys are back. I’ll update you if anything happens.”

“Alright, bye!!”

You put your phone down the moment the door opened. Sam glances to you just laying with your head hanging off the side of the bed. You weren’t necessarily supposed to be doing anything, the boys had gone to collect information on where you could find the werewolf you were hunting.

“Anything happen when we were gone?” Dean asked.

“Nope.”

Your phone buzzed with a text. Looking down at it, you saw an unknown number.

Hello, darling. When you’re done with that hunt of yours, why don’t I take you out to eat. You pick the restaurant.

Crowley. You glanced up at Sam who was walking into the bathroom and Dean who was stuffing his face with a burger. You quickly typed up a response.

Sounds good, but I’m not sure you’d like the kind of food I’d pick. Besides, do you even eat?

Eating isn’t necessary, but for someone like you, love, I’d gladly eat any food. Even that junk food you and your brothers live off of.

Hey, it’s not that bad. Besides, there isn’t much choice. The last time I had an actual cooked meal was months ago at Bobby’s.

Well maybe we could do that. I could take you to my house and we can cook some real food.

That sounds great. I’ll text you when we’re done with the hunt.

You hadn’t realised, but you were grinning like a madman and blushing enough to look like a tomato. Your whole face was flushed and your ears and neck were hot as well. You had it bad.

“Whatcha smiling at there Y/N?” Dean asked through a mouthful of fries, and Sam looked at you questioningly.

“Oh, what? It’s just Becky. She’s texting me and excitedly reminiscing on that convention she dragged us to.” You gave a half smirk at your good lying ability you had picked up over the years.

Because of the blush, they probably thought that either you had a crush on Becky or you were lying, but they didn’t say anything else. One more text popped up.

;)

“She says hi.”

[jtownraindancer]

Crowley x Reader: R.I.P.

*

The world had changed, though much remained the same.

Majestic cathedrals that had once towered above all other structures were now overwhelmed by high-rises and modern artwork, though their mighty foundations had yet to crumble, magnificent columns and lead glass and iron chains still holding strong throughout the ages.

Colossal castles that had once served as impervious fortresses had fallen to corrosion, behemoths hinting at celestial ordainment succumbing to the unstoppable conquests of time, though some fragments remained, symbols of past tribulation, of the bloody journeys undertaken to secure perceived autonomy.

Roman roads and ancient arches and devious dwellers still dotted the landscape, some scarcely more than phantasmic remnants of a far more glorious age.

Most unchanging, though never truly the same, were the waterways, carrying filth and forgotten trinkets to the sea, artefacts that would one day be studied by more superior races.

It was near one such waterway that he finally found you, forlorn features focused on the Medway, your back turned against the corpse of the stronghold, eyes drawn to corroded debris scattered among the shallow waters.

He approached you quietly, silently studying the slope of your shoulders, noting the changes made to your hair and choices in attire. It was with bitter resentment that he accepted yet more changes made in the past few years, yet more factors he had no say in suggesting they be altered once more.

It seemed despite your differences, despite his departure, despite damning the Devil and dooming his dominion, you still possessed the ability to sense his presence, disheartened gaze brightening significantly as you turned from the object of your consternation, very aura lightened by his arrival.

He was helpless in the face of your affection, drowning in the kindness behind your smile and the soft embrace you offered.

A rarity, in his line of work, finding someone so unruffled by knowledge of his identity, fully tranquil with his companionship.

You trusted him wholeheartedly, a humbling token of your regard that oft left him wondering if he truly deserved your confidence.

Though it had been nearing the second year since your last conversation, you exhibited no shyness, old patterns and routine playing out in a familiar dance that immediately soothed him.

There was a heaviness to your heart however, a flutter of pain to your eyes that summoned his curiosity.

He confided in you, seeking any advice you may have to offer for his conflicting interests, offering his support in your pursuit of your dreams.

At long last, when the conversation had cycled through, he pressed for information about those others you so passionately cared for- family and friends and, tragically, a former lover?

You spoke with sharpness, the caustic coating to your tone reflecting in your features. The fool- for could they be anything else?- had caused you harm, seeking unions outside the oaths you had pledged to one another.

He pondered briefly on the torments he could provide them on your behalf, cruel fantasies cut short as your intonations darkened with each passing syllable.

Your wrath took him by surprise, your vengeance already affecting the traitor's career.

Such simple misdirects had forced their entire lifestyle into mere shambles of former security.

The most frightening part of your revelation was revealed with the carefree dismissal of your own callousness, a bark of laughter carrying on the easterly wind.

"Hey man, R.I.P." You paused, expression darkening and words lowering to a rumble reflecting your remaining rage. "They should have known better than to fuck with me."

An uncomfortable wariness was soon breeding distrust in his conscious. For if you could rip asunder all certainties from one person's life, the life of someone you had once vowed to cherish until your dying breath, what damage would you wreak upon those without such protections?

Many things remained the same, but it was with a begrudging acceptance that Crowley acknowledged that even the most steady and stringent of consistencies will often change too.

For now however, he vowed to savour whatever tenderness still remained within your possession.

*

[whooambouttamakeanameformyself]

Dating Crowley includes...

When you started dating Crowley, you had no idea exactly what would happen. Boy were you in for a surprise....

Warnings: fluff, angst, cussing, trust issues, talks of marriage.

(Let me know if you want any of these Headcanons to have their own story!)

~~~~~~~~~~

First date:

Crowley actually had to ask you out several times over the course of four months before you actually said yes.

The first date was honestly a little over the top. He took you to an extremely upscale restaurant, insisting that it was nothing.

If you don't or can't drink he won't shame you, he simply orders you something else to drink before ordering himself some form of alcohol.

If you do drink he'll order the most expensive bottle of wine.

He showered you with compliments, though he was very confused when you looked down at the table after every compliment.

You brushed it off, telling him you were just tired. He obviously didn't believe you, but chose to drop it.

When the date was over, Crowley took you home, giving you a quick goodbye kiss on the cheek with a soft "Thank you for going out with me". Then he was gone.

This whole situation was confusing. Usually Crowley was one to do anything in his power to get what he wanted, worrying only about himself. But tonight... This whole date... He was doing nothing but complimenting you and making sure you were comfortable... You didn't understand.

You shrugged off your confusion, deciding to go to bed, absolutely sure you'd never see him again after tonight.

But you did....

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Second date.

He appeared at your doorstep two weeks later, holding a bouquet of deep red roses.

You froze when you opened the door and saw him standing there.

He gave you a small smile and a "Hello, love."

You began to stutter out a response but he cut you off, handing you the roses as he began to apologize for being gone so long.

"It's okay.." you responded softly.

He asked you on another date and you agreed without hesitation.

This date was much calmer, like he'd paid attention to your reaction to the first date.

This date was a simple walk through the park at night.

You had no reason to be scared of being out so late at night since you were with the king of hell, someone who wouldn't hesitate to kill someone if they made you uncomfortable.

You both talked for two full hours as you walked.

~~~~~~~~~

Crowley gives you roses at least once a week.

He loves bringing you down to hell, having you sit on his lap while he sits on his throne.

Being a tailor when he was a human, he loves to make you clothes that fit your exact body type.

He loves having his hands on you at all times, it could be just holding your hand, it could be a hand on your waist, it doesn't matter what it is, he loves it.

Speaking of hand holding, the reason why he loves it so much is because he wasn't able to do it when he was human, no matter how much he wanted to.

He loves to watch you indulge in your hobbies. You do art? Can he watch you draw? Oh! You like to write? Can he read what you're writing? Even if you just like taking pictures with your phone, he wants to look at each and every photo.

Despite his position in hell and how he treats other people, this demon is one gentle and attentive lover.

Crowley constantly checks up on you, making sure you've eaten.

Crowley is a major cuddler! He enjoys physical touch, but yours just feels so different to him and he loves it! *

Literally almost cried the first time you snuggled up to him.

Yes, he acts all big and tough, but this man just wants to be loved, and I'm talking real, genuine, passionate love.

He does tend to get upset, yelling at demons, yelling at the Winchesters, yelling at everyone. But never once has he yelled at you, he'd hate himself forever if he ever did.

Crowley will kill for you. (Let's be honest, he probably already has, but he won't ever admit it to you.)

After a month of dating he proposes to you. It's not that he didn't like waiting, he has an eternity to wait. He knows you're a mortal and don't have as long as he does, so he wants to do everything with you.

~~~~~~~~~~

Speaking of being mortal.... You were on a hunt with the Winchesters and Crowley popped in just in time to watch a rogue demon attack you, leaving you in the ground bleeding.

Cue pissed off king of hell.

He could let you bleed out.

But he doesn't

Choosing instead, to use his powers as king to turn you into a demon.

He just couldn't lose you... Not the only person who ever truly loved him.

He panics for a bit when you stop breathing, thinking it didn't work.

But it did, and you start to breathe again causing a wave of relief to wash over him.

You were alive.... He wasn't alone again..

~~~~~~~~~~

He asks (begs) you to move down to hell with him.

When you finally say yes, his excitement is very visible on his face.

Getting to have you by his side every day is a dream come true.

Hello everyone! I know it's been a while and I'm quite out of practice, but I hope you enjoyed this! Thanks for reading!

My requests are still open!

[spn-imagines-nation]

“Wait, are you serious Fergus?! Oh good God, my poor son... And now here we are again.”

[spnsisterimagines]

Sam: What do you guys say when you answer the phone?

Kevin: What up?

Charlie: Who dis be?

Dean: No, she’s dead, this is her son

[pendragonfics]

Eleventh Time’s the Charm

Paring: Crowley/Reader

Tags: female reader, alternate universe - soulmates, time travel, reincarnation, Crowley being Crowley, murder, character death, but not really, angst and feels, angst with a happy ending, fluff. 

Summary: Living a dreary, slow life working in a diner-slash-cafe in a terrible small town, waiting for your life to start and soulmate to walk into your life...it happens. You meet the guy. And thus, the story begins.

Word Count: 4,461

Current Date: 2017-09-29

Everyone has someone. Your someone, was perhaps, preoccupied. Soulmates were a thing, and while it was good for the 99% of people who had their shit together, you did not have yours together, and lived out your days working days at the diner, nights working on your online education. Poor as hell, living out of a caravan in a nobody town’s trailer park, you rarely saw anyone new who wasn’t a regular at Bean There, Donut That. Apparently, when people met their One, everything sort of clicks. Comes into focus. You’d never had that happen with Joe who loved maple syrup more than life, or the coffee addicts with their stamp-cards.

One night, it might have happened. You’re not sure, because you were quite out of it. There was an essay due for your online university, and you’d left the only copy of it on your USB that was attached to your spare set of keys at work. You were rushing around, practically screeching for Zach the busboy to toss them to you. Zach was never good at throwing things, especially projectiles that weren’t footballs. Thus, a strange bearded patron was hit on the back of his head with your Punisher USB and keys.

“Bloody –,” he mutters.

But before he can blink, you scoop up your keys from behind his chair where he’s sipping pink milk, and give a wan, apologetic smile and dash out. “Sorry, man!” You call out over your shoulder, and dash out to your beat-up pickup truck.

You didn’t notice the clarity of the night until you’d uploaded the final essay for your exams and hit send. With the laptop shut, the lamplight inside the caravan low, stars littering the night sky outside the window brighter than ever before, you sit there, breathless. You don’t think it’s to do with Zach smacking your keys into that bloke until you’re dunking a camomile teabag into your Sherlock cup an hour later. Checking your watch, you see the diner has a few minutes before it’s closed for business, and with your old phone, call them up.

“Hello, Bean There, Donut That, it’s Keith.” Another co-worker, works the grill.

You sigh. “Hey, Keith, it’s __________.” You scratch your nose, and add, “Sorry it’s late, I was just wondering if you know who that guy was who came in today. Emr, earlier. When I was in.”

You hear Keith make a noise, and then, “Oli? He’s one of your regulars.”

Oli? No. “No, no, not one of my regulars…the other guy. Uh, beard? Older? I don’t know, I was in a rush. Zach hit him with my keys.”

The phone rustles, “__________, hey, did you submit that paper?” You hear Ned, the owner of the diner on the phone. He’s the type of guy who’d make you feel like absolute shit if you were late to work, but would be all Suburban Dad if someone was out to wrong you. “I heard what you and Keith were saying. Yes, we had a new patron come in, I didn’t catch his name.”

You sigh, nowhere closer to finding out if he was the guy. “Did he say he’d stick around town?”

“Didn’t get that either. But you’re working the morning shift anyway, so you can see for yourself.” Ned reminds you, and clicks his tongue into the phone. “Okay, diner’s closed. See you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, __________.”

You hung up. Brushed your teeth, straightened the picture frame above the bed of Vincent van Gough’s sunflowers, switched off the lamp. Your head was still spinning. For once in your life when you needed the clouded thoughts, all you could think about was the flash of dark green eyes as you ran out of the diner.

---

He was back again. You were wiping your hands on your apron when he came in the door like a warm breeze, clicking the pen to get it to write vanilla milkshake for the nice young couple on a date. Your breath caught in your throat, he stilled. But Keith’s voice called out for you over the usual din of the diner, and you gave the new order for the kitchen to make. You didn’t realise that he was standing beside you until you could smell him – a pleasant scent, a hint of chai and burned earth – and he cleared his throat.

“I don’t think we’ve been introduced.” He said, an accent thick, like cold butter lumpy over toast. Refusing to melt, insisting to stay in a brave new world.

You turn toward him, so he can read the name badge that sits above your breast. “I’m actually going to say sorry for hitting you with my keys yesterday,” you preface. “So, don’t take it out on Zach.”

He tsks, “Please. It’s all in his lack of coordination…none of your fault. Can I buy you a drink?”

“This – isn’t a bar,” you tell him. Ned eyes you over the bench, and motions to a new group of people who have been sitting for a while. “Sorry, I’m working right now. But I’d love coffee. If you’re into that. After I’m –,”

“__________!” Ned calls out, annoyed.

“Coming!” you reply, and spare a glance to your current conversation. “I finish at midday.”

He smiles. “I’ll see you then, darling.”

By the time you’re back from taking the order from the new table, delivering the milkshake to the other, and fixing the split bill (Zach is terrible at math, but he’ll never admit it) not on your area, you find a napkin where you’d been speaking to the guy sitting there. In a sort of half cursive script, reads, The name’s Crowley. Underneath the napkin, you find, is a handful of quarters and half dollars, and a folded piece of paper, with more writing that this time, says, Coffee’s on me.

By the time your shift has ended, you only remember the coffee plans when your fingers brush on the loose change in your pocket. Instead of ordering two cappuccinos from Zach, you opt for the takeaway joint down the road. It isn’t until you’ve got the two cups in your hands until you see him, Crowley again, strolling toward you like he owns the small town.

“Hello, darling.”

You pass him his cup, and grab a sachet of sugar from the vendor. “Hello yourself. Got you a black coffee.”

He smiles, taking a sip from the paper cup, and content, he sighs. “Mm. Like my soul.”

You walk in silence together, the small town’s area painfully small at that moment. It was a short walk to anywhere, really – with a police station caring for only less than a thousand people – the main street had all the places needed on it, be it clothes, food, money, sex. The cemetery around the corner. The school wasn’t too far away, either, and neither was the park. You gravitated toward the location of the latter, leading the mysterious man toward the empty commons and plastic playground.

“I think you’re my soulmate,” you tell him, closing the gate to the empty play area behind you.

He frowns at your wording. “What makes you think I’m your soulmate?” He questions, draining his coffee all at once, like a craven caffeine addict. “I could be a married man, with children and a dog named Pollyanna.”

“You’re not, though.” You tilt your head. “You’re a businessman.”

He raises a brow. “And? You’re a budding high school teacher, and that doesn’t erase the fact that I could be those things.”

You laugh, and take another sip of your coffee. “I just have a feeling, man.” You look over the park, and slowly, taking another sip, embrace the silence of the park, and the lack of bustle as opposed to that of work. “Just…everything’s clearer now.”

“Okay, slow down there, Johnny Nash. You think I’m your soulmate because you don’t need prescription glasses anymore?” The way Crowley said it made your point sound silly, if not puerile. “…I’m just a guy passing through town.”

You pitch your half-drunken coffee into a bin nearby, and when it misses the rim, go to put it in the bin. “You’re making this really hard on me, you know?” You hum, annoyed. “I’ve lived a really shit life, and I’ve always known that there were soulmates. Heck, even Ned has one, and he’s an ass to me.

Crowley lifted a brow at the latter remark, but didn’t question it.

“I’ve barely known anyone my whole freakin’ life! Everyone I meet could be the One, but they’re not, but you – you walk in like you’ve always been there, and just go and tell me it’s not real? Screw you, man.” You swipe a tear from the corner of your eye, and storm off. Leaving him standing in an empty playground, alone.

---

It’s two months later when you get your results back from the online university. It’s a stressful two weeks, and you take every damn shift at the diner you can, saving every penny and dime until Ned approaches you to ask if you’re okay, which doesn’t shock you as much as it really could. He’s nice, under all the sternness and responsibilities he has.

But you’re sitting in your caravan, staring at the screen of your laptop. You’re not observing the tab abandoned on the upper right side of the screen, reading that you’ve managed to save over eight thousand dollars in the last four years. You’re not seeing at the background image of your laptop, a still from My Neighbour Totoro. Nope. You’re staring at the marks the university have sent through, sitting in your inbox.

High distinction.

You almost whoop for joy when the power cuts out of your caravan. It’s not the first time it’s happened before, what, with the electricity company often having problems out in the middle of nowhere where you live, and calmly, you reach for your cell phone for the torch app. But in the dark, you can’t see it, and all the clarity you got those months ago is useless on moonless nights. Blindly, you walk to the entrance of the outside world, going to see what had happened.

You hear grunting, clash of metal on metal, animalistic groans as you open the door. A part of you wants to close the door, lock it, and pretend you’ve been dreaming since you opened the laptop this evening. Another, slightly larger part wants you to go out, and see what’s happening. Aided only by the light of the nearby gas station, you see two silhouettes, male, wearing odd clothes considering they’re battling it out with short white swords in a trailer park at eleven fifty at night. You don’t even get close enough to see their faces when a stone crunches under your foot, and one of the men’s faces look to you. A bolt of terror passes through you, but before you can react, a blade is thrown near your head, and the other man – wearing a suit, a coat, and a tie – presses his fingers to your forehead.

Then, it’s dark.

---

When you wake, your limbs are at odd angles, face cold, and mushed into the ground, mud wet on your face and smelling like fresh herbs. It’s dark, still – the kind of dark that you see right before dawn, when the birds decide to sing for the world to wake – and slowly, you tell your body to move, your limbs screaming from whatever it has happened to you. You remember approaching the two men who had been fighting, being touched, and then, nothing.

“Ah cannae believe yoo've dain thes, Fergus, efter aw we've dain!” A woman’s voice screeched, louder than the birds, her accent thicker than anything you’ve ever heard in your life. It’s English, yes, but it’s hard to focus over all the butchered vowels that are strange to your American-born ears. “– aw we've bin ben! Aam th' mammy ay yer bairn, an' ye - ye tak' a mistress since day th’ first day!”

When your eyes focus in the dark, you see a woman with unruly hair the colour of fire on the horizon, and from what light spilled over the hills, you could see a similar fury to match that hair of hers. She stormed off, her old dress billowing over her feet, a knapsack over her shoulder, running away from wherever it was where you were. Where you were. Your blood ran cold. There were no hills, where you lived, and there certainly was no spikey purple flowers that grew this, that, and every edgeways over the grass, and there certainly was no people who spoke like that.

Whatever that man had done to you, it wasn’t good.

“__________?” A familiar, albeit foreign voice asked, your name strange on their lips. When you looked up, your heart stuttered, your words failed. “Lassie, whit ar’ ye doing doon there?”

You’d seen this exact face two months ago, and not a day after you’d left him alone in the park for your askew coffee date. Some things had changed – he looked a little…younger, eyes wider, frown lines less prominent on his face. Even though he’s been arguing with the other woman, he looks at you so tender, it’s almost strange, considering how he’d last looked at you before. It isn’t until you see what he’s wearing, that you realise something very unnatural has happened, and instead of going through time the usual way (forwards, gradually), you’ve been thrust the other way (backwards, painfully).

“I – I don’t know,” you whisper, groaning as you go to stand. “What year is it?”

He chuckles, arms steadying you as you waver on your feet. “Ye say such strange things, _______, when yoo've bin drinkin...it’s a body year nigh ay th' century.” He brushes the dirt from your shoulders, and sighs, “Dornt tell me yoo've forgotten th' years spent wi' me warmin' th' sheets, hen.”

Your eyes widen. “I – Crowley, that – she’s your wife!”

He raises an eyebrow. “I'll have some’ah whit you've bin drinkin’, lassie.” He chuckles, knocking a final part of mud from your shapeless nightdress. Had you really time travelled in your nightie? “Ye – m’name is Fergus – an' och aye, she is mah wife. Don’t ye rememb’r aw those nights hidin' from ’er?” He motions to the cottage where you’re nearby to, and adds. “Come in. You’ll catch yer death in ‘at, lassie.”

Slowly, you will yourself to move beside him, walking toward the house. It’s a nice place, and even though it’s small, it’s nothing you’d be able to afford to live in with your current salary and savings. It has a thatched roof, the brickwork is beautiful, the door thick and heavy like a barrel that you’ve seen people make scotch in. Inside, the house is lovely, and lit and heated by a fireplace barely living through the frigid air. Naively, you go to it, hands extended to warm yourself.

Fergus chuckles at that, and busies himself at the other end of the room. You notice there’s two beds in the antipodes of the inside, and that he’s sitting in a handmade chair that rocks, hands busy at work with material and a needle.

“C–Fergus,” you correct yourself, his dark green eyes focusing on you, and not the stitching in his hands, “What am I to you?” You ask, voice soft. “Your wife –,”

He sighs, heavily. You see crowfeet lines mark in the side of his eyes, his face downcast. “She knows abit us...has dain, for a while, now.” He places the neat sewing he’s working on aside, and rests his hands to hold his forehead, like Atlas holds the world. “She has aye bin a strong-willed, loch me…but we're nae a match.”

You frown, piecing things together, “Fergus, where’s your child?”  

“Nae loch ye an' me.” His eyes are so sad, and if you didn’t know any better that this wasn’t the same person you met two months ago, you’d even go to him, console him. You sure did work minimum wage, but that didn’t make you a heartless b-witch. “I've gone an’ made a mess ay everythin' I’ve ever tooched…”

Your heart wrenches, but still, when you stand, considerably warmer than waking up on the glens of Scotland near naked, you motion to the door. “I’m sorry, I really am…but I need to, ah,” you motion to your bladder below your belly, and the older man nods, understanding. “Thank you.”

“Ye know where th’ lavvy is, lass.” He motions toward a small building across the way, and closes the door behind you to make your way.

But you don’t make it to the outhouse, instead, a familiar-scented hand grasping your arm and wrenching you out of view from the open shutters of the shieling where 15th Century Crowley-not-Crowley is inside. But when you go to fight your assailant, you see the face you had just parted with not fifteen seconds beforehand. But this time, you know it’s not the other one, Fergus. It’s Crowley.

“What – can this day get any weirder?” You hiss at him, trying to get out of his arms.

He nods. “Yeah. Wait about four seconds, darling.” You huff, complying, but internally agree. Because just like you’ve seen another Crowley, there, coming from the edge of the forest, is another you. She has slightly longer hair, braided nicely, and wears a dress like the one Fergus’s wife wore. She glances left, right, and seeing nobody was there, makes way to enter Fergus’s house. “You owe me money.”

You growl, turning to him. “I owe you nothing!” you push against his chest, infuriated at how calmly he’s taking your Alice in Wonderland of a day.  “You – you owe me an explanation. How did I – why are we –,” your anger is cut short when you see the figure of Fergus’s wife approaching, her fiery hair a warning across the morning sky. You’d think nothing of it, except, in her hands is a dagger, glinting in the early air of the day, and a murderous look upon her face. You cover your mouth with your hands, knowing what she will find when she enters her home. “Oh my g–,” you stammer, turning toward Crowley, holding your hands on your ears to block out the homicidal noises.

“__________,” he says your name with urgency.

Holding you close to his chest, Crowley moves through something dark, like a gate. A portal? You didn’t see, your eyes were closed, but when your eyes open once more, you’re not in Scotland, hiding outside an old stone house that another __________ has just been murdered in. You’re on the steps to your caravan, and sitting there, you shake. It’s warm out, and you’re not sure why you’re like this until Crowley places a blanket over your shoulders. Shock.

“__________,” he says again, and it’s only this time you realise that you’re not alone with one another. One another being, another pair of yourselves. Before you, are two men in plaid, and a man who you think you’ve seen before. “Hello, boys…”

You’re silent as they share words that make barely any sense or understanding over the static and numbness that fills your ears and that which lays between them. It’s only when you look to the blue-eyed man wearing a suit, coat, and tie which you confirm that this isn’t a normal experience. Because he’s the one who touched you, and made you go to the past in the first place.

“Can someone – explain this,” you motion gently to the air surrounding you, “to me?”

“Chronokinesis,” the man with the tie responds.

“Cas made you time-travel,” The shorter-haired man interrupted the fancy story, and added, “From what I hear, it was an accident. You’re okay.” The unspoken addition to that sentence is, at least, from what we can see. “Crowley got you in time, I hear.”

You blink. “This – this is normal, for you all…?” you question, mouth agape. “I saw myself being murdered by his wife in 1699, and its –,” you can’t blink the image of Fergus from behind your eyes, the way he moved so smoothly, like silk on lace, but you also can’t rid your ears of the sounds of the – “if this is what being a soulmate is, I don’t want it.”

The bow-legged man raised his eyebrows. “Soulmate? Didn’t think the demon King of Hell had –,”

“D-demon?” you whisper.

“Dean,” the longer-haired man interrupted, seeing your expression. He sounds hesitantly nice, and glancing to the man beside you, Ferg-Crowley, you wonder what his relationship is to this trio of strange people. “– Crowley, is there anything else we can do for you…before we leave you two to work out whatever just happened to you?”

“King of Hell…?” you breathe. “What?”

Cas puts a hand on both boys, and with a blink of an eye, all three are gone before they can answer you. Crowley scratches absently at his facial scruff, the blanket falling from your shoulders. You sit in silence for what seems like hours, but really, from the way the sun is spilling over the trailer park, awakening life back to this small, dreary town, it’s only minutes.

“You’re a demon?” you ask him, glancing to the face you’ve seen a lot of, of late.

He nods. “Yeah. Haven’t always been…you knew me, before.” He looks sadly into his hands, which sit like apples abandoned in his lap, and then to you, “Every thirty years, you come back to me, always with the name __________, always with your face, with your voice, with your –,” his voice chokes up, and you swear that there’s a glint of moisture in the corner of his eyes. “And you always die beside me.”

Your mouth gapes, words lost for a moment. “Are you talking about…reincarnation?” Crowley nods. “Wait. I don’t – I never signed up for this, I just wanted to find someone to buy a dog with, move into my first house with, call my family…” you wipe a tear from your eye now, feeling as sad as Crowley looked. “That knife, your wife used – do you think it did something to my soul?”

From a bag on his side, he withdraws a dagger, old and worn, but still as wicked sharp as you last saw it, when it was in the hand of his spouse from three hundred years ago. On the hilt, is etched, adelante, morte. But on the blade, there is a catch on the cannelure, a sharp triangle of metal missing.

“Is that Latin?” you frown, staying a safe distance away from your past-life’s murder weapon.

Crowley shakes his head. “Gaelic,” he tells you, and places it back in the bag. “It says, onward, death.” He chuckles. “Might have been cursed, and terribly looked after, as the chip might have only partially severed your –,”

Just hearing that, you gather the sides of the blanket that had fallen, and adjust them so you’re hidden from sight. Gone. Like a babe craving the seclusion of the womb after leaving it. The voice of your soulmate, so tantalisingly beautiful stops as you’re hidden, and while hidden, tears start falling from your eyes.

“Darling?”

You poke your head out from the blanket, gazing up at his face. As the morning settles over the lonely, little town you’ve been in for so much of your life, working, saving, sleeping, working some more, you allow your eyes to linger, focus on Crowley. The way his eyes watch yours, softer than the snarl he gave the trio of oddballs earlier. The way his hair on his face is slowly growing into a beard, now a soft covering over his facial features. How his hands are empty, and in your hands, you feel a want, a need to place yours in his.

You wouldn’t have been able to see this clearly months before meeting him. It’s only fair that with the clarity that came with finding your soulmate that you study the person you’re destined to be with.

“How many times have you met me?” you ask him, voice soft. “How many __________’s?”

“You’re the eleventh,” Crowley mutters, sighing deeply.

You’re sitting in a trailer park, beside the demon king of hell, considering the difficulties of what just happened to you, and what has happened to the pair of you over the last three hundred years. Eleven reincarnations of you. That’s almost enough to give you a T.A.R.D.I.S. and a popular timeslot on the BBC. And sitting there, on the steps to the caravan you’ve lived, breathed, studied, and lived through so far, you have an idea.

“If it’s all right with you,” you tell him, voice low, reserved, “I’m very happy just being number eleven.” He cocks an eyebrow, and you add, “You said that dagger had done something to me, severed my –,”

“Soul.” Crowley nods, “It’s not unheard of, but…I think I know someone who can help us out with this predicament. He owes me a favour.”

---

Everyone has someone. Your someone, was, in fact, the King of Hell, ruler of the underworld, the soulmate to ten other reincarnations of yourself throughout history. Soulmates were a thing, and while it was good for the 99% of people who had their shit together, you were proudly human. The 1% who still worked at the diner, despite being the domestic partner to the endless wealth and power of that of the ruler of Hell.

You’re fixed. The archangel who fixed you was disgruntled, snappy, but gets the job done. There will never be a twelfth __________. Just you, and Crowley.

With your degree completed, you managed to secure a job as an interpreter of ancient historical texts at the university in a flourishing town by the seaside, and with your savings You upgraded your living situation to live in a small house, with a garden out the front and a basement at the bottom (Crowley’s favourite haunt). While it was sad to leave your life in the sad, dead-end job and the small, tired town, it really wasn’t, and you were glad to leave Bean There, Donut That behind.

Life just isn’t that shitty. It’s all a little window that goes very slowly for the person living it, because life isn’t a television show which cuts to the action. You need to live the little parts. Make your hard work into the montage that the viewers cherish. It wasn’t always sunshine and rainbows, yes, but nothing really is. It’s like the Beatles said, all you need is love – except, perhaps, food, oxygen, and a place to call your own.

And with your new life with Crowley, you had all of that.